![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficwizeTitle: Things that Go Bump in the Night
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizefics
Crossover: Supernatural/X-Men, written as part of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sncross_bigbang
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners.
Type: Slash casefile, pre-series for Supernatural
Word Count: ~33,000
Characters: Dean Winchester and Remy LeBeau
Warnings: NC17 for sexual content, language and violence
Spoilers: None, if you're familiar with Supernatural. Random bits of Remy LeBeau's past and his powers. This story is not really set in any particular X story line.
Artist:la_conquistador
Link to Art: Amazing artwork and icons!
Summary: Thirty-five minutes. That's all Dean needed for this job. As long as everything went according to plan, of course.
But this is New Orleans, and nothing ever goes to plan. When Dean is interrupted mid-job by a stranger who strongly resembles a demon, the Plan is blown to hell and back. Dean eventually must join forces with the mysterious Remy LeBeau to try and undo the damage that they have done. Of course, Remy makes no secret about the fact that he has a secondary motivation that causes him to race around New Orleans to try and capture a vengeful spirit.
Author’s Notes: I owe a lot of thanks for this story. First, this story was written forwindiain. I hope you enjoy it! Secondly, this story would never have made it this far if it weren't for the help and encouragement of catwomyn5 and pdantzler2. Lastly, I must give all thanks and praise to my wonderful beta readers escritoireazul and dramady. They have made this story much better than it was.
I must also thankla_conquistador, whose artwork provided me with the inspiration I needed to get over the last few hurdles.
For those who think this looks familiar, I started posting it some months back, then realized I had a much bigger story here. I've rewritten the entire fic, and suggest that you consider starting at the beginning. Thanks to those who encouraged me!
*********************
Ch. 6
*********************
"Remy LeBeau! It's the middle of the night!" An irritated voice snapped through the screen door and Dean jumped. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but driving two hours outside of New Orleans to a house in the middle of nowhere had not been it. Remy had dodged his questions until it became clear that he really was just going to have to wait and see what happened.
The Impala was cooling in gravel driveway and the nighttime sounds of bugs and animals were starting to fade. Dawn wasn’t too far away. The house was two stories and looked impossibly old, the paint flaking off in flecks of gray. The storm clouds had passed for the most part, but a humid breeze promised that the rain wasn’t gone for long.
The front door stood open by the time they arrived on the porch, and a black woman of an indeterminate age stood in the doorway. She was wrapped in a robe, despite the heat, and her hair hung down her back in long dreadlocks. The woman's voice was heavily accented with a mixture of Creole and Caribbean twangs, but the power of it was absolute and Dean felt the hair rise on his arms. He shot Remy a warning look, but the Cajun ignored him.
"Oui. Je suis désolée, Tante. I have a problem and I need your help. S'il vous plait.”
"What kind of problem, child?" The screen door opened and Dean stepped back automatically as the aura of the woman hit him. She was shorter than he was by almost a foot, but heavyset. Her dark skin made her hard to see, but a flash of white teeth and a subtle shine from her eyes as she looked at him made her seem almost surreal. "And who is this?"
"Tante Mattie, dis is Dean Winchester." Remy didn't introduce the woman to Dean and Dean again felt a strong sense of foreboding.
Years of manners kicked in and Dean forced a smile. “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Is it, really?” The way Mattie narrowed her eyes suggested that she didn’t have the same problems Dean did seeing in the dark and he swallowed, mouth too dry to answer. The prickling on his skin intensified when the woman finally stepped through the door, her blue robe swirling in the winds of the most recent storm. Lightening cracked through the sky and Dean jumped when she reached out to touch his shoulder. She yanked her hand back, eyes wide, and shook her fingers as if he’d burned her.
"Angelic handprints on you, boy. What have you been doing?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am." Dean answered humbly, his voice barely more than a croak. "I'm not sure what you mean."
She pulled his shoulder hard enough that Dean leaned down and held his breath as she stared into his eyes, her own narrowing. "Your eyes are brown, but I see the yellow eyes staring out from inside them. Don't think I don't."
Dean's skin crawled with gooseflesh but he shook his head. "My mother was murdered by the yellow eyed demon."
Tante Mattie released him at once, a shrewd expression crossing her face. "And your brother?"
Dean jerked, jaw tightening as he prepared to refuse to answer. Remy shook his head slowly behind the woman, his expression desperate and a touch fearful and Dean took a deep breath, forcibly relaxing.
"Sammy's in school. He's not part of this anymore."
Tante Mattie laughed, the sound amused and sad. It set Dean’s teeth on edge. "Oh, boy, he's part of something much bigger than you know. Both of you are." She turned and went back inside. "Come in out of the night."
"Remy," Dean hissed, catching the Cajun by his arm. "What is this?"
"Trus’ me." Remy asked softly, almost pleadingly. "If anyone can help us, she can."
With every nerve telling Dean that he was making a mistake, he slowly pushed the door opened and went inside. Immediately, the temperature changed – it was too sudden to be related to air-conditioning and he almost backed out of the house again. Remy's hand on the small of his back and the knowledge that the Cajun was pressing against him in encouragement pushed him forward again.
"You've come seeking answers," Mattie called to them from the kitchen. The sensation of magic crawled over Dean’s skin again, but he followed her voice deeper into the house.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sit." Tante Mattie gestured at the kitchen table. Another woman, younger and indescribably pretty, was boiling water on the stove. Dean stared at her, sensing the same power coming from her as he did from Mattie.
"Sit," Mattie repeated. She was digging through a drawer near the stove and emerged with a pack of tarot cards. "I will help you, but only if you agree to one thing, Dean Winchester."
Helplessly, Dean looked over his shoulder at Remy. He looked as bewildered as Dean felt and gave a soft shrug. "How can I help you?" Dean asked, reluctantly pulling the chair away from the table where Tante Mattie was still indicating that he should sit. "I can feel the magic on you. There’s nothing I can do that you can’t."
She laughed, making everyone jump except for the younger woman who wordlessly brought tea to Dean. "Drink, young Winchester, and let me read your fortune."
Dean tensed. He did not know how he knew, but he was certain that any reading this woman gave him would be true. "No. I don't want to know the future," he answered softly.
His answer seemed to please the Voodoo Priestess, for Dean had no doubts that’s what she was, and she nodded slowly. "But I do. How about this? I promise not to tell you what I learn."
