(no subject)
Title: Her Crazy Idea of Fun 7/10
Author: Mich (with help from En)
Genre: AU, gen
Warnings: none if you're familiar with the show.
Disclaimer: Plot points and dialogue quotations are copyright to Patrick Sean Smith and John Shiban.
Note: Takes place during the events of the first season episode "Scarecrow."
Chapter Seven
Jayme leaned on the edge of the Impala, watching as Dean finished fixing the couple’s car (for real, this time). He hadn’t spoken to her since the danger had inexplicably vanished, and it didn’t require any of her heightened senses to tell that he was angry.
He finished, advising the couple to head straight out to the road and not to stop until they were in Illinois or Ohio, waiting until they were out of sight before he headed back to the car.
His first glance showed that her clothing was torn and there was only one thing he wanted to know. “You hurt?”
“No. I managed to avoid the blade, barely.”
“Good.” He opened the door and got in the car, closing the door with more force than was necessary.
Gathering her dignity, she got into the car, closing the door much more quietly.
His jaw was working, but he wasn’t talking. He also wasn’t turning the car on. After a moment, he slammed his palm on the steering wheel and snarled, “What the hell were you doing?”
She recoiled from him, curling in on herself as if she expected him to hit her.
His lips instantly slammed shut and he drew in a few deep breaths through his nose in an attempt to calm himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her body still molded to the door, one hand gripping the handle.
“You almost got yourself killed out there!” Dean snapped. “What the hell is going on with you?”
“T-That thing was stronger than I thought. And you told me not to change so I didn’t.”
“I told you to come on!”
“Yes, you did, and I didn’t listen.”
“You listen from now on!”
When the word “on” left his lips she flinched, shutting her eyes tight.
His voice softened a little. “Does this have anything to do with your nightmares?”
She lowered her head, her eyes still closed. “That is none of your business.”
His lips thinned in clear annoyance. “Fine. But I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“I know that.”
Dean just stared at her for a long moment before he growled, “Okay. Fine,” before starting the engine.
Sam hadn’t been expecting Dean to call. Knowing Dean all his life meant he was intimately acquainted with Dean’s stubbornness and at times absolute intractability, so the thought of Dean coming to him hadn’t entered his mind until his phone rang in the middle of the night. He glanced at Meg, who was asleep and apparently hadn’t heard anything. He hadn’t counted on running into her either, especially after she’d left him on the side of the road, but it seemed this was his day for coincidences.
Dean had figured out that what they were hunting was a pagan god, based on its cycle of killings. Sam smiled a little, inwardly; he gave Dean crap about it, but the truth was his brother was smarter than he let on. Smart enough to be an incredibly effective hunter on his own.
And this time he wasn’t on his own.
“How’s she doing?”
“She who?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Jayme.”
In the car, Dean glanced over. “She’s asleep,” he said. “We’re . . . fine.”
“Dean,” Sam said.
“What? She’s annoying and she didn’t listen last night but right now she’s all I have.”
“Dean, if you think she might put you in danger-”
“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean sighed. “Look, her mom died trying to protect us. I’m not about to just toss her on her ass. Can you focus, please?”
“Dean, it wasn’t your fault,” Sam said.
“Never said it was.”
“I know you. Stop blaming yourself for everything, Dean.”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I’m heading to a local community college, since you’re not here and Jayme might be able to field strip a warp coil-whatever the hell that means-but she’s not quite up to our kind of research.”
“Dean, if you’re trying to say you need my help, just ask me.”
Dean glanced over at Jayme, who hadn’t moved. “Sam, you gotta go your own way. You always have, you know, the way you stand up to Dad. Don’t think we could say the same.”
Sam was stunned. “I . . . don’t know what to say.”
“Just take care of yourself,” Dean said. “And don’t worry about me-got a neromancer watching my back. Call when you find Dad.”
Jayme listened to Dean’s conversation; thanks to hearing that suffered less than three percent loss due to her human-style ears, she could hear Sam’s side as well. Keeping her eyes closed and body limp, it was clear enough that Dean thought her fast asleep.
Anger at Delphinar flared once again. Why couldn’t Ahma have just told her about them, explained why these two stubborn, uncommunicative, ruffian-looking boys had drawn her attention and care so strongly? The thought that Ahma cared for them more than she did her own daughter surfaced briefly and was pushed down with almost physical force.
Then Dean mentioned her mother, and she held her breath, listening intently. He blames himself. He blames himself for what happened to Ahma, and I’m here because . . . he feels sorry for me.
Well, if that was the only reason, it was better than nothing. Dean was bossy, short-tempered, sarcastic . . . and cared very deeply about others, especially his brother. Perhaps that was what had attracted Ahma in the first place, and if the bottom line was that she was going along with them only to fulfill a promise, and Dean had only agreed because he felt an obligation, then she’d have to deal with it on those terms.
