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SPN Fic: Stay (4/4, Gen, R, Pre-Series) - Bloodslave for Cookies — LiveJournal
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I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 02:03 pm
SPN Fic: Stay (4/4, Gen, R, Pre-Series)

Title: Stay (4/4)
Author: Dodger Winslow
Genre: Gen, pre-series
Rating: R
Word Count: 31,000
Warnings/Spoilers: Violence, language, mature themes
Disclaimers: I don't own the boys, I'm just stalking them for a while.

Summary: When breakfast on the road takes a deadly turn, Dean is the only one who can save his father's life. He's ten, he's alone, and the only way he makes it is if she stays.

Author's Note: This is a companion piece for Ten Going on Thirteen. While it can stand on it's own, there's significantly more resonance to the story if you read Ten Going on Thirteen first simply because this is an outsider perspective on what happens in that story. Which isn't, as you might expect, what you might think happened. Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here.

(Part 4)

It was all sirens and dust as three different black and whites skidded to a stop in the parking lot and belched out half a dozen men in uniforms to rush inside. They were suitably impressed by the amount of blood and carnage a small diner in the middle of nowhere had managed to explode all over the damn place.

The ambulance right on their ass was no less flamboyant in the way it made an entrance. Light flashing and sirens screaming, it showed up like the fat lady hadn’t already dragged her sorry ass off to bed, too tired of waiting on them to stick around for an encore performance. Kelly got up, taking Sammy with her as she moved aside to give the paramedics room to work.

They were carting big metal tackle boxes full of impressive medical shit, and they piled it up all around John, then one of them went back to the ambulance for more. The other one peeled the blanket back and told Dean he was going to have to move. Dean just looked up at the guy for a long moment, then said, "Fuck you, dickweasel," and went back to watching his father breathe.

The paramedic blinked. He’d obviously never met a ten-year-old Marine before, and he wasn’t quite sure what the appropriate response was. Setting Sammy down in a nearby booth, Kelly said, "I’ll be right back, Sweet Face," then went to collect his twit of a hero brother.

Or hero of a twit brother.

"Listen, son …" the paramedic was saying.

"I’m not your son," Dean informed him flatly.

"Let me try," Kelly said. She crouched beside Dean, speaking to him like she was waking him from a long, bad dream. "Hey, Doll. The paramedics are here. Time to get up and let them do their thing."

Dean turned his head without lifting it. As adult as he’d looked such a short time ago, he looked younger than Sammy now. He stared at her with dull, blank eyes. He had no idea what she wanted him to do.

"You need to move," she explained gently. "These guys need to get in there so they can help your dad."

"Okay," he said. But he didn’t move, and he still didn’t look like he knew what she wanted him to do.

"Why don’t you come over and sit with me and Sweet Face?" she suggested.

He rallied a little, looked back to John. "No. I should stay with Dad. I should stay here, make sure he doesn’t die."

"These guys are doctors," Kelly said. "They’ll take care of him now."

"I need to stay," Dean repeated.

"Dean —" she started.

"What if he wakes up?" Dean asked, interrupting her. "What if he wakes up, and I’m not here? That’ll scare him. That’ll scare him bad, and he’ll get up to try to find me, and then he’ll start bleeding again, and he’ll die."

"Listen, kid …" the paramedic started again.

"Shut up." Kelly turned, fixed the man with a cold, hard glare. "Just shut the fuck up for a minute."

"Fuck’s a dollar in the curse kitty," Dean whispered so quietly she could hardly hear him.

The paramedic raised his hands in the universal sign for "I give the fuck up." She accepted his surrender and turned her attention back to Dean.

"Dean." She waited for him to respond, but he didn’t. "Dean," she said again.


"I want you to come with me." She said it firmly, made it an order like his dad would issue, only less like a soldier and more like someone who was just a little bossy.

"I can’t," he said. "I have to stay here. I have to be here when Dad wakes up."

"Look at me, Dean."

He turned his head obediently, met her eyes with a distant gaze that couldn’t quite engage.

"You need to come with me," she said again. "You can ride in the ambulance with him later; but right now, you have to come with me so the paramedics can do their thing. That’s what you’ve been waiting for, right? For the paramedics to get here with their IVs and stuff so they can help your dad?"

He didn’t respond.

"Right?" she pressed.

"Yeah," he agreed finally. "I guess. But what if he wakes up?"

"If he wakes up, you’ll be right here. We both will be, we’ll just be two feet away, okay? But you have to move so the paramedics can get in there and help him."

"Okay," he said.

"You need to do it now, Dean."

"Okay," he said again.

"Right now."


But he still didn’t move.

She reached out, laid a hand on the side of his face. "Do you want me to pick you up?" she asked.


"Then you need to get up now."

"Okay." And this time, he did. Gathering himself out of his father’s blood, he stood up and walked to her. The paramedics moved in as soon as he was clear, checking, poking, cutting.

"Be careful," Dean said. "Don’t make him start bleeding again."

One of the paramedics snorted as he removed the clean napkins from John’s side. Kelly wanted to tell the condescending jackass to show a little respect; but she was too tired. Too tired to argue, too tired to think. Too tired to do much of anything but put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeeze.

"It’s going to be all right, Doll," she said. "Everything’s going to be all right now."

"Okay," he said.

The wound the paramedic exposed obviously wasn’t what he was expecting. "What the fuck?" he muttered. Then, to his partner, "Hey, Joe. Check this out." His partner leaned over, made an equally stunned noise. They both looked at Kelly. "What the hell happened?"

"Fuck is a dollar to the curse kitty," Dean said dully. "Hell is only fifty cents. Unless you actually mean hell. Then it’s free, because that’s not really cursing."

The paramedics just looked at him.

"You took too long," he added after a long beat. "Dad says it’s better to go down swinging. He says you have to at least try."

"Son of a bitch," one of the paramedics murmured.

Dean took the curse as criticism. "Dad said it was the right choice," he informed the man, his tone angry, defensive. "He said I was smart. He said he was proud of me." Then he looked at Kelly. "Right?"

"Absolutely," she agreed.

He turned back to the paramedic, vindicated.

"Okay," the paramedic allowed, glancing at his partner. "Sure, kid. Whatever you say."

