I'm Not Very Good At This, Am I?

[rionaleonhart]

THIS ENTRY IS NOT GOING TO BE ABOUT INCEST. There has been too much incest in this journal lately.

'TALL TALES': AMAZING. I love it when the writers and actors have clearly had far too much fun with a particular episode. Trickster episodes are the best episodes. (The back-of-DVD blurb was rather amusing, too: Dean and Sam mysteriously start bickering like an old married couple. How sinister! THAT'S - THAT'S NOT INCEST; IT'S JUST A SIMILE.) It sort of makes me want to write an entire fic with Dean in the role of the highly unreliable narrator, but I imagine that would be terribly difficult to keep up for more than three seconds. Also, of course, it would never be able to equal that episode's sheer levels of amazingness.

SPEAKING OF THE AMAZINGNESS OF 'TALL TALES': the two sides of the bar scene on YouTube. SO MUCH JOY. And there are no spoilers! And it's only three minutes long! Meaning that you have very little excuse not to watch it. You like 'two characters tell the same story in different ways' scenes, don't you? Well, you should.

This episode may have made me into a bit of a Sam/Laptop 'shipper. (AND THE LAPTOP IS NOT RELATED TO SAM. I AM STRONG.) Because, you know, their love is true.

HERE IS A QUESTION FOR YOU: if they're both in the Impala, and Dean is driving, and Sam is using his laptop in the passenger seat, is it a foursome? OBVIOUSLY IT IS NOT AN ABSOLUTE FOURSOME, AS NO SAM/DEAN IS INVOLVED. THIS ENTRY IS NOT ABOUT INCEST IN ANY WAY.

Comments

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

Obviously, when you forsake your pairings, it causes such a great imbalance in the Force that I am compelled to adopt them. BEWAAAARE, RIONA. Your actions here have SRS METAPHYSICAL CONSEQUENCE!

[rionaleonhart]

In that case, I think I may have to carry on going 'NO INCEST' for as long as it takes for you to write a great big plotful angsty Sam/Dean fic.

That'll be about twenty minutes, then.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

asdfjkl; Damn.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

(Also, lol, icon. Wrong Sam.)

[rionaleonhart]

(WAY TO FILL MY HEAD WITH SAM TYLER/DEAN WINCHESTER, MAGI.)

[amy-wolf.livejournal.com]

How is that not good? They'd be brilliant! And not at all incestuous!

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

(MUAHAHAHAHAHAAA. They could fight both natural AND supernatural crime! And Sam T. is already well used to men who Love Their Cars.)

(Come on, as soon as Dean uttered the word "procedure," you know it'd be destined.)

[elfwhistletree.livejournal.com]

YES PLEASE ♥

[elfwhistletree.livejournal.com]

And Gene Hunt/Sam Winchester doesn't sound like a bad idea to me either ;-)

[rionaleonhart]

Sam would drive Gene mad, I swear. And Gene would constantly ruin Sam's attempts to get the witnesses to open up to them.

[elfwhistletree.livejournal.com]

So, not so different from Gene's relationship with Sam Tyler then, really, apart from the height difference going the other way ;-)

[amy-wolf.livejournal.com]

She will prod you forever in order to make you write stuff. We need to unite in demanding she write it herself. It's our only hope!

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

I actually suffer a -8 penalty to Will checks against writing fic. Though I have been putting some levels into Convince Riona To Fic. They may just be enough....

[amy-wolf.livejournal.com]

My best hope is that she's got me started on two incest-free Supernatural fic already, and I have a third one lined up for when I got far enough along in canon. If I'm too bogged down with non-incest, she won't make me write incest.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

In theory, I'm still writing her, like, 100k+ of Jack Harkness/Sam Tyler. (I'm not sure if I critical-hit that one or critical-missed it, but it's critical something.)

[amy-wolf.livejournal.com]

Yeah, the three fic are only for one fandom. Don't get me started on what I've got lined up for Top Gear.

And that doesn't even include the, "The presenters find Top Gear Slash, and all write fic," thing that she's always asking me to write.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

I did that one! ...think there's some list of Obligatory Fic For Existing Around Riona? It might be useful to know :P.

[amy-wolf.livejournal.com]

She should draw up a list. Although I think you can get exemptions if your own imagination produces sufficiently weird stuff, like squidfic and carpreg.

