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 Posted: Sun May 20, 2007 2:14 pm
Dean got dunked. *giglle, giggle*, whered my pain killers go?
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Posted: Mon May 21, 2007 8:52 am
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural blah blah blah…ON WITH THE FIC! Songs used are Skillet-Whispers In The Dark, and 3 Doors Down- Let Me Go.
Blue Moon
Chapter 7- Hunting Waskalwy Werewolves
Hear my whispers in the dark…
The moon hung high overhead. Combined with my night vision, I could see everything perfectly.
Trying to ignore the bright orb’s sway, I moved swiftly behind a tree, reaching out with my senses. It was difficult because I had to stifle a giggle when I heard Dean whisper something about Elmer Fudd. “Be vewy vewy qwuiet, we’re hunting wascawly werewolves.”
God, sometimes I worry both about him AND for him. This is one of those times.
Ok, concentrate. On something OTHER than the sweat just beginning to bead on Dean’s skin, which was all to weird because from this distance I shouldn’t even know where he is. Sometimes I freak myself out.
Sam had just crushed a dandelion, 100 feet or so to my left. His elder brother was about as far off to my right, gun drawn and at the ready.
He was close. I could hear his heart beat racing out of rhythm, smell the aroma of earth, musk, and pack.
Before I could react, before I could even think, I was being pinned to a maple tree by 200 pounds of grey and black fur. His claws began to dig into my biceps, drawing tiny rivulets of blood and tearing a cry from my throat.
I lifted my legs and delivered a roundhouse kick to his chest in a blur of motion. He had only shifted half way, like the wolf-man in one of those 90’s horror movies, but a thousand times worse with no cheesy effects. My eyes stared right into his, mirroring their frozen hue.
The gun was gone, lost some where in the scuffle. I drew my own silver daggers, circling him dangerously, a complete predatory act. He launched his body towards me, and the dance began.
You'll never be alone
When darkness comes you know I'm never far
“Jesse!”
She didn’t respond. Damnit!
I ran, gun aimed in the direction of the fighting.
Stupid ******** werewolves.
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand
And you love me but you don't know who I am
I was trapped in a deadly tango. I dodged his blows, getting nicked every now and again. Nothing serious, barely a few cuts.
“Jesse!”
Dean. I froze, less then a second, but a moment was all he needed. Dazed and confused, I was without weapons, without movement, and without hope.
“You smell of another man. I will kill him,” he whispered, a fatal promise.
I laughed.
“If you killed everyman I’ve ever had sex with after I kicked your a** to the curb, there would be a serious dent in the attractive male population.”
“If that’s what it takes, then I shall do so. You belong to me Jesse, and no one else. Now, to take care of that mark…” he trailed off, lowering those ferocious jaws to the now maroon hickey on my neck.
Pounded into dry grass, skin twitching, eyes burning, heart racing, I did the one thing I could do.
I screamed.
I will be the one that's gonna find you…
By the time I got there she was pinned by that damned thing. Worse, if I shot it, I’d cap Jesse too. ********, furball!”
He lifted his head to face me, giving me a death glare that reminded me of some daughter’s father, or brother, or mother. The ‘you-deflowered-my-little-girl-get-out-before-I-castrate-you’ one.
Jesse took the opportunity to throw him into a tree. Damn. She was stronger then I gave her credit for. Remind me not to piss her off.
Somehow the b*****d was gone before I could even aim. I’ll say it again. Stupid ******** werewolves.
“You ok?”
She glared at me, a new level anger I hadn’t seen before. One I never wanted to see again.
“I’m fine! Go kill him damnit!”
Fine? She looked like someone had tried to make mince meat of her.
Blood ran down her arms until it dripped off her fingertips from a nice assortment of scratches and a set five jagged holes on each smooth bicep. Her jeans were ripped on her left thigh, a nice slash at least 7 inches long there soaked her jeans with blood. <******** up, Insecure, Nerotic, and Emotional you mean. You like you’ve just stepped out of a 90’s slasher flic.”
A gunshot interrupted the argument, stopping whatever was about to come out of those gorgeous lips. How the hell could I check her out when she was covered in blood? Dean, sometimes your just too hot for your own damn good.
Sam. Sammy was in trouble.
“Stay here,” I commanded, gone before she could say otherwise.
In my head there's only you now
This world falls on me…
Stay here?
He was kidding right? Some kind of a joke?
I found my fallen gun and my knives, stuffing them in their wrists sheaths and shoulder holster, respectively.
Couldn’t blame him much about the wounds though. I saw my reflection in one of the silver blades. I looked like Carrie, except the blood was mine.