"My name’s Dean," Dean retorted sharply.

"Sure, Dean," the paramedic agreed. Then he added, "I can see why he’s proud of you. He should be real proud of you."

Dean blinked at him. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure how to take that. Then he said, "Oh. Okay."

Kelly squeezed his shoulder again. He looked up at her, waiting for her to say something. She didn’t. She just smiled at him. He waited several more seconds, then went back to watching the paramedics work.

They were quick and efficient, taking vitals, starting IV’s, stabilizing John until his breathing had eased, and his color had got a little better. Dean rallied along with his dad, getting his color back as John did, re-engaging with the world around him as John’s condition traded up to a noticeable improvement.

"How much longer?" he asked.

This time, the paramedic didn’t snort at Dean, didn’t condescend to him when he answered. "Be about five minutes yet. We need to stabilize him a little more before we move him."

"I want to ride in the ambulance," Dean announced. It wasn’t a question, it was an edict.

"Sure," the paramedic said.

"And my brother, too," Dean added.

The paramedic glanced over to where Sammy was sitting, pale and silent, waiting for Kelly to return as she’d promised she would. "That your brother?"

"His name is Sammy."

The paramedic nodded. "Well, Sammy’s a little too young to ride in the back of the bus. Technically, you are, too; but I think we can make an exception for a fellow field medic."

"Sammy, too," Dean insisted.

The paramedic gave him an easy smile. "Sammy can ride with your mom, Dean. They can meet us at the hospital, okay?"

"I don’t have a mom. All I have is my dad." His tone was stark, raw. He stared at the paramedic for a long beat, then added, "My dad’s all Sammy and I have, so you’d better not kill him, or I’ll kick your ass."

"Into next Sunday," Kelly added.

"Okay, Dean," the paramedic said quietly. "I won’t kill him, I promise."

Dean relaxed a little. "Okay," he said.

"Why don’t we go sit with Sweet Face until they’re ready to go, okay?" Kelly said.

Dean shook his head. "I want to stay here. I have to make sure they do everything right."

"I know these guys," Kelly lied. "They’re really, really good. You can trust them to do things right, okay? But we need to quit bothering them and get out of the way so they can do their job. That’s what’s best for your dad right now. That’s what he’d want you to do, isn’t it? That’s the right choice, the smart choice."

Dean waited a beat longer, then said, "Okay."

"We’ll take good care of your dad, Dean," the paramedic offered.

Dean looked at him. "Okay." Then, like he just thought of it, he added, "Thanks," before following Kelly to where Sammy was waiting. He took a seat across the table as Kelly picked up Sammy, putting him on her lap when she sat down again.

There were more than a dozen cops in the place now, and another squad of paramedics, pronouncing bodies dead, checking idiots to see if their brain deficiencies were congenital or a consequence of undiscovered injury. It was crowded, starting to get hectic like lunch rush. A van full of crime scene technicians showed up as cops started taking statements, making notes.

No one had spoken to them yet, but it was only a matter of time. One of the first cops on the scene consulted with the paramedics for several minutes, then walked over to the booth and crouched down in front of Dean to meet him on his own level. When he spoke, it was directly to Dean instead of addressing himself to Kelly. "Hey there, little man. I hear you’re quite the hero today."

Dean didn’t answer.

The cop glanced over his shoulder, followed Dean’s gaze to where the paramedics were working on John. "Paul says you saved your dad’s life," the cop noted. "Said that trick you did worked really good."

"Don’t call me little man," Dean said.

"Okay," the cop agreed. "What should I call you then?"

Dean’s gaze shifted. He looked at the cop for a long time, but didn’t answer.

"Should I just call you Dean?" the cop asked finally.

Dean stared at him for several seconds longer, then went back to watching the paramedics. "Whatever," he said.

"Okay, Dean," the cop agreed. "What’s your last name?"

"Littleman," Dean said without looking at him.

The cop smiled a little. "Do you spell that like Winchester?"

"Spell it however you want," Dean said.

"All right." The cop was patient. He didn’t say anything else, satisfied to just watch Dean as Dean watched the paramedics. After several minutes, Dean looked at him and said, "If you have any more stupid questions, you’d better ask them fast because we’re riding in the ambulance when it leaves. Me and my brother both."

The cop glanced at Sammy, flashed him a quick smile. "Is this your little brother?" he asked.

"I’m Sammy," Sweet Face said. And then he spelled it: "S. A. M. M. Y. Is my dad going to be okay?"

"I told you he’d be okay, didn’t I?" Dean said a little sharply. "I promised, right?"

Sammy looked at him. "Yeah."

"Okay then." Dean said it like that closed the matter, but Sammy didn’t let it stand this time.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Dad’s going to be fine, Sammy," Dean said. "Everything’s going to be fine." Then he looked straight at Kelly and asked, "Right?"

"Right, Doll," she said.

Dean looked back at his little brother. "See?"

"Okay," Sammy said quietly.

The cop glanced to Kelly, studied her for a long moment. "So Paul says you’re not their mom?"

"I work here," she said. Then she amended, "Used to work here."

He nodded. "We’ll need to get a statement from you later."

"She’s going to the hospital with us," Dean announced. Then he looked at her. "Right?"

"Right," she said again.

"Your statement can wait for a while," the cop agreed. "But I’m assuming you knew the victims? That you can tell us how to get in touch with their people?"

"Sure," she said, figuring it was a safe promise to make. Ted didn’t have any people and fuck Shotgun Guy or Big Gun Guy’s people.

"What about theirs?" the cop asked, inclining his head slightly to indicate Dean. It hit her then. She knew what he wanted. Knew why he talked to Dean first, but why he was talking to her now. She knew what he was asking and why he was asking it. "Do you have a next of kin contact for them?"

Dean responded like the cop had slapped him. "We don’t need a next of kin," he announced angrily. "My dad’s going to be fine. He’s a Marine."

The cop smiled at Dean easily, kindly. "I saw his corps tattoo," he said. "I’ll bet he’s going to be pretty proud of what you did today when he wakes up."

"My dad’s always proud of me," Dean said like the cop was trying to imply otherwise.

"I’m sure he is," the cop returned, refusing to take offense. "You seem like the kind of a kid a Marine would be proud of."