I haven't done it, because I'm in the middle of the steampunk AU, the Richard-turns-into-a-car-and-they-all-shag fic, the nesting box fic (because I haven't invented enough weird Top-Gear-Slash specific genres), the Might Boosh crossover, the Richard/Oliver/Zonda love triangle, the Torchwood crossover, and haven't even started the Big Gay Wine and Cars Challenge (Jeremy and Richard v. James and Oz in a contest of drinking, driving, and rampant homosexuality).

So, er, yeah. Me 'splode soon.

Actually, it was more like two hours.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

Sweat, leather, cologne.

Those were the three things he could smell, waking up. Things he could feel were limited to a seat under his legs, a dashboard under his forehead, a seatbelt cutting across his chest and a blinding pain in his skull.

Instinct told him not to make a sound. It didn't tell him what had happened, but that was obvious on its own: car crash. The car he was sitting in, specifically. Had crashed into--that would involve moving his head.

Which he wasn't sure he wanted to do, but did anyway.

The car had crashed into nothing, so it seemed, unless one counted the swatch of shrubs they'd apparently deforested on their way down the hill. The car was tilted at an improbable angle, and the engine was idling.

At least he hadn't been driving. He brushed hair out of his eyes--nothing broken, then, that was good--and looked at the man crumpled over the steering wheel. He hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. Might be regretting that, now.

He reached one hand over, laid it on the driver's shoulder. "Hey, you all right--?"

Name. He couldn't remember the man's name.

...come to think of it, he wasn't quite sure about his own.

There was a groan from the back, and he fumbled the latch on his belt. A shaggy head popped up over the seatback, blinking blearily. "Sam, that you?"

"Yeah, maybe." Sam--possibly--twisted around in his seat. "Uh... what's going on?"

"We crashed," the probably-not-a-stranger said. "Because Dean is a crap driver. What do you think happened?"

Dean. Right. Dean. The name sounded familiar, at least; that was a good sign. Not as good as remembering everything would have been, but good nonetheless. "This is going to be a weird question," he started.

"Yeah, I'm used to those." He unbuckled himself. "Haven't been traveling with you guys for six months without picking up on your--" he gave a pained grin. "Idiosyncracies."

Sam nodded. "Who are we?"

He swore a look like realization dawned in the man's eyes.

"Adam," he said. "I'm Adam." He reached out, touched Sam's shoulder, and--as if that touch were just enough tactile reminder--images sparked in Sam's mind. The three of them, in the woods/at a gas station/in one room of a seedy motel, the pages of a journal, a woman's scream, a shotgun blast that smelled like hot salt, something large and looming and not entirely human--

"This kind of amnesia is usually temporary," Adam said, and Sam nodded. Memory seemed to be returning, at least. "You're Sam. That's Dean. He's your--" he stopped, looking over the seats. "Maybe you'd better try to remember on your own."

"Right." Sam checked him over for injuries. Procedural memory intact, then. Given the choice I guess I would rather lose the episodic. He didn't seem hurt too badly--probably had a concussion, probably had a steering-wheel-shaped bruise, but probably hadn't broken anything. Lucky bastard. Someone up there likes him.

"Where are we?"

"Middle of nowhere." Adam popped his door open, letting in a waff of pine-scented air. "I said let's pitch camp. Dean says 'watch this' and throws his car down a hill." He stepped out, hauling a bag out behind him. From the disorder in the back, it looked like he'd shoved a lot out of the way to make room for himself to sit in the first place. Must have drawn the short straw, Sam thought. He was grateful for the ample legroom up front.

"That doesn't seem smart, no," Sam agreed.

"Yeah, well, he's your--." Adam cut himself off. "Look, can you help me pitch this? There's probably a patch of flat ground around here somewhere." He grimaced. "And it's that or sleeping in the car."

"Um. Right." Sam opened the door, extracting himself. His head throbbed in protest. "You got any aspirin or anything?"

"Glove compartment."

"And Dean--"

"Let him wake up on his own. We'll carry him down if we have to." Adam gave a low chuckle. "And not a moment before."

