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apocalypsos) wrote2006-03-04 03:50 pm
apocalypsos) wrote2006-03-04 03:50 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Planning Ahead Never Gets You Anywhere (Supernatural)
You know the scary thing? I think I have another story I could finish before I have to leave for work. *snickers* I swear to God, I have a life. I know you can't tell, but ... yeah. ;)
Title: Planning Ahead Never Gets You Anywhere
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character: Sam/OFC
Spoilers for: "Shadow"
Warnings: None, futurefic
Disclaimer: Dear![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trollprincess's gym teacher, please excuse her from class, as she has borrowed these characters without permission and with no intention of making money off this.
Summary: But then he walked past, and he smiled at her, and she thought, Oh.
Author's note: Sam wants to be a lawyer. Dean wants contact with him. I want Sam to get a girl he won't lie to this time. Okay, I can do that. :)
*****
Planning Ahead Never Gets You Anywhere
*****
The walls of Burkett and Greenbaum grabbed at Emily Carrick the way the larger law offices she'd worked in hadn't, all confining spaces and claustrophobic offices. A week of temping there didn't change the fact that as she sat at the small desk in the back next to the filing cabinets and quietly dealt with whatever paperwork she was handed, her movements slowed a little and her shoulders slumped just that much. Not enough to notice, of course, but just enough to matter.
Emily had already picked up the phone and dialed the sixth digit of the temp agency's number to ask for a new assignment when he walked past her.
She hadn't seen him the four and a half days that had come before, but then again she'd been shuffled off between a ficus plant she could have built a substantial treehouse in and a cabinet she could have hollowed out and napped in during her far-too-short lunch breaks. If she could barely see anyone, she'd come to realize, it was a pretty safe bet no one was seeing her.
But then he walked past, and he smiled at her, and she thought, Oh.
The thought was an understatement and a fairly apt all-encompassing word all at the same time.
Emily felt herself put the receiver back down again but didn't register it in her mind, not really, not with him standing on the other side of the room discussing something with Bridget the trampy paralegal. His hair didn't look right, like it was supposed to be longer with the ends curling over his ears instead of short and a little spiky, and he had one of those goatees you grow when you're trying to hide a serious case of babyface. And it was like he was twice as tall as she'd thought, like she'd need a stepladder or an apple picker to bring herself face to face with him.
But that was most definitely him.
I'm going to marry that man, she thought in a daze, and not just because of the dream.
*****
His name, it turned out, was Sam Winchester.
It was a nice name, she thought, good and strong, and she was a little surprised she hadn't dreamed that, too. But then again there had been a gun in her dream, so maybe that was it.
She'd been bending and unbending paper clips out of boredom when she saw him again, walking past her desk from around a corner and startling her so badly she almost couldn't hide the twisted paper clips fast enough. She swept them into the garbage in an instant and flashed him a smile she hoped didn't look half as guilty as she felt, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Hey, there," he said as he passed.
She got a little wave this time, too. That was far nicer than it should have been.
*****
"He got those scars," Bridget whispered in the break room, "because he was in a horrible car accident and he went straight through the windshield."
Emily didn't roll her eyes at that, but the effort it took to stop herself involved a clench of her teeth that made her bite her tongue hard.
She winced and put down the rest of her ham sandwich, listening to Bridget and the new receptionist talk under their breath and and giggle about how handsome he was. Those scars weren't from a car accident, something she didn't need common sense to figure out. The slashes on his cheek weren't deep but they were there, mostly hidden by the goatee, and Emily wouldn't have believed they were from a car accident if he'd told her himself.
They were from a bear or something. Something with big claws that hid in the dark, she knew, because that was in the dream, too.
Emily whispered a few quick excuses to the others, but nobody paid her much mind when she packed up her lunch and left the break room. She'd gotten used to it years ago, people not really caring when she left a room. Hell, there were times she'd actually come to be grateful for it.
There was always the desk she'd been using for the past week and a half, hidden away like a dark shadowed secret, but Emily wasn't in the mood for feeling like a ghost, and the small meeting room at the end of the hall with the glass walls wouldn't be used for the rest of the day anyway. She tightened her grip on her lunch sack, barely looking up from the floor, and ducked into the meeting room before anybody noticed her going in.
The door had just shut with a click when a familiar voice behind her said, "So much for my brilliant being-alone plan."
Emily practically jumped as she turned to look at Sam, who sat at the far end of the conference room table with his feet propped up and a half-eaten roast beef sandwich in one hand. Her face turning bright red, she said, "I'm sorry, I just --", and stopped talking as soon as the corners of his lips tugged upwards in an amused smile.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "The break room isn't one of my favorite places to eat around here, either."
