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Fic: All The World's A Stage - Part 1/? - Morgan Dawn Livejournal:The Here And Now
The Here And Now
morgandawn
morgandawn
Fic: All The World's A Stage - Part 1/?

Trying an experiment here. I started a Supernatural story last year as part of the reel_spn challenge and never finished it. Writing has become increasingly hard for me. So I am posting what I have and who knows, it might actually spur me on. Or not. So no guarantees, whatsoever. Unbetaed and god knows how many errors I missed.

All The World's A Stage - Part 1/? (Gen)
by Morgan Dawn
1875 words
Summary: Sam and Dean have never examined their life script before. And why should they, they've been ad-libbing for years. But when destiny and free will collide, they are forced into a race against time to rewrite their future before it rewrites them.

Sam didn’t care how the conversation had started. He just knew he had to be the one to end it before they strangled each other.

“No! We’re not going sign up as pledges, Dean. That is so wrong in so many ways, I can hardly count.”

“OK, then count them,” Dean muttered around the slice of pizza he was scramming into his mouth. It was still hot and he took short huffing pants around the piece as he chewed.

Sam leaned back against the headboard. It rocked alarmingly before he managed to pin it in place with his shoulder. When they first checked in he had joked that if he leaned too hard in one direction, the room would topple over. But it seemed less funny with every shift and creak. The motel was sad even by their standards– beige carpets, patterned bedspreads to hide the stains, outdated future and beds that felt like they were falling apart. Even the TV was old and the manufacturer’s name –Zenith – could barely be read on the boxy remote which Dean refused to use because the loud clicking it made reminded him of roaches scurrying in the night. The programming was equally outdated – while the motel offered free premium channels, it could not afford HBO or Showtime. Instead the single premium channel seemed to be locked into endless rerunning movies from the 1980s and 1990s. But there was one free porn channel and Sam guessed that counted as something. Dean certainly thought it did.

He shoved his paper plate on the nightstand and grabbed a napkin. “First,” he said, “you’re too old to be a pledge.” He ignored Dean’s glare. “Second, your idea of fraternities was formed by watching Animal House- “

“-and American Pie 2” Dean interrupted, his mouth still full.

“-and trust me” Sam continued, “fraternities are more complex than what you see in the movies. You walk in there and start acting like a Belushi clone and they’ll kick you out.”

“They’d more likely kick you out – there’s a reason you don’t see geeks in fraternities. And then how would we figure out what’s killing them?” Dean was clearly gearing up for a protracted argument as he grabbed another piece of pizza and pulled it, dripping with cheese and fat, towards his mouth.

Sam waited until Dean was had opened his mouth before he delivered his final blow. “Oh and wait -pledge week is over Dean. The only way we’ll be able to get you in will be as the new janitor.” He counted Dean's single eye roll and lopsided glare as one for his win column and shut up. Always leave on a high note. And time it so your opponent had to finish chewing before speaking.

The TV flickered for a second and pulled Sam’s attention away. He reached for the remote before Dean’s inarticulate yelp stopped him. “Dean, you’ve already watched this movie last night. How many replays of girls and bees and fried green tomatoes in the Deep South can you stand?”

“Hey, don’t forget the cannibalism.” Dean answered making a smacking noise. “Mmmm…mmmmh great bar-bee-que.”

Sam leaned back and realized that the more he let Dean set the pace of the conversation, the longer he’d have to watch Dean eat. He rolled off his bed, feeling it slide and grabbed their research detailing the string of deaths. Newspaper reports, eyewitness statements and coroner reports (the latter being a bit harder to obtain, but not impossible) and a grainy photo that one fraternity member had taken of his newly deceased ‘brother’ with his cell phone before selling it to the tabloids. Carrying the papers over to the small table, he spread them out.

“Let’s forget about how we’re going to get in for a sec. Let’s figure who the next target will be and then decide.” He didn’t wait for agreement but kept talking, his focus on the map. “Five fraternities, with four deaths in three of them over the past month. That narrows it down to just two. Which means-”

“Which means - God Sam, you sound so...pompous. Not many janitors out there with college degrees. Perhaps you'd do better as a stripper. Frat houses always have strippers at their parties. And parties are where the dying is happening. Not rocket science to figure out where the next party.” Dean tossed his paper plate next to Sam’s on the nightstand and stretched comfortably.

“OK, so the where may not be hard, but what the fuck is up with the how? I mean, victim one is found drowned surrounded by blocks of ice. Victim 2 looks like he’s been cut in half by a chain saw although the corners report keeps adding and then scratching out comments about “huge ‘monster size’ teeth marks.”

“And don’t forget the salt water. Cannot forget the salt water.” Dean picked up the two paper plates and headed for the door. There was a trash bin next to the bathroom door but for all his weird food habits, Dean always tried to keep the room clear of food. Those damn roaches again.