Re: Actually, it was more like two hours.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

They did manage to find a patch of even ground, and set up the tent--an heavy-duty green model, subdivided into two rooms. Dean came staggering down the hill as they were stretching out the sun/rain roof and attaching the lead cables to trees, looking all the worse for wear. "'scuse me," he called. "Sorry. Think I got into an accident--?"

Adam groaned. "You too, Dean? Memory problems?" He knotted off one rope, giving Dean a friendly wave. "Seriously, I think I've just proved that the back seat is the safest place to be."

"And wear your seatbelt," Sam said, because it seemed like as good a time as any to bring it up.

"Let's take a look at you," Adam said, stepping over the tent cables and taking Dean's head in his hands. "Your eyes look fine."

"Stop that," Dean said, slapping his hands away. "Headache. That's all."

"And you didn't remember us," Sam said.

"We're going to camp here tonight," Adam said. "Give our wounded a chance to rest."

"I'm fine," Dean said. "God, Adam, you and my grandmother."

Adam smiled. "Yeah." He shrugged. "I'm going for wood. Not that I'll have to go far." He motioned toward the path of devastation the Impala had carved. "One of you start a fire."

"Fire," Dean said, in exactly the same absent way someone should never use when considering starting a campfire in a forest. "Yeah."

"Enjoy," Adam said, and wandered off.

Re: Actually, it was more like two hours.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

After the fire hadn't burned down the scrub forest, and after a meal had been cooked and eaten and the fire had been safely doused and buried, the matter of sleeping arrangements came up. It was Dean, on inspecting their lodgings, who brought up the most important question.

"Why are there only two rooms in this thing?"

"Why are there only two front seats in your car?" Adam asked. "That's how they make 'em. And someone was too cheap to get a different brand."

"Well," Dean said, "there are three of us."

"Seems like a problem of math, then," Adam said.

"I'll share," Sam said, at the exact same time Adam said "I won't."

"Hey," Dean said.

"I set the damn thing up," Adam pointed out. "And Sam's being nice. Looks like it's the two of you, then."

"...hey," Dean said again, in a It's not too nice to be taking advantage of Mr. Concussion, here voice.

"Sam can take care of you in case you start going cross-eyed," Adam pointed out. "Anyway. He doesn't mind your snoring."

Dean jabbed a finger at Sam. "He's concussed too, you know."

"He was wearing his seatbelt." Adam put on as near to an angelic expression as his face would support. Which was, all things considered, actually quite angelic. "We'll rock-paper-scissors tomorrow," he promised, and slipped into the tent.

"...that doesn't work with three," Sam said, but Adam was no longer listening.

"And I don't snore," Dean appended, belatedly.

"Come on." Sam patted his shoulder, and held open the tent flap. "One night. Not that bad."

Dean sighed. "Yeah."

Re: Actually, it was more like two hours.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

It almost worked. It was in the process of working without mishap, in fact, when they noticed that, including the one Adam had commandeered, there were only two sleeping bags as well.

It took almost half a second before Dean said "Well, fuck that."

"Maybe we lost one," Sam said. It didn't sound probable, but he hadn't seen one in the trunk, and there definitely wasn't one in the camping kit.

"You take it, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm fine for tonight."

"No, that's--" Sam paused. "Did you just call me 'Sammy?'"

Dean paused as well. "...yeah, I think I did," he said. "Sorry, that's probably way not cool--"

"No, it's fine," Sam said, scrunching his eyebrows, trying to remember. He had no context. Only emotions. He shook his head. "Dean, who are we?"

"Not a damn clue," Dean said, flopping back onto the tent floor. "And believe me, that is pissing me off."

"Yeah. It's... weird," Sam said. "I should be more upset than I am. You get the feeling this happens a lot?"

"No."

Well, at least he had the power of his convictions.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I think there's something more going on, here."

"Well, we've got Adam," Dean said. "We can pick his brain later."

"Said we should try to remember on our own," Sam pointed out. "Look, it's going to get pretty cold out here, tonight. We can either both sleep on the bag, or under it."

"Sam, I said I'm fine," Dean snapped.

Sam sighed, unzipped the edge of the bag, and rolled it out. Dean rolled his eyes.

"We were hunting something," Dean said, flopping over on his stomach on the padded sleeping bag. "Something all the way out here. No--I think we chased it?"

"In the car?" Sam asked. "All the way out here?"