Dean already had a response queued up on his tongue, but it faltered, hesitated in the face of a statement he couldn’t take wrong even though he wanted to.

"Paul says your dad is one tough son of a bitch," the cop went on, watching Dean carefully as he spoke. "But he’s hurt pretty bad. He’s going to be in the hospital for a while, so we need to know who to call for you and your brother."

"You don’t need to call anybody. I take care of my brother and me."

"I’m sure you do. You did a great job of taking care of your dad today. Paul says you saved his life."

"You already said that," Dean challenged defensively. He knew what was coming, too. Kelly could tell it by the way tension had crawled back into the line of his shoulders, by the way panic was starting to edge his tone with stress.

The cop smiled a little, tried to put Dean at ease by saying, "Yeah. I guess I did, didn’t I? But I thought that was pretty impressive. So how old are you, Dean?"

"Old enough."

"Nine, maybe?" the cop ventured. "Ten?"

"Why do you want to know?" Dean countered.

"Are your parents divorced, Dean?" the cop asked.

"My mom’s dead." It was a declaration. Almost a challenge of sorts. It was a plea for mercy at the same time as he was putting the cop on notice that Dean Winchester was a lot tougher than any other ten-year-old he’d ever dealt with before, so he’d better not fuck with them, better not try and take his little brother away or there would be some serious ass kicking to be had. The ferocity of the way Dean said it affected the cop the same way it had the paramedic.

He looked down, tried not to show how much this kid was hitting him where he lived. "I’m sorry to hear that," he said quietly. Then, "So who takes care of you now?"

"My dad takes care of us."

The cop nodded. "And who takes care of you if your dad gets hurt?"

"I do."

The cop studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay." He pushed to a stand. "It was good to meet you, Dean. I don’t get a chance to meet many heroes."

Dean realized too late he’d made a mistake. "I take care of us all the time," he added. "I’ve been taking care of us since forever. Right, Sammy?"

"Right," Sammy said. "Dean takes care of us all the time."

"And Pastor Jim, too," Dean added a little desperately. "Pastor Jim helps sometimes. You can call him if you want. He’s not a next of kin of anything, but he know us. He can tell you I can take care of Sammy and me until Dad wakes up. And he’s a Pastor, so he wouldn’t lie."

The cop smiled at Dean, tried to take the fear out what was happening by saying, "It’s okay, Dean. I don’t need anybody to vouch for you."

"They’re going to stay with me," Kelly said suddenly. The cop glanced at her, surprised. "If that’s what you’re trying to figure out," she clarified. "If that’s why you’re asking questions."

The cop’s eyes narrowed a little. "You’re a friend of the family?"

"I’m John’s girlfriend," she said. The lie rolled off her tongue so smoothly it sounded like the truth even to her. "We’ve been living together for several months now."

"Yeah," Dean verified too quickly. "They have been, so we could stay with her."

The cop frowned, looked at Sammy. He was already sitting on Kelly’s lap, but when the cop looked at him, he leaned against her, put his head down and turned his face in to hide it a little against her shirt. "When are we going home?" he asked.

"Soon, Sweet Face," Kelly said, patting his back. "Real soon."

The cop glanced out the diner’s front window. He was looking at the Impala, looking at the U-Haul hitched behind it.

"She takes care of us all the time," Dean offered. "My dad’s going to pop the question any day now, he just hasn’t gotten around to it yet."

The cop nodded, still staring at the Impala. "Don’t over-sell it, son," he advised. "The secret is to stop when you’ve said enough so you don’t actually say too much." He looked at Kelly then, asked, "Am I going to get fucked on this if I play along?"

"Depends," she said. "Do you want to get fucked?"

The cop almost smiled at that. Shaking his head, he pulled a card out of his pocket and wrote a number on the back of it before he handed it to Dean. "That’s my work number on the front, and my home number on the back. If you need something, you call me, okay?"

Dean just looked at him.

"Which means you should," the cop said after a long beat of silence. "If you need something."

Dean still didn’t say anything.

He waited for several seconds, then asked, "Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Dean?"

Dean hesitated. "I think so," he said finally.

"I’m saying we’ll figure out a way to work it out," the cop clarified. "If not this way, then some other way. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," Dean breathed.

"So you shouldn’t not call me if something changes because you think otherwise," the cop added. "That’s important. I need to know you’ll do that. I need to be able to trust you not to try and go this on your own if we’re going to do it this way. Can I trust you on that, Dean?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said.

The cop glanced to Sammy. "Can I trust you, too, Sammy?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Sammy answered.

"Do you know what I’m saying?" he asked.

"No, sir," Sammy answered. "But Dean does."

The cop did smile at that. "Good boy," he said.

"Were you in the Marines?" Dean asked as the cop started to walk away.

"Actually, I was in the Army."

Dean looked at him for several seconds, then said, "My dad knows a lot of good Army jokes."

The cop laughed. "I’ll just bet he does. I know some pretty good Marine ones, too."

Dean looked down at the card, then asked, "Is your name Tony?"

"What?" the cop answered. "You think I gave you somebody else’s card just to screw with you?"

Dean nodded. "Okay," he said. "Thank you, Tony."

"Thank you, Tony," Sammy added, echoing his brother even though he didn’t really look like he knew why he was saying it. He was still leaning against Kelly, his face still resting on her shoulder.

The cop smiled a little when Dean stuck out his hand, but he took it, shook it. "Don’t lose my card," he said.

"I won’t, sir," Dean assured him.

The cop left them to rejoin his partner in processing the bloody slaughterhouse the small diner had become. The paramedics were already strapping John to a backboard, getting him transferred to a gurney. He had IVs in both arms now. They’d cut away his shirt, and his midsection was covered in layers of clean, white gauze. No more Christmas napkins shoved inside his body to soak up blood like sponges in water. His color was better; his breathing, deeper and more consistent.

The paramedic working on John looked up. "Hey, Dean," he called. Dean’s eyes snapped to him. "We’re going to go in about two minutes, bud. Why don’t you head out to the ambulance? Wait for us there."

Dean nodded and stood. Sammy crawled out of Kelly’s lap and went over to take his hand. Dean looked at her. "Thanks," he said.

She smiled at him.