His eyes locked with hers and he remembered the ease and certainty that she had when she proclaimed that he was touched by Angels and Demons both. Swallowing hard, thoughts of Keskaya in his mind, Dean finally nodded. "Fair enough."
“You’re too young to know that fair never matters, Dean Winchester.” Mattie spread the cards in her fingers, shuffling them with a nimble speed that card sharks would envy. "I'll begin."
She flipped over the cards on the table rapidly, her eyes not looking up as she read the messages hidden inside them. Dean watched, his stomach leaden. The cards were unlike any tarot deck he had ever seen. The men and women on them were dark skinned, some naked, some not. They were dancing around fires that he could almost smell and banging drums that echoed in the silence in the back of his head.
"These tell me that you are a friend, Dean Winchester." Mattie spoke suddenly and Dean jumped. The kitchen had grown silent, almost eerily so as the wind outside faded to a low whisper and the thunder rumbled low in the distance. "You’re mired in things much bigger than yourself."
When she met his eyes again, her gaze was saddened by whatever she had read. "You are a good boy, Dean Winchester. I will give you what you need." She raised her hand and the younger woman instantly came to her side. Leaning their heads together, Mattie whispered into the woman's ear and the woman nodded and went to do as she had been bidden.
"Kalila was a friend of mine." The admission cost her and Dean's eyes widened. He felt a return of the fear that he'd almost quashed and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. He hadn’t told her about Keskaya or Ducet. He glanced at Remy, who shook his head in answer to the silent question. Dean licked his lips.
"She nearly killed me last night," Dean admitted and Mattie nodded.
"You're interfering with things you have no right to be in."
"I can't let her kill someone. She deserves better than that.” Dean’s voice was heavy with regret. "No matter how much the bastard deserves it."
"That," Mattie leaned forward and grabbed his chin with fingers that felt like steel, "is her business. And Adrien Ducet's. You take advice from me now, and you let them finish their business with each other. Some things are meant to be."
Mattie leaned her head back, eyes unfocused. "And whatever it is that you stole from her, Kalila wants it back."
Remy started violently and came to stand beside Dean. "We meant no disrespect, Tante. We were trying to help."
"You, boy, have enough problems of your own without getting embroiled in these." Tante Mattie's rebuke was severe and Remy dropped his head.
"It's was my fault, Tante. I interfered…"
"No." Dean's cut him off, voice firm. "You saved me, Remy." He grinned suddenly, an impetuous mischievous grin that made Mattie's eyebrows go up as she looked between both boys. "You didn't know you were saving me, but that's what it amounts to."
"If you saved him, Remy LeBeau, you carry part of him with you." The priestess' voice became soft and contemplative. "You may protect that which is yours."
Dean almost protested that he didn’t belong to Remy, but Remy's hand dug into his shoulder and he shut up. The younger woman entered the kitchen again and carried over a small jar. "This is what you'll need." It was a plain jar, the glass opaque, the neck narrowing until there was a cork stopper at the end. Dean took the bottle thankfully, shocked by how thin the glass felt. It was clearly much more valuable than it appeared. It was filled halfway with water and when Dean opened it, he saw several needles stuck into the top, the sharp bits pointed down.
"You can catch the cauchemar in this," Tante Mattie stood up, sounding suddenly tired. "But you can't destroy it. You'll have to figure out a way to help her spirit pass over, Dean Winchester." Her sharp eyes belied the tiredness of her voice. "You'll be wanting to figure out a way to help her. Someday, you'll be wanting help of your own and you need to keep your soul clean."
Completely mystified, but grateful nonetheless, Dean stood up. "Thank you, ma'am. I don't know what to say."
Tante Mattie smiled suddenly, a deep and genuine smile. "You make your mama proud, Dean Winchester. Now get out of my kitchen before I decide that barging into my house in the middle of the night is rude."
Impulsively, Dean leaned forward and kissed her cheek. His daring made everyone freeze, but Mattie just laughed and aimed a swat at him. He ducked aside and left as quickly as he could, leaving Remy to follow after a hurried and quiet conversation that Dean couldn't hear. He didn't care though. Outside, he felt the first raindrops of the new storm splatter against his skin and for a very brief moment, he thought he could smell his mother's perfume.
*********************
The sun was rising over the horizon, promising to burn away the clouds that still lingered. Dean drove down the interstate without a word for over an hour before Remy cast him a sideways glance. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Dean answered shortly, then shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said more softly. "I'm just tired and hungry and more than a little shook up." He cast Remy an appraising look. "Why didn't you tell me you knew a Voodoo Priestess?"
"You didn' ask." Remy’s voice was weak and he picked at his jacket. "And Tante Mattie… she's complicated."
"Yeah, I figured," Dean replied wryly. "How did you meet her?"
Remy actually blushed a little bit, the red visible in the rising sunshine. "I tried to rob her."
"What?"
"It was a long time ago," Remy answered so hastily that Dean doubted it was as long ago as the other man wished. "She caught me."
"Huh.” Dean thought about that and was torn between admiring Remy’s bravery and thinking him a complete idiot. “What happened?"
"I worked for her for six months," Remy muttered. "She didn' call de police, or tell anyone else. But Remy saw t'ings he'll never forget. She's a good friend and ally, but…"
"I bet she's a bitch of a taskmaster." Dean snickered slightly. "No wonder you're afraid of her."
"I am not!" Remy protested glared at him.
"Okay, my mistake. You're not." Dean's grin widened. "Sure."
Remy muttered something under his breath and Dean laughed. "I heard that – and I know enough French to know what it meant."
Falling silent, Remy turned to stare out of the window. They were headed back into downtown New Orleans, and Remy stifled a yawn. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the hotel. There's a stack of pancakes with my name on them at that diner, and then I'm exhausted. I need some sleep." Dean answered lightly.
"What about Ducet?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know where he is, but I'm pretty sure I know where he'll be."
Remy sat up, suddenly more awake. "Where?"
"Keskaya's house. I think he’s after the Zombie thing. I'm pretty sure that's what Tante Mattie meant when she said Keskaya would want back the thing we stole from her."
Remembering Remy’s violent reaction the accusation, understanding dawned on Dean's face. "God, no wonder you freaked out when she thought we'd stolen something. You probably thought you were about to get drafted back into the service."
