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Title: 40 Days and 40 Nights (5/9)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Rating: PG this chapter
Pairing: Steve (The Second Coming)/Sam (Reaper)
Summary: A crossover that I felt appropriate given the characters' circumstances. The whole fic is finished. Set after the Reaper season 1 finale. Sam encounters a mysterious stranger on the road.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
“Here,” Steve said, holding out a glass of water to Sam, who sat on the sofa beside him. Sam accepted it, eyes bleary from the nap he’d just woken up from and possibly some post trip numbness, but he seemed better at least.
“Thanks,”
“You’re welcome.”
He downed the whole thing in a couple of gulps. Dehydration. Steve had lost track of how many glasses of beer Sam had imbibed the night before and then he had to throw his own pain cure turned drug high into the mix. Who knew what physical effects that mood altering disaster had on his exhausted body?
“Sorry about earlier,” Sam said, mimicking the words springing on Steve’s tongue. “That was weird. I’m not sure what I said, actually. It’s kinda fuzzy.”
Oh good, said half of Steve’s brain, whilst the other half bemoaned the missed opportunity, not that he’d been willing to jump at said opportunity. If necessary, he would have exited the apartment and wandered the corridors until the trip extinguished itself in Sam’s system.
“I’m afraid I made you a little high. I didn’t mean to, but I’m still new to this. Not sure what I’m doing half the time. And then you crashed.”
“Yeah, I kinda remember that.”
“Do you want more water?”
“Yes. Please. You know, I should get it. You’re the guest here.”
Sam stood up, but Steve snatched the glass out of his hand and sprang towards the kitchen, placing it under the open tap before Sam could take more than two steps.
“It’s fine. See? Half full already.”
He flashed Sam a smile he didn’t feel, all in the hope to charm one from Sam himself. Genuine feeling slipped onto his lips when his plan proved fruitful and Sam returned his smile.
“Thank you,” Sam said when Steve returned with the glass. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“It’s no bother.”
Sam peered at him from the top of the glass as he sipped his water. Steve ducked his gaze, afraid that Sam might divine the truth from the skittishness in his eyes.
“I don’t really understand much about this God/Devil thing,” said Sam, lowering the water. “I mean, I understand the basics, but I didn’t really pay that much attention when they were teaching me this.”
“Me neither.”
“Really? But shouldn’t you know more than anyone else? You’ve an actual divine mission to do, right? Not just capture escaped souls and drop them off at the DMV.”
“I do. But it’s all very much in the air. I just know things when I have to know them.”
“What do you mean know?”
“Knowledge just pops into my head, all rambly and confused. I can’t make sense of it half the time. It’s like the whole power of the internet smashed into a 20 KB hard drive. It takes me a while to makes sense of it all. That’s how I learned I’m the son of God. I just knew from one second to the next. Boom. Total fact.”
“Wow. I can’t tell if that’s incredibly cool or just creepy.”
“A bit of both. Hard to get used to.”
“The Devil tried to carjack me.”
“Carjack you?”
“Well, he wasn’t really trying to carjack me, but he popped up in the backseat when I was driving and I freaked out and hit one of those big trash containers. And then he just disappeared and showed up in my house again and told me he owned my soul. Actually, my dad had told me that already, but still. Then he made steak, asked me if I wanted some, and told me that I had to capture this really scary looking guy or he’d take my mother’s soul. Worse day of my life. Though there are some strong contenders.”
He swigged at his water as if it were liquor, the clenching in his throat indicating that he wished it were so.
“Not that it’s all bad,” he continued. “Well, it is pretty horrendously bad but there are high points. Some. I can’t really think of one right now, but... Well, it is nice to get out and achieve something. I haven’t done anything with the rest of my life. This is the only thing I’m good at. But the almost dying once a week... I could really do without that. And I hate having to put my friends in danger all the time. I don’t make them, all the opposite. They come with me even when I tell them no.”
“You have good friends.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m really glad to have them. But this whole thing. It’s too... It was bad enough just having him own me, but now he’s my dad. How much more can things suck? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get to go to the comfy corner of hell when I die, right between the eternal hellfire and the pitchforks.”
“Maybe you won’t have to go to hell.”
Sam turned towards him so quickly that water sprayed over the back of the couch.
“What do mean ‘won’t have to’? Is there a way you can get me out of this deal? You can break my deal with the devil?”