He hesitated just a beat, then asked, "Will you come with us?"

"Sure." She walked them out to the ambulance. The driver had the doors open, waiting for John.

"I mean to the hospital," Dean said. "They always want an adult to sign things and stuff. They probably won’t let me do that either."

"Sure," she said again.

"Can you drive the Impala? Dad will be pissed if I leave it here."

"I don’t really think he’ll care about that, Doll," she said.

"Yeah, he will. You don’t know him."

She laughed quietly. "Okay. Sure. I’ll drive it. Big inconvenience, driving such a sweet ride, but I’ll bite the bullet and do it just for you."

"Don’t get any blood on the seats if you can help it, okay?"

"I’ll try not to."

They were bringing John out now, wheeling him through the parking lot on a gurney. "His name is John Winchester in case they ask," Dean said. "And mine is Dean, and his is Sammy." He said it like he didn’t remember she’d been calling them by name for some time now.

"Not Doll and Sweet Face?" she teased gently.

"You can call me Doll if you want to." They were loading John into the ambulance. "I’ll get the keys. You can meet us at the hospital, okay?"

"Okay, Doll," she said.

Dean hoisted his little brother up to put him in the back of the ambulance, then crawled in after him. He was gone inside for a moment, then he leaned back out, handing her a set of car keys.

"What’s your name?" he asked as she took them.


"Okay. Thanks, Kelly. I’m sorry I was such a dickweasel to you earlier. I was just mad at my dad is all."

"That’s okay, Doll. You’re cute enough to get by with being a dickweasel every once in a while."

He nodded like that made prefect sense, then went back inside the ambulance to sit by his dad. A couple moments later, one of the paramedics crawled in with them. Sammy was holding his dad’s hand. Crouched by John’s head, he had his check pressed against John’s cheek, whispering things too low for anyone but John to hear.

If John were awake.

Which he wasn’t.

"Sammy’s coming, too," Dean informed the paramedic in a tone that didn’t allow for contradiction. "Tony said he could. Tony said it would be okay."

The paramedic lifted an eyebrow. "Oh Tony did, did he?"

"Yes." Dean met the man’s gaze levelly, playing his bluff to the nines. "He even gave me his card so I could call him if you gave me any trouble." Dean pulled the cop’s card out of his pocket, showed it to the paramedic.

The paramedic laughed.

"And he gave me his home phone number," Dean pointed out.

"Well, I sure wouldn’t want to get myself in trouble with Tony," the paramedic said. "So I guess that means Sammy’s in." He looked at Kelly. "You meeting us at the hospital, ma’am?" She nodded. "Good enough," he said, reaching out to pull the door shut. The ambulance started up and rolled out onto the highway. It accelerated with a scream of lights and sirens.

Kelly stood in the parking lot and watched the ambulance go. She was tired suddenly. So very, very tired. She’d hit a wall and hit it hard. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and go to sleep. John’s keys dropped out of her hand. They fell to the parking lot hardpack. She knelt and tried to pick them up again, but she couldn’t manage it. She was so tired her fingers wouldn’t work properly; so tired she couldn’t see; so tired she couldn’t think.

She smelled like blood. Everything about her smelled like blood. She was drenched in it, front and back, and the stench of it made her sick, made her head ache like fire.

"Hey. You okay?" The cop from earlier crouched down beside her, looking concerned. She thought his name was Tony. He seemed like a good guy, seemed like someone she could trust with Doll and Sweet Face so she could let go, so she could go to sleep.

"I’m tired," she said.

"Yeah. I bet."

"And I’ve got a hell of a headache."

He nodded. "Understandable." He studied her for a moment, then asked, "Where are the boys?"

"I’m supposed to meet them at the hospital."

"You don’t really look like you’re up to driving."

"I’m not," she admitted. "But I promised Doll I wouldn’t leave his dad’s car here. As soon as things die down, someone will come by and strip it. You know they will."

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "Probably." He squinted down the highway in the direction the ambulance had taken, then looked back at her. "Doll, huh?’ he said. "Surprised he lets you get by with calling him that."

"I think it grew on him," she said.

Tony nodded. "Why don’t you give me the keys? I’ll take care of the car for them. Make sure the U-Haul gets put in lockup until their dad is ready to re-claim it."

"Is that how you knew I was lying?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Among other things."


"He’s wearing a ring. You’re not. We cops notice shit like that."

"Observant," she said.

He picked the keys up out of the dust and slipped them into his pocket. "Why don’t you let me give you a ride to the hospital."

"I’m tired," she said again.

"You look it," he agreed.

"And charming, too," she said.

He smiled. "I just meant you should let the doctors check you out. I’ve got a couple more things to tie up here, but they shouldn’t take very long. In the mean time, why don’t you go get cleaned up so they don’t toss you on a gurney the minute we walk through the door."

"That bad?"

"A little worse. You look like one of the chicks who had sex in a horror movie."

She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

He chuckled a little, embarrassed. "Sorry. That didn’t come out right. I just meant the ones who have sex are always the ones who end up getting whacked. The only way to survive a horror movie is to stay away from sex altogether. Be a virgin if at all poss—okay, I’m just digging myself in deeper here, aren’t I? Forget what I said, you look lovely … for someone who just survived a Quentin Tarantino movie."

"Maybe I’ll go clean up a little," she said.

He smiled. "Let me know when you’re ready to go."

She nodded, then watched him walk away.


She’d only closed her eyes for a minute — it seemed like even less than that, like she’d only closed them for a second — but when she opened them again, she was at the hospital, standing in a corridor. It was disconcerting, to lose that much time between one blink and the next, but less disconcerting, she supposed, than having a huge gun shoved in her face, or watching a ten-year-old light his dad on fire to save the guy’s life.

She glanced around, tried to find Tony and failed. He was probably parking the car, she decided. He must have dropped her off at the front entrance, left her to find the boys while he took care of whatever cop business it was that cops took care of. Her head hurt like hell — it felt like someone was punching her in the face, like they were slamming her forehead against a concrete abutment — but that was nothing compared to how tired she was, how much she still wanted nothing more than to just lie down and go to sleep.