"I did not!" Remy's denial was fast, but Dean laughed over it.
"I don't blame you. Jesus, I don’t think I could handle being that woman's servant for six months. It'd kill me."
"You have no idea," Remy grumbled, unwilling to be appeased until Dean reached over and socked him lightly on the shoulder.
"It was a good idea, Remy. We've got the spirit jar now – if we find Keskaya, we can contain her. With the Zombie thing, maybe we can convince her to cross over."
"And if we can't?" Remy asked, only slightly mollified.
Dean shrugged. "My dad will be here tomorrow morning. I'll tell him everything and we'll figure something out then."
"Your dad," Remy spoke hesitantly, "how'd he become a…"
"A Hunter?" Dean asked, turning off the exit. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he shrugged. "You heard Tante Mattie. My mom was killed when I was little. Sammy was just a baby. Dad saw the whole thing, though. A demon with yellow eyes killed her – stuck her to the ceiling of Sammy's room and burned the house down around her. He nearly killed us all."
"How'd you escape?"
Dean debated answering as he pulled the car to a stop at a red light. Outside, the streets were gradually filling with cars as more and more people woke up to begin their day. "I heard a noise and went to see what it was. Dad shoved Sammy into my arms and told me to run."
"How old were you?" Remy asked softly.
"Four." Dean answered shortly. "And we've been hunting the bastard ever since. When we find it, we'll kill it."
"Den what?"
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, startled into looking at Remy. The Cajun was staring at him thoughtfully.
"What will you do after? Keep being a Hunter?"
"Yeah, I guess." Dean shrugged. "It's what I'm good at. And there are plenty of things that go bump in the night out there. People will still need me."
Seemingly satisfied, Remy fell silent until they arrived at the hotel. With a muffled groan, he climbed out of the car and followed Dean across the street and into the diner. Dean didn't look at him as they walked. It bothered him more than he'd show, but he'd never thought about what he'd do after they killed the Yellow Eyed Demon. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd ever thought he'd survive that long.
The grumbling of his stomach pulled his mind away and he shoved that dark thought to the side. One day maybe he'd have time to worry about the what ifs, but not today.
With a big grin, he spotted the waitress who'd risked her manager’s wrath to bring him pie the day before. Waving cheerfully, he grabbed Remy's arm and dragged him over to one of her booths. First, pancakes. Then he'd worry about the future.
Sliding into the booth, Dean shot Remy a mocking glare. "This time, get your own food."
*********************
The hotel room was cool, the air conditioner humming in the corner when Dean woke up. Blinking, he turned to see Remy still sleeping on the other half of the bed. Asleep, he looked completely at peace and very unlike the man who had saved Dean’s ass earlier.
Recalling the way that Remy had blown up the salt bag, Dean glanced down at his hands, which were resting comfortably on his stomach. They looked completely normal; long fingers tapered down to nails that were short and surprisingly clean. There was a scar on the back of his left hand and Dean wondered about it for a moment. He knew what those fingers felt like, strong and dexterous, perfect for playing cards or driving Dean crazy.
Remy took a deep breath and stirred and Dean tore his eyes away, forcing his thoughts back to a G-rated level. God, he was as horny as a teenager. It was embarrassing. Rolling to his side, he slowly sat up. His muscles protested the movement and he gritted his teeth against the pain that jabbed him from his bruised ribs.
“Dean?” Remy’s voice was heavy with sleep and Dean ignored the way that it rumbled down his backbone.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you going?”
“Shower.”
There was a heartbeat of silence before Remy spoke. “Want company?”
Dean jerked around to see him grinning, all traces of sleep replaced with teasing amusement. Relaxing, Dean grinned back. “No. But you should definitely shower. You reek.”
Remy yawned, stretching in a way that made Dean reconsider his refusal. “You don’ smell like a summer rose neither, homme.”
“S’why I’m showering,” Dean grunted, moving before his interest became obvious. He paused at the door to he bathroom, turning to give Remy the once-over. “We have about five hours to kill before we need to be at Keskaya’s. I don’t want the last thing I do in the world before getting killed by a cauchemar to be boring. You’re taking me out and showing me the town.”
Surprised, Remy sat up. “Where?”
Dean smirked. “Somewhere where we can get dinner and beer. And maybe somewhere I can play pool. I’m broke and need to find a place to hustle up some money.”
Remy’s smile shifted. “I know de perfect place.”
Forty minutes later, Dean was wondering if making Remy take him out was a mistake. The Cajun had showered and walked out of the bathroom with a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. His hair was damp and hung almost down to his shoulders, curling around his neck and dripping water that slid down the bare skin of his arms, back and chest.
Remy went straight to Dean’s bag and dug around inside, emerging with a pair of jeans and a black shirt, almost identical to what Dean was wearing. “Sure,” Dean managed. “Help yourself.”
Remy shot him a heated glare, licking his lips deliberately. “Maybe later.”
“I meant to the clothes, asshole.”
Remy grinned. “You can’ expect me to go out wearing de clothes I had on las’ night.” He turned and dropped the towel, giving Dean a close up view of his very tight and very nice backside. Dean titled his head and looked appreciatively as Remy slid the jeans into place, disregarding underwear entirely. He zipped the jeans and turned, smirking.
“They’re a little tight on you.” Dean observed, still enjoying the view.
Remy shrugged. “Dey’ll do.”
“Yeah.” Dean was still staring. He forcibly raised his eyes when Remy chuckled knowingly, his face a bit flushed. Remy pulled on the shirt, heedless of the wet marks left by his hair, before going back into the bathroom to run a brush through the tangled locks before they snarled.
“So, where are we going?” Dean cleared his throat and pulled on his shoes slowly, trying to give himself time to recover. His libido was in serious overdrive and he was glad that the jeans didn’t fit him as closely as they did Remy, because there would be nothing left to the imagination then.
Remy came out of the bathroom, hair pulled back into a low pony tail. He slipped his shoes on and grabbed his jacket. “Don’ you worry. Remy knows jus’ de place.”
They walked out of the hotel in silence and Dean passed over the keys to the Impala without comment.
