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apocalypsosTitle: this ain't the world we live in, kids
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 700 words (kind of short for me, but whatever)
Spoilers: "Pilot"
Pairing: Sam/Jess
Warnings: Pre-series, and that's about it.
Disclaimer:Veronica Mars Eric Kripke is smarter making more money than me.
Summary: Sam knows Jessica's father.
Author's note: I had this idea last night. I have no fucking clue where it came from, but I had to write it OR ELSE. Plotbunny's orders.
*
this ain't the world we live in, kids
*
one
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He's never met the man, but Jessica paints a portrait for him just the same. He knows that David Moore is an accountant, that he never missed any of her high school track competitions. He makes a killer salsa dip that's a hit at the neighborhood Fourth of July party. He turns down the volume on old TV shows and makes up his own silly dialogue to make her laugh when she's sick. He plays electric guitar in a halfway decent rock band that gets the occasional out-of-town gig. He jogs every day, he hums to music that's not there, he makes Jess chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday mornings when she's home on break.
He knows David Moore sometimes gets calls in the night and heads off on emergency trips out of state for days or weeks at a time.
He's pretty sure accountants don't work like that.
two
Sam knows Jessica's father.
His hand's grasped David Moore's now, a quick firm handshake as Mr. Moore picks up his daughter for summer break, and Sam knows. He's seen the way David Moore looks at Jess, like the most priceless treasure he has, like the most perfect thing in his life, and Sam gets it. He knows the practiced way her father nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose and the easy smile that hides more than it should. He knows he's being weighed and measured with veiled thoroughness by a man in pressed pants and cheap loafers.
He knows the calluses on her father's hands feel more familiar than they should.
three
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He goes to her house over the summer and sees. He sees the way David Moore is the only one allowed in the trunk of his own car, the long pants he wears in ninety-degree heat. He notices calendula and marigold on the outside doors, aloe and anise in the flower beds, fennel hanging in the windows. He hears Jess's mom talk about her husband having a priest bless the house, about the heavy-duty security system he had installed.
He listens to her go on about David's gig with the band in Indiana a week earlier, the one that got so rowdy he came back with stitches.
Sam checks the local paper's website for what tore through the town a week earlier, and he knows.
four
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He comforts her after the phone call in the middle of the night and tells Jess her father will get better as he packs her bags for her. He knows it wasn't a mugging. He knows David Moore's wallet will turn up somewhere, flecked with blood that's not his and not even human at that.
He knows there are more painful injuries than a gunshot, but he isn't about to tell Jess that, either.
five
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He knows David Moore would have already picked out a pretty spot in a nice quiet graveyard somewhere, just in case of a situation he wouldn't have wanted to think about and couldn't help having nightmares about anyway. He knows her father's shields are down, that David Moore stands in front of his worst nightmare in that cemetery and feels just as much guilt as Sam does. He knows that Jess would have liked the pink roses on her casket more than she would have admitted if she could have seen through the lid, if there had even been enough of her left to put in it.
He sees her father take one look at Dean standing beside Sam at the cemetery in an ill-fitting blazer with a knife tucked into his boot and tighten his grip on his sobbing wife.
His gaze locks with Sam's, hard and fast and sharp like clean steel, and he nods like a fellow soldier silently passing on his permission.
And that's when Sam realizes that David Moore knows him, too.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 700 words (kind of short for me, but whatever)
Spoilers: "Pilot"
Pairing: Sam/Jess
Warnings: Pre-series, and that's about it.
Disclaimer:
Summary: Sam knows Jessica's father.
Author's note: I had this idea last night. I have no fucking clue where it came from, but I had to write it OR ELSE. Plotbunny's orders.
this ain't the world we live in, kids
*
one
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He's never met the man, but Jessica paints a portrait for him just the same. He knows that David Moore is an accountant, that he never missed any of her high school track competitions. He makes a killer salsa dip that's a hit at the neighborhood Fourth of July party. He turns down the volume on old TV shows and makes up his own silly dialogue to make her laugh when she's sick. He plays electric guitar in a halfway decent rock band that gets the occasional out-of-town gig. He jogs every day, he hums to music that's not there, he makes Jess chocolate chip pancakes on Sunday mornings when she's home on break.
He knows David Moore sometimes gets calls in the night and heads off on emergency trips out of state for days or weeks at a time.
He's pretty sure accountants don't work like that.
Sam knows Jessica's father.
His hand's grasped David Moore's now, a quick firm handshake as Mr. Moore picks up his daughter for summer break, and Sam knows. He's seen the way David Moore looks at Jess, like the most priceless treasure he has, like the most perfect thing in his life, and Sam gets it. He knows the practiced way her father nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose and the easy smile that hides more than it should. He knows he's being weighed and measured with veiled thoroughness by a man in pressed pants and cheap loafers.
He knows the calluses on her father's hands feel more familiar than they should.
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He goes to her house over the summer and sees. He sees the way David Moore is the only one allowed in the trunk of his own car, the long pants he wears in ninety-degree heat. He notices calendula and marigold on the outside doors, aloe and anise in the flower beds, fennel hanging in the windows. He hears Jess's mom talk about her husband having a priest bless the house, about the heavy-duty security system he had installed.
He listens to her go on about David's gig with the band in Indiana a week earlier, the one that got so rowdy he came back with stitches.
Sam checks the local paper's website for what tore through the town a week earlier, and he knows.
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He comforts her after the phone call in the middle of the night and tells Jess her father will get better as he packs her bags for her. He knows it wasn't a mugging. He knows David Moore's wallet will turn up somewhere, flecked with blood that's not his and not even human at that.
He knows there are more painful injuries than a gunshot, but he isn't about to tell Jess that, either.
Sam knows Jessica's father.
He knows David Moore would have already picked out a pretty spot in a nice quiet graveyard somewhere, just in case of a situation he wouldn't have wanted to think about and couldn't help having nightmares about anyway. He knows her father's shields are down, that David Moore stands in front of his worst nightmare in that cemetery and feels just as much guilt as Sam does. He knows that Jess would have liked the pink roses on her casket more than she would have admitted if she could have seen through the lid, if there had even been enough of her left to put in it.
He sees her father take one look at Dean standing beside Sam at the cemetery in an ill-fitting blazer with a knife tucked into his boot and tighten his grip on his sobbing wife.
His gaze locks with Sam's, hard and fast and sharp like clean steel, and he nods like a fellow soldier silently passing on his permission.
And that's when Sam realizes that David Moore knows him, too.
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Date: 2006-09-21 08:59 pm (UTC)