SPN/Sentinel crossover Ficlet!

[fannishliss]

I was reading this Awesome Story, "Take the Good, Take the Bad," by a_cook1 , when it transpired that Dean was once called "Blair" by a Big Angry Guy. Wheels immediately began to turn in my fannish brain, as I was a big Sentinel lurker back in the day.

So this is the little ficlet that developed. It is in no way as awesome or as HOT as a_cook1's!! but I tried to keep Dean in the character she developed, and I think I did right by Jim Ellison. John Winchester is also in the story, and the Real Blair Sandburg makes a cameo appearance.

PAIRING:  Jim Ellison/Dean Winchester
RATING:  Adult!
DISCLAIMER:  I do not own.  No money made.
THANKS: to a_cook1 for graciously giving me the nod after I was inspired by her story.  It's not exactly what she had in mind, but I think it works!  You do not need to read her story to understand mine (mine is a prequel) but I definitely recommend it (it comes with its own warnings).
FEEDBACK IS SO APPRECIATED, especially if you are a Sentinel fan!  :)


The hunt had taken Dean and John to Cascade National Park. Something had been snatching hikers and it was up to the Winchesters to stop whatever it was. What they hadn't counted on was running into other hunters. Or rather, one hunter, completely incapacitated, whose partner had apparently been dragged off through the tangled underbrush by whateveritwas.

John shone a penlight into the big guy's eyes.  They'd found him crouched over a bloodstained branch, clutching a daypack in his hands, completely motionless, staring at nothing with a thousand yard stare.

John clicked off the penlight and slowly eased the big guy to the ground from his cramped-looking crouch, and slipped the guy's own pack off his shoulders. Dean thought it was pretty pathetic to see the big guy sitting there, legs spread wide like a kid's, clutching the smaller backpack like it was the last thing on earth.

"What's wrong with him,"  Dean asked.

John sighed and stood up, scratched the back of his neck. "Can't say for sure... I've seen a stare like that before, heard some lore...  Dean, you stay here, keep him safe, I'm gonna go find his partner." 

Dean nodded and John started off after the trail, but suddenly stopped.  "Look in that pack he's holding, see if you can find anything with a scent to it, put it under his nose."

"You mean,  like a bloodhound?"  Dean frowned in confusion.

"Dean, I don't have time to explain, just do it."  John took off without another word.

Dean gingerly unzipped the backpack, unable to pry it from the catatonic guy's iron grip. He knelt there, between the guy's outstretched legs, rummaging in the pack for "something with a scent."  He pulled out a flannel shirt, a Thermos, and a pack of spearmint gum.

Dean, feeling foolish, waved the gum under the guy's nose, as though he were trying to bring him out of a faint, but he remained unresponsive.  His eyes were a piercing, crystal blue, and seemed focused intently on something just beyond Dean's reach. He seemed, Dean thought, less woozy than hyperaware -- as though he were seeing or hearing something Dean simply couldn't detect.  It was a look Dean had seen on a psychic's face once, before a ghost had materialized right behind her.

"Okay, dude, let's see what you've got in here."  Dean opened up the Thermos, to  find it filled to the top with steaming hot, top blend Seattle style coffee.   These northwestern dudes had the right idea about coffee, strong and black, Dean had to hand it to them.

Dean breathed deeply, enjoying the deep roast -- surely, that would rouse the guy, if Dad was on the right track, but no.  The lantern jaw of the guy didn't twitch, his lips remained tightly pressed together, his fine brows drawn slightly downward as he stared like an eagle at nothing.

Dean had to admit, it was freaking him out.

Dean pressed the flannel to his nose, but it didn't smell much -- simply clean, with a very light laundry scent. He waved it under the guy's nose without much hope.

Having followed Dad's orders, to no avail, Dean sat down next to the big guy and helped himself to the coffee.  As expected, it was fantastic.  Dean savored two Thermos cups full, and stopped.  He thought he'd better leave some for John, or for the guy, if he ever came out of it. 

Dean popped a piece of spearmint gum to chase the coffee, then he knelt back in front of the guy to replace the items he'd taken from the pack. He put  back the Thermos and the gum, but when he shoved the flannel into the top of the daypack, it brushed the guy's hands and the guy suddenly jerked to life.

"Blair!" the guy barked, almost choking out the word. His mouth slightly open, the guy leaned toward Dean. Dean wasn't so sure this was much of an improvement, cause the guy seemed pissed.

Suddenly dropping the pack, the big guy's hands darted toward Dean like heat seeking missiles. Before Dean could react, kneeling as he was, the dude had grabbed him firmly around the wrists, his grip as unbreakable as cuffs.

"Dude!  What the hell!  Get off!" Dean shouted, but the big guy still couldn't seem to hear or see him.  The man's grip was unrelenting, but his fingers seemed to feel for something along Dean's wrists, his little fingers especially twitching at the feel of Dean's own flannel cuffs.

Dean leaned in to the guy's face.  "Let me go, man!"  he shouted pointed blank in the guy's angry face.

The guy's nose twitched, and Dean realized he'd scented his breath, the funky combination of strong coffee and spearmint.  Wondering if he was just being stupid, Dean leaned in and exhaled lightly toward the guy.

