Fic: Fuck-up (Supernatural/Dead Like Me crossover)
Will (eventually) be posted in sn_crossovers, crossoverfic, and supernaturalfic
Title: Fuck-up
Author: whisp
Summary: "And by little, I mean I'll be back tomorrow and I trust you will be fine without me. And by that, I mean try not to fuck-up. By fuck-up, of course I mean Mason." Rube from Ghost Story
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue.
Notes: This is for all the whiners wonderful reviewers who so politely asked for more. And for karrigan who got me addicted in the first place.
Hmm. Trust me to skip all the hard parts and go straight to the meaty section. Don't worry, the middle bits will eventually be written too. This is now officially AU, departure time having been sometime in the separation period after Sam left for Stanford.
This fic is from the same universe as Routine Stop
-
For some unknown reason to Dean, the Waffle Haus is apparently the place to be on Saturday mornings. But even given that, it's ridiculously crowded at 8:00 am, especially for a holiday. Walking in, Dean's already dodged 2 wizards, a pirate, and what he thought was that evil octopus dude off Spiderman 2.
The kids wove around him and out of the restaurant, chattering excitedly as Dean watched with a twinge of nostalgia. When they were kids, Halloween was Sam's favourite holiday. The two of them would spend the entire day creating their costumes with whatever they managed to scrape together that year. But then as Sam got older, he wasn't so keen on pretending anymore.
Dean shook his head to clear it as he dodged around another group of people. There was no use going there again. That part of his life was over and done with.
Pausing in the aisle way, he caught a frazzled Kiffany's attention as she passed him on route to the kitchen. She smiled warmly and promised to bring him a coffee as soon as she could fight her way through the hoard of people.
Still, crowds or no crowds, Dean knew there would always be one seat open for him. Sometimes he wondered if they left at all, or if they all just took turns sleeping here in the busy season to keep their booth. Actually, knowing Mason and the amount of time he spent inadvertently pissing people off, he probably had slept in the booth on more than one occasion. But really, Dean can recall from experience a whole lot of worse places to sleep.
As Dean reached the table, he saw that he beat Rube there, but the others are already lounging around in various states of boredom, half-heartedly picking at breakfast.
Dean shoved George deeper into the booth, picking up her plate and newspaper to deposit in front of her new spot. She grunted hello in acknowledgement without looking up from the article she was reading.
Sliding in next to George, he spared a wink and grin for Daisy, who rolled her eyes, but still smiled anyway. Daisy tucked her hair behind her ear before re-folded her hands elegantly around her coffee cup, unconsciously preening under his attention.
Dean nodded a greeting at Mason, who was surprisingly awake and currently occupied, playing with the salt and pepper shakers. He shook out lines on the tabletop and dragged his finger through them, mixing together different proportions. Every once in a while, Mason stuck out his tongue and tasted a different pile, pausing to take in the flavour. Dean watched for a second with a raised eyebrow, then mentally shrugged. How Mason actually made it to the age he did without accidentally killing himself first, Dean'll never know.
Reaching over, Dean snagged a piece of bacon off of George's plate. "So, what's the score, kiddo?"
George sent him a withering glare, but still tossed him the obituaries and replied, "two heart attacks, a stroke, and a moose through the windshield."
"Nice." Dean nodded appreciatively and asked "Why didn't we get the moose crash?"
Shrugging, George replied, "Didn't actually happen in our area. The guy was on a vacation."
"Huh. Good. Would've been a shitty reap anyway."
"Yeah... And um... speaking of reaps," George asked, with the subtlety of a foghorn, "How'd your reap go, yesterday?" George tried to be casual, but Dean knew they still worried sometimes. It'd only been in the past year that he'd been allowed to regularly head to reaps alone, and really Dean can't blame them, given his track record.
Dean shrugged, "He came. He danced. He off-ed himself in a freak accident involving a tablecloth, the chair, and the gas stove. Overall ten out a ten on the meaningless deaths scale."
"Huh. Better you than me." Daisy shuddered, "I hate the smell of burnt flesh. Brings back all sorts of nasty memories."