She didn’t remember anything of the drive here — didn’t remember much of anything past Tony making the offer, in fact. Maybe she was suffering from some kind of delayed stress syndrome or something. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of a perfect day? She could be the crazy chick who had flashbacks or lost big chunks of time and couldn’t remember where in the fuck she was, or how in the fuck she got there.

She pondered that for a moment, then let it slip away. It didn’t really seem important right now. What seemed important was finding Doll, making sure he and his sweet-faced little brother were okay. Once she did that, she could relax, let herself slip away and just go to sleep.

That was all she really wanted to do. Just go to sleep. It was so hard just to stand right now. It felt like it took more energy than she had just to hold perfectly still and do absolutely nothing but breathe.

Just breathe.

She saw them sitting in chairs against the wall at the end of the hall. Doll looked defeated. His shoulders were hunched up, his head hanging, his eyes focused on the floor between his feet. Sweet Face was huddled up beside him, equally still, equally disconnected. Both of them were covered in blood — Dean more so than Sammy — and they looked incredibly small, sitting there all alone in the otherwise empty corridor.

Kelly started walking. Doll looked up when she got close, like he sensed she was coming, like he felt she was there before he actually saw her.

"You came," he said.

She crouched down in front of him, gave him a reassuring smile. "I said I would, didn’t I?"

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. You said so, but I wasn’t sure you really would."

She brushed at a blood smear on his cheek with one thumb. It was dry, wouldn’t smudge away.

"Hi, Kelly," Sammy said.

She looked over at him, reached out and pushed that sheepdog hair of his out of those wide, innocent eyes. "Hey, Sweet Face. Miss me?"

"Yes," he said.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged noncommittally, then looked at Dean and said, "I told you they were wrong."

"Wrong about what?" she asked.

"The doctors won’t tell us anything," Dean said instead of answering her. "Can you ask them if Dad’s going to be okay?"

"He’s going to be fine, Dean," she said.

"I know. But can you ask them anyway?"

She didn’t answer. She realized suddenly that she couldn’t ask them anything for him; and in realizing that, she finally understood why.

The most obvious things are always the ones you miss.

Dean’s eyes filled up with tears. He blinked them away, saying, "They aren’t wrong, are they." It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. He knew it as well as she did. He’d probably know it longer than she did.

"No," she said. "They aren’t."

"It isn’t fair," he told her.

She shrugged. "It could be worse."

"No it couldn’t be," he said.

She smiled at him. "Sure it could. You know it could."

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

She shrugged. "Eh. Good cause."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Nothing." She smiled at him, touched his face again. "I can’t stay," she said, realizing the truth of it only as she heard the words aloud. "I just came to say goodbye."

"Can you do something first?" Dean asked.


"They took him in there." He indicated a door several yards away. "But they wouldn’t let us go in. They said we had to wait out here. They said they’d come out and tell us what was going on, but they haven’t. They haven’t told us anything."

"And you want me to go in and find out if he’s okay?" she asked. He nodded. She sighed. "I don’t think they can hear me any more, Doll," she told him gently.

"I can hear you," Sammy said.

"Maybe because you want to hear me," she suggested.

Sammy shook his head. "No. That’s not it. They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong."

She looked at him, smiled again. "They aren’t wrong, Sweet Face," she said.

"Yes they are," he told her. And then he turned away, wouldn’t look at her again, wouldn’t let her tell him something he didn’t want to hear.

"Can you find out before you go?" Dean asked. "Please?"

"That’s an OR, Doll," she said.

"I know. But can you go in, anyway?"

"I don’t know," she admitted. "I’m not sure."

"Can you try?" He stared at her, his eyes pleading. "Even if they can’t hear you, you could see what’s going on. You could see if he’s okay."

She sighed. "Okay. Let me see if I can find out what’s going on."

She walked through the door to the OR and stood to one side, listening. After several minutes, then returned to Doll and Sweet Face. "They’re almost done with him," she said. "He’s going to be in recovery for a while, and they they’re going to put him in a room."

"Can you stay with us until then?" Dean asked.

She just looked at him.

"Please?" he pressed. "Just until then?"

"Sure," she said. But she wasn’t really sure she could. "Let’s go to the waiting room though. That’s where the doctors will be expecting you. That’s where they’ll come to tell you what room he’s going to be in."

"Okay," Dean agreed. He stood up, led the way while Sammy walked beside her, holding her hand, clinging to it even though he still wouldn’t look at her for fear she’d say something and he’d have to believe it. As soon as Kelly sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, Sammy crawled into her lap and settled in. He put his face against her shoulder, stared off into the distance. Dean sat beside her, pulling his feet into the chair with him and wrapping both arms around his knees.

"You cold?" she asked.

"A little."

"Me, too."

They sat there for ten minutes, waiting, saying nothing. She was getting more tired by the moment. The world had starting going fuzzy around her. She was afraid she might pass, and she didn’t want them to see it if she did.

"Why don’t you take Sweet Face into the boy’s room and wash up a little?" she suggested. "Then once they get your dad settled into a room so you can stay with him, I’ll run out and buy you some new clothes. How does that sound?"

Dean turned, looked at her with dark, haunted eyes. "You can’t go yet," he said. "You have to stay."

"I can’t stay," she said. "You know that, don’t you?"

"Just until my dad’s okay." He was bargaining with her, trying so hard to find a way to keep her there just a little while longer. "Just until they put him in a room so we can be with him. You said that, didn’t you? You said you’d stay until then, right?"

"I’m not sure I can, Doll," she admitted. "I can’t do this any more. It hurts too much. I’m too tired. I think I have to leave."

"You can’t," Doll told her. "Not yet. Please."

"Doll —" she started.

He put his face against her arm. He was hiding from her, trying to make her stay by refusing to see her go. It was the same thing his little brother was doing by sitting in her lap and putting his head on her shoulder.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, Kelly. Please."

She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t answer him.

"Just until then," he said again. "I know you can’t stay past that, but can’t you stay until then? You’ve stayed this long, right? Why can’t you just stay until then?"

"Yeah," Sammy echoed. "Why can’t you just stay until then?"

"All right," she lied. "I’ll stay until your dad gets settled. But for right now, I want you to get cleaned up a little."

Dean knew she was lying to him. She could feel it in the way he started trembling against her arm. "Okay," he said, giving up. He stood, but he wouldn’t look at her. "Come on Geek Boy."

