![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dust_of_lifeUnderstanding Dean Winchester came in drips and drabs. Many of the things that Fatima had once turned up her nose at, she was beginning to understand. Scamming credit? Her aversion was put aside as soon as she put on her new dress. His insane obsession with the Impala? That one was still a bit of a work in progress.
She was making some progress though.
The newest motel felt claustrophobic. She couldn't stand the drab, olive green wallpaper, striped with orange and yellow. Her room only had one window, and it faced a brick wall, not five feet away. After an hour inside, she was ready to start scratching at the walls. When she stepped outside and saw the car sitting in the lot, it felt like a strange sort of refuge. She'd probably spent more time in the car, in the last few weeks, than any other one place consistently, since arriving in the world.
Letting herself into the backseat, she exhaled softly, leaning her head against the back of the bench. The weight on her chest eased up. She'd never really considered herself some kind of pampered princess. She liked to think that she was good at roughing it.
But that wallpaper...
Shaking her head, she pulled one of her notebooks out of the seat pocket in front of her. She and Sam had gone over all of them now, supplementing her Zelien memories with the ones that had resurfaced for him. It was a more comprehensive picture now, the timeline leading up to the Apocalypse. It was, by no means, complete. But she felt like they'd taken a big step in the right direction. You couldn't very well avert something unless you knew what it was you were trying to avoid.
But then, among the three of them, they'd been avoiding a lot of other things...
She was making some progress though.
The newest motel felt claustrophobic. She couldn't stand the drab, olive green wallpaper, striped with orange and yellow. Her room only had one window, and it faced a brick wall, not five feet away. After an hour inside, she was ready to start scratching at the walls. When she stepped outside and saw the car sitting in the lot, it felt like a strange sort of refuge. She'd probably spent more time in the car, in the last few weeks, than any other one place consistently, since arriving in the world.
Letting herself into the backseat, she exhaled softly, leaning her head against the back of the bench. The weight on her chest eased up. She'd never really considered herself some kind of pampered princess. She liked to think that she was good at roughing it.
But that wallpaper...
Shaking her head, she pulled one of her notebooks out of the seat pocket in front of her. She and Sam had gone over all of them now, supplementing her Zelien memories with the ones that had resurfaced for him. It was a more comprehensive picture now, the timeline leading up to the Apocalypse. It was, by no means, complete. But she felt like they'd taken a big step in the right direction. You couldn't very well avert something unless you knew what it was you were trying to avoid.
But then, among the three of them, they'd been avoiding a lot of other things...
Bloodlust: Remastered
Nov. 29th, 2014 06:12 pmdust_of_lifeTo say that the last week or two had been stressful was more or less of the equivalent of calling the Titanic a minor mishap. Getting Sam back had been a dream come true. Getting a side of Dean? That was a little bit more complicated.
After a few whispered conversations, Fatima and Sam agreed that they needed to wait to tell Dean about Zelien and Haven. And that they were sleeping together. Fatima was pretty sure Dean was suspecting the latter. She didn't know what to do or say about the former. Given how hard it had been to convince Sam, who had been there, she wasn't sure anything would sell Dean. Short of his brother's word.
That was problematic right now, since Sam had been missing for twelve hours. As much as Fatima tried to reassure herself that he was a big bad demon hunter who could take care of himself, her old biases about anything involving vampires left her feeling queasy and anxious. For a very long time, she found herself sitting in the hotel room, staring at her phone and willing Sam to call. He was an hour late to check in. Then two hours. Then three.
And then she couldn't sit still any more.
Fatima let herself into the boys' room. Sam had begun to explain this world's lore about vampires to her and she didn't have the right supplies. She thought she would check their weapon cache. But then something else caught her attention. Sitting on the nightstand, beside Dean's bed (she assumed it was Dean's since it was unmade), she saw the journal Sam usually consulted. She'd never gotten a proper look at it, but knew it contained a lot of information about the supernatural, in this world.
An answer?
Well, it was possible.
Uncertainly, she walked over and picked it up, flipping it open to a page at random.
After a few whispered conversations, Fatima and Sam agreed that they needed to wait to tell Dean about Zelien and Haven. And that they were sleeping together. Fatima was pretty sure Dean was suspecting the latter. She didn't know what to do or say about the former. Given how hard it had been to convince Sam, who had been there, she wasn't sure anything would sell Dean. Short of his brother's word.
