So guess what I started working on today.
Aug. 8th, 2013 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maychorianI've been writing a lot lately. Mostly original, because I want to re-form my life into the life I want--one where I can live off my writing. But I miss fanfiction, I miss Dean and Sam and Cas. Funny thing about writing is that once you get going, you don't run out--you just find more inside you.
So while I'm editing some original stuff, taking a break from writing that particular project, I'm trying to keep up the writing streak. So here's what's coming out.
It's not ready. At all. I'm thinking I'd actually like to treat it like a Big Bang, finish it, maybe find someone to do a little artwork, make a soundtrack--but yeah. I've missed fanfiction. So here's what just poured out of me, unedited, and maybe it looks like fun.
Coming Down on a Sunny Day
Book 3: The Children of Azazel
Castiel was trapped. He was surrounded by twisted white and gold, a typhoon of sensation wrapping him in coils of burning metal. And it burned, it burned like fire, it coiled like snakes, it tore like swords, a thousand swords, a million swords. All of them inescapable, indefatigable, because they were inside him. He was trapped inside of his own mind, writhing and twisting against the bonds that held his being trapped in fiery hands.
He wanted to scream. Maybe he did scream, somewhere beyond this, in the physical space where his body still existed, his vessel, Jimmy. Maybe Jimmy's mouth opened in a cry, a wrenching shriek of agony and terror. Castiel didn't know. He couldn't tell. He was unable to communicate with Jimmy for the first time in almost fourteen years, and that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Castiel's being convulsed in the conflagration that encased him, his mind pulsing with confusion and panic. He didn't know what this was, only that it was terrible and powerful and demonic. He was trapped and he was helpless, and he didn't know what was happening to his family.
Were they being attacked while he was held so helpless, unable to do anything to protect them? Was John holding the Colt against a threat, was Dean loading a shotgun with salt, spitting obscenities with twisted lips and raging eyes, was Sammy reciting the Psalms, the Lord's Prayer, warding against the dark in the signs Castiel had taught him? Was Jimmy...was Jimmy able to stand at all?
Jimmy didn't fight. He wasn't the warrior the rest of them were, not in a physical sense. When danger came, except on rare occasions, he stepped back and let Castiel take control of their body. How was he handling it now, with Castiel somehow separated, segregated, torn from the familiarity of Jimmy's mind?
Castiel fought harder, and if he'd had a physical heart it would have been pounding with fear and concern. He had to get out, he had to escape, he had to get back to Jimmy. But the molten gold prison just tightened around him, burning, tearing, immolating, and he was powerless in its implacable grip.
~*~
San Diego, California
March 1997
It was time to pull up stakes in another town. It was never Sammy's favorite day, but he understood the necessity, and he was looking forward to the next stop. Cas said the next guy was a special one. He wouldn't say why, of course--Cas never told Sammy why, just how and where and when and who and what--but Sammy trusted Cas just as strongly as he trusted Dad and Dean and Jimmy. Cas was his big brother. The oldest of his three big brothers, if you wanted to put it that way, though most people wouldn't.
The Winchesters had been invited to have dinner over at Lily's place before they left, which was nice. Sammy let Jimmy and Dean pack the car while he made brownies in the kitchen, a box mix from the grocery, eggs and oil, the rich smell of chocolate, the punchy scent of gas from the old stove when he lit it. You were always supposed to take something with you when you were a guest. It was one of the rules.
The timer was broken, so he stood there by the oven with a watch in his hand, leaning down now and again to check. Dean would be incredibly disappointed if the brownies burned. He'd had enough of what he called "Cas's cooking" when they were younger, before they learned to never let the biggest Winchester boy near any form of heat with any kind of food. Smoke invariably followed. Dad ruffled Sammy's hair on his way through the kitchen, an armful of binders trapped against his side, and Sammy looked up long enough to give him a grin.
He didn't burn the brownies
"C'mon, kiddo, daylight's wasting!" Dean's deep voice bellowed from outside, and Sammy rolled his eyes, carefully cutting the brownies into squares in the aluminum pan. He was using a pocketknife, the rest of their kitchen gear already packed up in the pickup truck Dad drove now, since he'd given Dean the Impala when he turned eighteen two months ago. Finally satisfied, Sammy lifted the pan by the edges, wincing a bit at the remaining heat, and hurried out to the driveway.
Dean leaned on the Impala's horn, waving out the window for Sammy to run. Castiel and Jimmy sat beside him in the Impala, as calm and serene as always, unblinking blue eyes watching Sammy come without pressure, just acceptance. Sammy stuck his tongue out at his brothers anyway and hopped into the front seat of the pickup to ride with his dad.
Dad laughed as Sam set the brownies down between them, then pulled his door shut. "Thanks for picking me, dude. I'd feel a little silly driving this big truck all by myself while all four of my sons took the other car."
"This huge truck makes everyone look silly, Dad."
Still, Sammy grinned, watching the Impala ahead as Dean led the way to Lily's house. He could see the backs of his brothers' heads, one sandy gold, one dark brown that was almost black. Dean was animated, talking and gesturing, fiddling with the radio, tapping his hands on the wheel, while Cas and Jimmy rarely moved, just nodding or listening. It was probably Cas in charge right now, then--Jimmy would fight over the radio and do his best to make Dean angry about something. That was one of Jimmy's favorite games, for a reason Sammy didn't quite understand yet. Maybe it was a big brother thing.
