A mari usque ad mare - Prologue (1/14)
A mari usque ad mare - Prologue (1/14)
544/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways (In the beginning there was John)
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general angst. Sorry about the holes!
Rating: Erring on the side of caution - R for the swearing and I guess the concept which is probably illegal in several states (or it would be if it were humanly possible), Gen. Confused? Read on …
A/N: Pure crack!fic. So clichés, cliffhangers, crime, candles, chanting, and general craziness abound. Let’s call this a Winswap (bodyswap/genderswap/possession) time travel tale, with a touch of mpreg. Though I think I stretched the definition of the latter - but hey, an mpreg really needs to be … um … ‘elastic’ to work doesn’t it? All that in the one piece of fic. What can I say? There must be something in the water. ::scuttles off to hide head in a large brown paper bag::
Title Note: "Et dominabitur a mari usque ad mare, et a flumine usque ad terminos terrae" - From Psalm 72:8 (KJV: "He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth")
Graphics Note: The fabulous banner was created by the multi-talented secret-seer
Characters: John/Mary, Dean, Sam
Setting: Sisomso, Michigan. June 2007 and somewhen else
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Prologue
A posteriori
I
John Winchester had never known a cliché he wouldn’t put a bullet through. Until Mary.
Small towns, and narrow minds. They noticed his eyes and the tattoo, thought 'dangerous,' said 'drifter,' and backed away.
He glared at picket fences - what was the point? Nothing for me here. He never stuck around.
Just another pretty girl. Move on. He didn’t ever stop.
A wife, and children? The simple life. Could he?
He’d watched too many people die to hope for a future. He wasn’t staying.
II
Small sounds often resonate the loudest.
The thud of the arty units firing, the screams, and the gobble of fire. These were all noises he learned to block out.
The snap of a twig, the click of the safety, the breath punching out of someone as his knife scraped back out between their ribs? Those echoed through him.
Until Mary said, 'John.' That shouldn’t have been enough.
III
Black, and sour as the grave. Huddled under a liner in another dugout. Can’t dare a fire, not even C4; mug held out for more. Cold? Get used to it. Never gonna get back to The World.
Green never made the cut. Black Jack or nothing. Knock it straight back, love the burn, that slash of lightning through the veins. Never enough.
Filtering the world through another witch’s stick. ‘Sniper check!’ Just another kind of hit. Suck it in.
He couldn’t tell you what the world tasted like before her. But after …
IV
Gasoline on the air, super nape; sticks like glue, and sears through bone. Never forget that smell.
So many fires … crispy critters … can’t breathe … ten minutes is forever … ash in my dreams … don’t breathe.
In the end it was all the same, smoke and bitterness.
Rose, and … vanilla? It took a perfume to cut through the memories.
V
They say you can tell a person’s past or future from their hands. John never let anyone get that close.
Everything he’d ever done those hands remembered. They could strip a woman as fast as any gun. Sure, and steady, and always dangerous.
He wanted his women, like everything else is his life. Straight up. Had them hard and fast, with no pretence. No need for the lie of a look or a smile, just a calloused hand sliding along smooth skin. The sure flex of a thumb over a pulse point, that was all it took to get him buried deep in another’s warmth.
Then … Mary. And she touched him. He should have run then. He wanted her. Hell, yeah, he was going to combust from wanting her. He knew he was really fucked when he realised he wanted everything else too.
He took it slow. Savoured the drift of every finger across her skin. Watched her laugh, and let her throw pillows at him, ‘John, I swear you touch me the same way you do your car!’ And she didn’t mind; that was when he knew he was staying.
Now? As he held her close, reading the subtle changes in her body as easily as he used to handle his M16, John Winchester only needed the one sense to know that their world had changed forever.
♒
Part 1
544/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways (In the beginning there was John)
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general angst. Sorry about the holes!
Rating: Erring on the side of caution - R for the swearing and I guess the concept which is probably illegal in several states (or it would be if it were humanly possible), Gen. Confused? Read on …
A/N: Pure crack!fic. So clichés, cliffhangers, crime, candles, chanting, and general craziness abound. Let’s call this a Winswap (bodyswap/genderswap/possession) time travel tale, with a touch of mpreg. Though I think I stretched the definition of the latter - but hey, an mpreg really needs to be … um … ‘elastic’ to work doesn’t it? All that in the one piece of fic. What can I say? There must be something in the water. ::scuttles off to hide head in a large brown paper bag::
Title Note: "Et dominabitur a mari usque ad mare, et a flumine usque ad terminos terrae" - From Psalm 72:8 (KJV: "He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth")
Graphics Note: The fabulous banner was created by the multi-talented secret-seer
Characters: John/Mary, Dean, Sam
Setting: Sisomso, Michigan. June 2007 and somewhen else
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Prologue
A posteriori
I
John Winchester had never known a cliché he wouldn’t put a bullet through. Until Mary.
Small towns, and narrow minds. They noticed his eyes and the tattoo, thought 'dangerous,' said 'drifter,' and backed away.
He glared at picket fences - what was the point? Nothing for me here. He never stuck around.
Just another pretty girl. Move on. He didn’t ever stop.
A wife, and children? The simple life. Could he?
He’d watched too many people die to hope for a future. He wasn’t staying.
II
Small sounds often resonate the loudest.
The thud of the arty units firing, the screams, and the gobble of fire. These were all noises he learned to block out.
The snap of a twig, the click of the safety, the breath punching out of someone as his knife scraped back out between their ribs? Those echoed through him.
Until Mary said, 'John.' That shouldn’t have been enough.
III
Black, and sour as the grave. Huddled under a liner in another dugout. Can’t dare a fire, not even C4; mug held out for more. Cold? Get used to it. Never gonna get back to The World.
Green never made the cut. Black Jack or nothing. Knock it straight back, love the burn, that slash of lightning through the veins. Never enough.
Filtering the world through another witch’s stick. ‘Sniper check!’ Just another kind of hit. Suck it in.
He couldn’t tell you what the world tasted like before her. But after …
IV
Gasoline on the air, super nape; sticks like glue, and sears through bone. Never forget that smell.
So many fires … crispy critters … can’t breathe … ten minutes is forever … ash in my dreams … don’t breathe.
In the end it was all the same, smoke and bitterness.
Rose, and … vanilla? It took a perfume to cut through the memories.
V
They say you can tell a person’s past or future from their hands. John never let anyone get that close.
Everything he’d ever done those hands remembered. They could strip a woman as fast as any gun. Sure, and steady, and always dangerous.
He wanted his women, like everything else is his life. Straight up. Had them hard and fast, with no pretence. No need for the lie of a look or a smile, just a calloused hand sliding along smooth skin. The sure flex of a thumb over a pulse point, that was all it took to get him buried deep in another’s warmth.
Then … Mary. And she touched him. He should have run then. He wanted her. Hell, yeah, he was going to combust from wanting her. He knew he was really fucked when he realised he wanted everything else too.
He took it slow. Savoured the drift of every finger across her skin. Watched her laugh, and let her throw pillows at him, ‘John, I swear you touch me the same way you do your car!’ And she didn’t mind; that was when he knew he was staying.
Now? As he held her close, reading the subtle changes in her body as easily as he used to handle his M16, John Winchester only needed the one sense to know that their world had changed forever.
♒
Part 1