Kalliel (kalliel) wrote,

Notes to self on 15x06 tag

- the format was an interesting idea but I don't think it will actually work for the fic (I wanted to do something with Sam's stream of consciousness that started with a moment, bled in reverse-chronological order to the precipitating moment, and then slingshot back to the opening scene and restarted in chronological order)

- but the plot (in reverse order) wasn't linear enough/the scenes were too disjointed to make it clear that things were happening in reverse. So I'm thinking just initial moment --> flash backward to revisit precipitating circumstances up to that point. return to initial moment --> continue to end.

- most of the 'precipitating moment' stuff can be condensed. I don't think Dean actually needs to be there for most of it. Maybe most of that out of dialogue and into something more elliptical? Create more distance. I think what solidified this for me was this one scene where Sam and Dean have this whole long convo that was just--I dunno. They didn't need to have it, and so the scene became out of character?? It's hard to explain.

I don't think the dialogue itself was that bad. (Okay, some of it was bad.) And I don't think big ol' conversations are inherently out of character for Sam and Dean. That's kind of what they do--you know, BM Brother Moment, the whole shebang. It's not like they're particularly terse/laconic when they've decided they're going to Have a Conversation. It just didn't feel right.

Hilariously, when I wrote the scene a few weeks ago, I think I already knew that, because there's this point where Sam's thinks to himself, IT'S SO FUCKED UP WE'RE HAVING TALKING ABOUT THIS SO DIRECTLY. YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT. Which like, I'm actually in favor of "OOC" things happening that aren't supposed to happen, because that's real, especially under duress. I like the idea of Sam wrestling with the idea that they're having an interaction that isn't how their usual interactions with each other go. But I think in this case he's a little too right. XPP You got your wish, Sam! The scene is dead! I'll spare you that one.

Here's the scene, which will maybe clarify what I mean. I'm embarrassed to post this but I'm also embarrassed whenever I post full fics, so I guess the moral is, Post Everything:

"What are we, Catholic?" Dean had muttered to himself, the last time he and Sam had had any sort of meaningful conversation in Dean's room. Dean seemed to be through the worst of it, was coming back to himself. But if Sam was being honest, Dean's 'himself' was not great, either.


"It's just fucked up, having to think, oh, God won't let me. That's not what He wants, that's not what gets his rocks off. Like I'm some kind of--"

"God won't let you what?" Sam interrupted.

Dean looked at Sam admonishingly, but couldn't hold his gaze. "It's why you're in here, isn't it? Relax."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. He did not relax.

"It was supposed to be over."

"But it's not."

"I can't accept that."

"You don't have to accept it. That's the whole point. We're going to beat him."

"What, should we try the cross thing again? Wait forty days and see if it sticks? Did you find some kind of special God-smiting spell at Rowena's? Sam, I--"

Dean stopped. "I can't live like this. I just can't."

"What are you going to do instead?"

"I know what I want to do," Dean said. "But that's not happening, so."

"Can I make it easier for you?" Sam asked.

Dean snorted. "Are you here to kill me? Give Chuck the early bird special so we can all just go home?"

"Look," Sam says. "I'm just trying to make 'not happening' happen easier. Fuck, Dean. I'm trying to help. Can I just see what you've got in here?"

"Is this some kind of serial killer thing?" Dean replied. "You know, like you're scouting out your trophy."

"Still not here to kill you," said Sam. He reached for a desk drawer and looked at Dean, waiting for permission. Dean rolled his eyes and waved him on.

It made Sam feel stupid. Like there was supposed to be some element of secrecy to it all, and Dean tore that away. He's supposed to care if Sam knows about his deep, dark deathwish. He's supposed to need to lie. Maybe it's possible for Dean to be too honest.

The drawers were filled with a combination of the old junk of Room 11's previous occupant and Dean's new junk. The photographs Sam knows Dean has were secreted elsewhere. Sam moved onto the dresser and the boxes--porn, socks, bullets. The key to an attic in New Canaan. Mary's wedding ring. Bundle of sticks dipped in something. Sketches of a sigil, four crossed out and the fifth one circled. Dean watched or didn't watch him work through the boxes and tins of herbs and shells and humors and any number of drugs, clear liquid vials sealed in 1958 and bare pills gathering dust at the bottom of a drawer. God knows what's a lethal injection and what's an analgesic; and what's the difference, anyway. There are things Dean will organize and things he won't. And there's that giant slinky, some paper napkins. Salsa packets.

"Isn't this mine?" Sam asked, of a shirt.

"Do the laundry for once, and you'll get to decide whose is whose."

The point was, Dean had a lot of dangerous souvenirs. But what was Sam going to do? Confiscate his sharps? In the end, Sam left it all. Dean can kill just about anything with anything. It doesn't really matter what he has at his disposal. Dean Winchester's unstoppable.

- Pfff I'm acting like I'm cutting all this chaff and really trying to streamline to only the good stuff but so far am still keeping an entire scene about a Netflix frog documentary just because I can. HEMINGWAY WHOMST??

- Still like the weird/dumb experimental section, though. I think it works, even if it's on the dramatic side, haha. Last scene is good, too, but needs to be tightened up. (And turn the volume up on the stakes a little more.)


I'm not sure when I think I'm going to finish this, though, to say nothing of the eps thereafter. MAYBE LATE MARCH, HAHA. April? Life is really, really catastrophically busy, with far too high a proportion of really intensive, high-stakes, literally-the-entire-course-of-my-life-depends-on-this things to just normal work things. Basically I just waffle between despair, dread, and terror all day, with all three rising to a crescendo until they become nearly unbearable right about now. Which is why I'm typing this here instead of working in my other docs. I wish I owned a soundproof room so I could just screaaaaaaaaaaaaam.
Tags: fandom: spn, writing

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