The chair next to him slid backwards.
"Want to sit?" he said, and at the moment, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more.
*****
Two weeks of shared lunches later, Emily twirled absently around in her desk chair and put her things back into her purse before she went home for the weekend. It was a dizzying move, and when Sam appeared in her line of sight leaning against her desk, she stopped so suddenly she nearly tipped right out of her chair.
He managed to keep from laughing at the way she grabbed onto the desk to keep upright and the annoyed exhale she took to blow an errant blond curl from her eyes and said, "So, you going out with everybody tonight?"
Emily tilted her head to the side, and he added, "You know, down to that bar on Eighteenth. Come on, it'll be a good time."
Well, she certainly couldn't say no to that, could she?
The bar, it turned out, was more of a nightclub than a bar, the smell from the smoke machine making her stomach roll in fear, and Emily forced a smile that didn't look at if she felt like she were being cornered. There were maybe a dozen people from the office and that was nice, but then Sam took her hand and led her onto the dance floor and that trumped "nice" every day of the week.
He slipped a hand around her waist to pull her close, that puppy-dog smile and those twinkling eyes sending shivers of warmth through her stomach, and it was right about the time that she felt his hand rubbing gentle circles on her lower back that it hit her.
Dream or no dream, she thought to herself, I just can't drag him into this.
*****
Once upon a time, when Emily was very, very small, her grandmother sat her down in front of a Ouija board, smoothed her blond curls away from her face, and said, "I'm going to prove to you how very special you are, baby."
Grandma wasn't scary, wasn't ever frightening or harsh, because when you're raising your orphaned granddaughter all by yourself, things like that just don't take too well. But something in her words terrified the little girl just the same, and her eyes widened just as a tiny hiccup escaped her.
Looking back, Emily liked to blame the hiccup for the whole mess, because if it hadn't scared the pointer on the Ouija board, it wouldn't have started moving.
And moving.
And moving.
Just like Sam's hand rubbing gentle circles on her lower back right before he bent to kiss her.
*****
Emily didn't speak to him for a week after that, maybe because she'd been spooked or maybe because she hadn't been spooked enough. It was a week that couldn't end fast enough, though, because all of the paper clips on her desk weren't going to make it to Friday intact at this rate and it was either stare at them or watch Sam as he passed her desk and try desperately not to blush.
Dream or no dream, she kept repeating in her mind. Dream or no dream.
In fact, she was still repeating it in her mind when she walked off the elevator Friday morning and straight into a brick wall.
At least, it felt like a brick wall, but brick walls don't bend over to offer you a hand to your feet, and they certainly don't give you charming smiles like the one Emily faced at that particular moment.
The man in front of her was the kind of handsome who would have made her turn bright red and avoid eye contact if she weren't saving all her shyness these days for Sam's questioning gaze. He wasn't dressed like a lawyer, or even like a client, unless he'd just left the jail after starting a fight at a biker bar. "Sorry about that," he said, and brushed some dust from her jacket before bending down to pick up her things for her.
Emily tried to say thanks or offer to help or ... well, anything, but before she could, he had risen to his feet still sticking things that had spilled onto the floor back into her purse. He grinned as he waved one of her bills in midair before tucking it away. "Emily, huh?"
She nodded, too flustered to speak, and he held out her purse before taking her free hand and giving it a good shake. "Well, Emily, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dean."
There was a distracted moment when it struck her that Sam had a brother named Dean, that much she knew, and she'd already muttered a quiet thanks, hustled off to her desk, and spent a good twenty minutes bending paper clips out of nervous embarrassment before she realized something that chilled her to the core.
Her journal was missing.
*****
You certainly couldn't report a journal missing or stolen, which was why Friday night found Emily pacing back and forth in her tiny studio apartment running her fingers through her hair and trying desperately not to panic. Comforting or not, carrying around her journal with her everywhere, just waiting in her purse to be stolen just like that, was just asking for trouble in this city.
And really, who would believe it if they found it? The contents were ...
Oh, no. No one would believe it.
Not that she believed anyone had just found it, and in all honesty that was what scared her the most.
She barely heard the knock on her door when it finally came, but when she heard it again she narrowed her eyes at the door as if she were wielding a baseball bat instead of a dirty look. "Who is it?" she called out.
"It's Sam," a voice said, and her heart sank.
