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Or is currently happening, or might have already happened? I'm not sure with the time difference but y'know, whatever.
Okay, to celebrate this allegedly exciting thing, I was going to have some kind of finished fic but... I don't.
So here, have the beginnings of three things I'm writing that I am *really* liking at the moment and will probably be the next three stories you see from me.
The Daemon story - might end up being Sam/Dean - it hasn't told me yet
The first time Dean hears about the man with no daemon is when he overhears two hunters discussing the best way to kill him.
"I hear he's good with knives," Bart Fellows says before taking a sip of whatever rotgut was his poison of choice.
"You know what happens to guys with knives. They get shot," Shelby Ashton rejoinders, intentionally or more likely unintentionally quoting a Tarantino movie.
Dean's expecting to feel appalled, and he is at the casual manner these two grizzled old guys discuss putting someone down, but he's also intrigued because from all accounts, the man is a hunter himself.
"Just gives me the heebies," Bart continues.
Possession's always a possibility with folk who are still upright and have no daemons. Poor sods don't have a chance once the hell spawn takes up residence, cleaving themselves between the person and their daemon so violently that the daemon never survives. If the hall spawn vacates while the body's still ticking then all that's usually left is a gibbering shell that doesn't survive much longer itself.
Shapeshifters, boogeymen and some harpies could appear as two legs and all would be without daemons of their own. Werewolves had 'em but they were so twisted out of true that you just knew something was up looking at them.
None of those were likely to travel the countryside, killing evil things.
--
The Sam Winchester/Jensen story - yeah I know
Sam had vetoed each of his suggestions until all he was left with was pouring Sam a bowl of Captain Crunch and dousing it with milk. "This doesn't really count as making you breakfast," Jensen calls through the swing-door that leads from his kitchen into living room where Sam is sprawled out on his couch.
It was Jensen's thing, something he regarded as his little insurance policy. He always made breakfast the morning after, left them full and happy and possibly wanting to revisit the experience. He was being thwarted, which Sam seemed intent on doing at every turn of Jensen's patented, tried and true seduction technique.
--
And yes, the Robot!Dean story
-- Prologue --
When Sammy was small, he asked why the bigger kids wouldn't play with Dean.
"It's 'cause I'm not real," Dean replied and Sammy scrunched up his face and tilted his head in that way of his that meant that he didn't really understand.
"When are you gonna be real?" Sammy finally asked, obviously deciding that questioning Dean on exactly what that meant wasn't as important as the matter of time.
Dean had to think about it, because he knew a lot of things but that was one question where he was coming up blank.
Later, he'll wish he had told Sammy that actually, screw what those other kids thought, he was real.
He was real from the moment John Winchester tucked Sammy into his arms and told him to run.
---
Dean knows exactly when his Create Date is, down to the second he first came online. There were a few snatches of light and voices before his actual first permanent power on but he doesn't count that.
He's wondering if that's what Sammy means when he asks Dean when his birthday is while he's studiously coloring.
Sammy often asks questions that could be answered a number of ways and stun Dean into silence while he weighs all his options. Either Sammy will clarify when he's sick of Dean trying to parse what Sammy actually wants to know or he'll forget he asked anything in the first place.
This one though? Sammy has paused in his work, one purple crayon gripped in his fist and he's just looking at Dean levelly.
"I'm... not sure I have one?" Dean finally relents. It's hard for him to say I don't know because he's a Big Brother, he's supposed to have all the answers.
Sammy blinks and then rolls his eyes. "Of course you have one, dummy," he dismisses. "Everyone has a birthday."
"Maybe John knows," Dean says noncomittaly, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. He's seen John do the exact same thing when he's been asked a tricky question and Dean's wondering if it's a human way to jog something loose. "Might've been in the manual."
Sammy blows a breath out which all too briefly pushes his bangs out of his face. "You're so weird," Sammy announces, which has become his favourite thing to say of late. He's pronounced Dean weird on a number of occasions now, including but not exclusive to when Dean ate dirt, was good at math and wanted to hang out with Sammy instead of making friends of his own.
Dean knows that in an abstract way, Sammy gets that Dean isn't your regular kid, but he still seems completely startled when Dean does something out of the ordinary.
Like, know if he has a birthday or not.
"Fine," Sam huffs. "We can make one up."
"Really?" Dean asks, because he likes the idea of Sammy giving him a birthday.
"Totally," Sammy says, nodding. "What's your favourite month?"
"I don't have one."
"Geez," Sammy groans in defeat, dropping his face into his mattress.
---
Version 1.0
The idea of sleep has always been fascinating to Dean.
He knows that Sam needs it to function, that his higher functions will cease to work without it but it's always been a bit of an odd concept. Dean can understand being able to switch off a machine but a person actually lying down with the soul aim to become comatose for a set period of time is, well, intriguing.
In short, when Sam actually does manage to sleep these days, Dean usually watches him and Sam thinks it's creepy. There's no convincing Sam that he's interested from a purely scientific perspective.
Sam is convinced that it's Dean's weird way of making sure he doesn't go anywhere. That no matter how many times Sam swears up and down that he's not going to leave Dean on the side of the road in a box marked Goodwill, Dean is still waiting for that day.
Dean is still waiting for that day, but that's beside the point.
"You don't sleep enough," Dean says, for the seven thousand, six hundred and fifty sixth time, but who's counting.
"Maybe it's because I can't with my creepy brother staring at me," Sam grumbles from the passenger side of the Impala. He's curled into an awkward comma with a book resting on the knee threatening to smack him in the face if they hit a large pothole.
