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crack_van2009-08-01 05:56 pm
liptonrm.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-08-01 05:56 pm
Entry tags:
Cross-country by Zillah (R)
Hi! I'm Lipton and I'll be your SPN Crack Van driver this month. I've been in the fandom since the first season of the show so I'll be reccing stories from all across the temporal continuum. The vast majority of this month's recs are Gen with a hefty helping of AU.
I've really been looking forward to driving the van and I hope you enjoy the ride!
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gen
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zillah975
Author Website: Zillah’s Fic Journal
Why this must be read: Dean and John survive a hunt only for even more horrible things to happen. This one'll kick you in the gut and squeeze your heart dry in that way that only great Winchester-fic can.
"Come on, Dad," he says, sliding John's arm over his shoulder and being careful of the wound. John grits his teeth and together they get him to his feet, the few steps over to the table. "Come on, I - yeah, there," he says, John perching on the edge to get the coats off, and then Dean's helping him lie down. John makes a sound that twists a knot in Dean's heart, and he bites the inside of his cheek and ignores it. "Hurts like fuck, I know," he mutters, "but I can do it better with you up here than hunkering on the floor."
"Watch your language, Dean," John grits, wincing, but then he's laying back and Dean grabs one of the coats and pushes it under John's head for a pillow. He hangs the lantern on one of a pair of hooks that must've been meant for a gun when they were put there, then gets the first aid kit.
It takes longer than he'd figured it would, careful stitches like a gruesome needlepoint trailing up John's side, and when he's finished he's exhausted, John half-unconscious, but at least the fire's still going and the room's not filling up with smoke. His hands are starting to shake as he puts clean bandages over the wound, and when he's done he pulls the sides of the blanket up to cover John, drapes John's coat over him. He gets his pistol from the floor where he'd left it while he worked and shoves it into the back of his jeans under the shirt, then gets his cut-down shotgun out of its sling and settles down to lean against the wall facing the door, the gun across his knees.
He doesn't remember closing his eyes, and he never even hears the careful scuff of boots on the steps. By the time he's awake, he's already staring down the barrel of a gun and it's way too late to do anything about it.
Cross-country
I've really been looking forward to driving the van and I hope you enjoy the ride!
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Gen
Author on LJ:
zillah975Author Website: Zillah’s Fic Journal
Why this must be read: Dean and John survive a hunt only for even more horrible things to happen. This one'll kick you in the gut and squeeze your heart dry in that way that only great Winchester-fic can.
"Come on, Dad," he says, sliding John's arm over his shoulder and being careful of the wound. John grits his teeth and together they get him to his feet, the few steps over to the table. "Come on, I - yeah, there," he says, John perching on the edge to get the coats off, and then Dean's helping him lie down. John makes a sound that twists a knot in Dean's heart, and he bites the inside of his cheek and ignores it. "Hurts like fuck, I know," he mutters, "but I can do it better with you up here than hunkering on the floor."
"Watch your language, Dean," John grits, wincing, but then he's laying back and Dean grabs one of the coats and pushes it under John's head for a pillow. He hangs the lantern on one of a pair of hooks that must've been meant for a gun when they were put there, then gets the first aid kit.
It takes longer than he'd figured it would, careful stitches like a gruesome needlepoint trailing up John's side, and when he's finished he's exhausted, John half-unconscious, but at least the fire's still going and the room's not filling up with smoke. His hands are starting to shake as he puts clean bandages over the wound, and when he's done he pulls the sides of the blanket up to cover John, drapes John's coat over him. He gets his pistol from the floor where he'd left it while he worked and shoves it into the back of his jeans under the shirt, then gets his cut-down shotgun out of its sling and settles down to lean against the wall facing the door, the gun across his knees.
He doesn't remember closing his eyes, and he never even hears the careful scuff of boots on the steps. By the time he's awake, he's already staring down the barrel of a gun and it's way too late to do anything about it.