donutsweeper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
donutsweeper) wrote2008-12-11 11:49 pm
donutsweeper) wrote2008-12-11 11:49 pm
Entry tags:
A Helping Hand
Title: A Helping Hand
Pairing/Warning/Rating: Torchwood/Supernatural crossover, none, rated G
Word Count: 869
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_medley_
Summary: When faced with massive, bizarre spider webs Dean calls an expert for help.
Author's Note: Written for day twelve of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
consci_fan_mo using an image prompt. Vaguely a continuation of the story The Four Times Dean Was In Over His Head, which chronicles previous meetings of Dean and Jack. see donutville link for picture
“This definitely isn't a Wendigo, Dean.”
“Yeah, I got that, genius.” Dean stared at the huge webs that hung over all over the dense brush and at the random assortment of bones and other crap stuck to the glittery sections. “Not unless they're suddenly much pickier eaters,” he added, pointing to the partially chewed belt buckle that was only an inch off the ground, hanging loosely by a piece of frayed webbing.
“So, any ideas?” Sam rubbed his chin. “I can't think of a single creature that's associated with webs.” Seeing Dean's raised eyebrow, he added, “Well, other than spiders, of course. But spiders wouldn't do this.” He gestured at the six foot high web blocking the path. “Unless they were mutant spiders. Think we discovered mutant spiders, Dean?”
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't comment.
“There’s nothing in Dad's book about them, that I remember anyway. Think we should call Bobby? He might have some other ideas.”
Dean grabbed a dead branch off the floor and approached the web. Eying Sam, who readied his shotgun, he reached out and poked the web in one of the shiny bits, near where a human thigh bone was attached. The tip stuck tight the second it made contact. Dean pulled, tilting back to put all his weight on it, but to no avail. “This sucker’s stuck tight. Sammy, come here.” Sam wrapped his hands around the branch, but even with both of them tugging on it they couldn't get it to budge. They dropped it quickly when the attached bit began to sizzle and the whole thing started to heat up.
“Wow,” Sam said as he let go. “I don't think that's typical for spider webs.”
“Ya think?” Dean cocked an eyebrow.
Sam just glared at him. “So, what do we do? We assumed we were dealing with a Wendigo. We were prepared for a Wendigo. But there's no way this is a Wendigo.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going with your idea of mutant spiders either, genius.”
“Well, then you come up with a better answer!” Sam shot back.
“I think I will.” Dean pulled out his phone and began dialing. “Bitch,” he said, covering the mouthpiece with his other hand.
“Jerk.”
“Quiet, it's ringing.” Removing his other hand he spoke into the phone. “Let me talk to Jack. Tell him it's Dean Winchester. Thanks.”
“Using your real name? Saying thanks? Just who are you calling, Dean?”
“Old friend of Dad's. Or acquaintance, anyway. I think. Anyway, I’ve worked with him before. He knows stuff.” Dean shrugged. Then, into the phone he said, “Yeah, it's me. You know anything about giant spiders with super sticky webs that fry their prey? Yeah.” He nodded. “Sure, just a sec. I can text them to you.... No, not that I've seen.... Sammy would've mentioned it. Yeah. Okay, thanks.”
Sam sighed. “It's Sam. And, who was that and what did they say?”
“Hang on.” Dean wasn't the fastest typist in the world, more of the hunt and peck variety. “Okay, got the coordinates off.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“For how long?”
Dean just looked at his brother. “What, you got a hot date or something?”
“No! No, I just-“ Sam sighed. “Never mind.”
Dean’s gaze didn’t waver until his phone rang. “Yeah?” He listened for a moment before nodding quickly. “Okay, thanks,” he said, snapping the phone shut.
After a few moments of silence Sam finally asked, “Survey says?”
“Jack’s gonna take care of it, this one’s a little more his field than ours.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “His field.”
Dean shrugged. “Mulder might have been full of it, but ‘The X-Files’ got some crap right.” He turned and started walking back the way they came.
“Dean?” Given no choice, Sam trotted after him.
“We don’t got the right tools for this one, Sammy.”
“The right tools?”
“Trellionian misting guns.” A stranger stepped out of nowhere. He was about as tall as Dean, dressed in an old fashioned military uniform. Sam pulled out the shotgun, but Dean but a restraining hand on his arm. “Thanks for the call, Dean. We knew these guys came through, but hadn’t pinpointed where they’d wound up yet.”
“I’m clever that way.” Dean snorted. “You got here fast.”
“Yeah, well, bummed a ride. You know how that is.” The man gave a vague hand wave and Dean nodded.
“Wait, wait, wait. Trellionian what?” Sam looked from Dean to the stranger and then back again.
“Look at you, Sam. All grown up. Captain Jack Harkness,” he grabbed Sam’s hand for a hearty shake. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get it all taken care of and cleaned up before anyone else is the wiser.”
“Err, okay,” Sam replied, as he tried to extract his hand. “Thanks for the assist then, I guess.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right, Dean?”
“Right.” Dean gave Jack a punch on the shoulder as he walked past. “Come on, Sam. Let’s get out of here and let Jack do his thing. We have more pressing needs to take care of right now, anyway.”
“Pressing needs?” Sammy asked, traipsing after Dean after giving Jack one last long look.
