(no subject)
Title: A Bond of Fate 1/4
Author: Mich
Rating: PG-13 for implied violence
Genre: AU, gen
Spoilers: up through episode 1.18 Something Wicked
Summary: Jayme works on a report to her people about the events in Fitchburg WI. But how do you explain a shtriga to people on another world?
Chapter One
“Jayme, how long you gonna stare at that thing?” Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes moving from the flat Ohio scenery to Jayme, who was sprawled out sideways in the back seat, glaring at the thin notebook-sized computer tablet in her lap as she had been for the last few hours.
“Until I figure out how the hell to start,” she said. “I’ve written hundreds of these, and all of a sudden I’m stuck.”
“What exactly do you have to write?” Sam asked.
“What happened on our last job. They gave me a pass the last month since Ahma died and I joined up with you guys-I was allowed to submit abbreviated reports. But this time I have to give a complete picture.”
“Which is how long?” Dean asked.
“Too long,” she said with a sigh. “Around five thousand words. Normally not a problem, but.”
“You have to figure out how to write something they’ll believe,” Sam said.
“Good guess, but . . . not precisely. This last job was kind of personal, and . . . I’m trying to figure out how to tell it without going into any details that shouldn’t be shared.”
“Just tell ‘em what happened, Jaymes,” Dean said. “I trust you.”
~~~
There are no trees around my family’s house on Katarin. Trees are few and far between in Kuloranh, my birthplace. The semi-arid climate doesn’t lend itself too well to them, but some have been brought from elsewhere and planted in Kuloranh’s several parks, none of which were near my house.
It wasn’t until I came to Earth that I experienced dwellings surrounded by trees; especially in North America houses don’t look quite right without them. My first few nights sleeping in a bedroom filled me with a fear I’ve never quite been able to shake fully; the shadows of tree limbs particularly in winter, like long skeletal fingers swaying and grasping, unsettled me and made me imagine some dark figure reaching out to claw its way into my room.
I know. How utterly ridiculous and childish, right? I wasn’t a child, I’d had years of military training and the equivalent of a university education and here I was imagining the boogeyman. But all the rationality in the world won’t stop the mind once it starts firing up the fear, and in the dark everything looks menacing.
All of this does have a point and leads to this last job, which took us to Fitchburg, Wisconsin.
My perspective these days usually runs sideways; I lie in the back of the Impala, my knees propped up, either napping, reading (thankfully I am not susceptible to motion sickness) or as I am now, filling out a report. This particular job came to them through their father, who, with his usual frustrating, often infuriating lack of detail, sent them coordinates and nothing else. My theory is that for whatever reason he’s testing them, seeing how easily and quickly they can figure things out on their own, but for various reasons I keep this to myself. John Winchester is a complicated man with a complex relationship with his sons, who each look at him differently, and this often leads to conflict between them. The more I stay out of it, the better.
Dean is what Sam calls a “good little soldier,” generally as an insult, as Dean shows a measure-a rather large one-of unquestioning obedience to his father and follows his orders. Sam sees this as a weakness, I’m sure, as he is always questioning-wanting to know why and with a willingness to refuse until he gets an answer.
Nevertheless we went, heading from Texas (which was a relief to me since I wanted to forget those two wannabe dumb clucks asap) up to Wisconsin, Dean even letting me take a turn behind the wheel at night, a nod to my superior night vision and greater resistance to the nocturnal drowses that affect humans. Driving at night is very soothing and quiet, louder in this car thanks to the engine, which purrs in a very meditative way on long stretches of the open road.
But enough poetics.
We arrived two days later, finding very little in the way of anything except a nice little town. Nothing remarkable, and no reports of anything out of the ordinary happening. It was Sam who noticed something odd, something that stuck out like a sore thumb to us as soon as he pointed it out.
It was four in the afternoon, long after school had let out, yet a nearby playground was just about empty.
I should pause here to point something out. The Winchesters have spent their entire lives looking for the unusual, the mysterious, the unexplained. They seek these things out like a terahm scanning a field for prey. Things that would not occur to the average human draw their attention because they have been trained over a lifetime to notice them.
Doubly impressive when you consider that two young men who have never had a “normal” life know enough about it to spot when something is out of place. Townsfolk walked and drove by the playground without seeming to see it at all, but it took Sam less than two minutes to home in on it.
They were able to find out from the lone mother watching her daughter play that several children were in the hospital, afflicted with an unknown illness. That was enough to send us in undercover as agents from the CDC (a governmental body here in charge of monitoring and working to protect public health; sadly some of our beliefs about the uncleanliness of humans are based in truth). I know the idea of me representing any kind of official agency, especially one charged with so solemn a subject, must be absurd, and it is. But I think I pull off the professional look pretty well.
