aaronlisa (aaronlisa) wrote in fic_variations, @ 2007-08-05 22:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | rd 1 - da/spn - dean/max |
[Dark Angel/SPN] Max/Dean - The Four Seasons
Title: The Beginning
Author: aaronlisa
Rating: FR13
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: the four seasons // Dean/Max
Spoilers: none
Warnings: some mild swearing
Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to James Cameron and company, while Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and company.
Author's Notes: Set mid-Season One of Dark Angel and post-Season Two of Supernatural.
Dean Winchester arrived in Seattle on a rainy and grey autumn day. There had been no conscious decision on his part, instead he had pointed the Impala in a random direction and eventually he had found himself in Seattle. He was tempted to turn the car around again and leave Seattle when he realized that it was still under martial law. But he stayed because in reality what major city in the United States wasn’t? Seattle was just more open about the fact than most. And dull and dreary Seattle offered him several opportunities that the little towns that he normally stuck to didn’t.
He didn’t admit to himself that he was tired of his life, tried of driving from one crap town to the next hunting ghosts, demons and other things that went bump in the night, tired of a lonely existence that went along with being a hunter, and tired of a thousand other unspoken complaints. Hunting in the post-Pulse world was harder in some respects than it had been before that fateful day in 2009 that had changed his world. More than ever, he needed someone to watch his back but his father and brother were both gone and he didn’t trust anyone enough to watch his back like they had.
His hands clenched reflexively on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as a surge of pain rushed through him like it always did whenever he thought about his family. Dean was the last one left and he wondered if he was cursed to walk a weary road alone forever in some twisted form of penance. He slowly exhaled through his nose as he let go of the steering wheel and he tried to convince himself that his thoughts had been caused by fatigue. He knew it was a lie but it’s all that he has to hold onto.
Dean surveys his surroundings and decides that the building across from him will serve as a place to get his bearings and maybe find a place to stay. He gets out of the car and makes his way across the street to enter Crash. It’s fairly empty at this hour, proving that the economy is slowly starting to improve ten years after the Pulse had destroyed it. He walks over to the bar and orders a shot of whiskey. It tastes horrible but there’s something soothing about the familiar burn as it slides down his throat.
It takes him twenty minutes and two more shots of the vile whiskey before he has his information. He turns to leave and bumps into a young woman with the most amazing eyes. She’s a looker but definitely too young for him and strangely that fact makes him feel even more tired than before. He mumbles a brief apology and starts to move out of her way when her arms shoots out and grabs hold of his arm. Dean looks down at her hand, and notices that her grip is surprisingly harder than he would have thought, and she snarls at him.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I think you have the wrong guy, sweetheart.”
”Who. Are. You?”
She bites out the words as if she wants to punch him and a hundred aliases rush through his mind. However, he’s tired and his real name is safe enough these days, especially since his record had been erased with the advent of the Pulse.
”Dean Winchester.”
He arches his eyebrow at her as she lets go of his arm. She continues to glare at him and he can’t understand why she’s so pissed at him. This is his first time in Seattle, and she’s got a face that he wouldn’t forget no matter how drunk he was, or how brief their encounter was.
“Did you want something?” Dean quietly asks.
“My mistake, I thought you were someone else.”
“I get that a lot,” Dean replies with a shrug.
“Sure, whatever.”
Her tone is dismissive and Dean isn’t in the mood to push the issue. Instead he leaves the bar but he can feel the weight of her angry gaze as he exits the bar. For the first time in a very long time, he feels alive and he contemplates heading back into the bar. Instead he runs a loving hand on the Impala before he gets into the car. He’s far too old at forty to get caught up in a girl who is clearly trouble.
**END**