Dean's mind flashed back to all the half-rotting bodies he's burned, and barked out a low laugh, without humour. "No argument there." He sat back and glanced around, eager to change the subject.
Finally letting his curiosity get the better of him, Dean reached over and snapped the elastic on George's mask, "What's with the mask, darling? Party at the office?"
This caught Mason's attention, and he looked up, surprised, "Didn't Rube tell you?"
Suddenly Daisy yelped, "Ow!"
George frowned, "Fuck, missed."
Dean narrowed his eyes at Mason. Quickly, he reached under the table and caught George's foot as it swung out again, stopping her from kicking Mason. He didn't miss the look of alarm that crossed Daisy's features as he repeated slowly, "Didn't Rube tell me what?"
Oblivious, Mason continued, "Halloween's the only day of the year when we appear as our true selves. Little Georgie here has to cover up to avoid being recognized in her old town."
Dean froze. "Come again?"
"I said-" *thunk* "-fucking hell, George. What was that for?"
Leaning forward, Daisy interjected, "Umm. What Mason means is... that is.. uh.. wait!-"
But Dean was already halfway out of the booth. George lunged at him and caught his wrist, but Dean twisted her hand off with ease, not even pausing to look back. Undeterred, she scrambled out of the booth after him and chased him out the restaurant, shoving aside people as she went, but to no avail. A lifetime of fast getaways means that Dean's well on his way out of the parking lot before she can reach him.
George stormed back into the restaurant. "Mason! Are you freaking retarded?!" she fumed, slapping Mason across the back of his head as she passed.
When he opened his mouth, she snapped, "Don't answer that." George flopped into her seat, dropping her head into her hands and moaning, "Oh, fuck, we are so fucked. Rube is going to fucking kill us."
Mason looked around, confused. "What? Did I miss something?"
George leveled Mason with a glare. "Three guesses on where he's going, dipshit."
-
End part 1
-
*cowers* I know, evil place to leave it, but I'm still working on the part 2. I'm only posting to my LJ for now, but once it's done, I'll post to the comms. The rest should be up next week... hopefully
Title: Fuck-up
Author: whisp
Summary: "And by little, I mean I'll be back tomorrow and I trust you will be fine without me. And by that, I mean try not to fuck-up. By fuck-up, of course I mean Mason." Rube from Ghost Story
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Not mine. Please don't sue.
Notes: This is for all the whiners wonderful reviewers who so politely asked for more. And for karrigan who got me addicted in the first place.
Hmm. Trust me to skip all the hard parts and go straight to the meaty section. Don't worry, the middle bits will eventually be written too. This is now officially AU, departure time having been sometime in the separation period after Sam left for Stanford.
This fic is from the same universe as Routine Stop
-
For some unknown reason to Dean, the Waffle Haus is apparently the place to be on Saturday mornings. But even given that, it's ridiculously crowded at 8:00 am, especially for a holiday. Walking in, Dean's already dodged 2 wizards, a pirate, and what he thought was that evil octopus dude off Spiderman 2.
The kids wove around him and out of the restaurant, chattering excitedly as Dean watched with a twinge of nostalgia. When they were kids, Halloween was Sam's favourite holiday. The two of them would spend the entire day creating their costumes with whatever they managed to scrape together that year. But then as Sam got older, he wasn't so keen on pretending anymore.
Dean shook his head to clear it as he dodged around another group of people. There was no use going there again. That part of his life was over and done with.
Pausing in the aisle way, he caught a frazzled Kiffany's attention as she passed him on route to the kitchen. She smiled warmly and promised to bring him a coffee as soon as she could fight her way through the hoard of people.
Still, crowds or no crowds, Dean knew there would always be one seat open for him. Sometimes he wondered if they left at all, or if they all just took turns sleeping here in the busy season to keep their booth. Actually, knowing Mason and the amount of time he spent inadvertently pissing people off, he probably had slept in the booth on more than one occasion. But really, Dean can recall from experience a whole lot of worse places to sleep.
