SPN Fic: A bugle calls the cavalry
I understand there are those of you who are observing a boycott today. I have no problem with that. Feel free to float those boats! However, I could not let today go by without posting something special for my dear LJ and RL friend, pheebs1. Happy birthday, Wonderful Girl!! ♥♥♥♥♥
Title: A bugle calls the cavalry
Author: deirdre_c
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Disclaimer: Victor Henriksen and the other characters from Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke and the CW
Word Count: 695
Summary: Agent Henriksen finds himself some unexpected allies.
Author's Note: Written for my lovely pheebs1 on the occasion of her birthday. Her prompt was "anything to do with Andy or Henrickson (only they're dead, bah)." Ta-da! I'm all about wish fulfillment! \o/
Also, I was really uncertain about this one, until I got extraordinarily helpful betas from dotfic and ignipes. Thanks so much to you both!
***
Victor wakes up slowly. Bright spots still flash in front of his eyes… spots from the strange blast that little girl had thrown at them. Not that she was actually a little girl.
As soon as that memory hits him, he jerks up, prepared for fight or flight, and pays for it with a needle-sharp stab of pain in his temple.
“Careful, man. Take it easy.”
Hands support his shoulders and he slits his eyes open again to see a couple of dopey little white guys hovering over him. The one on the right is in his late twenties, a lean, dirty-literally dirty-blond with a stupid mullet haircut and a smirk on his pinched features who’s dressed like he’s headed to a monster truck rally. The other guy’s a bit younger, softer, dark-haired with at least a week’s worth of scruff, looking at him with brown, puppy-dog eyes and an eager puppy smile.
Victor shakes them off and quickly gets to his feet, checking to see if his gun’s at his hip and his tie is straight. A quick look around shows that he’s definitely not in the Monument sheriff’s office anymore. But although he might still be a bit shaky after all the events of the past few hours and confused as to how he got here-wherever the hell here is- he’ll be damned if anyone catches him being anything but professional and in control.
Demons or no, he’s got a reputation to uphold.
They’re in a big room, almost a warehouse. Buzzing fluorescents overhead, shadows in the corners. Groups of people cluster around haphazardly-placed tables and shelves and stacks of boxes, busy with various tasks. One middle-aged black dude with a real military air shows a pale, watery-eyed kid and a knockout with long, dark hair how to assemble a pistol, while another with the same vibe is helping a bald, inked-up bruiser load some crates. There’s a tiny blonde in a red leather jacket sitting at a table with a big guy- Holy shit! He looks just like that whacko who was killed at the bank in Milwaukee. Reznick. Huh.- both taking notes from a stack of old books. At least half a dozen other people wander in and out amongst the clutter at the far end of the room.
Victor turns to the pair standing next to him. “Not to sound cliché or anything, but where am I?”
The scruffy guy with the earcuff starts waving his hands around and says, “Something bad’s going down, Earthside. You know, war, pestilence, death. Some serious shit. We’re just gearing up to join in the fight when we get the call. Should be coming pretty soon now.”
Victor blinks. “’Earthside?’ What the fuck does that mean?”
The ratfaced guy slowly tilts his chin up and strokes it. "Yo," he says. “Get this. You’re dead. You know that, right?”
“Dead?”
“Dead.”
Victor takes another incredulous look around the room. “So what are you saying? That this is heaven? ‘Cause I have to admit, I was a expecting a few more harps and clouds and a couple fewer cases of ammo!”
He spins around, somehow expecting some other agents from the home office to pop out and yell, Just kidding! Mullet Man scratches his ear and looks at Victor like he’s retarded.
His buddy replies, “No, not heaven. Well… not exactly. Look, I know it’s a bit of a shock, but just settle down and we’ll tell you as much as we know.”
Screw that. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am.” The guy had stepped into the room without anyone noticing, and it pisses Victor off that he’s let his guard down enough to put his back to the door. Then he takes stock of the newcomer and figures if he’s got to fall in line- for the moment- this guy might be someone he could follow.
Seems familiar, but Victor can’t put his finger on how. Looks like a real hardass though. Guess it takes one to know one.
