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Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Supernatural Death Note Chapter 141

Lady Laran and Tisha Wyman Warnings: Bad language, violence, and some sex. Spoilers: My favorite show is Supernatural. Anyone who knows me will say I am almost obsessed, unless they happen to be Laran, who knows I am. Laran loves Death Note. We both love to write. Never in our wildest dreams did we ever think we'd be writing an alternate universe/crossover between the two. What started as a several chapter story has turned into a novel. The story had a life of its own. This saga begins towards the end of season 4 andbefore L truly got involved with the Death Note. This is a story of healing, family,friendship, humor, and horror. We do not own either show or its characters, but I'd take Dean in a heartbeat. We make no money from themThank you for reading. Comments are highly appreciated.

Dinner Conversations

Sam tilted his head, inviting him over.  Like Mello had said, he'd had the meal brought because he thought Dean was too tired and slogged with work to make it.

Dean smiled a genuine smile that went to his eyes, the laugh lines showing.  He carried his tray over to where there was a seat and sat down, and he proceeded to eat his meal, listening to everyone talk about their day.  He remained quiet, just taking it in.

Lisa asked Sarah if she had gotten two coats.  Dean looked up.  He hoped he had not done wrong.  He thought that a regular parka would be good for outdoors and every day winter stuff, but a woman needed something when she dressed up.  He’d gone to this old world shop to look at the stuff Sarah was talking about and had found these cloak like things with hoods.  They were heavily lined, very warm and went to the ground.  He’d bought a garnet red one for Lisa and an emerald green for Sarah.  His worried look glanced between both women.  ‘Maybe women didn’t wear those nowadays?’

    Sarah was quick to relieve his anxiety and explain it to Lisa.  "I did, and it was such a wonderful thing for Dean to remember.  The heavier outdoors one will be great for every day things.  I absolutely love the cloak he got.  It's perfect for dressy events.  What color did he get you?"

“It’s some kind of red.  Not a ruby or rose, but almost a blood red..orangish, almost.”

“It’s garnet,” Dean replied.

“What color did he get you?”

"A gorgeous emerald of my favorite colors."  She rose, giving him a  hug.  "Thank you, Dean."

Dean flushed a little, which surprised those who knew him well, but really surprised them by his next action, “I saw a beautiful ruby red one, Sarah.  It would have looked great on you, but I remembered that you’re Irish and red is a British color.  Not a good thing to buy an Irish girl.”  He looked embarrassed after saying it.

 Sarah giggled.  "I prefer the green to the red; you made the best choice.  Thank you so much."

Sarah’s giggle confused the older Winchester.  Sam, seeing the look in his eyes, grinned, knowing his brother had been entirely serious about his comment.  Dean was trying so hard.

He poked his brother, leaning in to whisper.  "She's worries."

 "The comment about the English.  It's well known they have little love for Brits," he said. "Do me a favor, when you get a chance check up the Catholic/Protestant issues in Ireland.  England brought up the whole protestant in Ireland when, originally the island was catholic."

Dean’s eyes widened and his mouth opened for a second.  “I thought she was Wiccan?”

 "She is..still doesn't mean the old rivalry hasn't passed down.  One thing you have to remember, Dean.  The Scots and Irish..they have a long memory.  It spans generations.  When you said that about the English and giving her green because she was an Irish girl, she took it as a joke against the English."

Understanding dawned immediately.  “Damn, I’ve got to read those books.”

Sam grinned.  "Yup, I"m still learning."

“The only thing  I’ve learned about the religions over there is there’s a Church of England, the Catholics, and the Scots went with some church that sounds like that’s not it.  Presbyterian?  Yeah that’s it.

 "That sounds about right."

“Yeah, some balding, fat guy wanted a divorce so he changed their whole religion so he could.  Now if that ain’t crazy, I don’t know what is.”

Sarah overheard that and cracked up.  "Henry, the Fat Bastard!"  The phrase was an old one, and it was definitely popular at the renaissance festivals."

“Really?  What people called him that?  I can’t imagine the English doing it?  Wasn’t he the guy that found it easier to cut his wives heads off instead of divorcing them?”

 She grinned.  "Those of us who go in the Celtic traditions usually do.  I was at a fair one time, selling drawings and the like, and this one bagpipe band member, who was pretty much drunker than a skunk, hollered out when a canon fired.  He drove his Claymore into the ground and howled "Ye missed, ye fat bastard!' Gods, it was so damned funny!"

“Do the Scots and Irish over there feel this way too, or is it just the American ones whose ancestors were forced out?”

 "From what I understand, it's a very strong feeling there too," she answered him.

“Why are they still part of it then?  Hell, that’s a dumb question.  If Texas tried to leave the States, I bet the government in DC  would come after them faster than anything.  The oil and stuff here is worth a lot.”

“There's some things in the works to try," she told him.  "The problem is that Britain has lost a lot over the years, and they don't really want to let go.  Stubborn fools," the woman grumbled.

“Maybe, maybe not, Sarah.  Those countries that want to go free, can they support themselves totally without the mother country?  Do the majority of the people really want to go free?  Do they have any idea what it will be like without the protection of the larger country’s military?  Do they have the trade set up to survive?  Those are important questions to ask and answer before doing something like that.”

