Fic: Sunny days JDM/DW ch 3
Jul. 1st, 2007 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyjanellyfictional
PG-13
Jeff sits there, on the bathroom floor, holding Dean until his shaking stops, until the fight goes out of his shoulders. He lets Jeff help him up and doesn’t resist as he’s maneuvered into a bath-robe and sweat-pants. If he looked bad before, he’s hell warmed over, now, his eyes red-rimmed and his lips swollen and flushed. Jeff guides him back to the couch and Dean sits down, a frown between his eyebrows.
“So,” Dean says, “About that talk.”
Jeff takes a seat back on the chair. He wishes for the comfort of a good stiff drink, but he can’t risk being the slightest bit fuzzy-headed.
“How about I start,” Jeff offers, “And you tell me if I get something wrong.”
“Go for it.”
“I’m not John Winchester,” Jeff begins, “I’m Jeff Morgan. I never married; I don’t have any kids. I never knew your mother.” He takes a deep breath, wondering if he’s about to get punched. “I wasn’t there when she died. I didn’t put Sam in your arms and tell you to run.”
Dean’s face is guarded, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I’ve never fought demons. I didn’t raise you and your brother. I didn’t train you how to hunt and fight and kill.”
“Your brother’s special though,” Jeff continues, trying to show Dean that he understands where Dean’s coming from, that he will believe the strangeness Dean’s got to tell. “I know how hard you tried to keep him safe. What you said in the bathroom, I’m thinking something went wrong. The demon gate?”
Dean nods, swallows hard. “The demons got loose. A couple hundred, maybe. Slipped loose and scattered. We thought they’d settle close. Possess some locals, make some chaos, small-scale demon crap. Feed on the negative energy in the area or whatever it is they get out of fucking up peoples’ lives.” He takes a shuddering breath.
“They scattered further than we thought. Took over people in power. The president, some other guys in Washington. Key figures in Europe, god knows who else. A week later, it was war. Martial law. Food riots and half the country in power blackouts.”
Dean goes silent for a moment; whether he’s trying to remember something or decide how much to tell, Jeff’s not sure. “That was--fall sometime, two thousand six. Hell on earth.”
“We lost,” Dean rasps, “We lost and Sam sent me away so I wouldn’t die with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff says, “I know what he meant to you.”
Dean’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, about that. You mind tellin’ me how?”
Jeff’s been thinking about that. The DVD would probably be a little much, he figures, so he goes to the file cabinet of all the scripts he’s done or is considering doing. “There’s no easy way to say this,” Jeff tells him and passes the folder marked “Supernatural: Pilot” over.
Dean frowns, and turns to the title page. Jeff watches, as his eyes flick over the lines of type, as that frown deepens. The color fades from Dean’s face, all except a bright splash of red on each cheek like a slap-mark. He stops and turns back to the front, then leafs through to the end.
“What the fuck?” he asks when he’s done. He tosses the script on the coffee table--a sharp movement, barely controlled.
“You wanted to know how I knew you,” Jeff explains. He feels the first little shiver of worry. A pissed off Dean Winchester is the last thing he wants in his home.
“This--” Dean gestures at the scattered papers, “This is bullshit. This is my fucking life, dude, it’s not a TV show. I’m not--not crazy. I’m not some guy who watched Ghostbusters too many times.”
He moves to his feet, agitated. Bisou whines and presses against Jeff’s knee, not used to people yelling and bumping the furniture.
“Dean,” Jeff says, “I’m not saying you’re crazy. I’m not saying you watched too much TV. I’m saying I knew you were Dean Winchester as soon as you spoke.” His hands are out like he’s talking Dean down from a ledge.
Dean wobbles and collapses back on his ass on the couch. “I--this is too much.” And yeah, Jeff can imagine.
“Look,” says Jeff, “I know we’re not any kind of family. But unless you’ve got somewhere better to go, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. The spare bedroom’s a studio, but the couch is comfortable and the kitchen stocked.”
Dean nods, and Jeff isn’t sure if it’s an ‘okay I’ll stay’ nod or an ‘I believe you about the couch,’ nod. He holds his fingers out to Bisou, and she crawls over to accept his apology.