“And you are?”
“John Winchester.” He returns Victor’s startled stare for a long moment then gives him a quick nod. “Let’s put you to work.”
Title: A bugle calls the cavalry
Author: deirdre_c
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Disclaimer: Victor Henriksen and the other characters from Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke and the CW
Word Count: 695
Summary: Agent Henriksen finds himself some unexpected allies.
Author's Note: Written for my lovely pheebs1 on the occasion of her birthday. Her prompt was "anything to do with Andy or Henrickson (only they're dead, bah)." Ta-da! I'm all about wish fulfillment! \o/
Also, I was really uncertain about this one, until I got extraordinarily helpful betas from dotfic and ignipes. Thanks so much to you both!
***
Victor wakes up slowly. Bright spots still flash in front of his eyes… spots from the strange blast that little girl had thrown at them. Not that she was actually a little girl.
As soon as that memory hits him, he jerks up, prepared for fight or flight, and pays for it with a needle-sharp stab of pain in his temple.
“Careful, man. Take it easy.”
Hands support his shoulders and he slits his eyes open again to see a couple of dopey little white guys hovering over him. The one on the right is in his late twenties, a lean, dirty-literally dirty-blond with a stupid mullet haircut and a smirk on his pinched features who’s dressed like he’s headed to a monster truck rally. The other guy’s a bit younger, softer, dark-haired with at least a week’s worth of scruff, looking at him with brown, puppy-dog eyes and an eager puppy smile.
Victor shakes them off and quickly gets to his feet, checking to see if his gun’s at his hip and his tie is straight. A quick look around shows that he’s definitely not in the Monument sheriff’s office anymore. But although he might still be a bit shaky after all the events of the past few hours and confused as to how he got here-wherever the hell here is- he’ll be damned if anyone catches him being anything but professional and in control.
Demons or no, he’s got a reputation to uphold.
They’re in a big room, almost a warehouse. Buzzing fluorescents overhead, shadows in the corners. Groups of people cluster around haphazardly-placed tables and shelves and stacks of boxes, busy with various tasks. One middle-aged black dude with a real military air shows a pale, watery-eyed kid and a knockout with long, dark hair how to assemble a pistol, while another with the same vibe is helping a bald, inked-up bruiser load some crates. There’s a tiny blonde in a red leather jacket sitting at a table with a big guy- Holy shit! He looks just like that whacko who was killed at the bank in Milwaukee. Reznick. Huh.- both taking notes from a stack of old books. At least half a dozen other people wander in and out amongst the clutter at the far end of the room.
Victor turns to the pair standing next to him. “Not to sound cliché or anything, but where am I?”
The scruffy guy with the earcuff starts waving his hands around and says, “Something bad’s going down, Earthside. You know, war, pestilence, death. Some serious shit. We’re just gearing up to join in the fight when we get the call. Should be coming pretty soon now.”
Victor blinks. “’Earthside?’ What the fuck does that mean?”
The ratfaced guy slowly tilts his chin up and strokes it. "Yo," he says. “Get this. You’re dead. You know that, right?”
“Dead?”
“Dead.”
Victor takes another incredulous look around the room. “So what are you saying? That this is heaven? ‘Cause I have to admit, I was a expecting a few more harps and clouds and a couple fewer cases of ammo!”
He spins around, somehow expecting some other agents from the home office to pop out and yell, Just kidding! Mullet Man scratches his ear and looks at Victor like he’s retarded.
His buddy replies, “No, not heaven. Well… not exactly. Look, I know it’s a bit of a shock, but just settle down and we’ll tell you as much as we know.”
Screw that. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am.” The guy had stepped into the room without anyone noticing, and it pisses Victor off that he’s let his guard down enough to put his back to the door. Then he takes stock of the newcomer and figures if he’s got to fall in line- for the moment- this guy might be someone he could follow.
Seems familiar, but Victor can’t put his finger on how. Looks like a real hardass though. Guess it takes one to know one.
“And you are?”
“John Winchester.” He returns Victor’s startled stare for a long moment then gives him a quick nod. “Let’s put you to work.”