Dream or no dream, she thought, her breath coming out in a shudder. It didn't matter if she'd been waking up to wedding dresses and familiar arms carrying her across a threshold and babies with familiar twinkling eyes for years. It just didn't matter, see, because --
You're not dragging me into this.
It might have been a yelp and it might not have, but the sound Emily made at the voice in her head was practically strangled out of her. She padded towards the front door in her bare feet, her eyes narrowing once again.
One of her deadbolts unlocked.
She cleared her throat, the words choking off before she could say them, but finally she managed to get them out. "Did you say that, Sam?"
Yes, the voice in her head said.
Something inside her chest felt weightless, and her eyes narrowed.
Another deadbolt slid free, quick and easy like the unbending of a paper clip.
"Have you been having the same dream I have?"
Yes.
The last deadbolt unlocked. That one wasn't her doing.
Emily's hand pressed down on the doorknob, and she took a deep breath before turning it.
Sam stood on her doorstep, her journal clutched in his hand. The leather cord tying it shut was knotted the way it had been before it had disappeared, like no one had ever touched it other than her. No one has, she realized, and her gaze connected with Sam's.
He'd leaned forward against the doorway as if his forehead were resting against the wood, but now he stood up straight and tall and held out the journal for her to take. She did, and as she did, the door swung open another inch, pushed by invisible hands asking for permission.
She raised her face to his, hand running absently over the leather cover of the journal, and took a deliberate step back.
Sam stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not even touching it because he was already touching her. The kiss came so impossibly fast Emily never remembered the in-between later on, only the dizzying sensation of Sam's lips on hers and the tingling heat of his body pressed against hers. Intoxicating didn't even begin to describe this, couldn't even encompass the swirling thoughts in her mind as his hands drifted over her, and she decided that was the reason why he pulled away for air and the first thing she said was, "It wasn't a bear, was it?"
Her fingertips rested on the ridges of scarring on his cheek, and he shook his head.
"Something else?"
"A dava," he said, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
"I'm not dragging you into anything, am I?"
He shook his head at that, swept in to kiss her again, and Emily wondered how many scars he had that might match up with hers.
Title: Planning Ahead Never Gets You Anywhere
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/Character: Sam/OFC
Spoilers for: "Shadow"
Warnings: None, futurefic
Disclaimer: Dear
trollprincess's gym teacher, please excuse her from class, as she has borrowed these characters without permission and with no intention of making money off this.Summary: But then he walked past, and he smiled at her, and she thought, Oh.
Author's note: Sam wants to be a lawyer. Dean wants contact with him. I want Sam to get a girl he won't lie to this time. Okay, I can do that. :)
Planning Ahead Never Gets You Anywhere
*****
The walls of Burkett and Greenbaum grabbed at Emily Carrick the way the larger law offices she'd worked in hadn't, all confining spaces and claustrophobic offices. A week of temping there didn't change the fact that as she sat at the small desk in the back next to the filing cabinets and quietly dealt with whatever paperwork she was handed, her movements slowed a little and her shoulders slumped just that much. Not enough to notice, of course, but just enough to matter.
Emily had already picked up the phone and dialed the sixth digit of the temp agency's number to ask for a new assignment when he walked past her.
She hadn't seen him the four and a half days that had come before, but then again she'd been shuffled off between a ficus plant she could have built a substantial treehouse in and a cabinet she could have hollowed out and napped in during her far-too-short lunch breaks. If she could barely see anyone, she'd come to realize, it was a pretty safe bet no one was seeing her.
But then he walked past, and he smiled at her, and she thought, Oh.
The thought was an understatement and a fairly apt all-encompassing word all at the same time.
Emily felt herself put the receiver back down again but didn't register it in her mind, not really, not with him standing on the other side of the room discussing something with Bridget the trampy paralegal. His hair didn't look right, like it was supposed to be longer with the ends curling over his ears instead of short and a little spiky, and he had one of those goatees you grow when you're trying to hide a serious case of babyface. And it was like he was twice as tall as she'd thought, like she'd need a stepladder or an apple picker to bring herself face to face with him.
But that was most definitely him.
I'm going to marry that man, she thought in a daze, and not just because of the dream.
His name, it turned out, was Sam Winchester.
It was a nice name, she thought, good and strong, and she was a little surprised she hadn't dreamed that, too. But then again there had been a gun in her dream, so maybe that was it.
She'd been bending and unbending paper clips out of boredom when she saw him again, walking past her desk from around a corner and startling her so badly she almost couldn't hide the twisted paper clips fast enough. She swept them into the garbage in an instant and flashed him a smile she hoped didn't look half as guilty as she felt, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Hey, there," he said as he passed.