“I’m just gonna sit here a while,” Dean says, all his earlier fire gone. “If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Jeff tells him, “Sure. Look, I’ll give you some space, but I’m right out back if you need anything at all. Remote for the TV’s there; the laptop has the internet. Just--make yourself at home. I mean that.”
He tries to project just how much he wants Dean here, how much he wants him to stay. Dean nods again, and Jeff leaves him to process all this.
The sun’s still out, warm and unseasonably bright. Jeff sits out on the back porch for half an hour, reading through some scripts he might be interested in, making some calls to his agent. When he comes back in, he’s not all that surprised to find Dean gone.
PG-13
Jeff sits there, on the bathroom floor, holding Dean until his shaking stops, until the fight goes out of his shoulders. He lets Jeff help him up and doesn’t resist as he’s maneuvered into a bath-robe and sweat-pants. If he looked bad before, he’s hell warmed over, now, his eyes red-rimmed and his lips swollen and flushed. Jeff guides him back to the couch and Dean sits down, a frown between his eyebrows.
“So,” Dean says, “About that talk.”
Jeff takes a seat back on the chair. He wishes for the comfort of a good stiff drink, but he can’t risk being the slightest bit fuzzy-headed.
“How about I start,” Jeff offers, “And you tell me if I get something wrong.”
“Go for it.”
“I’m not John Winchester,” Jeff begins, “I’m Jeff Morgan. I never married; I don’t have any kids. I never knew your mother.” He takes a deep breath, wondering if he’s about to get punched. “I wasn’t there when she died. I didn’t put Sam in your arms and tell you to run.”
Dean’s face is guarded, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I’ve never fought demons. I didn’t raise you and your brother. I didn’t train you how to hunt and fight and kill.”
“Your brother’s special though,” Jeff continues, trying to show Dean that he understands where Dean’s coming from, that he will believe the strangeness Dean’s got to tell. “I know how hard you tried to keep him safe. What you said in the bathroom, I’m thinking something went wrong. The demon gate?”
Dean nods, swallows hard. “The demons got loose. A couple hundred, maybe. Slipped loose and scattered. We thought they’d settle close. Possess some locals, make some chaos, small-scale demon crap. Feed on the negative energy in the area or whatever it is they get out of fucking up peoples’ lives.” He takes a shuddering breath.
“They scattered further than we thought. Took over people in power. The president, some other guys in Washington. Key figures in Europe, god knows who else. A week later, it was war. Martial law. Food riots and half the country in power blackouts.”
Dean goes silent for a moment; whether he’s trying to remember something or decide how much to tell, Jeff’s not sure. “That was--fall sometime, two thousand six. Hell on earth.”
“We lost,” Dean rasps, “We lost and Sam sent me away so I wouldn’t die with him.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff says, “I know what he meant to you.”
Dean’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, about that. You mind tellin’ me how?”
Jeff’s been thinking about that. The DVD would probably be a little much, he figures, so he goes to the file cabinet of all the scripts he’s done or is considering doing. “There’s no easy way to say this,” Jeff tells him and passes the folder marked “Supernatural: Pilot” over.
Dean frowns, and turns to the title page. Jeff watches, as his eyes flick over the lines of type, as that frown deepens. The color fades from Dean’s face, all except a bright splash of red on each cheek like a slap-mark. He stops and turns back to the front, then leafs through to the end.
“What the fuck?” he asks when he’s done. He tosses the script on the coffee table--a sharp movement, barely controlled.
“You wanted to know how I knew you,” Jeff explains. He feels the first little shiver of worry. A pissed off Dean Winchester is the last thing he wants in his home.
“This--” Dean gestures at the scattered papers, “This is bullshit. This is my fucking life, dude, it’s not a TV show. I’m not--not crazy. I’m not some guy who watched Ghostbusters too many times.”
He moves to his feet, agitated. Bisou whines and presses against Jeff’s knee, not used to people yelling and bumping the furniture.
“Dean,” Jeff says, “I’m not saying you’re crazy. I’m not saying you watched too much TV. I’m saying I knew you were Dean Winchester as soon as you spoke.” His hands are out like he’s talking Dean down from a ledge.
