let me hear your voice tonight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alexseanchai) wrote2011-08-30 09:17 pm
alexseanchai) wrote2011-08-30 09:17 pm
Entry tags:
The Benefits of Salt and Pentagrams
Title: The Benefits of Salt and Pentagrams
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Riley's been acting off lately. Demurring from a round of margaritas, for example. Drinking tequila straight. Coming home hours later than the norm even for Riley, and refusing to answer questions about where she's been. Sara's worried.
Pairings: Sam Winchester/Riley Elliott
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1200 (this part)
Riley's been acting off lately. Demurring from a round of margaritas, for example. Drinking tequila straight. Coming home hours later than the norm even for Riley, and refusing to answer questions about where she's been.
Sara's worried.
When the six-foot-six of sexass strolls up to the bar and asks for a Sex on the Beach, it ought to come out skeevy. Strange men asking Riley for a Sex on the Beach always comes out skeevy. (From Ben, it's just...Ben.) But from this guy, it just sounds like casual, if pointed, interest.
Riley turns to look at him, and for a moment Sara could swear her eyes are pure black. But the next moment it's gone. Alcohol hallucinations. Must be. Never mind that the only time in Sara's life that she's hallucinated was the time she was stoned on marijuana.
"Sure thing," Riley says, and pulls out a shaker and the ice.
Ten minutes later, Riley and Mr. Sexass are nowhere to be seen. Oh well. More for Sara when six foot two of hotass shows up. "Hey bartender!" he calls.
"She's on break," Sara says. Then she makes a split-second decision: friends cover for friends, right? "What did you want? Maybe I can help you."
"Whiskey, neat," Mr. Hotass says.
Sara ducks behind the bar and scans bottles until she finds one that says Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey, then pours Mr. Hotass a shot. "Haven't seen you around before," she says casually. "New in town?"
"Passing through," Mr. Hotass says. "My partner and I are investigating the Mielke murder. We needed a night off."
"I saw that in the paper," Sara says. "That was just a few blocks from here."
"Heard anything about it?" Officer Hotass asks.
Sara leans in and lowers her voice. "I heard his heart was ripped out."
"How the hell did that get out," Officer Hotass grumbles. "Don't spread that around. Another shot, ma'am."
"Sara," says Sara, pouring another shot. "Sara Maxwell."
"Dean."
Riley screams.
Dean is off and running, Sara right on his ass. (And a very fine ass it is.) It's a good thing Ben and Aaron and Fitz are doing a guys' night out, she thinks stupidly; they'd all be tripping over each other.
Riley's in the back alley, exactly where Sara'd predicted, and Mr. Sexass is with her. There's something dark on Riley's fingers and Sexass's shirt. Riley's sobbing.
Riley never cries.
"Get away from her, you bastard!" Sara yells.
"He didn't hurt her, he's my partner," Dean says. "Sam?"
"Demon," Sexass—Sam—says, and pitches over into Dean.
"Riley?" Sara asks, going around Dean to hug her. "Riley, what happened?"
"Dammit, Sammy," Dean says over Sara. "Call 911," he orders a moment later.
"I'm a doctor," Sara says. "What's wrong?"
"I'd guess our perp tried to rip his heart out," Dean says, acid.
There's blood on Riley's hands. "Not Riley," Sara says. "She wouldn't. She never." Sara's already moving to strip off Sam's shirt with which to stanch his bleeding.
"N'hosp'tal," Sam mumbles.
"Yes hospital," Dean says firmly, then adds to Sara, "I didn't say your friend did anything." He turns away. "Riley, my name's Dean Plant and I'm with the FBI," he says gently. "Tell me what happened."
"I tried to k-k-kill him," Riley sobs.
"I think you're lying," Dean says.
There is blood on Riley's hands and Dean thinks she's lying?
This officially wins for strangest night of Sara's life.
"I c-couldn't help it!" Riley wails.
Sirens scream. Dean turns to Sara. "Get her cleaned up and try to get her calmed down," he orders. "Don't say anything to the police—they don't know their asses from anthills."
Sara snorts. "Pressure here," she tells Dean, and the transfer is smooth and professional. "Okay, Riley, up."
Sara maneuvers Riley back into the bar; fortunately the ladies' room is right there by the exit. She scrubs all four arms like she's cleaning up after a delivery, or a surgery. Then it's back out to the bar, where Sara tells the manager Riley's sick and they're going home. At their apartment, Sara mixes up a mint julep with expert hands (she's nothing on the bartender Riley is, but the drinks she knows, she knows), heavy on the bourbon, then thinks better of it and gives Riley bourbon straight.
"What happened?" she finally asks.