“Jayme.” Dean’s hand on her shoulder brought her out of her tangled mental wrestling match. She opened her eyes, feigning coming out of sleep. “Hmm?”
“We’re at the community college. I’m gonna go up and have a talk with the professor, okay? You just wait here.”
“Sure you don’t need me?”
“I think I can handle this on my own. I have been doing this for a while now without your help.”
The words stung. Whether it was because of the tension from the night before or her own unsettled mental state, his tone and words hit harder than they should have, and she fought a flinch. “Yes sir,” she said. “I’ll stay right here, and I promise not to touch anything.”
He hesitated, his gaze dropping, as if he wanted to say something and was fighting an internal battle over it. “I know you won’t,” he said, getting out of the car.
She waited until he was out of earshot, the side of her mouth pulling up ever so slightly. “Apology accepted,” she whispered.
Waiting was a phenomenon experienced by any and every living creature anywhere in time and space. The methods of handling it varied from species to species, and observing another being’s way of dealing with waiting could tell you a great deal about the species or the individual.
No one who walked by the classic black Impala paid much attention to its passenger, who sat in a relaxed but alert position in the front seat, her large green eyes taking in her surroundings without rippling the calm pond of her composure. It was a different bearing than many of her human friends were used to, especially the ones who knew her as a party girl or badass rock and roller, drinking and carousing and getting into trouble all in the name of fun, but the truth was that even in the midst of chaos the calmness of the predator was always there in the background, ready to step forward if she started to get out of control.
But that life and that context was gone, and this one was much closer to her natural instincts, her sense of the hunt. How could she ever make Dean or Sam or any human understand how she felt when prey was in sight, when there was something to track down and kill and better yet for her-living on Earth where hunting was scarce and humans off-limits and unattractive besides-to have creatures to hunt that were enemies, that hurt and killed humans, to turn the hunt to a protective, positive end?
When she’d finally learned what it was they actually did she’d had the same reaction she imagined most other humans had; disbelief, if not outright scorn. But Ahma had believed, so Jayme was willing to put her skepticism on hold at least for a little while.
Then the scarecrow. The first signs were enough to draw her into the mystery, to fully engage the part of her brain that lived for the hunt, and when it was clear that it was real, dangerous, and had attacked those humans . . . drugs paled in comparison to the rush.
“I should have just taken it down,” she said. “Why I let Dean boss me around like that I’ll never know but I’ll tell you right now, Jhamera, it is not going to happen again.”
As soon as the words left her lips the police arrived.
Chapter Eight
Author: Mich (with help from En)
Genre: AU, gen
Warnings: none if you're familiar with the show.
Disclaimer: Plot points and dialogue quotations are copyright to Patrick Sean Smith and John Shiban.
Note: Takes place during the events of the first season episode "Scarecrow."
Chapter Seven
Jayme leaned on the edge of the Impala, watching as Dean finished fixing the couple’s car (for real, this time). He hadn’t spoken to her since the danger had inexplicably vanished, and it didn’t require any of her heightened senses to tell that he was angry.
He finished, advising the couple to head straight out to the road and not to stop until they were in Illinois or Ohio, waiting until they were out of sight before he headed back to the car.
His first glance showed that her clothing was torn and there was only one thing he wanted to know. “You hurt?”
“No. I managed to avoid the blade, barely.”
“Good.” He opened the door and got in the car, closing the door with more force than was necessary.
Gathering her dignity, she got into the car, closing the door much more quietly.
His jaw was working, but he wasn’t talking. He also wasn’t turning the car on. After a moment, he slammed his palm on the steering wheel and snarled, “What the hell were you doing?”
She recoiled from him, curling in on herself as if she expected him to hit her.
His lips instantly slammed shut and he drew in a few deep breaths through his nose in an attempt to calm himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her body still molded to the door, one hand gripping the handle.
“You almost got yourself killed out there!” Dean snapped. “What the hell is going on with you?”
“T-That thing was stronger than I thought. And you told me not to change so I didn’t.”
“I told you to come on!”
“Yes, you did, and I didn’t listen.”
“You listen from now on!”
When the word “on” left his lips she flinched, shutting her eyes tight.
His voice softened a little. “Does this have anything to do with your nightmares?”
She lowered her head, her eyes still closed. “That is none of your business.”
His lips thinned in clear annoyance. “Fine. But I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“I know that.”
Dean just stared at her for a long moment before he growled, “Okay. Fine,” before starting the engine.
Sam hadn’t been expecting Dean to call. Knowing Dean all his life meant he was intimately acquainted with Dean’s stubbornness and at times absolute intractability, so the thought of Dean coming to him hadn’t entered his mind until his phone rang in the middle of the night. He glanced at Meg, who was asleep and apparently hadn’t heard anything. He hadn’t counted on running into her either, especially after she’d left him on the side of the road, but it seemed this was his day for coincidences.