It turned out Remy was right. It was the perfect place, Dean thought as he looked around. There was a bar that lined the back wall, a dozen pool tables scattered in the front of the building and a set of card tables against the wall. The mix of patrons was just enough tourist and local to assure that there would be someone out there who would take Dean up on a friendly game of pool. But first, food and beer. A man had to have his priorities straight.
Remy led the way to the bar, nodding a greeting to a few people, before he and Dean slid into two empty spaces. The bartender glanced up questioningly and Dean pointed to the drafts. “One of those and a burger, preferably with bacon and cheese. Fries, if you’ve got ‘em.”
“Sure. Gambit?”
“Same.” Remy answered and Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Gambit?”
“Nickname.” Remy’s smile was equal parts sex and confidence. “I’m good at cards.”
Dean laughed low in his throat. “I bet.”
They sat in companionable silence, watching a muted television flash sports scores and listening to the crowd behind them. It was still early by nightlife standards, but they weren’t in a rush. The Impala was parked out back, the Spirit Jar, a pound of salt, and enough holy water to hopefully drown a cauchemar all safely hidden in the trunk.
When Remy finished his food, he pushed back and headed towards the card tables with a clear intent to join a game. Dean watched him go, but his own skills didn’t lie with cards. He caught the eye of a sweet looking red head and raised his glass in a half hearted salute. She smiled back at him.
Swallowing the last of his beer, Dean eyed the pool tables speculatively, finally deciding on a table where two men who reeked of tourist were playing. Dropping enough cash to cover the bill, he ambled towards the table. “You gentlemen interested in a game or two?”
“Sure.” The taller one looked him over with a friendly smile. “But only if you’re okay with losing all your money.”
“I’m never okay with that.” Dean shook his head. “But I’m willing to see what happens.”
“That’s good enough for us!” The shorter guy was already digging through his wallet. “How’s $20 a game sound?”
“Like a lot of fun,” Dean answered truthfully, digging the money out of his jean’s pocket. The game was fun and fast, mostly because Dean cleaned up. With an unapologetic grin, he took the $40 and asked if the two guys were interested in double or nothing. Cheerfully, they agreed and Dean threw the money back down into the pool. The second game last longer and attracted a bit of attention from other patrons, as the bar gradually filled. A leggy blonde caught Dean’s attention and he split his concentration between the game and trying to get her phone number.
When Dean finally sank the last ball with a crisp shot to a corner pocket, he laughed. “That, gentlemen, is that.”
The taller guy shrugged as he passed over his money. “Good game.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Dean pocketed the money and glanced at the clock. It was 10. Indecisively, he hovered for a minute before heading over to grab another beer from the bartender. He stopped to flirt shamelessly with two women who were openly eyeing him. Then he went in search of Remy.
The Cajun was in the thick of a game with four other men, one of whom seemed to know Remy well and kept jeering at him as Remy matched but didn’t raise through a round of bets. Dean hung back, more interested in his beer than in watching the game. But it was a chance to observe Remy with others and Dean couldn’t resist that opportunity.
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” the talker told Remy and the Cajun smirked.
“Not cocky, jus’ right.” His comment earned a round of laughter and the talker flushed a dark red.
“We’ll see about that.” The man laid down his cards. “Three Queens.”
“Dat’s a pretty good hand,” Remy acknowledged, laying his cards down one at a time. “But it don’ beat four of a kind.” He laid down twos from every suite.
There was a round of appreciative comments, but Dean’s attention was fixed on the Talker, who turned a dark shade of red. “You cheated!”
The accusation fell into an instant and hostile silence and Remy’s smile melted. “You wan’ say dat again, homme? I’m not sure I heard you.”
“I said you cheated.” The man slapped his hand down on the table and stood up. Dean’s eyes widened slightly. That dude was frigging huge. “No one is as lucky at cards as you are.”
The other two players at the table stood up and moved back quickly. Dean took a sip of his beer, fingering the edge of his glass lightly as he watched to see how this played out.
“Didn’ have to cheat to beat you.” Remy collected the cash from the center of the table. “You got no skill.”
“Bastard.” The big guy lunged and Dean nearly choked on his beer as he watched Remy twist out of his grip and fall backwards. In a move that Dean could barely follow, Remy avoided landing on his ass on the ground. Instead he hit the wall and rebounded forward, knocking the bigger man down. Gently almost, he stepped on the man’s neck.
“I know you’re not insulting ma mere, homme. Dat’d be jus’ rude,” Remy warned.
The guy on the floor abruptly seemed to get a clue. “No. I’m not.”
“Dat’s good, real good.” Remy moved back, letting the guy climb to his feet. The bar was silent, all watching to see what would happen. Dean moved to stand beside Remy.
“You ready?” Dean asked. “Because I think it’s time to go.”
“Yeah.” Remy was still glaring at the guy on the floor, but he let Dean take his arm and pull him out of the bar, a steady flow of French obscenities falling from his mouth as they reached the Impala.
Dean opened the passenger door and shoved Remy inside. “Well, going out with you isn’t boring.”
Remy looked up from where he was sprawled and his expression changed from irritation to anticipation. “You should see de after party.”
Dean smirked and fished the blonde woman’s phone number out of his pocket. “I’ve got invites to other parties.”
“Maybe,” Remy looked smug. “But you’re goin’ home wit’ me.”
Dean shut the door, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. And he had thought that he was good at dropping sexual innuendo. He crossed in front of the Impala, aware that Remy was watching him. When he climbed into the driver side, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Remind me not to say anything about your mother.”
Remy chuckled. “Where are we goin’?”
“Keskaya’s house.” Dean sighed, sobering reluctantly as he thought of the task in front of them. “I’m pretty sure Ducet will show up there, looking for the Li Grand Zombi. I think it might be the only thing that will convince Keskaya to cross over.”
“What do you plan to do with Ducet?” Remy asked, looking at Dean closely.
“I’m going to do my best to keep him alive.” Dean was grim. He didn’t add that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. He was pretty sure Remy already knew.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Author:
wizefics Crossover: Supernatural/X-Men, written as part of the
sncross_bigbangDisclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners.
Type: Slash casefile, pre-series for Supernatural
Word Count: ~33,000
Characters: Dean Winchester and Remy LeBeau
Warnings: NC17 for sexual content, language and violence
Spoilers: None, if you're familiar with Supernatural. Random bits of Remy LeBeau's past and his powers. This story is not really set in any particular X story line.