"We're not that far off the interstate," Dean said. Then he frowned. "I think."

Mnemnovore, Sam's mind filled in, and then he snorted. Memory-eater? The memory-eater was the car crash. He doubted they were hunting it. "...it's what we do," he said.

"Always was." Dean frowned. "The three of us. Us friends."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Sam lay down, staring at the tent roof. Dean rolled onto his side, quiet.

"So what's with us?" he asked.

Something two quantum steps below a shiver wound its way down Sam's back. "What do you mean?"

"This Adam guy," Dean said, dropping his voice as low as it would go. "I trust him, but it's like I don't. With you, it's different."

"Different?" Sam asked. "Different how?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno."

Sam watched the shadows on the tent canvas fade into the general darkness. He closed his eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "It's different."

For a few minutes, only the droning crickets chimed in.

It was one finger, at first, tracing the line of his temple and back over his ear. Idly, almost. Experimental. Sam held down another shudder, and didn't look. "What are you doing?"

"Like you said," Dean muttered. His voice was much nearer Sam's ear. "It's going to get cold at night."

Re: Actually, it was more like two hours.

[rionaleonhart]

You are amazing and I love you more than anything. And Adam would work so well in Supernatural, and I love that they were actually hunting him when he got them. AND YAY FOR AMNESIAFIC. And aaaahfsgh, the end.

Please post this somewhere! Or, you know, you could expand it to encompass the regaining their actual memories and the subsequent freaking-out? Maybe? It would make me very happy.

Re: Actually, it was more like two hours.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

Haaa. I could try, though it'll probably end up written at the same breakneck speed (with the same general apathy for quality) sometime this afternoon/evening when I get home. (You do realize that if you Shahryar me for a month, you'll essentially get a NaNoWriMo novel. Which I'm sure isn't your intent.)

And, silly Riona! You can't spent a week freaking out about the quality of SPN-fandom writing, and then tell me to post the thing I wrote intwenty minutes two hours! :P This is staying safely hidden away in the Comment Thread Of Doom.

This may be the roughest thing I've written in three months. ...actually, it felt good.

[draegonhawke.livejournal.com]

Thing was, it made sense.

Three of them, two rooms, two bags. Odd, unplacable sense of attachment. And even if it didn't quite feel right when Dean rolled onto him and pushed his hands under his shirt, it didn't quite feel wrong either. Logic dictated--

Logic didn't dictate any of this.

"Dean," he started, but Dean was already grinding down on his hips. What had been a What are you doing? turned into a "What do you remember?" on its way out of Sam's mouth.

"You," Dean said. "Flashes," as his hand travelled across Sam's arm to take his wrist, pulling it up over his head. "Why? You don't?"

Sam inhaled. His memory wasn't jogging. He was looking for sensory cues, but what he smelled was nothing knew: sweat, leather, cologne. The same smells as in the Impala, recreated between the two of them. "I can't remember much of anything," he said.

Dean's teeth closed lightly on his neck. Sam rolled his shoulder, pulling his wrist free and taking Dean's head in his hands. I should remember something. Anything at all.

"Dude," Dean said, resting one palm at Sam's navel. "The staring thing? That's a turn-off."

"Why don't I remember you?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean said. "I wouldn't forget me. Honestly I'm a bit offended."

"I know. I shouldn't have," Sam said. "I shouldn't--"

"Just shut up." Dean grabbed his wrist again, pushing his weight down. "God, talk, talk, talk. Why do I even bother?" He leaned in again.

Okay, no. Sam twisted, breaking Dean's grip, flipping him, and pinning him. Dean's head smacked the unpadded floor, and he cursed under his breath. "Dude! What?"

"Not tonight," Sam said.

Dean pushed him off. "Fine! Whatever. You could've just said so. What's your problem?"

"We're amnesic," Sam said. "Do you think this might be inappropriate?"

Now it was Dean's turn to stare. "No," he said, "I didn't. But if that's how you feel."

He flipped over, turning his back to Sam. Sam groaned. "Dean--"

"Go to sleep, Sammy." The words left unspoken were We're through.

Sam snorted, turning his back on Dean as well. Hell with him, in any case. He was always this difficult.

Always. ...he was sure.

Judging from their breathing, it took a long time for either of them to sleep. And Dean had been right: it did get cold that night.