 "They could muster up their own," she said.  "A lot of the regiments in the English army are solely of Scottish origin.  I think, given time and help from fellow countries, both could stand up on their own feet and support themselves.  Most of the wool comes from both as well as alcohol trade and other things."

“What other things, Sarah?  I’m serious here.  You can’t support a country on wool, mutton, and alcohol, and I don’t think there are many Irish regiments in the British army, but I know there are a lot of  Irish mercenaries.  I’d love to see them gain their freedom.  They deserve it.  Hell we all do.  But you got to have support to do it.  Great Britain is not going to help them support themselves away from her.”

    Sarah nodded and before she could begin, Matt spoke up.  "They've enough industry to support themselves.  However, the Crown and Parliament acknowledges that their contribution to the 'royal coffers' is too substantiary to lose.  Despite public interest, it will probably be doubtful that either would completely gain their freedom.  There has been some shift in the people's favor but not too much.  Like the return of the Stone of Scone."

“The what?   What the hell is that?”

 The red head looked up from his game.  "It's the stone the Scottish monarchs were crowned on.  Since Scotland's fall to England, it was underneath the royal throne."

Dean Winchester was about to shock everyone at the table, including himself.  He stood up, placed both hands on the table and leaned across at the red head.  “It don’t belong there.  It belongs in Edinburgh underneath a Scottish throne.  They need to give it back.  That’s theft.”

 "Agreed," he said.  "And it was returned..only with the agreement that it's brought to England for any coronation."

“But crowning a British monarch on that stone makes them the ruler of Scotland?”

 "Scotland, England, Ireland, and Wales," he responded.  "The whole kit and caboodle."

“You’re confusing me, here.  Was it the stone that Scottish rulers were crowned on for centuries and it was stolen by England when Scotland was conquered and used to make them ruler over Scotland?”

 "Yup," he said, grabbing his laptop and googling it.  A few moments later, he handed it to Dean.  "take a look."

Dean saw a picture of the stone read the history as ran the entire injustice through his mind.  He was turning redder by the minute.  He looked up.  “This isn’t right.  You don’t return something you steal from someone and borrow it every time you need to make someone else their conqueror.  That’s just wrong.  What the hell has happened to them? Where are the ones who scared the Romans enough to build a wall to keep them out?”

 "They were cowed into submission and threatened to be bred out," Sarah told him.  "The culture was starting to be lost until some people decided to try to keep the spirit going."

Dean stared at her, his hazel eyes turning dark gray with distress.  "There?  Hell, no!  It’s here.  The remnants of those who helped kick their asses out of this country over 230 years ago!  What good it did do us!”

 "Yes, most of them are here and in Canada.  It's the reason we cherish our history, blood soaked though it is.  It's up to us to keep it alive," she answered.  "Remember, the Boy scouts were the ones to bring the history back to the American Indians.  So we're helping our cousins overseas to remember."

No one had noticed Sam rise and stand behind his brother.  Hands went on the shorter man’s shoulders and squeezed softly but with enough strength to  warn the older man.  A soft voice said, “It’s okay, Dean.  Nothing is going to change over night.  Let’s talk about the weekend.  I know that you and Near are going out to dinner on Friday.  What time do we need to leave on Saturday morning?”

Dean stiffened.  He’d not talked to Near or Ben yet.  There’d been no time.  His eyes closed, and he slumped into his seat and put his head in his hands, expecting an outburst from his son.

 Ben didn't say anything, just stared questioningly at his dad.

Dean looked into his son’s eyes.  “We tried to talk about this months ago, Ben.  Near has been gone and I’m taking him this Friday.  It’s a promise I made before you came into my life.  I keep my promises.  Just as I keep them with you, son.”

He nodded, still not really wanting the other near his father but understanding.  It would take time for his insecurity and jealousy issues to fade and if Dean used the idea Watari had, the jealousy would fade faster.

“Look, Ben, they have this museum  a cowboy museum someone at work told me about.  You like to learn things and so does Near and it’s something neither one of you would know anything about.  It would put you on equal footing.  I thought I’d check and see what kind of exhibits it has and when it’s open and I’d give you boys research on it.  You  guys can tell all about each exhibit when we go.  What do you think?”

 "That would be fun," he said.  "Real cowboys?"

 "Yeah. I love cowboys.  The West.  I thought it would be fun.  I haven't asked Near yet.  I wanted to run it past you.  I'll ask him on Friday.  That work?

 "Yes, it will," he grinned, looking forward to that.

Sam had not sat down because his brother had start shaking when he sat down with his head in his hands.  Dean was not at the point of being able to meditate anywhere.  Sam’s eyes met Sarah’s.  Lisa was already rising.  “You look tired, hon.  Why don’t we head on up to bed?  It’s almost nine and you have to be up early for the doctor?  I know you took  a quick shower, but would a hot soak  help you sleep better?”  

Sarah looked at Dean.  "You remember what to do?"

Dean looked at her and nodded, “Yeah, I do..  Lisa, I just want to go to bed.  I think.”

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