As Dean reached the table, he saw that he beat Rube there, but the others are already lounging around in various states of boredom, half-heartedly picking at breakfast.
Dean shoved George deeper into the booth, picking up her plate and newspaper to deposit in front of her new spot. She grunted hello in acknowledgement without looking up from the article she was reading.
Sliding in next to George, he spared a wink and grin for Daisy, who rolled her eyes, but still smiled anyway. Daisy tucked her hair behind her ear before re-folded her hands elegantly around her coffee cup, unconsciously preening under his attention.
Dean nodded a greeting at Mason, who was surprisingly awake and currently occupied, playing with the salt and pepper shakers. He shook out lines on the tabletop and dragged his finger through them, mixing together different proportions. Every once in a while, Mason stuck out his tongue and tasted a different pile, pausing to take in the flavour. Dean watched for a second with a raised eyebrow, then mentally shrugged. How Mason actually made it to the age he did without accidentally killing himself first, Dean'll never know.
Reaching over, Dean snagged a piece of bacon off of George's plate. "So, what's the score, kiddo?"
George sent him a withering glare, but still tossed him the obituaries and replied, "two heart attacks, a stroke, and a moose through the windshield."
"Nice." Dean nodded appreciatively and asked "Why didn't we get the moose crash?"
Shrugging, George replied, "Didn't actually happen in our area. The guy was on a vacation."
"Huh. Good. Would've been a shitty reap anyway."
"Yeah... And um... speaking of reaps," George asked, with the subtlety of a foghorn, "How'd your reap go, yesterday?" George tried to be casual, but Dean knew they still worried sometimes. It'd only been in the past year that he'd been allowed to regularly head to reaps alone, and really Dean can't blame them, given his track record.
Dean shrugged, "He came. He danced. He off-ed himself in a freak accident involving a tablecloth, the chair, and the gas stove. Overall ten out a ten on the meaningless deaths scale."
"Huh. Better you than me." Daisy shuddered, "I hate the smell of burnt flesh. Brings back all sorts of nasty memories."
Dean's mind flashed back to all the half-rotting bodies he's burned, and barked out a low laugh, without humour. "No argument there." He sat back and glanced around, eager to change the subject.
Finally letting his curiosity get the better of him, Dean reached over and snapped the elastic on George's mask, "What's with the mask, darling? Party at the office?"
This caught Mason's attention, and he looked up, surprised, "Didn't Rube tell you?"
Suddenly Daisy yelped, "Ow!"
George frowned, "Fuck, missed."
Dean narrowed his eyes at Mason. Quickly, he reached under the table and caught George's foot as it swung out again, stopping her from kicking Mason. He didn't miss the look of alarm that crossed Daisy's features as he repeated slowly, "Didn't Rube tell me what?"
Oblivious, Mason continued, "Halloween's the only day of the year when we appear as our true selves. Little Georgie here has to cover up to avoid being recognized in her old town."
Dean froze. "Come again?"
"I said-" *thunk* "-fucking hell, George. What was that for?"
Leaning forward, Daisy interjected, "Umm. What Mason means is... that is.. uh.. wait!-"
But Dean was already halfway out of the booth. George lunged at him and caught his wrist, but Dean twisted her hand off with ease, not even pausing to look back. Undeterred, she scrambled out of the booth after him and chased him out the restaurant, shoving aside people as she went, but to no avail. A lifetime of fast getaways means that Dean's well on his way out of the parking lot before she can reach him.
George stormed back into the restaurant. "Mason! Are you freaking retarded?!" she fumed, slapping Mason across the back of his head as she passed.
When he opened his mouth, she snapped, "Don't answer that." George flopped into her seat, dropping her head into her hands and moaning, "Oh, fuck, we are so fucked. Rube is going to fucking kill us."
Mason looked around, confused. "What? Did I miss something?"
George leveled Mason with a glare. "Three guesses on where he's going, dipshit."
-
End part 1
-
*cowers* I know, evil place to leave it, but I'm still working on the part 2. I'm only posting to my LJ for now, but once it's done, I'll post to the comms. The rest should be up next week... hopefully