That was problematic right now, since Sam had been missing for twelve hours. As much as Fatima tried to reassure herself that he was a big bad demon hunter who could take care of himself, her old biases about anything involving vampires left her feeling queasy and anxious. For a very long time, she found herself sitting in the hotel room, staring at her phone and willing Sam to call. He was an hour late to check in. Then two hours. Then three.
And then she couldn't sit still any more.
Fatima let herself into the boys' room. Sam had begun to explain this world's lore about vampires to her and she didn't have the right supplies. She thought she would check their weapon cache. But then something else caught her attention. Sitting on the nightstand, beside Dean's bed (she assumed it was Dean's since it was unmade), she saw the journal Sam usually consulted. She'd never gotten a proper look at it, but knew it contained a lot of information about the supernatural, in this world.
An answer?
Well, it was possible.
Uncertainly, she walked over and picked it up, flipping it open to a page at random.
In the beginning
Nov. 1st, 2014 11:36 pmrunsawayTheir father was dead.
Really, what else could he say? Or think about? Dean isn't acknowledging it and Sam is, perhaps, overcompensating for his own failures to be a "good son" in their father's eyes. But for however often they would butt heads, Sam never wanted him dead. It's what brought him on this wild search in the first place, wasn't it? Dad's gone on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days. John Winchester didn't die, he wasn't supposed to.
But he was.
And all they had left were the broken pieces of their family, bits and clues of what he had been up to and what he'd found. His journal is as important as ever and finally being able to crack John's cellphone revealed a new lead to follow. Ellen. So they headed to Nebraska in a loaner van Bobby had gotten up and running. The impala was a work in progress and Dean wouldn't let Sam lend a hand. Guess they each had their own ways of coping.
The rickety old van rolled up to an equally old building, classic side of the road bar. Roadhouse seemed an appropriate name, though they didn't know what they were going to find. Sam stepped out of the passenger side and squinted, the bright light of the mid-afternoon trying to blind him and highlighted the injuries on his face that had yet to heal. Something to remind him of the car accident (as if he needed anything else).
"Guess this is it," he says unnecessarily.
Dean steps out of the other side and shuts the van door with a slam. The sound itself seems to remind him that this is, in fact, not his vehicle of choice.
"I feel like a damned soccer mom." Just missing the mom jeans.
Sam gives a bemused huff as he glances across the hood towards his brother. For as grave as the situation feels, is, there's still some room for their normal quips if they're feeling up for it. Something makes Sam want to appreciate it more, though he can't pinpoint just on why.
"Ready?" Dean asks, making sure to slide a pistol into the back of his jeans. Sam simply nods in response as they step up towards the entrance.
Really, what else could he say? Or think about? Dean isn't acknowledging it and Sam is, perhaps, overcompensating for his own failures to be a "good son" in their father's eyes. But for however often they would butt heads, Sam never wanted him dead. It's what brought him on this wild search in the first place, wasn't it? Dad's gone on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days. John Winchester didn't die, he wasn't supposed to.
But he was.
And all they had left were the broken pieces of their family, bits and clues of what he had been up to and what he'd found. His journal is as important as ever and finally being able to crack John's cellphone revealed a new lead to follow. Ellen. So they headed to Nebraska in a loaner van Bobby had gotten up and running. The impala was a work in progress and Dean wouldn't let Sam lend a hand. Guess they each had their own ways of coping.
The rickety old van rolled up to an equally old building, classic side of the road bar. Roadhouse seemed an appropriate name, though they didn't know what they were going to find. Sam stepped out of the passenger side and squinted, the bright light of the mid-afternoon trying to blind him and highlighted the injuries on his face that had yet to heal. Something to remind him of the car accident (as if he needed anything else).
"Guess this is it," he says unnecessarily.
Dean steps out of the other side and shuts the van door with a slam. The sound itself seems to remind him that this is, in fact, not his vehicle of choice.
"I feel like a damned soccer mom." Just missing the mom jeans.
Sam gives a bemused huff as he glances across the hood towards his brother. For as grave as the situation feels, is, there's still some room for their normal quips if they're feeling up for it. Something makes Sam want to appreciate it more, though he can't pinpoint just on why.
"Ready?" Dean asks, making sure to slide a pistol into the back of his jeans. Sam simply nods in response as they step up towards the entrance.
