SPN/His Dark Materials XOVER; gen; PG
Aug. 27th, 2008 11:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lunabee34I know, I know! This is unparalled single day postage for Lorraine.
But
I have answered the call and written to order a Supernatural/Pullman crossover.
Lyra is alone in the garden, the cold stone bench she sits on gradually numbing her thighs, when the air before her implodes and settles. She looks through the jagged scar over a bed of jonquils and thinks, “Will. Finally,” but the man who walks through the tear is not her Will. He is taller and he wears a leather jacket with the collar turned up to his ears and he looks more desolate than a man embraced by Specters. He holds a gun in his hand, something curious and gleaming, and Lyra is more interested than afraid.
“Sam?” the man says, and louder still, “Sam!”
Only quiet answers him, the unhurried music of Lyra’s breath, the sweet song of birds, the low hum of conversation from the street.
“Son of a bitch,” the man says and sinks wearily onto the bench opposite Lyra. “Wrong turn. Again.”
“How did you come here?” Lyra says. “You don’t have the Knife.”
The man grins tiredly and manipulates a lever on the gun with his thumb. The click echoes over the cobblestones. “I don’t need a knife, sweetheart.”
Lyra looks at the dark circles under his eyes, at the bloodstains on the knees of his breeches, at the sharp line of his jaw and she remembers a last embrace, a final goodbye, one possible future dismantled. “Who are you looking for?” she says.
The man scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “My brother. Sam.” A woman on the street laughs, low and mocking, and the gun trembles in his hand. “But he isn’t here. I’ve been everywhere, and I can’t find him.”
“Everywhere?” Lyra stands, the books in her lap falling to the earth unheeded. “You have made more than one hole?”
The man nods.
“You can’t,” she says. “You can’t. Everything will fall apart again.” She grips his shoulder through the leather of his coat and he presses the slender barrel of the gun against her wrist. Lyra ignores this. “You will destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to repair.”
The man stands, the gun still biting into her skin, and then he pushes Lyra away. “I know,” he says with one leg through the gash he’s made in space and time and then Lyra is alone, the strange perfume of another world mingling with nerine and winter jasmine.
But
I have answered the call and written to order a Supernatural/Pullman crossover.
Lyra is alone in the garden, the cold stone bench she sits on gradually numbing her thighs, when the air before her implodes and settles. She looks through the jagged scar over a bed of jonquils and thinks, “Will. Finally,” but the man who walks through the tear is not her Will. He is taller and he wears a leather jacket with the collar turned up to his ears and he looks more desolate than a man embraced by Specters. He holds a gun in his hand, something curious and gleaming, and Lyra is more interested than afraid.
“Sam?” the man says, and louder still, “Sam!”
Only quiet answers him, the unhurried music of Lyra’s breath, the sweet song of birds, the low hum of conversation from the street.
“Son of a bitch,” the man says and sinks wearily onto the bench opposite Lyra. “Wrong turn. Again.”
“How did you come here?” Lyra says. “You don’t have the Knife.”
The man grins tiredly and manipulates a lever on the gun with his thumb. The click echoes over the cobblestones. “I don’t need a knife, sweetheart.”
Lyra looks at the dark circles under his eyes, at the bloodstains on the knees of his breeches, at the sharp line of his jaw and she remembers a last embrace, a final goodbye, one possible future dismantled. “Who are you looking for?” she says.
The man scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “My brother. Sam.” A woman on the street laughs, low and mocking, and the gun trembles in his hand. “But he isn’t here. I’ve been everywhere, and I can’t find him.”
“Everywhere?” Lyra stands, the books in her lap falling to the earth unheeded. “You have made more than one hole?”
The man nods.
“You can’t,” she says. “You can’t. Everything will fall apart again.” She grips his shoulder through the leather of his coat and he presses the slender barrel of the gun against her wrist. Lyra ignores this. “You will destroy everything we’ve worked so hard to repair.”
The man stands, the gun still biting into her skin, and then he pushes Lyra away. “I know,” he says with one leg through the gash he’s made in space and time and then Lyra is alone, the strange perfume of another world mingling with nerine and winter jasmine.
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no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-29 01:35 am (UTC)I'm glad you like this. :)
I kept thinking that if the Colt can kill anything demonic, maybe it can punch through into other worlds as well. And I feel fairly certain Dean would unravel the space time continuum to find Sam.
:)
no subject
Date: 2008-09-06 08:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-07 04:10 pm (UTC)It's very much like your Bab5 crossover in terms of dense, horrific tragic summed up in a few lines LOL.
I just can't see these boys ever ever ever letting each other go. Ever.