What the hell was I supposed to say to comfort him? ‘Its ok hun, my lycanthropic healing will make it all better’?. Mmhm, sure, then DEAN will kill me instead of Eric. ******** perfect.
In any case, I ran after him, only to find everyone in a stand off. Eric held Sam in a headlock, while Dean was poised to take his head off with a sawed-off shotgun.
“How long do you think you can keep it from them?” Eric leered as I ran forward with my Browning aimed at his skull.
“Depends,” I said, stopping next to Dean, “How long do you think you’re gonna last?”
Sam was still blocking the shot. God ******** damnit!
And then he was gone, leaving behind only his disturbing laughter, and something else. A scent, sickly sweet, but I couldn’t place it.
“Jesse, you look like hell,” said the youngest brother, his eyes taking in my macabre look.
“Thanks Sam. Cause here I thought I looked dead sexy with blood dripping down my arms. Don’t feed my ego, its almost as bad as his,” I said with a grin, gesturing with my crimson thumb at his brother.
“C’mon, we’ll wrap those and clean you up at home,” said Dean, taking the point to the car. He wasn’t taking any chances. Bully for him.
“Aw Dean, are you concerned about my well being?”
I will be the one that's gonna hold you
“No,” I lied with a grin, “I just don’t want you bleeding on my seats.”
One more kiss could be the best thing
But one more lie could be the worst
And all these thoughts are never resting
And you're not something I deserve
We were in the bathroom offset from the kitchen. We being myself and Dean. I didn’t want to risk getting blood on the stairwell rug, it was an antique. I also tried to tell him I could handle it myself, but he wouldn’t have any of it.
I tried to set my mind elsewhere. But I could only concentrate on two things. One was the shirtless and slightly wet bare chest in front of me(the shirt had gotten soaked in the process of cleaning my wounds in the sink). Water drops beaded on the tanned, muscled, surface, and I was fighting every impulse not to lick them off.
The other thing was his touch. Every time his skin touched mine in any way it set of a thousand little electric pulses, sparks of white-hot heat demanding I take him.
I needed a shower. A cold one. NOW!
Suddenly I was snapped back to earth by the movement of his hands on the front of my jeans.
“Dean. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking your pants off,” he said, his voice carefully neutral, hiding a grin.
“We are not having sex in here, Sammy is right outside in the kitchen!”
“I need to look at that cut on your leg. Not like its anything new Jess,” he said as he had begun to call me. Still, he had a good point.
“Alright, but I can take off my own pants,”
Hey, I could. He had been careful not to bandage my joints, giving me maximum movement. I didn’t know if that was for hunting purposes, or for sexual benefits. Don’t think I wanted to find out either.
So there I stood, wearing only a black bra with matching satin undies. I would not be embarrassed. Just think of it as a bathing suit. Hell, had more to it then my bathing suit.
I sat up on top of my sink as instructed, too exhausted to fight with him. Besides, it made sense. He was way too tall to stoop, and no way in HELL was he getting on his knees before me in my current attire, or lack of.
His fingers touched my thigh, only inspecting the wound. That’s all it is damnit that’s it so brain stop having those ******** idea’s!!
I hate you God.
Despite the lies that you're making
Your love is mine for the taking…
My love is
A burning, consuming fire
The cut looked pretty bad. Big enough to probably need stitches, but I’m no doctor.
What I did know was that I had to get this done. Because Jesse needed to get some clothes on, or I could not be held responsible for my actions. Surprised I’ve gotten this far without trying something…yet.
“Is there a clinic in town?”
Her eyes widened just a bit.
“That bad?”
“Could need stitches.”
She shook her head, sending her crimson locks tumbling everywhere. Those silver gray orbs weren’t even a little concerned for her own well-being.
“I’ll be fine. Just wrap it up.”
I did. She was probably right. Hell the damn thing had already stopped bleeding, so it either wasn’t as deep as it looked, or Jesse was getting divine intervention.
When I tied off the knot my hand brushed her thigh, making her breath hitch. It was a total accident I…no, that was a lie. It was completely thought out before hand.
It was barely a second, that pause, but it was there. And it said volumes.
On her counter-top perch, she was only an inch or two shorter then me. I burned, no other words could describe it. We has just met yesterday, and there was so many damn things I didn’t even know about her. What I did know was this: I could not, WOULD not, lose her.
Any word or line didn’t seem to fit. Actions speak louder then words, so I acted, by taking those sweet, full, pale pink lips and crushing them with mine.
And no matter how hard I try
I can't escape these things inside I know…
When all the pieces fall apart
You will be the only one who knows
I was drowning in flames, any other phrase could never do it justice. God, I wasn’t even sure that one did, but it summed it up pretty accurately.
