spn fic: Non Timebo Mala, 1/?
11/8/09 02:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle:Non Timebo Mala
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/omc, Sam/omc, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17 overall, various by chapter
Word Count: 1280
Spoilers: might be considered a wee bit spoilery for Dead Man's Blood
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings. Warnings for sex, brief het and M/M, incest. Sections will have individual warnings.
His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….
Inside the cabin, the mother grabbed the child closest to her, and ran for her other baby. "John--John," she screamed, over and over, as if all other words had ceased to exist.
"No, no—*run*, get out, Mary!" shouted the father. "I've got Sammy. You and Dean get outside!" He swept the baby out of the crib, ready to run, when the door blew open.
"Well, well, and where are you off to? We've got a nice fire here, and I expect you've got some lovely chestnuts to throw on the fire." the mustached man winked at John. "We'll roast them up nicely, believe me."
The crew at his back laughed raucously, jostling each other—it was awfully like boys at a bonfire, John thought, and tightened his grip on the baby. Wished that his rifle was handy.
The mustached one stepped forward, ignoring chunks of burning pine dropping on him. John stepped back, fear racing through him, gagging on the smell of burning flesh. Blinded by the flames, he heard Mary screaming in fear….
"Shut that bitch up," the leader of the intruders hissed, and his face…his face turned into something inhuman.
"Devil," John gasped.
"Well, right enough, though that's a lower case D," it sniggered. "Get it?" It made an expression that suggested its eyes were rolling but it was impossible to tell, all black as they were. John stiffened slightly, and by sheer force of will made himself to relax—Mary was slipping behind them towards the door, to freedom….
His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….
The world exploded and went dark. It was over in less than the blink of an eye.
Dean
Snowflakes swirled lightly around his head—just enough to be annoying, as they clung to his eyelashes and settled in his beard. It was getting colder, bound to snow a little harder…he'd been on the road for days and he was looking for a little rest. That is, if up ahead, there were folks were willing to let a colored man sit at their fire. Hard to tell in the territories…some folks were aggressively open-minded and others would as soon put you in feed trough for the pigs as look at you. He was more than willing—or rather, his ass was more than willing—to take a chance on whoever was fool enough to try and start a homestead out in the ass back of nowhere.
Around the bend of the trail he could make out the scent of wood smoke, and he smiled. Good—warmth, maybe a meal--at worst, maybe a lay-down in a barn or shed. He clucked to his horse. "Come on, Gabe; let's see what we've got there…"
He stopped, craned over the saddle. Something was wrong. "Lord—have mercy—"
Too much smoke, and now, he could hear flames eating timber, and now see the flames leaping up the walls of a small cabin. He heard a high pitched scream, maybe a rabbit being killed, or a cat…he didn't want to imagine what else made a cry like that….
He was galloping now, Gabe seeming to understand no matter how frightening, it was important to get closer to those flames. They thundered up in what must have once been a neat little yard…now the fence that had defined it was torn down, pumpkins shattered all about the yard, late season corn tossed here and there—sheer spite, meanness had done that—a shriek whipped his head to the right, towards the cabin, where two coyotes fought over a bloody bundle. He whipped his gun from under his duster and drilled one; the other ran, bleeding, for its life—without its prize.
He dropped on the ground next to it and as he feared, it was a young boy, three, maybe four—no older than four, for sure. The boy shook and shook, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. He ripped the boy's clothing open, searching for the terrible wounds he knew were there under all the blood. Miraculously, he had a bite or two, but nothing else…so the blood….
A woman lay on what was left of the porch, at the end of a thick trail of blood--dead hands hooked over the step, her middle torn away. Coyote tracks zigged and zagged around the body, bloody tracks that told a sad, terrible story.
The little cabin smoked and crackled…there was nothing left. No one left but one little frightened boy. A little white boy, covered with his mother's blood, his home's ashes. All alone in the world. Only a beast could walk off and leave him to die in those woods.
Big green eyes looked up at him, glazed…dry. "Little boy, I'm a friend, promise. Your family…you know they're gone, right?" The little boy nodded. Nothing in his eyes. No fear, no sorrow, nothing but knowledge. "I'm going to take you to someone who can help, understand? We'll find someone who'll look after you. What's your name, son?"