Artist:
la_conquistador Link to Art: Amazing artwork and icons!
Summary: Thirty-five minutes. That's all Dean needed for this job. As long as everything went according to plan, of course.
But this is New Orleans, and nothing ever goes to plan. When Dean is interrupted mid-job by a stranger who strongly resembles a demon, the Plan is blown to hell and back. Dean eventually must join forces with the mysterious Remy LeBeau to try and undo the damage that they have done. Of course, Remy makes no secret about the fact that he has a secondary motivation that causes him to race around New Orleans to try and capture a vengeful spirit.
Author’s Notes: I owe a lot of thanks for this story. First, this story was written for
windiain. I hope you enjoy it! Secondly, this story would never have made it this far if it weren't for the help and encouragement of catwomyn5 and pdantzler2. Lastly, I must give all thanks and praise to my wonderful beta readers escritoireazul and dramady. They have made this story much better than it was.I must also thank
la_conquistador, whose artwork provided me with the inspiration I needed to get over the last few hurdles. For those who think this looks familiar, I started posting it some months back, then realized I had a much bigger story here. I've rewritten the entire fic, and suggest that you consider starting at the beginning. Thanks to those who encouraged me!
*********************
Ch. 6
*********************
"Remy LeBeau! It's the middle of the night!" An irritated voice snapped through the screen door and Dean jumped. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but driving two hours outside of New Orleans to a house in the middle of nowhere had not been it. Remy had dodged his questions until it became clear that he really was just going to have to wait and see what happened.
The Impala was cooling in gravel driveway and the nighttime sounds of bugs and animals were starting to fade. Dawn wasn’t too far away. The house was two stories and looked impossibly old, the paint flaking off in flecks of gray. The storm clouds had passed for the most part, but a humid breeze promised that the rain wasn’t gone for long.
The front door stood open by the time they arrived on the porch, and a black woman of an indeterminate age stood in the doorway. She was wrapped in a robe, despite the heat, and her hair hung down her back in long dreadlocks. The woman's voice was heavily accented with a mixture of Creole and Caribbean twangs, but the power of it was absolute and Dean felt the hair rise on his arms. He shot Remy a warning look, but the Cajun ignored him.
"Oui. Je suis désolée, Tante. I have a problem and I need your help. S'il vous plait.”
"What kind of problem, child?" The screen door opened and Dean stepped back automatically as the aura of the woman hit him. She was shorter than he was by almost a foot, but heavyset. Her dark skin made her hard to see, but a flash of white teeth and a subtle shine from her eyes as she looked at him made her seem almost surreal. "And who is this?"
"Tante Mattie, dis is Dean Winchester." Remy didn't introduce the woman to Dean and Dean again felt a strong sense of foreboding.
Years of manners kicked in and Dean forced a smile. “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Is it, really?” The way Mattie narrowed her eyes suggested that she didn’t have the same problems Dean did seeing in the dark and he swallowed, mouth too dry to answer. The prickling on his skin intensified when the woman finally stepped through the door, her blue robe swirling in the winds of the most recent storm. Lightening cracked through the sky and Dean jumped when she reached out to touch his shoulder. She yanked her hand back, eyes wide, and shook her fingers as if he’d burned her.
"Angelic handprints on you, boy. What have you been doing?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am." Dean answered humbly, his voice barely more than a croak. "I'm not sure what you mean."
She pulled his shoulder hard enough that Dean leaned down and held his breath as she stared into his eyes, her own narrowing. "Your eyes are brown, but I see the yellow eyes staring out from inside them. Don't think I don't."
Dean's skin crawled with gooseflesh but he shook his head. "My mother was murdered by the yellow eyed demon."
Tante Mattie released him at once, a shrewd expression crossing her face. "And your brother?"
Dean jerked, jaw tightening as he prepared to refuse to answer. Remy shook his head slowly behind the woman, his expression desperate and a touch fearful and Dean took a deep breath, forcibly relaxing.
"Sammy's in school. He's not part of this anymore."
Tante Mattie laughed, the sound amused and sad. It set Dean’s teeth on edge. "Oh, boy, he's part of something much bigger than you know. Both of you are." She turned and went back inside. "Come in out of the night."
"Remy," Dean hissed, catching the Cajun by his arm. "What is this?"
"Trus’ me." Remy asked softly, almost pleadingly. "If anyone can help us, she can."
With every nerve telling Dean that he was making a mistake, he slowly pushed the door opened and went inside. Immediately, the temperature changed – it was too sudden to be related to air-conditioning and he almost backed out of the house again. Remy's hand on the small of his back and the knowledge that the Cajun was pressing against him in encouragement pushed him forward again.
"You've come seeking answers," Mattie called to them from the kitchen. The sensation of magic crawled over Dean’s skin again, but he followed her voice deeper into the house.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sit." Tante Mattie gestured at the kitchen table. Another woman, younger and indescribably pretty, was boiling water on the stove. Dean stared at her, sensing the same power coming from her as he did from Mattie.
"Sit," Mattie repeated. She was digging through a drawer near the stove and emerged with a pack of tarot cards. "I will help you, but only if you agree to one thing, Dean Winchester."
Helplessly, Dean looked over his shoulder at Remy. He looked as bewildered as Dean felt and gave a soft shrug. "How can I help you?" Dean asked, reluctantly pulling the chair away from the table where Tante Mattie was still indicating that he should sit. "I can feel the magic on you. There’s nothing I can do that you can’t."
She laughed, making everyone jump except for the younger woman who wordlessly brought tea to Dean. "Drink, young Winchester, and let me read your fortune."
Dean tensed. He did not know how he knew, but he was certain that any reading this woman gave him would be true. "No. I don't want to know the future," he answered softly.
His answer seemed to please the Voodoo Priestess, for Dean had no doubts that’s what she was, and she nodded slowly. "But I do. How about this? I promise not to tell you what I learn."
His eyes locked with hers and he remembered the ease and certainty that she had when she proclaimed that he was touched by Angels and Demons both. Swallowing hard, thoughts of Keskaya in his mind, Dean finally nodded. "Fair enough."
“You’re too young to know that fair never matters, Dean Winchester.” Mattie spread the cards in her fingers, shuffling them with a nimble speed that card sharks would envy. "I'll begin."