I was burning alive FROM Dean and drowning IN Dean all at once. Frightening and yet intoxicating, like some form of forbidden drug.
Forbidden. Prohibited. Off ******** limits. That’s what Dean was in reality. And all he ever would be.
I shoved at his chest, hard and forceful, breaking the illicit meeting of lips.
“Dean! What the hell?! This needs to STOP!”
He looked at me, green eyes soft, his expression one of complete innocence. It was a Sam face, and he wasn’t Sam, so why could he have that face? It seemed like cheating somehow.
“Why?”
Because if you know what I am you wouldn’t touch me. You wouldn’t kiss me. You’d look at me the same way you look at everything else you hunt. You would slip on that cold emotionless mask that lets you kill and do what you do every damn day, kill the supernatural.
If only things were so black and light, so simple. It seemed everyday brought a new shade of grey.
“Because it just does damnit. This is all your fault”
“Really?” said the Sam-Dean.
“Yes! You and your stupid hands that make me crazy and I sware it should be illegal in every ******** state for someone to be as attractive as you are! I bet if I go to a cross-road I’ll find damn good evidence that your entire form was crafted of sin cause no man can be as ******** irresistible as you are what is so ******** amusing?!”
He was grinning, that same melt-in-your-shoes(or in this case lack of) smirk that makes me want to smack and kiss him all at once.
“You are. Last night you felt something Jesse,” he said with relief, and something else. Triumph. Victory. Hope.
What the ******** hell was I supposed to say to that? There was no point in denying it again, because he would see right through it. If I told him how I felt, there was no way I was leaving this bathroom with what little remained of my clothes. If I told him why we couldn’t this, the truth, he’d shoot me. And he wouldn’t miss.
I said the only thing I could say.
“Goodnight Dean.”
And I left him there, walking calmly out of the bathroom, before dashing up to my bedroom, fighting every impulse to use all my speed. Running past Sammy in the kitchen in my skivvies was bad enough, but running past in a blur, I think they’d finally figure it out.
But Dean knew. He knew how I felt. I smelled his sheer joy, like a child on Christmas morning. Just like that child, I knew he wouldn’t give up. Fresh out of options, I did what I knew best.
I locked the door and ignored every moment of it.
(this was personally one of my favorite chapters to write, specially the Elmer Fudd reference. Noq go forth and COMMENT!)
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Posted: Sun Jun 10, 2007 8:20 am
I really love what I read. Do you mind if I print it so I can read it other than on the computer? I won't steal it I promise. I'll even write your name all over it if you want. Whatever- you decide.....
blaugh
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 6:55 pm
oh thats fine hun!
yes, its mine, well, not the SN parts, or the lyrics, but the rest is all 100% products of meh BRAIN!
heh
its cool, my bud Celina does the same thing
hell I do the same with a lot of the stuff I read so I have something to do in class ><
*runs off to post Ch8*
glad someones reading this on here!
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 6:59 pm
Disclaimer: Eight chapters in and loads of adoring fans, you’d think they’d let me in on a little piece, but despair, for I still do not own Supernatural. Songs used in this chapter are Taproot- Calling, and Hoobastank- Running Away.
Blue Moon
Chapter 8: Happy Anniversary
And what you want me to say I’ll never say
So what do you want from me?…
‘Cause you’ll never understand me
I awoke in a daze of emotion. Thoughts ran around my head like hamsters in gerbil wheels, spinning out new ideas and concoctions even wilder then the last. Little was certain. What I knew was my pillow was wet. In a moment I remembered how, I cried myself to sleep. Oh yeah, that. I also knew I had to get my lethargic a** out of bed.
Rolling off and falling on my back, I groped around under my bed till I found that familiar shoebox, taking my morning medicine and depositing the empty syringe in the nearby trashcan.
A quick shower and a change of clothes, I was entering my kitchen to find Sam working intensely on his laptop, while Dean was cooking breakfast. My stomach lurched at the smell of bacon and French toast.
“You cook? Why was I not informed?” I asked, filling a mug with hot coffee, followed by my usual loads of sugar and cream.
He grinned. “I have a lot of hidden talents,”
I couldn’t help but return a smile, and a blush. He was definitely talented all right, as I could unfortunately recall in perfect detail.
“How are you recovering?” Sam asked, looking up from his laptop.
He must have noticed the bandages. Most I took off before the shower, and yes, it hurt like someone poured liquid acid with quick silver on my skin.
The cuts, I counted 4 on my forearms and one on my left upper arm, were already healing nicely. The bleeding stopped and didn’t start again; it was enough for me. The nice puncturey claw wounds and the thigh scar still needed to be covered up.