"Dean." The name dropped out of his mouth like a rock.
"Okay, Dean, what's your father's name?"
"Daddy."
Right…too young to know a last name or imagine that his mother or father had personal names. Suddenly the little boy went rigid under his hand. He scrambled back towards the cabin, ignoring his injuries. His calm shattered, in that moment, he was desperate for his family. "Mommy—Daddy—Sammy!" His lips went white, almost blue. Those huge green eyes took in the black, smoking bones of his home.
"Sammy..." This little Dean fellow knew, Tobe thought, and didn't scream, just knew and accepted this horror in a way that put ice in his spine. How could the boy just…give up like that? So unlike a child of his years….
"Devils took 'em," a quiet voice stated, firm as it could get.
His heart stopped. Devils. Demons, no doubt the boy meant demons… why? Or rather, why hadn't they taken the family to play with? He looked down into Dean's eyes, gone flat and cloudy again. He shook his head. Well, if he hadn't already been decided, this would have sealed it. This was his job, his due in life—to protect against the unnatural. "Dean, let's not ever talk about that to anyone. Okay? Don’t say a word," he warned the boy, flinging out the command unaware, not imaging the lengths Dean would take it. Dean nodded, and fell silent.
Tobe glanced over the dead woman, gave brief thought to burying her, but shook his head. Someone else would have to take that job. He was loathe to be stuck in unfamiliar lands, snowed in, and anxious to get the boy away from a dangerous area. They'd singled him—his family—out for a reason. He picked the boy up, sat him in front of him. Reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a charm made of red thread and nails, and hung it around his small neck. Tobe pulled the duster shut around them both, and took him away from the grave of his family. "My name is Tobias Kane; you can call me Tobe, okay?"
Dean nodded and repeated it silently to himself. Tobe.
part 2
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/omc, Sam/omc, Dean/Sam
Rating: NC-17 overall, various by chapter
Word Count: 1280
Spoilers: might be considered a wee bit spoilery for Dead Man's Blood
Summary: Sam Winchester is looking for the ultimate weapon, one that will destroy the demon who destroyed his family. Dean Kane was raised to be a maker of weapons. He was just the man Sam needed.
Notes/Warnings: This is my AU version of the Colt's making. Increeeedibly AU. It's completely a child of my wild imaginings. Warnings for sex, brief het and M/M, incest. Sections will have individual warnings.
His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….
Inside the cabin, the mother grabbed the child closest to her, and ran for her other baby. "John--John," she screamed, over and over, as if all other words had ceased to exist.
"No, no—*run*, get out, Mary!" shouted the father. "I've got Sammy. You and Dean get outside!" He swept the baby out of the crib, ready to run, when the door blew open.
"Well, well, and where are you off to? We've got a nice fire here, and I expect you've got some lovely chestnuts to throw on the fire." the mustached man winked at John. "We'll roast them up nicely, believe me."
The crew at his back laughed raucously, jostling each other—it was awfully like boys at a bonfire, John thought, and tightened his grip on the baby. Wished that his rifle was handy.
The mustached one stepped forward, ignoring chunks of burning pine dropping on him. John stepped back, fear racing through him, gagging on the smell of burning flesh. Blinded by the flames, he heard Mary screaming in fear….
"Shut that bitch up," the leader of the intruders hissed, and his face…his face turned into something inhuman.
"Devil," John gasped.
"Well, right enough, though that's a lower case D," it sniggered. "Get it?" It made an expression that suggested its eyes were rolling but it was impossible to tell, all black as they were. John stiffened slightly, and by sheer force of will made himself to relax—Mary was slipping behind them towards the door, to freedom….
His heart leaped—go, go, save yourself, save our boy. His hands bowed over Sammy, Sammy who was going to die with him…tears ran and the devils laughed. And then—Mary's shriek of pain cut through him, laced through with Dean's high pitched scream, it speared him. Mary shrieked again--a sound impossible for a human throat--and then the floor caved in, the roof sagged inward with a shower of sparks and clots of flame, to rest in the cellar….
The world exploded and went dark. It was over in less than the blink of an eye.