Dean wobbles and collapses back on his ass on the couch. “I--this is too much.” And yeah, Jeff can imagine.
“Look,” says Jeff, “I know we’re not any kind of family. But unless you’ve got somewhere better to go, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. The spare bedroom’s a studio, but the couch is comfortable and the kitchen stocked.”
Dean nods, and Jeff isn’t sure if it’s an ‘okay I’ll stay’ nod or an ‘I believe you about the couch,’ nod. He holds his fingers out to Bisou, and she crawls over to accept his apology.
“I’m just gonna sit here a while,” Dean says, all his earlier fire gone. “If that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Jeff tells him, “Sure. Look, I’ll give you some space, but I’m right out back if you need anything at all. Remote for the TV’s there; the laptop has the internet. Just--make yourself at home. I mean that.”
He tries to project just how much he wants Dean here, how much he wants him to stay. Dean nods again, and Jeff leaves him to process all this.
The sun’s still out, warm and unseasonably bright. Jeff sits out on the back porch for half an hour, reading through some scripts he might be interested in, making some calls to his agent. When he comes back in, he’s not all that surprised to find Dean gone.
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long-winded, EVOL, enabling comments!
Date: 2007-09-18 03:33 am (UTC)I can see how this wouldn't be an easy series to continue, as the backstory is very bleak. I think the only way to really push the plot forward would be for Dean to accept that there's *nothing* he can do for his old world, even *if* he could get back. He has to grieve for Sam and his friends without any closure or graves to visit; and he has to make his life here, and Jeff would be a natural focus to start with.
Just the alieness of seeing things so similar, but safer in some ways, would be very strange to deal with. Would you have him be a hunter here, or would you rather take the angle that the supernatural isn't real like in his world? I can see either way working; hunting would give him an anchor of familiarity and feeling like he's being useful, but the "non" version could leave him more disoriented and possibly dependent as he strives to prove he's not crazy, it did all happen, and has to form more normal relationships with people, etc *considers*
I'm hoping this *will* continue as slash, in part because I love both Jeff and Dean and like 'em that way. Mostly, though, it's because I don't think I've ever seen any fics with them together; I've seen Jared and Jensen in any combination with Sam and Dean, and one fic with John meeting Jensen (lost it, though *pouts*) but not Jeff. So this would be an original take on the situation and I'm all for that. These guys being as hot as they are, it would be a crime not to make it slash, unless you end up really having to force the Muse for it. It's not like it would need to be graphic, fade-to-black works wonders. I'm a fan of discreet old romances. *grins*
After the initial surge of protectiveness because the guy looks like his friend Jensen/needs help/is really, really Dean who deserves to be taken care of, what would continue to draw Jeff to him? Well, there's the looks, 'cause these guys are both hot. Loneliness on both their parts and being fellows in a weird situation they can't easily reveal to others. Jeff, being a tender and caring guy who thinks it's damn time somebody looked after Dean for a change. (*scowls*) Dean's loving, generous nature eventually re-asserting itself, appreciating this man more than anybody else has before, maybe?
And, omigawd...the fact that Jeff *looks* like John, like his *daddy*, like a happier, more easy-going and open version of the dad he hero-worshipped and for whose approval he longed...that would complicate things, no? Would it make it easier to fall into bed with the guy (hellloo, Issues!) or harder, because dude. Really. It's weird.
Have you ever read cherry_scott's Damaged series? Dean meets Jared after Sam dies and they get together. Very well-written and emotionally rich. In her set-up, it works that Dean and Jared fit together extremely well; but in yours, like I said, I think it would be a mistake. Interesting how a vaguely similar premise of "Broken!Dean from the SPN world loses Sam and comes to our world" can create such different takes on a situation.
I've seen this before, but never broken!Sam in our world, without Dean. I don't wanna, either.
Any way you work on this, it's likely to be a slow write. But worth it! You're really building up a body of high-quality of work, it's been fascinating to watch.
Pesti
Re: long-winded, EVOL, enabling comments!
Date: 2007-09-21 10:07 pm (UTC)I replied to this in e-mail. Lemme know if you didn't get it.