Sam glanced back at the papers and sighed. Yeah. The salt water. But there was no water involving Victims 3 & 4. Just two new pledges, dressed in cowboy gear and riddled with bullets. The fraternity swore up and down the cowboy outfits had nothing to do with hazing, but Sam had his doubts. Even more so when one fraternity brother kept hinting at how ‘unusually close’ the two pledges had been. He wouldn’t put it past them to haze two suspected ‘fags’ to death. There were days where he wished they weren’t limited to only supernatural monsters. He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and looked up.

Dean was leaning in the doorway still holding the plates, looking back at Sam, his expression thoughtful. For a brief moment Sam thought he saw an echoing look of exhaustion and disgust flash across Dean's face and he wondered if Dean was thinking the same thing. But the moment passed, Dean set the plates down in the hallway, the door swung shut, and he was sauntering across the room with a small smirk. He stopped at the table and tapped on the map. “This one there. See, not that hard? It's the one with the next party. So who do you want to be – the janitor or the stripper?”

Sam gave him a fish-eyed look and jerked the map into a pile with the other papers. “Neither, because you’ll be the one going in first,” he said and nodded towards the empty pizza box that Dean had forgotten to toss outside. He saw real annoyance flare in Dean’s eyes and that finally ended it.

********

They sent Dean in first because he was – as Sam put it – smaller and less threatening. “Always send the short burglar first,” Sam argued. Quoting Dad against Dean was one of the smaller pleasures in life.

“But I am not a burglar. I am the pizza delivery guy. This makes no sense.” Dean had shot back in frustration. References to his height always made him peevish.

“Yes, but no matter how big the order, pizza delivery guys do not deliver in pairs. And you are shorter so….. I mean if you’re going to let some guy in the front door, even if he’s carrying ten pizzas, the shorter guy has a better chance of slipping into a back room unnoticed.”

“Dude, shut up about my height. That has nothing to do with this. It’s just because we couldn’t find a delivery uniform that fits you.” And Sam really couldn’t argue with that. Nor did he want to because the sight of Dean in his red and gold uniform with the cap (which he refused to wear on principle) more than made up for him having to wait – in the cold, at the back of house to be let in. Every since the deaths, the frat houses were employing actual security and were screening party-goers. So this meant shoving Dean into a humiliating uniform and Sam freezing his balls in the back while trying to conceal two shotguns filled with rock salt. Life certainly did have a way of balancing things out.

Of course, life didn't exactly provide for his extra long wait for Dean to unlock the door. Stepping into the hall, Sam noticed that Dean was looking unusually disheveled even accounting for him ditching the uniform. Almost as if he had been waylaid by something - or someone - on his way to letting Sam in. Dean's look of earnestness and ‘let’s focus on the job’ didn’t fool Sam one bit.

Sam still thought the sight of Dean dolled up in red and gold had been worth it, so he let it pass.

The fraternity house had been converted from an earlier private residence, built at a time where there were always two stairwells. A grand sweeping staircase for the owners of the house and a second, much narrower set of stairs for the servants. The steps were steep and on several occasions Sam almost tripped as he bent down to avoid hitting his head on the low turns. Dean moved swiftly and economically, heading up the stairs in front of Sam, sweeping each room with the EMF meter as he looked for signs of paranormal activity.

Surprisingly, they met no one as they moved from room to room and after an hour they returned to the second-floor to regroup. The party was in full swing on the first level and loud laughter, screeching, and music oozed up through the floorboards. It bore an uneasy resemblance to some of the gibberish one heard when exercising a demon. Dean signaled with the EMF meter towards an open room and Sam quickly scanned up and down the hallway before following him inside.

They shut the door behind them, and the noise muted slightly. The room was luxuriously decorated with a deep Persian rug that gave way softly beneath their feet. A DVD player, a large screen TV and tall speakers were positioned against one wall, and, shoved up against the opposite wall were a series of stacked chairs crammed next to a battered sofa. The center of the room had been cleared for something. Or someone.

Dean's eyes remained focused on the EMF reader for a few more seconds and Sam wondered if he had caught a glimpse of something. But then, with a sigh, Dean raised his eyes, looked around the room and shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know Sam, I got nothing.” He clicked the meter off and on several times in frustration. Sam had just started to reply when the meter gave off a loud screech. It started high and then kept going higher. When it reached a level where Sam’s eardrums began to hurt, there was a flash of light as the DVD player and the TV both turned on simultaneously. Sam raised his shotgun swiftly while Dean jumped to the center of the room so that they were standing almost back to back. The DVD player began to play and violin music that was strangely familiar poured from the speakers and washed around them. And then everything went to black.


part 2 here

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Comments
murielperun From: murielperun Date: October 7th, 2008 09:14 pm (UTC) (Link)
Salt water and huge teeth--I like what that suggests. And you picked a great moment to stop writing, BTW. ;-)

I hope you pick it up and finish it--hm, violin music. Now I have to know what the piece was.
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