Sam and Dean have become adept at infiltrating everything from hospitals to medical examiners’ offices, posing as reporters, physicians, police, whatever type of official would be best suited to find out information. At least in this I have to do no explaining, since they do on an almost daily basis what we’ve been doing for millennia, even if they don’t possess the actual skills behind their fake credentials. I’ve observed, however, that they are (with some exceptions) smarter and more informed than any imposter.
Since my last report Sam has been endeavoring to begin to teach me in a few weeks what it took them a lifetime to learn. There is an entire world of which the vast majority of humanity remains completely unaware-perhaps blessedly so. Those who believe in spirits or monsters are labelled insane, delusional, drug-addled, or worse. But I’ve seen things that defy easy explanation, and they’ve made me a believer.
Anyway. Without going into too much detail that has little relevance, the basic form of their work involves gathering information and determining whether the situation is caused by something supernatural. From what Dean’s told me it isn’t always the case. They both have the keen ability to take in data and determine whether it involves something from human nightmares or not. In this case children were falling ill and lying unconscious, afflicted with what doctors assumed was pneumonia. It only took a few seconds for me to run a discreet medical scan that completely ruled it out. What didn’t make sense to them-and what I didn’t find out until afterwards because in the moment I didn’t have a clue-was that it was affecting siblings and caused by something as unlikely as an open window. Also, their father sent them to this particular town. And that makes all the difference.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
They spoke with the father of one of the victims, and deciding that he would not be returning there for some time, we went to his home. Breaking and entering is also part of the job; it’s a necessity that they don’t feel the need to make excuses for, and therefore neither will I. They may play fast and loose with the law, but their criminal acts are always in the service of a greater good, and they don’t steal from the people they’re trying to save.
Sam found the print on the windowsill. Long, clawed fingers imprinted deep into the wood, which had rotted under the touch of whatever it was. Too narrow to be one of us in our other forms, and entirely the wrong configuration to be one of us in human form. But this time Dean didn’t even ask. He just stared at it, his eyes unfocusing, remembering something I couldn’t guess. Sam clearly didn’t know either, just looking at his brother and the windowsill in confusion.
“I know why dad sent us here. He’s faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job.” He was trying to sound casual and failing miserably. This was obviously something much more than a normal hunt, as we were to find out.
Chapter Two
Author: Mich
Rating: PG-13 for implied violence
Genre: AU, gen
Spoilers: up through episode 1.18 Something Wicked
Summary: Jayme works on a report to her people about the events in Fitchburg WI. But how do you explain a shtriga to people on another world?
Chapter One
“Jayme, how long you gonna stare at that thing?” Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes moving from the flat Ohio scenery to Jayme, who was sprawled out sideways in the back seat, glaring at the thin notebook-sized computer tablet in her lap as she had been for the last few hours.
“Until I figure out how the hell to start,” she said. “I’ve written hundreds of these, and all of a sudden I’m stuck.”
“What exactly do you have to write?” Sam asked.
“What happened on our last job. They gave me a pass the last month since Ahma died and I joined up with you guys-I was allowed to submit abbreviated reports. But this time I have to give a complete picture.”
“Which is how long?” Dean asked.
“Too long,” she said with a sigh. “Around five thousand words. Normally not a problem, but.”
“You have to figure out how to write something they’ll believe,” Sam said.
“Good guess, but . . . not precisely. This last job was kind of personal, and . . . I’m trying to figure out how to tell it without going into any details that shouldn’t be shared.”
“Just tell ‘em what happened, Jaymes,” Dean said. “I trust you.”
~~~
There are no trees around my family’s house on Katarin. Trees are few and far between in Kuloranh, my birthplace. The semi-arid climate doesn’t lend itself too well to them, but some have been brought from elsewhere and planted in Kuloranh’s several parks, none of which were near my house.
It wasn’t until I came to Earth that I experienced dwellings surrounded by trees; especially in North America houses don’t look quite right without them. My first few nights sleeping in a bedroom filled me with a fear I’ve never quite been able to shake fully; the shadows of tree limbs particularly in winter, like long skeletal fingers swaying and grasping, unsettled me and made me imagine some dark figure reaching out to claw its way into my room.
I know. How utterly ridiculous and childish, right? I wasn’t a child, I’d had years of military training and the equivalent of a university education and here I was imagining the boogeyman. But all the rationality in the world won’t stop the mind once it starts firing up the fear, and in the dark everything looks menacing.
All of this does have a point and leads to this last job, which took us to Fitchburg, Wisconsin.
