[{ a closed spn Jack/Rowena RP with @forgivensurrogateson . a SKYDUST!verse side story. }]
The smoke that wafts from the chalice in thick, opaque waves clears with the snap of Rowena's fingers. She sighs, rolls her eyes, straightens on her stool.
"Can you believe this? Nobody has the balls for a sliver of respect these days."
Her son's bare skull has no witty reply available.
Rowena sighs again, decides to get some tea going. Herbs fly from their various glasses and vials into one of the pots by the stove. Rowena materializes the necessary liquid with a click of her tongue. As the tea stirs and boils itself, the witch crosses her arms and pouts at the heavily warded door. Even the bloody crystals are no longer any more reliable than Rowena's contact within the Federal Mage Institute, it seems.
"He is late," she points out, to nobody in particular. The strewn crystals on her table cringe with guilt. "Just what I needed today: a bloody tardy prophecy boy."
Hey Hound :) Hope you had a good Christmas and New Years! I just wondered if we’ll see more from Skydust!verse anytime soon?
Heyyy anon, I sure did! I hope you had some good times as well :).
As for my beloved SKYDUST... "Soon" is a relative term, yes? Here is my little to do list for this year, in order of when I will tackle what:
So, uh, yeah. I'm going "least work" to "most work" to get fast progress and SKYDUST needs 2 full episodes plus not-sure-yet how many chapters of episode one, so it's rather low on the list. #1 and #2 will probably be finished before *crosses fingers* April, so expect some SKYDUST around summer.
SKYDUST!verse, space AU, sci-fi AU, past major character death, sam winchester, dean winchester, benny lafitte
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Mornings are dull, now. A pain in the ass at the very least. On worse days, Sam can’t deal with them at all.
Staying in bed is torture. He can’t fall back asleep anyway. So he gets up—in the middle of the night, at the cusp of dawn. Whenever his sleep decides to come to an end. It’s not his choice. He has to do it, or he will go insane.
Hikes, most days. For hours on end, no destination in mind, just—moving. One foot in front of the other. Best if he fasts, so his thoughts obsess over fantasies about food instead of Cas. If only for five minutes. Ten.
Home is no longer home, but a tomb.
Dean, lingering, depressed. Memories of—them. The three of them, together, or just Cas. All the places and spots he’d touch, the objects. If it wasn’t for Dean, if this was Sam’s place? He’d burn it down. All of it.
His teachers berate him. He yells at them, because—he is focused, he does ace his work. Tinted, they call it, his heart isn’t in it, and Sam bites back curses and glares and they punish him, and he deserves it, even though he doesn’t. They don’t expel him. That’s all that counts.
Benny is cleaning up the kitchen when Sam returns home after dark.
Turns and tells him, “Saved some for you,” and Sam glares at the still-warm-looking pot by the stove, glares at the man and mumbles about not being hungry, and Benny is aware enough to not press it, not pull a joke, not try and force himself into a space that was never meant for him.
Sam hauls his bags off himself, onto the kitchen table. “Where’s he?”
“Napping.”
Sam half-nods, unpacks. “He ate anything, or? Another liquid dinner?” and Sam hates himself for even asking.
“Pretty sure he’d eat his own hand before he’d reject my efforts.”
Sam makes an approving noise.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be gone in a second. Just wrapping this up.”
Sam begins, “It’s not,” but surrenders, ultimately. He gives half a glance to Benny, who wipes down the counter. Who isn’t resentful, never. Who’s too good for Dean, really. But Sam doesn’t have it in him to chase him off.
Once Benny left, Sam drags himself around the house. Lingers in his room for a bit before he caves and finishes the leftovers. The door to Dean’s room is ajar just-so. A temptation, an offering. Sam hates how well he is understood.
Dean’s room is dark, of course. Sam bumps his foot into where he presumes is Dean’s leg, underneath the blanket. The resistance of the metal still catches him off-guard.
“You asleep?”
Dean grumbles noncommittal. Hauls his arm up, though, once, sprawled on his belly like he is, and Sam slips to his knees and next to him, and allows himself to be taken under the covers.
With his arms and legs slung around his brother, Sam informs, “You reek,” and Dean’s, “Yeah, yeah,” is muffled half by his pillow, half by the daze of his non-sleep.
Sam tucks his chin below Dean’s shoulder blade before he slowly allows his eyes to slide shut.
@astromechdroid-r2d2 replied to your link “SKYDUST III // part 4/4”
This is not sastiel, change your tag please
They are a couple in that fic though? And it is mentioned several times in that particular chapter that they’re together and doing couple things? I don’t see your point, sorry.
