Hahaaaa, I enjoy plotting more than writing these days. I was trying to write stuff yesterday but I was all bleh. I guess my accidental SPN fic marathon is about to come to an end, or something. Also, finale in 2 episodes is gnawing at the back of my mind and damn you, SPN, I never wanted to care this much! D: FINALEEEE
I think the five things and Sam not killing for Dean can be squished into one fic. Haha oh man, all these things to write in! Maybe I should write drabbles or haikus or sonnets in these verses instead of a full-on fic, maybe that'll help me get over the block. OR I CAN ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING THAT'S NOT FIC lol who am I kidding.
Croatverse Sam is leaner, like the bulk of him has been compressed and vacuum-sealed, muscle and bone. His hair has grown long, pulled back at the nape of his neck, and his jaw is fuzzed over with several days' worth of stubble. He looks like he's been shipwrecked for years, and it occurs to Sam that that's probably not too far from the truth.
"I don't let people in here," his future self says, looking about his cabin. "But I guess you're not people."
"What, you don't count yourself as people?" Sam asks, keeping his tone neutral as he surveys the contents of the room. I am so fucked, he thinks.
'cos it's all dark magic, right, all dark shit. he recognizes all the stuff he got into all those times Dean died, and here they are again, ghosts of the past, present in his future, things he vowed never to touch again when Dean was restored to him, things he will pretend he never considered now that Dean is alive and vital and warm to the touch. And that's what Sam tells his future self now: I promised myself never to get into this shit again.
"Yeah," says future Sam. "'Cos you're so great at keeping your promises. Watch." And then he says those wonderful terrible words that never fail to make Sam's blood run hot with hope, cold with the cost: "I know how to save Dean."
Sam replies with something to the effect of: you don't know anything, look at the shit you're getting into, you are in no position to--
"And not just my Dean," he continues, "but your Dean, too."
"No," Sam says automatically, before he ends up saying something else.
"No?" The syllable sounds so patient, so indulgent.
Part 1: preferring to plot + Croatverse Sam
I think the five things and Sam not killing for Dean can be squished into one fic. Haha oh man, all these things to write in! Maybe I should write drabbles or haikus or sonnets in these verses instead of a full-on fic, maybe that'll help me get over the block. OR I CAN ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING THAT'S NOT FIC lol who am I kidding.
Croatverse Sam is leaner, like the bulk of him has been compressed and vacuum-sealed, muscle and bone. His hair has grown long, pulled back at the nape of his neck, and his jaw is fuzzed over with several days' worth of stubble. He looks like he's been shipwrecked for years, and it occurs to Sam that that's probably not too far from the truth.
"I don't let people in here," his future self says, looking about his cabin. "But I guess you're not people."
"What, you don't count yourself as people?" Sam asks, keeping his tone neutral as he surveys the contents of the room. I am so fucked, he thinks.
'cos it's all dark magic, right, all dark shit. he recognizes all the stuff he got into all those times Dean died, and here they are again, ghosts of the past, present in his future, things he vowed never to touch again when Dean was restored to him, things he will pretend he never considered now that Dean is alive and vital and warm to the touch. And that's what Sam tells his future self now: I promised myself never to get into this shit again.
"Yeah," says future Sam. "'Cos you're so great at keeping your promises. Watch." And then he says those wonderful terrible words that never fail to make Sam's blood run hot with hope, cold with the cost: "I know how to save Dean."
Sam replies with something to the effect of: you don't know anything, look at the shit you're getting into, you are in no position to--
"And not just my Dean," he continues, "but your Dean, too."
"No," Sam says automatically, before he ends up saying something else.
"No?" The syllable sounds so patient, so indulgent.
"No!"
"You should at least hear me out."
Sam tries to say no a third time.
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