Oh, crap. He shouldn’t have been so blunt. Now he had Sam leaning forward on the couch, staring at him with such desperate hope and Steve still didn’t know if there was any truth to what he said at all. He supposed it was plausible, but how? Maybe there was a solution in his head somewhere that he hadn’t made sense of yet. Maybe.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. I just meant... well, maybe. There might be. There are loopholes to everything, right? And it wouldn’t be right for such a good guy like you to go to hell.”
“So... maybe.”
“That’s the best I can give you now.”
A smile burst on Sam’s face.
“I’ll take that. Even that much is fantastic.”
“Great. Glad I could make you feel better. Mind, I don’t really know what I’m saying.”
“That’s fine. Really. Better than fine. Any chance at all is amazing. Especially coming from you. Not that I know what you can or can’t do. Maybe I’m hoping too much. I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’ll stop now.”
Steve couldn’t help but grin.
“That’s okay. You should be happy. I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I won’t get mad if you don’t come up with anything. I’m getting used to the idea anyway.”
“But I really do want to help you.”
“I know. Thank you.”
A silence fell not unlike those that plague the scene before the two suitors either kiss in a wild flight of passion or run away with an awkward gait to brood in their own little corners beating themselves up over why, why they didn’t reach forward and touch those yummy looking lips just once, just one kiss, what could it hurt? Come on. Sam wanted him to, had basically blurted it out an hour before, but he was high, rambling, but then what about that almost kiss three days ago, Sam’s eyes so warm and tender, needing this intimacy, this testament that someone cared for him, wanted him, and Steve had been so willing to give it, but he’d reined himself in and now everything felt much too late, his heels stuck on the ground, pushing back the wrong way, because he still couldn’t shake the wrongness from his skin, no matter how much of a coward it made him. Sam was the first to pull back this time,
“I’m gonna get some breakfast,” Sam said, pushing himself off the couch to flee to the kitchen, head bowed, purposely circling it on the other side away from Steve, who used the opportunity to shut his eyes and berate himself in silence.
“Have you eaten yet?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, I had something.”
“What did you have? There isn’t even milk in the fridge.”
There had been milk in the fridge, but Steve threw out the brackish sludge last night along with a green chunk of cheese. The rest of the boys’ food supply consisted of two boxes of Ritz crackers, which Steve had gorged himself on, four boxes of cereal, half a freezer full of hot dogs, a wrinkly Granny Smith apple in the bottom drawer of the fridge, and a stick of butter. Oh, and a six pack of Michelob, of course.
“I had some cereal and biscuits. Cookies. Or whatever you call them.”
“The Ritz?”
“Yeah, those.”
“Those would be crackers. Cookies are like chocolate chip. That kind of stuff.”
“Okay. It’s so tricky to get around your weird English sometimes.”
“Hey! Cookie is a good, solid word. Biscuit sounds like something old ladies serve when they’re playing bridge or something.”
“It does not. Cookie sounds too cute.”
“It doesn’t sound cute.”
“Of course it does. Just listen to it. Coo-kie. C’mon. what kind of word is that?”
“Alright. What about rubbish?”
“What’s wrong with that one?”
“C’mon. Rubbish? It’s like a little kid word.”
“It is not.”
“Trash is a much better word than that, seriously”
“Like pants is better than trousers, I wager.”
“Yeah.”
“You know what pants means where I come from?”
“What?”
“Underwear.”
Sam gaped at him in baffled horror.
“You’re serious.”
“Yup.”
“Oh come on. That’s just wrong.”
“Wrong? Calling these,” Steve pinched his jeans, “pants is wrong. It’s English, remember?”
“Oh, right. So that gives you the right to determine what’s ‘proper’ English?”
“We did invent the language.”
“And we reinvented it. In a better form.”
“What are you two chatting about?”
Steve and Sam jumped back from each other (when had they gotten so close?), Steve’s heart suddenly hammering in his throat, and turned towards the intrusive voice. Oh, it was Ben. Just Ben. Here. In the kitchen. With them. He wasn’t disappointed. Not at all.
“I could hear you all the way from my room,” Ben continued, approaching them and Steve’s chance at doing something stupid and quite possibly wonderful slipped further and further away, not that he’d been— Okay, yes, the idea of kissing Sam had wormed its way through his brain again and maybe he’d given it more clear consideration this time, so yes, he was upset that Ben had stepped his foot in it with his silly afro sticking up in all directions and his morning breath and... stuff.