"Blair," the guy breathed, and inhaled deeply, his mouth still slightly open. "Chief, I can't see, can't hear....  thought you were...  but smell's coming back online....  Blair, help me..."

The guy leaned up toward Dean, seeking blindly, pulling Dean closer by the wrists. Dean, kneeling, overbalanced as the guy pulled him sharply closer, and he fell against the guy's chest.  Dude, it was like falling against a brick wall, except, you know, if a brick wall was dragging you in, and Dean found himself in a liplock with a big, panicky guy, seemingly intent on devouring him whole.

Dean considered struggling, but the guy was a great kisser.  Straining his ears, Dean listened for John, and not hearing him anywhere near, he gave in.  He didn't like to really broadcast the fact, but Dean swung whichever way the wind was blowing, and this guy knew how to kiss.

"God, Blair, your mouth,"  the guy murmured and dove in deeper, ravishing Dean with desperate little groans. "Your mouth....  I can't, Blair, I need...."

Dean wondered what the guy was trying to say, when the big guy lowered Dean's captive hand between his legs and stroked himself with it.

That was a language Dean could understand.

"Okay, big guy, okay, just take it easy.  I know what to do," Dean said.  He felt a little nervous Dad might come back, but he had his ears peeled.

Dean maneuvered his hand, still in the guy's grip, to undo his fly and reach in. The guy groaned at the lightest touch, so Dean stayed light, with soft, even strokes that had the guy frowning like his heart would break and thrusting up into Dean's hand, little awkward thrusts because of their awkward position.

The guy kept murmuring, "Blair, Blair, can't, why can't I...  help me," but Dean was doing his best. The guy was on some kind of nasty trip, Dean concluded.   Maybe this would help bring him out of it. 

The big guy was moaning now, repeating the name, and Dean took pity on him.  He was no blushing virgin.  He could help a guy out.

He lowered his head to the guy's lap and gently licked at the head.  He knew some guys liked it hard, and some gentle, and this guy was one of the latter. Feathery, meltingly, he slipped his lips, as wet as he could make them, over the head of the guy's dick. He suckled there, intent on making his mouth the warmest, wettest, nicest place this guy's dick had ever been.

The big hands finally released Dean's wrists and with long, surprisingly delicate fingers, he stroked gently behind Dean's ears.

Dean liked it, being held there firmly while he sucked, as though he were something precious, something wonderful.   This big, strong guy was completely given over to him, and this was something Dean was just awesome at.

Dean sucked the guy's dick a little deeper, and swirled his tongue over the head.  Dean used his lips on the smooth, hot skin, his mouth a slick grip as he moved up and down. 

By the sound the guy was making, broken, desperate sounds, Dean was doing something right, though the guy was really wishing it were Blair....

As the guy came, he practically screamed.  Dean swallowed it all down, and pulled off satisfied. 

Tears were streaming down the guy's face.  Dean was abashed. 

"Blair," the guy whispered. "I can't...  Blair..."  He fell silent again, still staring.

"Well, shit,"  Dean said. A bit disconcerted, he went behind a tree and finished himself off.

It was starting to get dark when Dean finally heard someone approaching through the underbrush.  It was John, along with a shorter guy; Dean sized up the boots as matching the missing partner.

"Hey, man, I'm Blair, thanks for looking after Jim,"  the guy said, barely giving Dean a glance as he darted toward the big guy, taking his hands.

"Jim, hey Jim.  Come back to me, man.  Follow my voice."  Dean watched kind of surreptitiously as Blair placed the long, elegant fingers against his lips as he spoke.

"Sometimes he can't really hear, you know," Blair said, mysteriously, but Dean was not a man for asking too many questions.

Jim, the big guy, began to stir.  He squinted his eyes closed, rubbed his temples as though he had a headache.

"Blair?"  he said weakly. "I thought..."

"It's okay, man.  We're all good. John and Dean here found us and took care of that thing we were after."

Jim scrubbed a palm roughly over his face, darting a glance from John to Dean. His eyes locked on Dean's, focussing there for the first time, and Dean steadily returned the gaze.  Jim's nostrils flared briefly and he frowned a little. 

Dean twitched one eyebrow a tiny bit.

"I tried to bring you around, but you just kept calling for Blair,"  Dean explained.

Jim nodded slightly, acknowledging that they had a secret.

Blair's eyes flew open.  "Jim said my name?  He was speaking?  Oh wow, man, what brought him out of it?   I usually have to be the one..."

"I think it was the smell of coffee -- I had a cup or two... I hope you don't mind," Dean said, as John frowned.

"We'd better get out of these woods before nightfall,"  John stated firmly.

As they put on their packs and started hiking out, Blair began to talk a mile a minute about the thing that had grabbed him, the flesh wound where the stick had jabbed his leg, legends of the sasquatch, how far it was to their camp, the brand of coffee, and more as Dean quickly tuned him out.

"I guess I owe you a thanks," Jim said quietly.

"Don't mention it, man.  Any time," Dean said with a little smile, and the two men nodded and hiked on.


















 

Comments

[surevesta.livejournal.com]

This was great :)