“Better. Most of these look pretty cosmetic, probably won’t even scar,”
Dean nodded.
“Good. Now I’ve got one more reason to kill that sonuvabitch,” he smirked, handing me a plate of breakfast.
I shook my head as I sat down. The action made Sam’s eyes go wide. He must have seen my artillery.
Today was July 21st, the day Eric killed the last of my family, and turned me. I wasn’t taking any chances, hence, I was packing. My Browning High-Power loaded with silver Glazer Safety rounds was hidden in a shoulder draw holster. It blended in well with the black camisole, and the light green unbuttoned over shirt hid it perfectly. Until it blew back that is.
But we’re just reaching the tip of the surface. Silver daggers on each ankle, and another that resembled a short sword in a spine sheath. All I had to do was wear my hair down, and voila! Invisible sword.
“With all the research you’ve done on this gig, I’d figured you’d know,” I replied to the younger brother, chasing down the last of my toast with a hot cup of French Vanilla roast.
He nodded grimly. “I don’t blame you, just a bit surprised, that’s all.”
Dean took a seat, with enough food to feed me for a week, looking completely confused.
“What should we know, aside from—nice gun, Browning?”
I nodded, “Thanks. Nothing, just the date.”
“The day Eric killed her family,” replied Sam with a shy grin my way.
He said it for me, and I was eternally grateful. Sometimes you can say something and then your eyes get all watery, as much as you demand of them to do otherwise. Tear ducts are the most treacherous bastards since erasable pens. Write with one sometime, you’ll understand my analogy.
“And that, is never a good day.”
As I ate I noticed something, or nothing. Sam seemed very…withdrawn. Almost nervous.
It was probably nothing. I chalked it up to exhaustion and the armed female in the room. Hell, there was that, and the dash I made past him last night. Could have something to do with it.
After breakfast, I explained my plans to the brothers. They were both all for my run and hide scenario, which was perfect for me. Dean, however, still wanted to accompany me to the police station. I won the argument with the point that one hometown girl would have an easier time then an outsider, even if he was a Winchester.
So now I get to my current predicament, as I sped to the other side of town blaring Audioslave, thinking about the warm fuzzy feeling of breakfast with Dean.
I loved it, and yet hated it. I hated it because it caused me pain. Because it reminded me of everything I would be leaving behind.
Last night, while Dean called my cell phone 37 times (yes, 37, I counted twice) I packed. Cash, emergency passports, meds, clothes that would mix and match for every season, the usual chick stuff, plus the one back up gun not in my car; a Beretta 9 ml loaded for werewolves with extra clips of lead and iron. All of that went into a worn brown leather duffel bag, now stuffed under my bed.
I briefly considered leaving then, last night, before things got messy. But immediately nixed the idea. Until Eric was either dead or gone, I was staying. For better or worse. I prayed for the first, but betted on the latter.
Cause I did enough to show you that I
Was willing to give and sacrifice…
And when I get close, you turn away
There's nothing that I can do or say
“What he hells up with you Sam?”
You’d be asking your brother the same damn question if you were sitting on a wooden dock in the middle of a ******** lake instead of tracking down the ******** werewolf that tried to kill the woman you loved. Twice.
“I found something.”
“About Eric? Well hell you could have said that 15 minutes of walking ago!”
“No, Dean…about Jesse.”
Now it all made sense. Couldn’t have dead boy overhearing us now, could we?”
“What?”
“I was taking out the trash yesterday dude, and…I found a syringe.”
“You’re ******** kidding me.”
He was wrong. It was Jesse damnit, there had to be some logical explanation!
“Dean, I wish I was, but dude—”
“No, dude, its impossible. There’s no signs, she would have signs,”
“Look Dean, it could be nothing. She could be a diabetic, or, something!”
No s**t Sherlock! Jesse’s not at addict, and fish don’t walk. What else is new?
“Is there anyway to know for sure?”
“Yeah, I just need a few things. There’s a high school nearby, I can get them there. It’ll take some time to get the results though.”
“What about that, uh, the hacking!”
“Same deal. Whoever built Lunar Haven really knew what they were doing. I should be through by nightfall, hopefully.”
“Well then get crackin college boy.”
Your face is burned inside my brain
I lost my way
Your taste, a stamp flows through my veins…
I was sipping really bad coffee in David’s office, waiting for Sheriff Wilson to come back from his meeting. Half the force either glared at me, or checked out my a**. Most of the glaring party was women. Couldn’t blame them much there.