“Nothing,” Sam said. Did Steve hear his tongue stumble with guilt or was he just fantasizing? “We were just discussing language differences.”
He tugged a drawer open and took out a box of Cheerios, pouring them into a wide bowl with Taz printed on the side in bright colors. Some of the diminutive doughnuts spilled onto the counter, rolling into the sink.
“We’re going to have to eat out or get something delivered for later,” he rambled on, finally stopping when it became obvious that soon there would be more cereal outside the bowl than in. “There’s nothing to eat here beside this. And some crackers,” he emphasized in Steve’s direction, though his eyes only focused on Steve’s for a second before glancing away. He munched his cereal, nervous crunch crunch filling the room.
Ben peered at them, begrudged slumber blearing his eyes, yet they were keen and alert as he interrogated them in silence. He knows, Steve panicked. He knows, he knows, he knows. But Ben’s a cool guy, right? Always good fun. He might be okay with it. Except that Steve is some random stranger they picked off the street and now he’s trying to get into his best friend’s bed and as a good friend he’ll have no choice but to beat up Steve and throw him out into the gutter where he belonged. Sock would no doubt help once he learned the truth, too. Steve collapsed against the counter, concealing his agitated breaths through his nose, hoping, praying, please, please, that Ben would leave it be for a little longer, at least long enough for Steve to pick up his things, as it were, and shuffle off with some sort of quiet dignity. Either Ben opted for discretion or Steve unconsciously fiddled with his mind, for Ben didn’t mention anything about it, but Steve felt his penetrating gaze on him even as he addressed Sam.
“Delivery would be better,” he said. “Sock’s not up yet and when he does get up...”
“He’s going to be hurting,” Sam finished the sentence for him. “Yeah. So... pizza or Chinese?”
Steve snuck away to the bathroom, the sole safe place, hoping Sock would be a while yet.
next part
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Rating: PG this chapter
Pairing: Steve (The Second Coming)/Sam (Reaper)
Summary: A crossover that I felt appropriate given the characters' circumstances. The whole fic is finished. Set after the Reaper season 1 finale. Sam encounters a mysterious stranger on the road.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
“Here,” Steve said, holding out a glass of water to Sam, who sat on the sofa beside him. Sam accepted it, eyes bleary from the nap he’d just woken up from and possibly some post trip numbness, but he seemed better at least.
“Thanks,”
“You’re welcome.”
He downed the whole thing in a couple of gulps. Dehydration. Steve had lost track of how many glasses of beer Sam had imbibed the night before and then he had to throw his own pain cure turned drug high into the mix. Who knew what physical effects that mood altering disaster had on his exhausted body?
“Sorry about earlier,” Sam said, mimicking the words springing on Steve’s tongue. “That was weird. I’m not sure what I said, actually. It’s kinda fuzzy.”
Oh good, said half of Steve’s brain, whilst the other half bemoaned the missed opportunity, not that he’d been willing to jump at said opportunity. If necessary, he would have exited the apartment and wandered the corridors until the trip extinguished itself in Sam’s system.
“I’m afraid I made you a little high. I didn’t mean to, but I’m still new to this. Not sure what I’m doing half the time. And then you crashed.”
“Yeah, I kinda remember that.”
“Do you want more water?”
“Yes. Please. You know, I should get it. You’re the guest here.”
Sam stood up, but Steve snatched the glass out of his hand and sprang towards the kitchen, placing it under the open tap before Sam could take more than two steps.
“It’s fine. See? Half full already.”
He flashed Sam a smile he didn’t feel, all in the hope to charm one from Sam himself. Genuine feeling slipped onto his lips when his plan proved fruitful and Sam returned his smile.
“Thank you,” Sam said when Steve returned with the glass. “You really don’t have to do this.”
“It’s no bother.”
Sam peered at him from the top of the glass as he sipped his water. Steve ducked his gaze, afraid that Sam might divine the truth from the skittishness in his eyes.
“I don’t really understand much about this God/Devil thing,” said Sam, lowering the water. “I mean, I understand the basics, but I didn’t really pay that much attention when they were teaching me this.”
“Me neither.”
“Really? But shouldn’t you know more than anyone else? You’ve an actual divine mission to do, right? Not just capture escaped souls and drop them off at the DMV.”