She flipped over the cards on the table rapidly, her eyes not looking up as she read the messages hidden inside them. Dean watched, his stomach leaden. The cards were unlike any tarot deck he had ever seen. The men and women on them were dark skinned, some naked, some not. They were dancing around fires that he could almost smell and banging drums that echoed in the silence in the back of his head.
"These tell me that you are a friend, Dean Winchester." Mattie spoke suddenly and Dean jumped. The kitchen had grown silent, almost eerily so as the wind outside faded to a low whisper and the thunder rumbled low in the distance. "You’re mired in things much bigger than yourself."
When she met his eyes again, her gaze was saddened by whatever she had read. "You are a good boy, Dean Winchester. I will give you what you need." She raised her hand and the younger woman instantly came to her side. Leaning their heads together, Mattie whispered into the woman's ear and the woman nodded and went to do as she had been bidden.
"Kalila was a friend of mine." The admission cost her and Dean's eyes widened. He felt a return of the fear that he'd almost quashed and he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. He hadn’t told her about Keskaya or Ducet. He glanced at Remy, who shook his head in answer to the silent question. Dean licked his lips.
"She nearly killed me last night," Dean admitted and Mattie nodded.
"You're interfering with things you have no right to be in."
"I can't let her kill someone. She deserves better than that.” Dean’s voice was heavy with regret. "No matter how much the bastard deserves it."
"That," Mattie leaned forward and grabbed his chin with fingers that felt like steel, "is her business. And Adrien Ducet's. You take advice from me now, and you let them finish their business with each other. Some things are meant to be."
Mattie leaned her head back, eyes unfocused. "And whatever it is that you stole from her, Kalila wants it back."
Remy started violently and came to stand beside Dean. "We meant no disrespect, Tante. We were trying to help."
"You, boy, have enough problems of your own without getting embroiled in these." Tante Mattie's rebuke was severe and Remy dropped his head.
"It's was my fault, Tante. I interfered…"
"No." Dean's cut him off, voice firm. "You saved me, Remy." He grinned suddenly, an impetuous mischievous grin that made Mattie's eyebrows go up as she looked between both boys. "You didn't know you were saving me, but that's what it amounts to."
"If you saved him, Remy LeBeau, you carry part of him with you." The priestess' voice became soft and contemplative. "You may protect that which is yours."
Dean almost protested that he didn’t belong to Remy, but Remy's hand dug into his shoulder and he shut up. The younger woman entered the kitchen again and carried over a small jar. "This is what you'll need." It was a plain jar, the glass opaque, the neck narrowing until there was a cork stopper at the end. Dean took the bottle thankfully, shocked by how thin the glass felt. It was clearly much more valuable than it appeared. It was filled halfway with water and when Dean opened it, he saw several needles stuck into the top, the sharp bits pointed down.
"You can catch the cauchemar in this," Tante Mattie stood up, sounding suddenly tired. "But you can't destroy it. You'll have to figure out a way to help her spirit pass over, Dean Winchester." Her sharp eyes belied the tiredness of her voice. "You'll be wanting to figure out a way to help her. Someday, you'll be wanting help of your own and you need to keep your soul clean."
Completely mystified, but grateful nonetheless, Dean stood up. "Thank you, ma'am. I don't know what to say."
Tante Mattie smiled suddenly, a deep and genuine smile. "You make your mama proud, Dean Winchester. Now get out of my kitchen before I decide that barging into my house in the middle of the night is rude."
Impulsively, Dean leaned forward and kissed her cheek. His daring made everyone freeze, but Mattie just laughed and aimed a swat at him. He ducked aside and left as quickly as he could, leaving Remy to follow after a hurried and quiet conversation that Dean couldn't hear. He didn't care though. Outside, he felt the first raindrops of the new storm splatter against his skin and for a very brief moment, he thought he could smell his mother's perfume.
The sun was rising over the horizon, promising to burn away the clouds that still lingered. Dean drove down the interstate without a word for over an hour before Remy cast him a sideways glance. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Dean answered shortly, then shook his head. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said more softly. "I'm just tired and hungry and more than a little shook up." He cast Remy an appraising look. "Why didn't you tell me you knew a Voodoo Priestess?"
"You didn' ask." Remy’s voice was weak and he picked at his jacket. "And Tante Mattie… she's complicated."
"Yeah, I figured," Dean replied wryly. "How did you meet her?"
Remy actually blushed a little bit, the red visible in the rising sunshine. "I tried to rob her."
"What?"
"It was a long time ago," Remy answered so hastily that Dean doubted it was as long ago as the other man wished. "She caught me."
"Huh.” Dean thought about that and was torn between admiring Remy’s bravery and thinking him a complete idiot. “What happened?"
"I worked for her for six months," Remy muttered. "She didn' call de police, or tell anyone else. But Remy saw t'ings he'll never forget. She's a good friend and ally, but…"
"I bet she's a bitch of a taskmaster." Dean snickered slightly. "No wonder you're afraid of her."
"I am not!" Remy protested glared at him.
"Okay, my mistake. You're not." Dean's grin widened. "Sure."
Remy muttered something under his breath and Dean laughed. "I heard that – and I know enough French to know what it meant."
Falling silent, Remy turned to stare out of the window. They were headed back into downtown New Orleans, and Remy stifled a yawn. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the hotel. There's a stack of pancakes with my name on them at that diner, and then I'm exhausted. I need some sleep." Dean answered lightly.
"What about Ducet?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know where he is, but I'm pretty sure I know where he'll be."
Remy sat up, suddenly more awake. "Where?"
"Keskaya's house. I think he’s after the Zombie thing. I'm pretty sure that's what Tante Mattie meant when she said Keskaya would want back the thing we stole from her."
Remembering Remy’s violent reaction the accusation, understanding dawned on Dean's face. "God, no wonder you freaked out when she thought we'd stolen something. You probably thought you were about to get drafted back into the service."
"I did not!" Remy's denial was fast, but Dean laughed over it.
"I don't blame you. Jesus, I don’t think I could handle being that woman's servant for six months. It'd kill me."
"You have no idea," Remy grumbled, unwilling to be appeased until Dean reached over and socked him lightly on the shoulder.
"It was a good idea, Remy. We've got the spirit jar now – if we find Keskaya, we can contain her. With the Zombie thing, maybe we can convince her to cross over."