It's the weirdest story Sara's ever heard, bar none. Demons? She knows they're real, of course, she's Catholic, but seriously, demons? A demon possessed Riley and killed people? And was yanked out of Riley by main force, not an exorcism, and was killed itself?
No wonder Dean said not to talk to the police. Also, needs more bourbon.
Some hours later, there's a knock at the door. Sara peeks through the peephole, and it's Dean, Sam behind him looking rather the worse for wear.
She opens the door. "Hi."
"We thought you'd like an explanation," Sam says. "And advice on how to keep it from happening in the future."
The explanation from the experts is no less weird than the one from Riley.
"It's like being a passenger in a fatal car crash," Sam explains. "A horrible thing happened, and you'll never forget it, but you weren't driving. Don't ever forget that."
"Tattoos? Really?" Riley asks when Sam and Dean get to that part of the story.
"Tattoos, really," Sam says, and nods to Dean, who pulls down his shirt collar, showing off a star in a flaming circle, matching the one half-covered by bandages on Sam's chest. "I might need to get mine redone once this heals."
Riley licks her lips, staring at Sam's tattoo.
"I should warn you, she's drunk," Sara says. "And she's a horny drunk." She considers that. "Actually, she's just horny."
Sam and Dean glance at each other.
Sara knocks back another bourbon.
"So Riley and I go out and get tattoos tomorrow, and neither of us can get possessed?" Sara asks, just to clarify.
"As long as the tattoo has a pentagram in a circle," Dean says.
"Father O'Malley will flip his shit," Sara concludes.
Dean shrugs. "So don't tell him."
"How did you save me?" Riley asks suddenly, without taking her eyes off Sam.
Sam ducks his head. "It's nothing you can do. Don't worry about it."
"Sam," Dean says warningly.
Sam doesn't look at Dean. "I tried exorcising her with my brain and it worked. It shouldn't have, but it did. Happy?"
"Very," Riley says.
"Idiot," Dean says. "You're lucky you're alive, never mind conscious."
Sam shrugs.
"I don't care," Riley says. "You saved me." She gets up, and before Sara can look away, plops herself in Sam's lap and plants a kiss.
Sam grins like an idiot. Dean smirks.
Five minutes later Sam and Riley have disappeared into Riley's bedroom.
"Well, this is awkward," Dean says.
"I don't know," Sara says. She's not as drunk as all that. "We could. You know."
"I don't think so," Dean says kindly.
"Fine," Sara huffs.
They wait in silence.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Riley's been acting off lately. Demurring from a round of margaritas, for example. Drinking tequila straight. Coming home hours later than the norm even for Riley, and refusing to answer questions about where she's been. Sara's worried.
Pairings: Sam Winchester/Riley Elliott
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 1200 (this part)
Riley's been acting off lately. Demurring from a round of margaritas, for example. Drinking tequila straight. Coming home hours later than the norm even for Riley, and refusing to answer questions about where she's been.
Sara's worried.
When the six-foot-six of sexass strolls up to the bar and asks for a Sex on the Beach, it ought to come out skeevy. Strange men asking Riley for a Sex on the Beach always comes out skeevy. (From Ben, it's just...Ben.) But from this guy, it just sounds like casual, if pointed, interest.
Riley turns to look at him, and for a moment Sara could swear her eyes are pure black. But the next moment it's gone. Alcohol hallucinations. Must be. Never mind that the only time in Sara's life that she's hallucinated was the time she was stoned on marijuana.
"Sure thing," Riley says, and pulls out a shaker and the ice.
Ten minutes later, Riley and Mr. Sexass are nowhere to be seen. Oh well. More for Sara when six foot two of hotass shows up. "Hey bartender!" he calls.
"She's on break," Sara says. Then she makes a split-second decision: friends cover for friends, right? "What did you want? Maybe I can help you."
"Whiskey, neat," Mr. Hotass says.
Sara ducks behind the bar and scans bottles until she finds one that says Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey, then pours Mr. Hotass a shot. "Haven't seen you around before," she says casually. "New in town?"
"Passing through," Mr. Hotass says. "My partner and I are investigating the Mielke murder. We needed a night off."
"I saw that in the paper," Sara says. "That was just a few blocks from here."
"Heard anything about it?" Officer Hotass asks.
Sara leans in and lowers her voice. "I heard his heart was ripped out."
"How the hell did that get out," Officer Hotass grumbles. "Don't spread that around. Another shot, ma'am."
"Sara," says Sara, pouring another shot. "Sara Maxwell."
"Dean."
Riley screams.
Dean is off and running, Sara right on his ass. (And a very fine ass it is.) It's a good thing Ben and Aaron and Fitz are doing a guys' night out, she thinks stupidly; they'd all be tripping over each other.