She got a little wave this time, too. That was far nicer than it should have been.
"He got those scars," Bridget whispered in the break room, "because he was in a horrible car accident and he went straight through the windshield."
Emily didn't roll her eyes at that, but the effort it took to stop herself involved a clench of her teeth that made her bite her tongue hard.
She winced and put down the rest of her ham sandwich, listening to Bridget and the new receptionist talk under their breath and and giggle about how handsome he was. Those scars weren't from a car accident, something she didn't need common sense to figure out. The slashes on his cheek weren't deep but they were there, mostly hidden by the goatee, and Emily wouldn't have believed they were from a car accident if he'd told her himself.
They were from a bear or something. Something with big claws that hid in the dark, she knew, because that was in the dream, too.
Emily whispered a few quick excuses to the others, but nobody paid her much mind when she packed up her lunch and left the break room. She'd gotten used to it years ago, people not really caring when she left a room. Hell, there were times she'd actually come to be grateful for it.
There was always the desk she'd been using for the past week and a half, hidden away like a dark shadowed secret, but Emily wasn't in the mood for feeling like a ghost, and the small meeting room at the end of the hall with the glass walls wouldn't be used for the rest of the day anyway. She tightened her grip on her lunch sack, barely looking up from the floor, and ducked into the meeting room before anybody noticed her going in.
The door had just shut with a click when a familiar voice behind her said, "So much for my brilliant being-alone plan."
Emily practically jumped as she turned to look at Sam, who sat at the far end of the conference room table with his feet propped up and a half-eaten roast beef sandwich in one hand. Her face turning bright red, she said, "I'm sorry, I just --", and stopped talking as soon as the corners of his lips tugged upwards in an amused smile.
"Don't worry about it," he said. "The break room isn't one of my favorite places to eat around here, either."
The chair next to him slid backwards.
"Want to sit?" he said, and at the moment, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more.
Two weeks of shared lunches later, Emily twirled absently around in her desk chair and put her things back into her purse before she went home for the weekend. It was a dizzying move, and when Sam appeared in her line of sight leaning against her desk, she stopped so suddenly she nearly tipped right out of her chair.
He managed to keep from laughing at the way she grabbed onto the desk to keep upright and the annoyed exhale she took to blow an errant blond curl from her eyes and said, "So, you going out with everybody tonight?"
Emily tilted her head to the side, and he added, "You know, down to that bar on Eighteenth. Come on, it'll be a good time."
Well, she certainly couldn't say no to that, could she?
The bar, it turned out, was more of a nightclub than a bar, the smell from the smoke machine making her stomach roll in fear, and Emily forced a smile that didn't look at if she felt like she were being cornered. There were maybe a dozen people from the office and that was nice, but then Sam took her hand and led her onto the dance floor and that trumped "nice" every day of the week.
He slipped a hand around her waist to pull her close, that puppy-dog smile and those twinkling eyes sending shivers of warmth through her stomach, and it was right about the time that she felt his hand rubbing gentle circles on her lower back that it hit her.
Dream or no dream, she thought to herself, I just can't drag him into this.
Once upon a time, when Emily was very, very small, her grandmother sat her down in front of a Ouija board, smoothed her blond curls away from her face, and said, "I'm going to prove to you how very special you are, baby."
Grandma wasn't scary, wasn't ever frightening or harsh, because when you're raising your orphaned granddaughter all by yourself, things like that just don't take too well. But something in her words terrified the little girl just the same, and her eyes widened just as a tiny hiccup escaped her.
Looking back, Emily liked to blame the hiccup for the whole mess, because if it hadn't scared the pointer on the Ouija board, it wouldn't have started moving.
And moving.
And moving.
Just like Sam's hand rubbing gentle circles on her lower back right before he bent to kiss her.
Emily didn't speak to him for a week after that, maybe because she'd been spooked or maybe because she hadn't been spooked enough. It was a week that couldn't end fast enough, though, because all of the paper clips on her desk weren't going to make it to Friday intact at this rate and it was either stare at them or watch Sam as he passed her desk and try desperately not to blush.
Dream or no dream, she kept repeating in her mind. Dream or no dream.
In fact, she was still repeating it in her mind when she walked off the elevator Friday morning and straight into a brick wall.
At least, it felt like a brick wall, but brick walls don't bend over to offer you a hand to your feet, and they certainly don't give you charming smiles like the one Emily faced at that particular moment.