So while I'm editing some original stuff, taking a break from writing that particular project, I'm trying to keep up the writing streak. So here's what's coming out.
It's not ready. At all. I'm thinking I'd actually like to treat it like a Big Bang, finish it, maybe find someone to do a little artwork, make a soundtrack--but yeah. I've missed fanfiction. So here's what just poured out of me, unedited, and maybe it looks like fun.
Coming Down on a Sunny Day
Book 3: The Children of Azazel
Castiel was trapped. He was surrounded by twisted white and gold, a typhoon of sensation wrapping him in coils of burning metal. And it burned, it burned like fire, it coiled like snakes, it tore like swords, a thousand swords, a million swords. All of them inescapable, indefatigable, because they were inside him. He was trapped inside of his own mind, writhing and twisting against the bonds that held his being trapped in fiery hands.
He wanted to scream. Maybe he did scream, somewhere beyond this, in the physical space where his body still existed, his vessel, Jimmy. Maybe Jimmy's mouth opened in a cry, a wrenching shriek of agony and terror. Castiel didn't know. He couldn't tell. He was unable to communicate with Jimmy for the first time in almost fourteen years, and that was the most terrifying thing of all.
Castiel's being convulsed in the conflagration that encased him, his mind pulsing with confusion and panic. He didn't know what this was, only that it was terrible and powerful and demonic. He was trapped and he was helpless, and he didn't know what was happening to his family.
Were they being attacked while he was held so helpless, unable to do anything to protect them? Was John holding the Colt against a threat, was Dean loading a shotgun with salt, spitting obscenities with twisted lips and raging eyes, was Sammy reciting the Psalms, the Lord's Prayer, warding against the dark in the signs Castiel had taught him? Was Jimmy...was Jimmy able to stand at all?
Jimmy didn't fight. He wasn't the warrior the rest of them were, not in a physical sense. When danger came, except on rare occasions, he stepped back and let Castiel take control of their body. How was he handling it now, with Castiel somehow separated, segregated, torn from the familiarity of Jimmy's mind?
Castiel fought harder, and if he'd had a physical heart it would have been pounding with fear and concern. He had to get out, he had to escape, he had to get back to Jimmy. But the molten gold prison just tightened around him, burning, tearing, immolating, and he was powerless in its implacable grip.
~*~
San Diego, California
March 1997
It was time to pull up stakes in another town. It was never Sammy's favorite day, but he understood the necessity, and he was looking forward to the next stop. Cas said the next guy was a special one. He wouldn't say why, of course--Cas never told Sammy why, just how and where and when and who and what--but Sammy trusted Cas just as strongly as he trusted Dad and Dean and Jimmy. Cas was his big brother. The oldest of his three big brothers, if you wanted to put it that way, though most people wouldn't.
The Winchesters had been invited to have dinner over at Lily's place before they left, which was nice. Sammy let Jimmy and Dean pack the car while he made brownies in the kitchen, a box mix from the grocery, eggs and oil, the rich smell of chocolate, the punchy scent of gas from the old stove when he lit it. You were always supposed to take something with you when you were a guest. It was one of the rules.
The timer was broken, so he stood there by the oven with a watch in his hand, leaning down now and again to check. Dean would be incredibly disappointed if the brownies burned. He'd had enough of what he called "Cas's cooking" when they were younger, before they learned to never let the biggest Winchester boy near any form of heat with any kind of food. Smoke invariably followed. Dad ruffled Sammy's hair on his way through the kitchen, an armful of binders trapped against his side, and Sammy looked up long enough to give him a grin.
He didn't burn the brownies
"C'mon, kiddo, daylight's wasting!" Dean's deep voice bellowed from outside, and Sammy rolled his eyes, carefully cutting the brownies into squares in the aluminum pan. He was using a pocketknife, the rest of their kitchen gear already packed up in the pickup truck Dad drove now, since he'd given Dean the Impala when he turned eighteen two months ago. Finally satisfied, Sammy lifted the pan by the edges, wincing a bit at the remaining heat, and hurried out to the driveway.
Dean leaned on the Impala's horn, waving out the window for Sammy to run. Castiel and Jimmy sat beside him in the Impala, as calm and serene as always, unblinking blue eyes watching Sammy come without pressure, just acceptance. Sammy stuck his tongue out at his brothers anyway and hopped into the front seat of the pickup to ride with his dad.
Dad laughed as Sam set the brownies down between them, then pulled his door shut. "Thanks for picking me, dude. I'd feel a little silly driving this big truck all by myself while all four of my sons took the other car."
"This huge truck makes everyone look silly, Dad."
Still, Sammy grinned, watching the Impala ahead as Dean led the way to Lily's house. He could see the backs of his brothers' heads, one sandy gold, one dark brown that was almost black. Dean was animated, talking and gesturing, fiddling with the radio, tapping his hands on the wheel, while Cas and Jimmy rarely moved, just nodding or listening. It was probably Cas in charge right now, then--Jimmy would fight over the radio and do his best to make Dean angry about something. That was one of Jimmy's favorite games, for a reason Sammy didn't quite understand yet. Maybe it was a big brother thing.