Sammy crawled out of her lap and took his brother’s hand.

"Say goodbye," he told Sammy.

"We’ll be back in a minute," Sammy said to her instead.

She reached out, touched his face. "Goodbye, Sweet Face," she said.

Sammy stared at her. His eyes were unblinking. He wouldn’t look at her before, but he refused to look away now. "They’re wrong," he said finally. "I know they are."

"Goodbye," Doll said, then he led his brother away.

She watched them walk to the bathroom a couple dozen yards down the hall. She waited until they were out of sight before she gave in to the need to put her face in her hands, to rub at her temples and close her eyes against the growing pain of realizing she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was so tired. Her head hurt so bad she couldn’t think of anything except what it must feel like to get shot in the face, to die without even knowing you were dead.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but she thought maybe it was just as simple as closing her eyes and letting go. She closed them, let herself settle, let herself relax. The pain in her head eased up a little. She thought she heard Sophie’s voice calling her, but she wasn’t sure.


Startled, Kelly snapped awake. She looked up, found Sammy standing only a couple of feet away.

"What is it, Sweet Face?"

"Dean’s crying."

Kelly stood, started for the bathroom. Sammy went with her. "He told me not to tell you. He said I should just leave you alone and let you go."

"You did the right thing, Sweet Face," she said.

She walked into the men’s room without pausing at the door. Doll was wedged in the far corner, his arms and legs folded up against his body as he cried with a ferocity that made him vibrate with the force of the emotion bleeding out of every pore. Grief stained him dark and brittle and broken.

Kelly strode across the room. She pulled him out of the corner, then put herself in it, wrapping him up in her arms and letting him sob there as Sammy sat beside them, leaning into her side and patting Dean on the back as he said over and over and over again, "It’s all right Dean. Dad’s going to be okay. It’s all right. You did good."

When the storm finally passed, Dean fell to an exhausted silence. He lay curled up against her, breathing instead of crying. "Don’t tell my dad, okay?" he said finally.

"I won’t," she agreed.

He stayed huddled against her for another ten minutes before he finally crawled away and stood. He walked to the sink and started washing his hands and face like it was no big deal. She watched from the corner for a while as he rubbed soap into his hairline, scrubbed dried blood off his forehead and cheeks.

"I always wondered what the inside of the boy’s room looked like," she said suddenly.

He looked down at her, studied her for several seconds before he said, "You are the most awesome girl I’ve ever met."

She smiled. "Why thank you, Doll."

He nodded. When he’d finished wiping his face dry with a handful of paper towels, he threw them in the trash and said, "Come on, dorkweasel. Let’s get you cleaned up, too."

Sammy stood obediently, and Dean began the scrubbing process all over again, this time on his little brother. "Thank you for staying," he said as he worked on getting Sammy’s skin as clean as his own. "I kind of lost it there for a minute, but I’m okay now. You can go ahead and go if you want to."

She wasn’t quite so tired now. She felt a little less overwhelmed; a little less like everything was wrong and the only way to fix it was to let go. "I think I’m okay for a while longer," she said, and she wasn’t lying this time. "I can stay until they get your dad settled at least."

Dean glanced at her, and then away again just as quickly. He worked a little longer on getting Sammy’s face cleaned, then wiped it carefully dry. "You’re the reason he missed, aren’t you?" he asked without looking at her. "That’s what you meant by ‘good cause.’"

"Your dad’s the reason he missed," she lied.

"Missed what?" Sammy asked.

"Nothing." He looked at her and said, "I’m sorry it was my fault."

"I’m not," she said. "And it wasn’t."

"I know you did something."

"I did what I wanted to do, Doll. It was my choice, and I’d do it again."


The question was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. Almost.

"Because you’re cute," she said. "When you’re not being a twit."

Dean stared at her in silence for several seconds, then turned and threw away the handful of towels stained red by the blood he’d scrubbed off his little brother’s skin. "That’s as much ugly as I can get off, dorkweasle. Guess you’ll just have to live with the rest."

"Okay," Sammy said quietly. "Can we go see Dad now?"

"Not yet." He looked at Kelly and said, "You’re a pretty good liar … for a girl."

She shrugged. "You’re a pretty charming kid … for a dickweasle."

Sammy snickered.

"We should go sit in the waiting room so they can find us," Dean said. "You can go now if you want. You don’t have to stay any more just for me."

"I can stay for a little while longer," she told him again.

"I don’t want you to go yet," Sammy said.

"Well, I guess that settles it then, doesn’t it?"

They followed her back to the waiting room. Sammy crawled into her lap again when she sat down. Dean took the chair next to her, pulling his feet up again, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees to stare across the room at nothing in particular.

"Is it my fault, too?" Sammy whispered against her neck.

"No," she said. "It’s not anybody’s fault."

"It’s gotta be somebody’s fault, doesn’t it?" Sammy said.

"Does it?" she asked.

"I wish they were wrong," he said.

She didn’t answer that because there really wasn’t anything she could say. "Close your eyes, Sweet Face," she told him instead. "Try to go to sleep, and I’ll tell you goodbye before I go."

"Okay," he whispered.

Dean stared at the far wall in silence. She waited for almost half an hour before she put an arm around his shoulders, before she pulled him over to lean against her side. They sat that way for over an hour before Tony finally showed up, before he finally found them sitting in the waiting room, waiting.

"Hey, Dean." He walked over, took a seat beside him. "How’s your dad doing?"

"He’s in recovery," Dean said. "They’re going to put him in a room soon; so I think that means he’s going to be okay."

"Thanks to you," Tony said.

"Yeah. I guess."

Kelly’s arm tightened around Dean’s shoulders. She kissed the top of his head as Sammy shifted where he lay curled up on her lap, sound asleep.

"Hey, listen … you haven’t seen your dad’s girlfriend, have you?" Tony asked. "I thought I was giving her a ride, but she kind of disappeared on me."

"She’s around," Dean said.

"Around where?" Tony asked.

"Just around," Dean repeated.

"I’m going to miss you, Doll," Kelly whispered near Dean’s ear.

Dean nodded.

She slipped out from under Sammy’s curled up body, then knelt down to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Goodbye, Sweet Face."