My perspective these days usually runs sideways; I lie in the back of the Impala, my knees propped up, either napping, reading (thankfully I am not susceptible to motion sickness) or as I am now, filling out a report. This particular job came to them through their father, who, with his usual frustrating, often infuriating lack of detail, sent them coordinates and nothing else. My theory is that for whatever reason he’s testing them, seeing how easily and quickly they can figure things out on their own, but for various reasons I keep this to myself. John Winchester is a complicated man with a complex relationship with his sons, who each look at him differently, and this often leads to conflict between them. The more I stay out of it, the better.
Dean is what Sam calls a “good little soldier,” generally as an insult, as Dean shows a measure-a rather large one-of unquestioning obedience to his father and follows his orders. Sam sees this as a weakness, I’m sure, as he is always questioning-wanting to know why and with a willingness to refuse until he gets an answer.
Nevertheless we went, heading from Texas (which was a relief to me since I wanted to forget those two wannabe dumb clucks asap) up to Wisconsin, Dean even letting me take a turn behind the wheel at night, a nod to my superior night vision and greater resistance to the nocturnal drowses that affect humans. Driving at night is very soothing and quiet, louder in this car thanks to the engine, which purrs in a very meditative way on long stretches of the open road.
But enough poetics.
We arrived two days later, finding very little in the way of anything except a nice little town. Nothing remarkable, and no reports of anything out of the ordinary happening. It was Sam who noticed something odd, something that stuck out like a sore thumb to us as soon as he pointed it out.
It was four in the afternoon, long after school had let out, yet a nearby playground was just about empty.
I should pause here to point something out. The Winchesters have spent their entire lives looking for the unusual, the mysterious, the unexplained. They seek these things out like a terahm scanning a field for prey. Things that would not occur to the average human draw their attention because they have been trained over a lifetime to notice them.
Doubly impressive when you consider that two young men who have never had a “normal” life know enough about it to spot when something is out of place. Townsfolk walked and drove by the playground without seeming to see it at all, but it took Sam less than two minutes to home in on it.
They were able to find out from the lone mother watching her daughter play that several children were in the hospital, afflicted with an unknown illness. That was enough to send us in undercover as agents from the CDC (a governmental body here in charge of monitoring and working to protect public health; sadly some of our beliefs about the uncleanliness of humans are based in truth). I know the idea of me representing any kind of official agency, especially one charged with so solemn a subject, must be absurd, and it is. But I think I pull off the professional look pretty well.
Sam and Dean have become adept at infiltrating everything from hospitals to medical examiners’ offices, posing as reporters, physicians, police, whatever type of official would be best suited to find out information. At least in this I have to do no explaining, since they do on an almost daily basis what we’ve been doing for millennia, even if they don’t possess the actual skills behind their fake credentials. I’ve observed, however, that they are (with some exceptions) smarter and more informed than any imposter.
Since my last report Sam has been endeavoring to begin to teach me in a few weeks what it took them a lifetime to learn. There is an entire world of which the vast majority of humanity remains completely unaware-perhaps blessedly so. Those who believe in spirits or monsters are labelled insane, delusional, drug-addled, or worse. But I’ve seen things that defy easy explanation, and they’ve made me a believer.
Anyway. Without going into too much detail that has little relevance, the basic form of their work involves gathering information and determining whether the situation is caused by something supernatural. From what Dean’s told me it isn’t always the case. They both have the keen ability to take in data and determine whether it involves something from human nightmares or not. In this case children were falling ill and lying unconscious, afflicted with what doctors assumed was pneumonia. It only took a few seconds for me to run a discreet medical scan that completely ruled it out. What didn’t make sense to them-and what I didn’t find out until afterwards because in the moment I didn’t have a clue-was that it was affecting siblings and caused by something as unlikely as an open window. Also, their father sent them to this particular town. And that makes all the difference.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
They spoke with the father of one of the victims, and deciding that he would not be returning there for some time, we went to his home. Breaking and entering is also part of the job; it’s a necessity that they don’t feel the need to make excuses for, and therefore neither will I. They may play fast and loose with the law, but their criminal acts are always in the service of a greater good, and they don’t steal from the people they’re trying to save.
Sam found the print on the windowsill. Long, clawed fingers imprinted deep into the wood, which had rotted under the touch of whatever it was. Too narrow to be one of us in our other forms, and entirely the wrong configuration to be one of us in human form. But this time Dean didn’t even ask. He just stared at it, his eyes unfocusing, remembering something I couldn’t guess. Sam clearly didn’t know either, just looking at his brother and the windowsill in confusion.
“I know why dad sent us here. He’s faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job.” He was trying to sound casual and failing miserably. This was obviously something much more than a normal hunt, as we were to find out.
Chapter Two