Riley's in the back alley, exactly where Sara'd predicted, and Mr. Sexass is with her. There's something dark on Riley's fingers and Sexass's shirt. Riley's sobbing.
Riley never cries.
"Get away from her, you bastard!" Sara yells.
"He didn't hurt her, he's my partner," Dean says. "Sam?"
"Demon," Sexass—Sam—says, and pitches over into Dean.
"Riley?" Sara asks, going around Dean to hug her. "Riley, what happened?"
"Dammit, Sammy," Dean says over Sara. "Call 911," he orders a moment later.
"I'm a doctor," Sara says. "What's wrong?"
"I'd guess our perp tried to rip his heart out," Dean says, acid.
There's blood on Riley's hands. "Not Riley," Sara says. "She wouldn't. She never." Sara's already moving to strip off Sam's shirt with which to stanch his bleeding.
"N'hosp'tal," Sam mumbles.
"Yes hospital," Dean says firmly, then adds to Sara, "I didn't say your friend did anything." He turns away. "Riley, my name's Dean Plant and I'm with the FBI," he says gently. "Tell me what happened."
"I tried to k-k-kill him," Riley sobs.
"I think you're lying," Dean says.
There is blood on Riley's hands and Dean thinks she's lying?
This officially wins for strangest night of Sara's life.
"I c-couldn't help it!" Riley wails.
Sirens scream. Dean turns to Sara. "Get her cleaned up and try to get her calmed down," he orders. "Don't say anything to the police—they don't know their asses from anthills."
Sara snorts. "Pressure here," she tells Dean, and the transfer is smooth and professional. "Okay, Riley, up."
Sara maneuvers Riley back into the bar; fortunately the ladies' room is right there by the exit. She scrubs all four arms like she's cleaning up after a delivery, or a surgery. Then it's back out to the bar, where Sara tells the manager Riley's sick and they're going home. At their apartment, Sara mixes up a mint julep with expert hands (she's nothing on the bartender Riley is, but the drinks she knows, she knows), heavy on the bourbon, then thinks better of it and gives Riley bourbon straight.
"What happened?" she finally asks.
It's the weirdest story Sara's ever heard, bar none. Demons? She knows they're real, of course, she's Catholic, but seriously, demons? A demon possessed Riley and killed people? And was yanked out of Riley by main force, not an exorcism, and was killed itself?
No wonder Dean said not to talk to the police. Also, needs more bourbon.
Some hours later, there's a knock at the door. Sara peeks through the peephole, and it's Dean, Sam behind him looking rather the worse for wear.
She opens the door. "Hi."
"We thought you'd like an explanation," Sam says. "And advice on how to keep it from happening in the future."
The explanation from the experts is no less weird than the one from Riley.
"It's like being a passenger in a fatal car crash," Sam explains. "A horrible thing happened, and you'll never forget it, but you weren't driving. Don't ever forget that."
"Tattoos? Really?" Riley asks when Sam and Dean get to that part of the story.
"Tattoos, really," Sam says, and nods to Dean, who pulls down his shirt collar, showing off a star in a flaming circle, matching the one half-covered by bandages on Sam's chest. "I might need to get mine redone once this heals."
Riley licks her lips, staring at Sam's tattoo.
"I should warn you, she's drunk," Sara says. "And she's a horny drunk." She considers that. "Actually, she's just horny."
Sam and Dean glance at each other.
Sara knocks back another bourbon.
"So Riley and I go out and get tattoos tomorrow, and neither of us can get possessed?" Sara asks, just to clarify.
"As long as the tattoo has a pentagram in a circle," Dean says.
"Father O'Malley will flip his shit," Sara concludes.
Dean shrugs. "So don't tell him."
"How did you save me?" Riley asks suddenly, without taking her eyes off Sam.
Sam ducks his head. "It's nothing you can do. Don't worry about it."
"Sam," Dean says warningly.
Sam doesn't look at Dean. "I tried exorcising her with my brain and it worked. It shouldn't have, but it did. Happy?"
"Very," Riley says.
"Idiot," Dean says. "You're lucky you're alive, never mind conscious."
Sam shrugs.
"I don't care," Riley says. "You saved me." She gets up, and before Sara can look away, plops herself in Sam's lap and plants a kiss.
Sam grins like an idiot. Dean smirks.
Five minutes later Sam and Riley have disappeared into Riley's bedroom.
"Well, this is awkward," Dean says.
"I don't know," Sara says. She's not as drunk as all that. "We could. You know."
"I don't think so," Dean says kindly.
"Fine," Sara huffs.
They wait in silence.