"Bye," Sammy mumbled.

Tony frowned. "Who’s he talking to?"

"Nobody," Dean said.

"Remind him he said he’d work it out with you," Kelly said. "Don’t let him off the hook; make him follow through."

Dean nodded. "Thank you for staying," he whispered.

"Sure thing, Doll." She smiled at him one last time, then let her eyes fall shut. She was still so tired, but it was a good tired now. She let herself relax, let a child’s panic at being left alone slip out of her bones, let it remember itself and come to terms with itself so finally, after all these years, it could just let go.

She heard Sophie calling her name. Behind the familiar voice, she heard another one … one she hadn’t heard for so long she almost didn’t remember what it sounded like.

Almost didn’t remember what she sounded like. What he sounded like. What they sounded like.

Listening to a lullaby sung soft and sweet, Kelly snuggled deeper into herself, seeking warmth, seeking comfort. She felt her mother’s fingers on her face, felt them brushing her hair aside, felt them stroking her skin in a way she remembered every time she remembered her mother.

"Hey, babydoll," her daddy said. He kissed her forehead like he used to do every night before she went to sleep, and she could smell the soap he used, and the aftershave, and just a hint of spaghetti sauce on his breath.

He loved spaghetti. That was what she remembered most about him: How much he loved spaghetti, and how funny he was when he sucked up long strings of it, making funny faces and gross, slurpy sounds that drove her mother crazy.

Kelly felt something inside her change. She felt it go, felt it choose not to stay. She heard Sophie’s voice again. She heard it strong and clear this time as Sophie called her name, as Sophie called her home.


I had to put this caveat at the end for spoiler reasons: This story went here before Roadkill ever aired, so da bastards kinda Kripked me a bit. But as long as they Kripke me with episodes as good as Roadkill, I guess I don't mind. Much.

Tags: , , , ,
Current Mood: exhausted exhausted


Dean's douched up Impala
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 08:05 pm (UTC)

Holy CRAP. I just ... wow. I woke up and started reading and you were great about getting the last two parts posted before I finished. Man, I *love* third party POV fics, and I just ... wow.

So Kelly died somewhere in between leaving the diner and getting to the hospital, I presume? Man, I'm going to have to go back and reread later when I have more time to really think about it, but my studying is calling out to me now.

Seriously, fantastic. Thanks.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:51 pm (UTC)

Nope. She got shot in the face within seconds after saving Dean's life by jarring the register stand with her hip. It was her body Normal Guy freaked out over, not Ted's. She was dead before John ever got shot. ;)

ReplyThread Parent
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 08:39 pm (UTC)

Oh no no no nononono. Why did you do this to me? I am taking it personally. I had to go back and read and re-read because this was just plain sneaky. Sneaky and oh gosh just beautiful and horrible and I can't think of any more adjectives. I am so glad you wrote this. I now have to re-read everything. Maybe I will comment again when I am coherent.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:50 pm (UTC)

I am a very, very sneaky person. And kinda evil sometimes, too.

But you like that about me, don't you?

Don't you?!?

ReplyThread Parent
Would be better, but they killed the bunnies.
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 08:51 pm (UTC)


I'm incoherent. And you remain awesome. And Kelly is the greatest whether you got Kripke'd or not. XD

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:45 pm (UTC)


ReplyThread Parent
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 08:55 pm (UTC)

Uhm, so.

You're making me bawling my eyes out, here. Which I guess testify to the quality and intensity of what you wrote, and not to me being a softhead :)

damn. really sniffling, so, uhm, better comment later.
Though, one thing. I need to know a little about John's recovery, now, about Dean telling him, because I suppose he'd tell him, no? Not that you have to write it of course I'd love you a LOT more if you did *G* but I need it, somehow.

Really intense. Phew. *hugs you*

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:49 pm (UTC)

Um ... Dean lies to John. By the time John comes up in 10/13, Dean has settled on a way of playing the whole thing that doesn't let John in on an experience that, in my head at least, was very intimately between Dean and Kelly.

"Don't tell my dad," in the bathroom being the whole stance he takes. And blaming himself as he does, thinking it is his fault even though she tells him it isn't. Sammy can accept that, but Dean can't. He'll carry the weight forever.

Which, if I ever follow this story with something, might actually be the way I go. Sam reminding Dean of this experience and how much a "spirit" saved him, but how much Dean locks that knowledge away inside himself because it is too painful to know, even if he knows it.

Which might be kind afun.

But stop that. Cause I really need to finish Seasons first, don't I?

*covers ears in anticipation of Adelheide's response to that inquiry*

ReplyThread Parent Expand

Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 08:58 pm (UTC)

As a quick addendum after I've blown my nose (and seriously I HAD TO!), I don't think you got Kripke-d, really. The whole not-knowing is clearly subjective and based on the individual, if that's what you're referring to?

And, yes, you're kind of awesome. Evil, but awesomely so.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:44 pm (UTC)

Seriously, when the hubs and I were watching Roadkill and her car disappeared, I said, "Oh FUCK! Everyone is going to see this coming now ..."

So I was kinda worried that it would put people in the mindset where they would pick up all the times I was telling them "it's always the most obvious things we miss," which I actually said about six times throughout the story, just to screw with people when the cards finally hit the table.

So I was fretting some bullets there for a bit. But it appears that it hasn't broadcast itself TOO obviously.

And yeah ... I wasn't trying to make you have to blow your nose or anything. Cause, you know, Dean sobbing in the bathroom and Sammy coming out and telling Kelly "Dean's crying" had absolutely NOT intent to create a hankie moment.


Why are you looking at me that way?


ReplyThread Parent Expand

Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 09:27 pm (UTC)

Oh man, I'm bawling like a baby now, so I can't really give coherent feedback. Just know this was beyond awesome.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:41 pm (UTC)

Thank you. I was hoping this would hit you this way. There was a voice to this one that hits very close to where I'm going with my mainstream stuff, so it was a bit of an experiment to see if I could walk that line effectively, while still telling an intensely character specific story about the boys.