The man in front of her was the kind of handsome who would have made her turn bright red and avoid eye contact if she weren't saving all her shyness these days for Sam's questioning gaze. He wasn't dressed like a lawyer, or even like a client, unless he'd just left the jail after starting a fight at a biker bar. "Sorry about that," he said, and brushed some dust from her jacket before bending down to pick up her things for her.
Emily tried to say thanks or offer to help or ... well, anything, but before she could, he had risen to his feet still sticking things that had spilled onto the floor back into her purse. He grinned as he waved one of her bills in midair before tucking it away. "Emily, huh?"
She nodded, too flustered to speak, and he held out her purse before taking her free hand and giving it a good shake. "Well, Emily, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dean."
There was a distracted moment when it struck her that Sam had a brother named Dean, that much she knew, and she'd already muttered a quiet thanks, hustled off to her desk, and spent a good twenty minutes bending paper clips out of nervous embarrassment before she realized something that chilled her to the core.
Her journal was missing.
You certainly couldn't report a journal missing or stolen, which was why Friday night found Emily pacing back and forth in her tiny studio apartment running her fingers through her hair and trying desperately not to panic. Comforting or not, carrying around her journal with her everywhere, just waiting in her purse to be stolen just like that, was just asking for trouble in this city.
And really, who would believe it if they found it? The contents were ...
Oh, no. No one would believe it.
Not that she believed anyone had just found it, and in all honesty that was what scared her the most.
She barely heard the knock on her door when it finally came, but when she heard it again she narrowed her eyes at the door as if she were wielding a baseball bat instead of a dirty look. "Who is it?" she called out.
"It's Sam," a voice said, and her heart sank.
Dream or no dream, she thought, her breath coming out in a shudder. It didn't matter if she'd been waking up to wedding dresses and familiar arms carrying her across a threshold and babies with familiar twinkling eyes for years. It just didn't matter, see, because --
You're not dragging me into this.
It might have been a yelp and it might not have, but the sound Emily made at the voice in her head was practically strangled out of her. She padded towards the front door in her bare feet, her eyes narrowing once again.
One of her deadbolts unlocked.
She cleared her throat, the words choking off before she could say them, but finally she managed to get them out. "Did you say that, Sam?"
Yes, the voice in her head said.
Something inside her chest felt weightless, and her eyes narrowed.
Another deadbolt slid free, quick and easy like the unbending of a paper clip.
"Have you been having the same dream I have?"
Yes.
The last deadbolt unlocked. That one wasn't her doing.
Emily's hand pressed down on the doorknob, and she took a deep breath before turning it.
Sam stood on her doorstep, her journal clutched in his hand. The leather cord tying it shut was knotted the way it had been before it had disappeared, like no one had ever touched it other than her. No one has, she realized, and her gaze connected with Sam's.
He'd leaned forward against the doorway as if his forehead were resting against the wood, but now he stood up straight and tall and held out the journal for her to take. She did, and as she did, the door swung open another inch, pushed by invisible hands asking for permission.
She raised her face to his, hand running absently over the leather cover of the journal, and took a deliberate step back.
Sam stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not even touching it because he was already touching her. The kiss came so impossibly fast Emily never remembered the in-between later on, only the dizzying sensation of Sam's lips on hers and the tingling heat of his body pressed against hers. Intoxicating didn't even begin to describe this, couldn't even encompass the swirling thoughts in her mind as his hands drifted over her, and she decided that was the reason why he pulled away for air and the first thing she said was, "It wasn't a bear, was it?"
Her fingertips rested on the ridges of scarring on his cheek, and he shook his head.
"Something else?"
"A dava," he said, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
"I'm not dragging you into anything, am I?"
He shook his head at that, swept in to kiss her again, and Emily wondered how many scars he had that might match up with hers.
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*loves*
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And Dean helped Sam get the girl. Not that he could not do it by himself but it was nice to see older brother was still around... and that Sam would not need to lie to his girl this time.
Very nice.
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And Dean helped Sam get the girl. Not that he could not do it by himself but it was nice to see older brother was still around... and that Sam would not need to lie to his girl this time.
Very nice.
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Funny thing, there is a fic, for another fandom, that has a original character named Emily and she is really great and 'normal' as in no mary sue too.
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This only makes me more curious about Emily and why Dean showed up and why Sam was at a law office in the first place and.... uh, well, I'm curious.
I liked this.
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Anyway, you don't have to use it or anything but I just thought I'd share if you wanted it. :-)
a link so I don't mess up your page here :)
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Thanks so much for posting this. I am so in love with Emily. I love that you told the story from her point-of-view and just let Sam and Dean be there when needed.
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