“Yeah, I need some pie.”
Pairing/Warning/Rating: Torchwood/Supernatural crossover, none, rated G
Word Count: 869
Beta:
_medley_ Summary: When faced with massive, bizarre spider webs Dean calls an expert for help.
Author's Note: Written for day twelve of
consci_fan_mo using an image prompt. Vaguely a continuation of the story The Four Times Dean Was In Over His Head, which chronicles previous meetings of Dean and Jack. see donutville link for picture“This definitely isn't a Wendigo, Dean.”
“Yeah, I got that, genius.” Dean stared at the huge webs that hung over all over the dense brush and at the random assortment of bones and other crap stuck to the glittery sections. “Not unless they're suddenly much pickier eaters,” he added, pointing to the partially chewed belt buckle that was only an inch off the ground, hanging loosely by a piece of frayed webbing.
“So, any ideas?” Sam rubbed his chin. “I can't think of a single creature that's associated with webs.” Seeing Dean's raised eyebrow, he added, “Well, other than spiders, of course. But spiders wouldn't do this.” He gestured at the six foot high web blocking the path. “Unless they were mutant spiders. Think we discovered mutant spiders, Dean?”
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't comment.
“There’s nothing in Dad's book about them, that I remember anyway. Think we should call Bobby? He might have some other ideas.”
Dean grabbed a dead branch off the floor and approached the web. Eying Sam, who readied his shotgun, he reached out and poked the web in one of the shiny bits, near where a human thigh bone was attached. The tip stuck tight the second it made contact. Dean pulled, tilting back to put all his weight on it, but to no avail. “This sucker’s stuck tight. Sammy, come here.” Sam wrapped his hands around the branch, but even with both of them tugging on it they couldn't get it to budge. They dropped it quickly when the attached bit began to sizzle and the whole thing started to heat up.
“Wow,” Sam said as he let go. “I don't think that's typical for spider webs.”
“Ya think?” Dean cocked an eyebrow.
Sam just glared at him. “So, what do we do? We assumed we were dealing with a Wendigo. We were prepared for a Wendigo. But there's no way this is a Wendigo.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going with your idea of mutant spiders either, genius.”
“Well, then you come up with a better answer!” Sam shot back.
“I think I will.” Dean pulled out his phone and began dialing. “Bitch,” he said, covering the mouthpiece with his other hand.
“Jerk.”
“Quiet, it's ringing.” Removing his other hand he spoke into the phone. “Let me talk to Jack. Tell him it's Dean Winchester. Thanks.”
“Using your real name? Saying thanks? Just who are you calling, Dean?”
“Old friend of Dad's. Or acquaintance, anyway. I think. Anyway, I’ve worked with him before. He knows stuff.” Dean shrugged. Then, into the phone he said, “Yeah, it's me. You know anything about giant spiders with super sticky webs that fry their prey? Yeah.” He nodded. “Sure, just a sec. I can text them to you.... No, not that I've seen.... Sammy would've mentioned it. Yeah. Okay, thanks.”
Sam sighed. “It's Sam. And, who was that and what did they say?”
“Hang on.” Dean wasn't the fastest typist in the world, more of the hunt and peck variety. “Okay, got the coordinates off.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We wait.”
“For how long?”
Dean just looked at his brother. “What, you got a hot date or something?”
“No! No, I just-“ Sam sighed. “Never mind.”
Dean’s gaze didn’t waver until his phone rang. “Yeah?” He listened for a moment before nodding quickly. “Okay, thanks,” he said, snapping the phone shut.
After a few moments of silence Sam finally asked, “Survey says?”
“Jack’s gonna take care of it, this one’s a little more his field than ours.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “His field.”
Dean shrugged. “Mulder might have been full of it, but ‘The X-Files’ got some crap right.” He turned and started walking back the way they came.
“Dean?” Given no choice, Sam trotted after him.
“We don’t got the right tools for this one, Sammy.”
“The right tools?”
“Trellionian misting guns.” A stranger stepped out of nowhere. He was about as tall as Dean, dressed in an old fashioned military uniform. Sam pulled out the shotgun, but Dean but a restraining hand on his arm. “Thanks for the call, Dean. We knew these guys came through, but hadn’t pinpointed where they’d wound up yet.”
“I’m clever that way.” Dean snorted. “You got here fast.”
“Yeah, well, bummed a ride. You know how that is.” The man gave a vague hand wave and Dean nodded.
“Wait, wait, wait. Trellionian what?” Sam looked from Dean to the stranger and then back again.
“Look at you, Sam. All grown up. Captain Jack Harkness,” he grabbed Sam’s hand for a hearty shake. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get it all taken care of and cleaned up before anyone else is the wiser.”
“Err, okay,” Sam replied, as he tried to extract his hand. “Thanks for the assist then, I guess.”
“Hey, that’s what friends are for, right, Dean?”
“Right.” Dean gave Jack a punch on the shoulder as he walked past. “Come on, Sam. Let’s get out of here and let Jack do his thing. We have more pressing needs to take care of right now, anyway.”
“Pressing needs?” Sammy asked, traipsing after Dean after giving Jack one last long look.
“Yeah, I need some pie.”