Okay, to celebrate this allegedly exciting thing, I was going to have some kind of finished fic but... I don't.
So here, have the beginnings of three things I'm writing that I am *really* liking at the moment and will probably be the next three stories you see from me.
The Daemon story - might end up being Sam/Dean - it hasn't told me yet
The first time Dean hears about the man with no daemon is when he overhears two hunters discussing the best way to kill him.
"I hear he's good with knives," Bart Fellows says before taking a sip of whatever rotgut was his poison of choice.
"You know what happens to guys with knives. They get shot," Shelby Ashton rejoinders, intentionally or more likely unintentionally quoting a Tarantino movie.
Dean's expecting to feel appalled, and he is at the casual manner these two grizzled old guys discuss putting someone down, but he's also intrigued because from all accounts, the man is a hunter himself.
"Just gives me the heebies," Bart continues.
Possession's always a possibility with folk who are still upright and have no daemons. Poor sods don't have a chance once the hell spawn takes up residence, cleaving themselves between the person and their daemon so violently that the daemon never survives. If the hall spawn vacates while the body's still ticking then all that's usually left is a gibbering shell that doesn't survive much longer itself.
Shapeshifters, boogeymen and some harpies could appear as two legs and all would be without daemons of their own. Werewolves had 'em but they were so twisted out of true that you just knew something was up looking at them.
None of those were likely to travel the countryside, killing evil things.
--
The Sam Winchester/Jensen story - yeah I know
Sam had vetoed each of his suggestions until all he was left with was pouring Sam a bowl of Captain Crunch and dousing it with milk. "This doesn't really count as making you breakfast," Jensen calls through the swing-door that leads from his kitchen into living room where Sam is sprawled out on his couch.
It was Jensen's thing, something he regarded as his little insurance policy. He always made breakfast the morning after, left them full and happy and possibly wanting to revisit the experience. He was being thwarted, which Sam seemed intent on doing at every turn of Jensen's patented, tried and true seduction technique.
--
And yes, the Robot!Dean story
-- Prologue --
When Sammy was small, he asked why the bigger kids wouldn't play with Dean.
"It's 'cause I'm not real," Dean replied and Sammy scrunched up his face and tilted his head in that way of his that meant that he didn't really understand.
"When are you gonna be real?" Sammy finally asked, obviously deciding that questioning Dean on exactly what that meant wasn't as important as the matter of time.
Dean had to think about it, because he knew a lot of things but that was one question where he was coming up blank.
Later, he'll wish he had told Sammy that actually, screw what those other kids thought, he was real.
He was real from the moment John Winchester tucked Sammy into his arms and told him to run.
Dean knows exactly when his Create Date is, down to the second he first came online. There were a few snatches of light and voices before his actual first permanent power on but he doesn't count that.
He's wondering if that's what Sammy means when he asks Dean when his birthday is while he's studiously coloring.
Sammy often asks questions that could be answered a number of ways and stun Dean into silence while he weighs all his options. Either Sammy will clarify when he's sick of Dean trying to parse what Sammy actually wants to know or he'll forget he asked anything in the first place.
This one though? Sammy has paused in his work, one purple crayon gripped in his fist and he's just looking at Dean levelly.
"I'm... not sure I have one?" Dean finally relents. It's hard for him to say I don't know because he's a Big Brother, he's supposed to have all the answers.
Sammy blinks and then rolls his eyes. "Of course you have one, dummy," he dismisses. "Everyone has a birthday."
"Maybe John knows," Dean says noncomittaly, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. He's seen John do the exact same thing when he's been asked a tricky question and Dean's wondering if it's a human way to jog something loose. "Might've been in the manual."
Sammy blows a breath out which all too briefly pushes his bangs out of his face. "You're so weird," Sammy announces, which has become his favourite thing to say of late. He's pronounced Dean weird on a number of occasions now, including but not exclusive to when Dean ate dirt, was good at math and wanted to hang out with Sammy instead of making friends of his own.
Dean knows that in an abstract way, Sammy gets that Dean isn't your regular kid, but he still seems completely startled when Dean does something out of the ordinary.
Like, know if he has a birthday or not.
"Fine," Sam huffs. "We can make one up."
"Really?" Dean asks, because he likes the idea of Sammy giving him a birthday.
"Totally," Sammy says, nodding. "What's your favourite month?"
"I don't have one."
"Geez," Sammy groans in defeat, dropping his face into his mattress.
Version 1.0
The idea of sleep has always been fascinating to Dean.
He knows that Sam needs it to function, that his higher functions will cease to work without it but it's always been a bit of an odd concept. Dean can understand being able to switch off a machine but a person actually lying down with the soul aim to become comatose for a set period of time is, well, intriguing.
In short, when Sam actually does manage to sleep these days, Dean usually watches him and Sam thinks it's creepy. There's no convincing Sam that he's interested from a purely scientific perspective.
Sam is convinced that it's Dean's weird way of making sure he doesn't go anywhere. That no matter how many times Sam swears up and down that he's not going to leave Dean on the side of the road in a box marked Goodwill, Dean is still waiting for that day.
Dean is still waiting for that day, but that's beside the point.
"You don't sleep enough," Dean says, for the seven thousand, six hundred and fifty sixth time, but who's counting.
"Maybe it's because I can't with my creepy brother staring at me," Sam grumbles from the passenger side of the Impala. He's curled into an awkward comma with a book resting on the knee threatening to smack him in the face if they hit a large pothole.