"And if we can't?" Remy asked, only slightly mollified.
Dean shrugged. "My dad will be here tomorrow morning. I'll tell him everything and we'll figure something out then."
"Your dad," Remy spoke hesitantly, "how'd he become a…"
"A Hunter?" Dean asked, turning off the exit. His jaw tightened for a moment, but he shrugged. "You heard Tante Mattie. My mom was killed when I was little. Sammy was just a baby. Dad saw the whole thing, though. A demon with yellow eyes killed her – stuck her to the ceiling of Sammy's room and burned the house down around her. He nearly killed us all."
"How'd you escape?"
Dean debated answering as he pulled the car to a stop at a red light. Outside, the streets were gradually filling with cars as more and more people woke up to begin their day. "I heard a noise and went to see what it was. Dad shoved Sammy into my arms and told me to run."
"How old were you?" Remy asked softly.
"Four." Dean answered shortly. "And we've been hunting the bastard ever since. When we find it, we'll kill it."
"Den what?"
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, startled into looking at Remy. The Cajun was staring at him thoughtfully.
"What will you do after? Keep being a Hunter?"
"Yeah, I guess." Dean shrugged. "It's what I'm good at. And there are plenty of things that go bump in the night out there. People will still need me."
Seemingly satisfied, Remy fell silent until they arrived at the hotel. With a muffled groan, he climbed out of the car and followed Dean across the street and into the diner. Dean didn't look at him as they walked. It bothered him more than he'd show, but he'd never thought about what he'd do after they killed the Yellow Eyed Demon. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd ever thought he'd survive that long.
The grumbling of his stomach pulled his mind away and he shoved that dark thought to the side. One day maybe he'd have time to worry about the what ifs, but not today.
With a big grin, he spotted the waitress who'd risked her manager’s wrath to bring him pie the day before. Waving cheerfully, he grabbed Remy's arm and dragged him over to one of her booths. First, pancakes. Then he'd worry about the future.
Sliding into the booth, Dean shot Remy a mocking glare. "This time, get your own food."
The hotel room was cool, the air conditioner humming in the corner when Dean woke up. Blinking, he turned to see Remy still sleeping on the other half of the bed. Asleep, he looked completely at peace and very unlike the man who had saved Dean’s ass earlier.
Recalling the way that Remy had blown up the salt bag, Dean glanced down at his hands, which were resting comfortably on his stomach. They looked completely normal; long fingers tapered down to nails that were short and surprisingly clean. There was a scar on the back of his left hand and Dean wondered about it for a moment. He knew what those fingers felt like, strong and dexterous, perfect for playing cards or driving Dean crazy.
Remy took a deep breath and stirred and Dean tore his eyes away, forcing his thoughts back to a G-rated level. God, he was as horny as a teenager. It was embarrassing. Rolling to his side, he slowly sat up. His muscles protested the movement and he gritted his teeth against the pain that jabbed him from his bruised ribs.
“Dean?” Remy’s voice was heavy with sleep and Dean ignored the way that it rumbled down his backbone.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you going?”
“Shower.”
There was a heartbeat of silence before Remy spoke. “Want company?”
Dean jerked around to see him grinning, all traces of sleep replaced with teasing amusement. Relaxing, Dean grinned back. “No. But you should definitely shower. You reek.”
Remy yawned, stretching in a way that made Dean reconsider his refusal. “You don’ smell like a summer rose neither, homme.”
“S’why I’m showering,” Dean grunted, moving before his interest became obvious. He paused at the door to he bathroom, turning to give Remy the once-over. “We have about five hours to kill before we need to be at Keskaya’s. I don’t want the last thing I do in the world before getting killed by a cauchemar to be boring. You’re taking me out and showing me the town.”
Surprised, Remy sat up. “Where?”
Dean smirked. “Somewhere where we can get dinner and beer. And maybe somewhere I can play pool. I’m broke and need to find a place to hustle up some money.”
Remy’s smile shifted. “I know de perfect place.”
Forty minutes later, Dean was wondering if making Remy take him out was a mistake. The Cajun had showered and walked out of the bathroom with a towel loosely wrapped around his hips. His hair was damp and hung almost down to his shoulders, curling around his neck and dripping water that slid down the bare skin of his arms, back and chest.
Remy went straight to Dean’s bag and dug around inside, emerging with a pair of jeans and a black shirt, almost identical to what Dean was wearing. “Sure,” Dean managed. “Help yourself.”
Remy shot him a heated glare, licking his lips deliberately. “Maybe later.”
“I meant to the clothes, asshole.”
Remy grinned. “You can’ expect me to go out wearing de clothes I had on las’ night.” He turned and dropped the towel, giving Dean a close up view of his very tight and very nice backside. Dean titled his head and looked appreciatively as Remy slid the jeans into place, disregarding underwear entirely. He zipped the jeans and turned, smirking.
“They’re a little tight on you.” Dean observed, still enjoying the view.
Remy shrugged. “Dey’ll do.”
“Yeah.” Dean was still staring. He forcibly raised his eyes when Remy chuckled knowingly, his face a bit flushed. Remy pulled on the shirt, heedless of the wet marks left by his hair, before going back into the bathroom to run a brush through the tangled locks before they snarled.
“So, where are we going?” Dean cleared his throat and pulled on his shoes slowly, trying to give himself time to recover. His libido was in serious overdrive and he was glad that the jeans didn’t fit him as closely as they did Remy, because there would be nothing left to the imagination then.
Remy came out of the bathroom, hair pulled back into a low pony tail. He slipped his shoes on and grabbed his jacket. “Don’ you worry. Remy knows jus’ de place.”
They walked out of the hotel in silence and Dean passed over the keys to the Impala without comment.
It turned out Remy was right. It was the perfect place, Dean thought as he looked around. There was a bar that lined the back wall, a dozen pool tables scattered in the front of the building and a set of card tables against the wall. The mix of patrons was just enough tourist and local to assure that there would be someone out there who would take Dean up on a friendly game of pool. But first, food and beer. A man had to have his priorities straight.
Remy led the way to the bar, nodding a greeting to a few people, before he and Dean slid into two empty spaces. The bartender glanced up questioningly and Dean pointed to the drafts. “One of those and a burger, preferably with bacon and cheese. Fries, if you’ve got ‘em.”