Snowflakes swirled lightly around his head—just enough to be annoying, as they clung to his eyelashes and settled in his beard. It was getting colder, bound to snow a little harder…he'd been on the road for days and he was looking for a little rest. That is, if up ahead, there were folks were willing to let a colored man sit at their fire. Hard to tell in the territories…some folks were aggressively open-minded and others would as soon put you in feed trough for the pigs as look at you. He was more than willing—or rather, his ass was more than willing—to take a chance on whoever was fool enough to try and start a homestead out in the ass back of nowhere.
Around the bend of the trail he could make out the scent of wood smoke, and he smiled. Good—warmth, maybe a meal--at worst, maybe a lay-down in a barn or shed. He clucked to his horse. "Come on, Gabe; let's see what we've got there…"
He stopped, craned over the saddle. Something was wrong. "Lord—have mercy—"
Too much smoke, and now, he could hear flames eating timber, and now see the flames leaping up the walls of a small cabin. He heard a high pitched scream, maybe a rabbit being killed, or a cat…he didn't want to imagine what else made a cry like that….
He was galloping now, Gabe seeming to understand no matter how frightening, it was important to get closer to those flames. They thundered up in what must have once been a neat little yard…now the fence that had defined it was torn down, pumpkins shattered all about the yard, late season corn tossed here and there—sheer spite, meanness had done that—a shriek whipped his head to the right, towards the cabin, where two coyotes fought over a bloody bundle. He whipped his gun from under his duster and drilled one; the other ran, bleeding, for its life—without its prize.
He dropped on the ground next to it and as he feared, it was a young boy, three, maybe four—no older than four, for sure. The boy shook and shook, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. He ripped the boy's clothing open, searching for the terrible wounds he knew were there under all the blood. Miraculously, he had a bite or two, but nothing else…so the blood….
A woman lay on what was left of the porch, at the end of a thick trail of blood--dead hands hooked over the step, her middle torn away. Coyote tracks zigged and zagged around the body, bloody tracks that told a sad, terrible story.
The little cabin smoked and crackled…there was nothing left. No one left but one little frightened boy. A little white boy, covered with his mother's blood, his home's ashes. All alone in the world. Only a beast could walk off and leave him to die in those woods.
Big green eyes looked up at him, glazed…dry. "Little boy, I'm a friend, promise. Your family…you know they're gone, right?" The little boy nodded. Nothing in his eyes. No fear, no sorrow, nothing but knowledge. "I'm going to take you to someone who can help, understand? We'll find someone who'll look after you. What's your name, son?"
"Dean." The name dropped out of his mouth like a rock.
"Okay, Dean, what's your father's name?"
"Daddy."
Right…too young to know a last name or imagine that his mother or father had personal names. Suddenly the little boy went rigid under his hand. He scrambled back towards the cabin, ignoring his injuries. His calm shattered, in that moment, he was desperate for his family. "Mommy—Daddy—Sammy!" His lips went white, almost blue. Those huge green eyes took in the black, smoking bones of his home.
"Sammy..." This little Dean fellow knew, Tobe thought, and didn't scream, just knew and accepted this horror in a way that put ice in his spine. How could the boy just…give up like that? So unlike a child of his years….
"Devils took 'em," a quiet voice stated, firm as it could get.
His heart stopped. Devils. Demons, no doubt the boy meant demons… why? Or rather, why hadn't they taken the family to play with? He looked down into Dean's eyes, gone flat and cloudy again. He shook his head. Well, if he hadn't already been decided, this would have sealed it. This was his job, his due in life—to protect against the unnatural. "Dean, let's not ever talk about that to anyone. Okay? Don’t say a word," he warned the boy, flinging out the command unaware, not imaging the lengths Dean would take it. Dean nodded, and fell silent.
Tobe glanced over the dead woman, gave brief thought to burying her, but shook his head. Someone else would have to take that job. He was loathe to be stuck in unfamiliar lands, snowed in, and anxious to get the boy away from a dangerous area. They'd singled him—his family—out for a reason. He picked the boy up, sat him in front of him. Reached into his duster pocket and pulled out a charm made of red thread and nails, and hung it around his small neck. Tobe pulled the duster shut around them both, and took him away from the grave of his family. "My name is Tobias Kane; you can call me Tobe, okay?"
Dean nodded and repeated it silently to himself. Tobe.
part 2
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11/8/09 04:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
11/9/09 12:35 am (UTC)Thanks--I really hope so!