Dean had figured out that what they were hunting was a pagan god, based on its cycle of killings. Sam smiled a little, inwardly; he gave Dean crap about it, but the truth was his brother was smarter than he let on. Smart enough to be an incredibly effective hunter on his own.
And this time he wasn’t on his own.
“How’s she doing?”
“She who?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Jayme.”
In the car, Dean glanced over. “She’s asleep,” he said. “We’re . . . fine.”
“Dean,” Sam said.
“What? She’s annoying and she didn’t listen last night but right now she’s all I have.”
“Dean, if you think she might put you in danger-”
“Don’t be stupid, Sam.” Dean sighed. “Look, her mom died trying to protect us. I’m not about to just toss her on her ass. Can you focus, please?”
“Dean, it wasn’t your fault,” Sam said.
“Never said it was.”
“I know you. Stop blaming yourself for everything, Dean.”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I’m heading to a local community college, since you’re not here and Jayme might be able to field strip a warp coil-whatever the hell that means-but she’s not quite up to our kind of research.”
“Dean, if you’re trying to say you need my help, just ask me.”
Dean glanced over at Jayme, who hadn’t moved. “Sam, you gotta go your own way. You always have, you know, the way you stand up to Dad. Don’t think we could say the same.”
Sam was stunned. “I . . . don’t know what to say.”
“Just take care of yourself,” Dean said. “And don’t worry about me-got a neromancer watching my back. Call when you find Dad.”
Jayme listened to Dean’s conversation; thanks to hearing that suffered less than three percent loss due to her human-style ears, she could hear Sam’s side as well. Keeping her eyes closed and body limp, it was clear enough that Dean thought her fast asleep.
Anger at Delphinar flared once again. Why couldn’t Ahma have just told her about them, explained why these two stubborn, uncommunicative, ruffian-looking boys had drawn her attention and care so strongly? The thought that Ahma cared for them more than she did her own daughter surfaced briefly and was pushed down with almost physical force.
Then Dean mentioned her mother, and she held her breath, listening intently. He blames himself. He blames himself for what happened to Ahma, and I’m here because . . . he feels sorry for me.
Well, if that was the only reason, it was better than nothing. Dean was bossy, short-tempered, sarcastic . . . and cared very deeply about others, especially his brother. Perhaps that was what had attracted Ahma in the first place, and if the bottom line was that she was going along with them only to fulfill a promise, and Dean had only agreed because he felt an obligation, then she’d have to deal with it on those terms.
“Jayme.” Dean’s hand on her shoulder brought her out of her tangled mental wrestling match. She opened her eyes, feigning coming out of sleep. “Hmm?”
“We’re at the community college. I’m gonna go up and have a talk with the professor, okay? You just wait here.”
“Sure you don’t need me?”
“I think I can handle this on my own. I have been doing this for a while now without your help.”
The words stung. Whether it was because of the tension from the night before or her own unsettled mental state, his tone and words hit harder than they should have, and she fought a flinch. “Yes sir,” she said. “I’ll stay right here, and I promise not to touch anything.”
He hesitated, his gaze dropping, as if he wanted to say something and was fighting an internal battle over it. “I know you won’t,” he said, getting out of the car.
She waited until he was out of earshot, the side of her mouth pulling up ever so slightly. “Apology accepted,” she whispered.
Waiting was a phenomenon experienced by any and every living creature anywhere in time and space. The methods of handling it varied from species to species, and observing another being’s way of dealing with waiting could tell you a great deal about the species or the individual.
No one who walked by the classic black Impala paid much attention to its passenger, who sat in a relaxed but alert position in the front seat, her large green eyes taking in her surroundings without rippling the calm pond of her composure. It was a different bearing than many of her human friends were used to, especially the ones who knew her as a party girl or badass rock and roller, drinking and carousing and getting into trouble all in the name of fun, but the truth was that even in the midst of chaos the calmness of the predator was always there in the background, ready to step forward if she started to get out of control.
But that life and that context was gone, and this one was much closer to her natural instincts, her sense of the hunt. How could she ever make Dean or Sam or any human understand how she felt when prey was in sight, when there was something to track down and kill and better yet for her-living on Earth where hunting was scarce and humans off-limits and unattractive besides-to have creatures to hunt that were enemies, that hurt and killed humans, to turn the hunt to a protective, positive end?
When she’d finally learned what it was they actually did she’d had the same reaction she imagined most other humans had; disbelief, if not outright scorn. But Ahma had believed, so Jayme was willing to put her skepticism on hold at least for a little while.
Then the scarecrow. The first signs were enough to draw her into the mystery, to fully engage the part of her brain that lived for the hunt, and when it was clear that it was real, dangerous, and had attacked those humans . . . drugs paled in comparison to the rush.
“I should have just taken it down,” she said. “Why I let Dean boss me around like that I’ll never know but I’ll tell you right now, Jhamera, it is not going to happen again.”
As soon as the words left her lips the police arrived.
Chapter Eight