My arms were carefully folded across my chest the entire time I had entered, giving my pose a look of constriction. It was either that, or flash my gun. I could deal with a bad translation of body language.
“Hello David,” I greeted as he entered, setting my coffee down on the desk. I held out my hand, but got a hug instead.
“Please tell me that has a permit,” he whispered in my ear, completely neutral.
“The gun or the blade?”
He laughed, breaking the embrace. “Nevermind, forget I said anything. So, whats this about?”
“When you searched the crime scenes, did you ever pick up a sort of sweetish scent? Like a weird maple syrupy smell.”
“Not that I’ve heard of. You mean molasses?”
“Yes!”
Why hadn’t I thought of the sooner? I blame Dean.
“A lot of old warehouses scattered around town used to store molasses back in the 18th century. Check out the town records hall, or the historical center across town.”
“I’ll do that,” which was again, a lie. Why go to some foreign building when the expert on all things 18th century haunts my house?
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
He rose from his desk, shut the blinds, locked the door, and we spent the next forever going over the gory details.
We had lunch, deciding to catch up on old times. I told him of my college adventures, going for my degree in marine and wildlife biology. He told me of his rising talent in law enforcement, and the weirdest cases that happened in our hometown.
It was wonderful and freeing. For a few hours I felt normal. If you live the lie for long enough, eventually you start to believe it too.
By the time I got home the sun was already beginning to set. As planned, I grabbed a small backpack of supplies for the night, and with a goodbye from the boys, locked the basement door.
Fortunately, they were too distracted to even bother trying to look inside. Places to go, psychos to kill, I understood.
The sun was now a bleeding speck on the horizon, waiting to drop and leave me in the darkness at any moment. The worst part was, I didn’t care. All I wanted was on the other side of that door, cleaning his weapons for the “trillionth and one” time today as Danny delightfully put it.
I would NOT fall for Dean Winchester. I told myself this every second of everyday from the moment I laid eyes upon him. But this lie I couldn’t live in. Deep down I knew it was just that, a lie. In my heart I realized it was too late, and I had in fact fallen in love with the chauvinistic b*****d.
Shove the thoughts aside, I told myself. It was pointless. He may have care for, hell possibly love, nice human normal Jesse. But Jesse of the werewolf curse? I was gonna bet a big, fatal, no.
Shedding my clothes, I donned a pair of jeans that were a good two sizes to big, and one of my grandfathers old work shirts that hung down to my knees. After a fashion and a drink, I locked myself in a cage, waiting for the moon to rise.
So now I need you to tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you
I was loading my shotgun when I heard him.
“Dean! I think I’ve found something!”
Guess dead boys opinion didn’t matter anymore.
“Whats up?” I asked, looking over his shoulder at some color chart.
“Her account name is behind_blue_eyes. She’s the freaking admin Dean!”
“Meaning?”
“She run’s this entire ******** believeable.
Seriously. I didn’t believe it.
“Damn. She’s clever. Use it to lure out other werewolves, hell maybe Eric too.”
“No, Dean, that’s not it.”
Oh s**t. He had “the look”. The ‘I-have-something-to-tell-you-but-you-gotta-promise-not-to-kill-me’ look.
“What?” I snapped.
“The test results just came back on that syringe. There’s traces of silver and tranquilizer.”
“No.”
“Dean…”
“No! The test is wrong Sam, you ******** it up!”
“I tripled checked it Dean, there’s no mistake,” he answered, his voice carefully neutral as he handed me a key on some sort of necklace chain.
“Let me do this one for you, I owe you.”
Like hell he did. I grabbed my shotgun, and took the steps two at a time, despite my brothers protests. Jesse was human, damnit. This all had to be some huge mistake. All I was going to find was a very confused, possibly freaked out on account of the date, Jesse.
I was wrong.
To my left was a lab, bottles of different chemicals all neatly labeled. Right next to this were molds and a Bunsen burner for melting down silver to make bullets, just as our own dad had taught us years ago. Kinda ******** up how she could treat herself and kill her own kind on the same damn table space.
But that wasn’t the worse. No, not buy a ******** long shot. The worst was right in front of, bared for all to see.
What I saw down the barrel of my favorite shotgun was Jesse in a cage, her once grey orbs glowing ice blue. The exact ******** color Eric’s had been last night.
There was one difference in those eyes. Where his held hunger and ferocity, hers showed fear and defeat.
With that soft kind voice, tender and calm, she whispered.
“Please don’t kill me.”
(personally one of my favorite chapters of this story, the others would probably be 6 and 1, 7's pretty close though simply because of the Elmer Fudd reference. As always COMMENT!!! if you haven't noticed, I dont post till I get at LEAST one on here)
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