ReplyThread Parent
Sam Winchester: Needs no ruler
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 09:52 pm (UTC)

Oh, dodger. This was so good, and so unexpected, and I had to go back and re-read to make sure I understood all that was happening. What a lovely, moving story this is. Thank you for sharing it with us.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:54 pm (UTC)

Thanks. :D

I designed it specifically to try and motivate people to go back and retrack their steps and redefine their assumptions about what was going on. I consistently said exactly what was happening, but because the perspective was internal to a character who didn't see that, I was hoping it would make people miss the fact that I actually told everyone she'd been killed at least a dozen times. She just didn't realize it, so hopeufully, no one else would either.


ReplyThread Parent
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 10:36 pm (UTC)

HOLY CRAP. I had no idea. I just. Abuh. Can't sentence properly.

Just... yeah, I think this one will need to be re-read, at some point. This was an amazing story, as was its companion. I am stunned.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:55 pm (UTC)

Thanks. I love writing them both, but being able to completely redefine the first one by what happened in the second one was probably more fun that anyone ought to be allowed to have with fanfic.

I love Supernatural just because it lets us do things like this.

ReplyThread Parent
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 10:39 pm (UTC)

This got me JUST like Roadkill did--I SO did not see that coming!!

That was beautiful. I made myself late for an appointment just so I could read it so now I've gotta scoot. But thank you so much for sharing your talent and this beautiful story with us.

I'm so damned glad I found you. You renew my long dead hope that there actually are great writers working in fandom.

Bless you!! :: hugs you tight ::

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:58 pm (UTC)

Thanks. :D (sorry about the appointment though ... tell them I'm late for EVERYTHING, so it was all my fault).

I had a blast writing this one, and have been enjoying hearing when and where people have tumbled to where I was going with this. I was a bit worried I had broadcast my punched a little too clearly, so I've been chewing the nails a bit, waiting to see if I hoist myself by my own petard.

ReplyThread Parent

(no subject) - (Anonymous)
I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:30 pm (UTC)

Heh. Yes, she was. I actually worried about riding the brakes too hard with her just because I said at least twenty times that she was dead, there was no way she couldn't be dead, that was the last stupid choice she was ever going to make, etc, etc, etc; so I was a little worried tha the "why the fuck would she point that out?" factor of Normal Guy's response to finding HER shot-in-the-face body behind the counter when he didn't know it was there (because, asumabely, EVERYONE knew Ted was dead back there) would be pushing just one step too far and would tumble everyone to where I was going before I got there.

So yeah, Kelly was murdered immediately after she saved Dean's life by knocking into the counter and jarrng the shotgun off it's mark. Big Gun Guy whacked her for it, but Dean's need for her was so intense and she had such a personal connection with having experienced the same kind of need with her Aunt Sophie that she couldn't leave him, she had to stay.

Which is how this piece ended up titled STAY instead of the original title, which was DOLL, SWEET FACE AND THE MAN WITH LADY-KILLER SEX EYES.

Seriously. It's Been sitting on my computer for almost a year under that name. *snerk*

ReplyThread Parent
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:22 pm (UTC)

Okay...I didn't comment as I went along because I just wanted to be carried along and sucked in by the whole story. Which was awesome. I did NOT see the ending coming at all. In fact, I had to stop reading, scroll back up and reread - and then I went into some serious denial. I felt like Sammy crawling up into Kelly's lap. No, no, no...if I don't look that makes it not true.

*sniff* I loved 10 going on 13 but this, this was such a wonderful expansion on that. Your descriptions of Dean and Sammy in the aftermath of the shooting were fantastic. I loved Kelly's inner voice and the names she had for all the other patrons. I loved it all. And now I'm going to read it again.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:35 pm (UTC)

Thank you. I REALLY wanted to create exactly that dynamic. That you would hit a point in the story where you're going ... wait a minute ... and then, no, no, no, no ... and finally, aw FUCK! and so you have to go back and read the whole thing again so you can count up how many times I actually used the line "it's always the most obvious things that we miss"


Cause I had WAY fun saying that at every opportunity, but it also made me VERY twitchy that I was going to give my self away prematurely.

Hard line to walk, knowing howmuch is enough without being too mcuh, so I'm VERY pleased to hear I got you jst where I wanted you ... sitting in her lap right alone with Sammy, saying, "they are NOT right. I KNOW they aren't."

ReplyThread Parent Expand

(no subject) - (Anonymous)
I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:35 pm (UTC)

Thank you. I was hoping I hadn't tipped my hand before I was ready.

ReplyThread Parent
Just a Janelly
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:26 pm (UTC)

Aww. This was amazing. The kids were so real, and Kelly was perfect and just...wow.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:37 pm (UTC)

Thank ya much. I really didn't expect Sammy to sneak up as much as he did on this one. He kind of just wiggled his way in and charmed me without me realizing he was doing it. But Sammy's kind of like that for me, too.

I can see John and Dean both coming a mile away. But Sammy sneaks up on me on occasion. And he did in this particular story.

ReplyThread Parent
December 21st
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:35 pm (UTC)

Oh, wow.

That goes for all four parts. I've been too busy reading the fic to comment on the individual parts, but now that there's no more to read ... oh, wow.

This was amazing and powerful and I didn't even begin to guess where it was going (in spite of having seen "Roadkill") and when it went there it brought tears to my eyes. (That never happens, by the way.)

Becuase you created a person, a three-dimensional being that was so interesting, so real that I genuinely cared what happened to her.

And then she ... oh.

Oh wow.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Sun, Mar. 25th, 2007 11:38 pm (UTC)


I was a little worried that I might have created someone that was actually going to piss people off to find out where I was going, but I hoped the fact that I was playing this as a good resolution for her, rather than a tragic end, would balance the scales out to my favor. Or at least keep me from getting lynched. ;)

ReplyThread Parent
Mon, Mar. 26th, 2007 12:25 am (UTC)

Love the final twist. So sneaky and wonderful!

Somehow it wouldn't surprise me if Dean had the power to keep people around after death by sheer force of will and Winchester eyes!

I absolutely love the scene in the bathroom. So heart breaking and simple.

I'd Sell My Soul for a Blunt Instrument ...
Tue, Mar. 27th, 2007 09:19 am (UTC)

Thanks! LOL @ the idea of Dean being able to alter the physical laws of reality by pure charisma. Yep. If anybody could, it would be him. *snerk*

ReplyThread Parent