“I do. But it’s all very much in the air. I just know things when I have to know them.”
“What do you mean know?”
“Knowledge just pops into my head, all rambly and confused. I can’t make sense of it half the time. It’s like the whole power of the internet smashed into a 20 KB hard drive. It takes me a while to makes sense of it all. That’s how I learned I’m the son of God. I just knew from one second to the next. Boom. Total fact.”
“Wow. I can’t tell if that’s incredibly cool or just creepy.”
“A bit of both. Hard to get used to.”
“The Devil tried to carjack me.”
“Carjack you?”
“Well, he wasn’t really trying to carjack me, but he popped up in the backseat when I was driving and I freaked out and hit one of those big trash containers. And then he just disappeared and showed up in my house again and told me he owned my soul. Actually, my dad had told me that already, but still. Then he made steak, asked me if I wanted some, and told me that I had to capture this really scary looking guy or he’d take my mother’s soul. Worse day of my life. Though there are some strong contenders.”
He swigged at his water as if it were liquor, the clenching in his throat indicating that he wished it were so.
“Not that it’s all bad,” he continued. “Well, it is pretty horrendously bad but there are high points. Some. I can’t really think of one right now, but... Well, it is nice to get out and achieve something. I haven’t done anything with the rest of my life. This is the only thing I’m good at. But the almost dying once a week... I could really do without that. And I hate having to put my friends in danger all the time. I don’t make them, all the opposite. They come with me even when I tell them no.”
“You have good friends.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m really glad to have them. But this whole thing. It’s too... It was bad enough just having him own me, but now he’s my dad. How much more can things suck? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get to go to the comfy corner of hell when I die, right between the eternal hellfire and the pitchforks.”
“Maybe you won’t have to go to hell.”
Sam turned towards him so quickly that water sprayed over the back of the couch.
“What do mean ‘won’t have to’? Is there a way you can get me out of this deal? You can break my deal with the devil?”
Oh, crap. He shouldn’t have been so blunt. Now he had Sam leaning forward on the couch, staring at him with such desperate hope and Steve still didn’t know if there was any truth to what he said at all. He supposed it was plausible, but how? Maybe there was a solution in his head somewhere that he hadn’t made sense of yet. Maybe.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up. I just meant... well, maybe. There might be. There are loopholes to everything, right? And it wouldn’t be right for such a good guy like you to go to hell.”
“So... maybe.”
“That’s the best I can give you now.”
A smile burst on Sam’s face.
“I’ll take that. Even that much is fantastic.”
“Great. Glad I could make you feel better. Mind, I don’t really know what I’m saying.”
“That’s fine. Really. Better than fine. Any chance at all is amazing. Especially coming from you. Not that I know what you can or can’t do. Maybe I’m hoping too much. I’m babbling, aren’t I? I’ll stop now.”
Steve couldn’t help but grin.
“That’s okay. You should be happy. I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I won’t get mad if you don’t come up with anything. I’m getting used to the idea anyway.”
“But I really do want to help you.”
“I know. Thank you.”
A silence fell not unlike those that plague the scene before the two suitors either kiss in a wild flight of passion or run away with an awkward gait to brood in their own little corners beating themselves up over why, why they didn’t reach forward and touch those yummy looking lips just once, just one kiss, what could it hurt? Come on. Sam wanted him to, had basically blurted it out an hour before, but he was high, rambling, but then what about that almost kiss three days ago, Sam’s eyes so warm and tender, needing this intimacy, this testament that someone cared for him, wanted him, and Steve had been so willing to give it, but he’d reined himself in and now everything felt much too late, his heels stuck on the ground, pushing back the wrong way, because he still couldn’t shake the wrongness from his skin, no matter how much of a coward it made him. Sam was the first to pull back this time,
“I’m gonna get some breakfast,” Sam said, pushing himself off the couch to flee to the kitchen, head bowed, purposely circling it on the other side away from Steve, who used the opportunity to shut his eyes and berate himself in silence.
“Have you eaten yet?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, I had something.”
“What did you have? There isn’t even milk in the fridge.”
There had been milk in the fridge, but Steve threw out the brackish sludge last night along with a green chunk of cheese. The rest of the boys’ food supply consisted of two boxes of Ritz crackers, which Steve had gorged himself on, four boxes of cereal, half a freezer full of hot dogs, a wrinkly Granny Smith apple in the bottom drawer of the fridge, and a stick of butter. Oh, and a six pack of Michelob, of course.