“Sure. Gambit?”
“Same.” Remy answered and Dean raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Gambit?”
“Nickname.” Remy’s smile was equal parts sex and confidence. “I’m good at cards.”
Dean laughed low in his throat. “I bet.”
They sat in companionable silence, watching a muted television flash sports scores and listening to the crowd behind them. It was still early by nightlife standards, but they weren’t in a rush. The Impala was parked out back, the Spirit Jar, a pound of salt, and enough holy water to hopefully drown a cauchemar all safely hidden in the trunk.
When Remy finished his food, he pushed back and headed towards the card tables with a clear intent to join a game. Dean watched him go, but his own skills didn’t lie with cards. He caught the eye of a sweet looking red head and raised his glass in a half hearted salute. She smiled back at him.
Swallowing the last of his beer, Dean eyed the pool tables speculatively, finally deciding on a table where two men who reeked of tourist were playing. Dropping enough cash to cover the bill, he ambled towards the table. “You gentlemen interested in a game or two?”
“Sure.” The taller one looked him over with a friendly smile. “But only if you’re okay with losing all your money.”
“I’m never okay with that.” Dean shook his head. “But I’m willing to see what happens.”
“That’s good enough for us!” The shorter guy was already digging through his wallet. “How’s $20 a game sound?”
“Like a lot of fun,” Dean answered truthfully, digging the money out of his jean’s pocket. The game was fun and fast, mostly because Dean cleaned up. With an unapologetic grin, he took the $40 and asked if the two guys were interested in double or nothing. Cheerfully, they agreed and Dean threw the money back down into the pool. The second game last longer and attracted a bit of attention from other patrons, as the bar gradually filled. A leggy blonde caught Dean’s attention and he split his concentration between the game and trying to get her phone number.
When Dean finally sank the last ball with a crisp shot to a corner pocket, he laughed. “That, gentlemen, is that.”
The taller guy shrugged as he passed over his money. “Good game.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Dean pocketed the money and glanced at the clock. It was 10. Indecisively, he hovered for a minute before heading over to grab another beer from the bartender. He stopped to flirt shamelessly with two women who were openly eyeing him. Then he went in search of Remy.
The Cajun was in the thick of a game with four other men, one of whom seemed to know Remy well and kept jeering at him as Remy matched but didn’t raise through a round of bets. Dean hung back, more interested in his beer than in watching the game. But it was a chance to observe Remy with others and Dean couldn’t resist that opportunity.
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” the talker told Remy and the Cajun smirked.
“Not cocky, jus’ right.” His comment earned a round of laughter and the talker flushed a dark red.
“We’ll see about that.” The man laid down his cards. “Three Queens.”
“Dat’s a pretty good hand,” Remy acknowledged, laying his cards down one at a time. “But it don’ beat four of a kind.” He laid down twos from every suite.
There was a round of appreciative comments, but Dean’s attention was fixed on the Talker, who turned a dark shade of red. “You cheated!”
The accusation fell into an instant and hostile silence and Remy’s smile melted. “You wan’ say dat again, homme? I’m not sure I heard you.”
“I said you cheated.” The man slapped his hand down on the table and stood up. Dean’s eyes widened slightly. That dude was frigging huge. “No one is as lucky at cards as you are.”
The other two players at the table stood up and moved back quickly. Dean took a sip of his beer, fingering the edge of his glass lightly as he watched to see how this played out.
“Didn’ have to cheat to beat you.” Remy collected the cash from the center of the table. “You got no skill.”
“Bastard.” The big guy lunged and Dean nearly choked on his beer as he watched Remy twist out of his grip and fall backwards. In a move that Dean could barely follow, Remy avoided landing on his ass on the ground. Instead he hit the wall and rebounded forward, knocking the bigger man down. Gently almost, he stepped on the man’s neck.
“I know you’re not insulting ma mere, homme. Dat’d be jus’ rude,” Remy warned.
The guy on the floor abruptly seemed to get a clue. “No. I’m not.”
“Dat’s good, real good.” Remy moved back, letting the guy climb to his feet. The bar was silent, all watching to see what would happen. Dean moved to stand beside Remy.
“You ready?” Dean asked. “Because I think it’s time to go.”
“Yeah.” Remy was still glaring at the guy on the floor, but he let Dean take his arm and pull him out of the bar, a steady flow of French obscenities falling from his mouth as they reached the Impala.
Dean opened the passenger door and shoved Remy inside. “Well, going out with you isn’t boring.”
Remy looked up from where he was sprawled and his expression changed from irritation to anticipation. “You should see de after party.”
Dean smirked and fished the blonde woman’s phone number out of his pocket. “I’ve got invites to other parties.”
“Maybe,” Remy looked smug. “But you’re goin’ home wit’ me.”
Dean shut the door, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. And he had thought that he was good at dropping sexual innuendo. He crossed in front of the Impala, aware that Remy was watching him. When he climbed into the driver side, he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Remind me not to say anything about your mother.”
Remy chuckled. “Where are we goin’?”
“Keskaya’s house.” Dean sighed, sobering reluctantly as he thought of the task in front of them. “I’m pretty sure Ducet will show up there, looking for the Li Grand Zombi. I think it might be the only thing that will convince Keskaya to cross over.”
“What do you plan to do with Ducet?” Remy asked, looking at Dean closely.
“I’m going to do my best to keep him alive.” Dean was grim. He didn’t add that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. He was pretty sure Remy already knew.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-13 04:36 pm (UTC)The fact there's only one bit left to go is almost downright depressing.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-16 09:45 pm (UTC)I loved how you almost went off on a tangent in the bar
Hehehe. It was Dean and Remy. In New Orleans. There had to be drinking somewhere! Plus, if I thought I was going to die, I'd want a drink first. *lol*
I have to admit Tante looked like Missouri in my head +_+
She kind of does - Tante Mattie is a character from the comics and the back story between her and Remy is real. I can totally see the semblance between her and Missouri, though!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-16 09:50 pm (UTC)Now, you see, I fail majorly because I cannot claim to be a fan of the originals, as much as I would love to be - I just have no idea where to start, basically. Puts me at a bit of a disadvantage.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-17 04:01 pm (UTC)I love Remy's flirting, and the way Dean reacts to it just seems so right :D