“I had some cereal and biscuits. Cookies. Or whatever you call them.”
“The Ritz?”
“Yeah, those.”
“Those would be crackers. Cookies are like chocolate chip. That kind of stuff.”
“Okay. It’s so tricky to get around your weird English sometimes.”
“Hey! Cookie is a good, solid word. Biscuit sounds like something old ladies serve when they’re playing bridge or something.”
“It does not. Cookie sounds too cute.”
“It doesn’t sound cute.”
“Of course it does. Just listen to it. Coo-kie. C’mon. what kind of word is that?”
“Alright. What about rubbish?”
“What’s wrong with that one?”
“C’mon. Rubbish? It’s like a little kid word.”
“It is not.”
“Trash is a much better word than that, seriously”
“Like pants is better than trousers, I wager.”
“Yeah.”
“You know what pants means where I come from?”
“What?”
“Underwear.”
Sam gaped at him in baffled horror.
“You’re serious.”
“Yup.”
“Oh come on. That’s just wrong.”
“Wrong? Calling these,” Steve pinched his jeans, “pants is wrong. It’s English, remember?”
“Oh, right. So that gives you the right to determine what’s ‘proper’ English?”
“We did invent the language.”
“And we reinvented it. In a better form.”
“What are you two chatting about?”
Steve and Sam jumped back from each other (when had they gotten so close?), Steve’s heart suddenly hammering in his throat, and turned towards the intrusive voice. Oh, it was Ben. Just Ben. Here. In the kitchen. With them. He wasn’t disappointed. Not at all.
“I could hear you all the way from my room,” Ben continued, approaching them and Steve’s chance at doing something stupid and quite possibly wonderful slipped further and further away, not that he’d been— Okay, yes, the idea of kissing Sam had wormed its way through his brain again and maybe he’d given it more clear consideration this time, so yes, he was upset that Ben had stepped his foot in it with his silly afro sticking up in all directions and his morning breath and... stuff.
“Nothing,” Sam said. Did Steve hear his tongue stumble with guilt or was he just fantasizing? “We were just discussing language differences.”
He tugged a drawer open and took out a box of Cheerios, pouring them into a wide bowl with Taz printed on the side in bright colors. Some of the diminutive doughnuts spilled onto the counter, rolling into the sink.
“We’re going to have to eat out or get something delivered for later,” he rambled on, finally stopping when it became obvious that soon there would be more cereal outside the bowl than in. “There’s nothing to eat here beside this. And some crackers,” he emphasized in Steve’s direction, though his eyes only focused on Steve’s for a second before glancing away. He munched his cereal, nervous crunch crunch filling the room.
Ben peered at them, begrudged slumber blearing his eyes, yet they were keen and alert as he interrogated them in silence. He knows, Steve panicked. He knows, he knows, he knows. But Ben’s a cool guy, right? Always good fun. He might be okay with it. Except that Steve is some random stranger they picked off the street and now he’s trying to get into his best friend’s bed and as a good friend he’ll have no choice but to beat up Steve and throw him out into the gutter where he belonged. Sock would no doubt help once he learned the truth, too. Steve collapsed against the counter, concealing his agitated breaths through his nose, hoping, praying, please, please, that Ben would leave it be for a little longer, at least long enough for Steve to pick up his things, as it were, and shuffle off with some sort of quiet dignity. Either Ben opted for discretion or Steve unconsciously fiddled with his mind, for Ben didn’t mention anything about it, but Steve felt his penetrating gaze on him even as he addressed Sam.
“Delivery would be better,” he said. “Sock’s not up yet and when he does get up...”
“He’s going to be hurting,” Sam finished the sentence for him. “Yeah. So... pizza or Chinese?”
Steve snuck away to the bathroom, the sole safe place, hoping Sock would be a while yet.
next part
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I also liked how human Steve was in this. He tends to waver, but this was very human Steve more than kinda divine Steve, and that's nice to see.
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Thank you! Steve does waver between the two, but in the end he's still so conflicted about everything.
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Plus I'm guessing at this moment he's also more than a little conflicted about his destiny vs. Sam's. And...yeah. Not good times for either of them.
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“We did invent the language.”
“And we reinvented it. In a better form.”
That's just perfect.
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