SpN: Non Timebo Mala 17/?
1/24/10 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Non Timebo Mala
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OCs, Dean/Sam
Rating: R for violence
Word Count:
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
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, thus, expect anachronisms and flagrant display of personal fanon. Warnings for sex ( occasional het and M/M, incest, rape.)
Additional warning this chapter for character death.
The gift was a pendent, no bigger than Dean's fingertip. A star in a circle, with a ring of stylized flames around it. On the back, written around the circle were two words:never forgotten. Dean liked it, liked that the words could mean…whatever he wanted. "Thanks, Pa," he said again and turned the pendant in his palm. "It's silver…that's good. And…small. Very small," he said and puzzled over it for a moment. It would fit on the thong he wore around his wrist but….
"It's meant to go in your bag—and speaking of your bag—" Tobe handed Dean a new cord, with bits of silver wire woven into it. "You need a new cord; the old one's wearing through—don't want to loose that bag nowhere, right?"
Warm air wafted through the front room's window, teasing the curls around Dean's forehead. He scrubbed his fingers through them absentmindedly, as he stared out at the far end of their yard. Through the still mostly bare branches of the red oaks there, he could see hawks floating in the updrafts. He took a deep breath and searched for calm—he was tired, and on edge and the day hadn't really shaped up to be a good one. The winter had been harsh, and spring was taking its slow, wet time about getting settled in. The puddles of icy water and mud that dotted the yard reminded him of the work that stretched in front of them, and as far as Dean was concerned, anything that didn’t involve the forge was boring, mind-numbing. He leaned his elbows on the window sill and another long sigh escaped him.
On this less wet, less chilly day, he and Tobe had taken stock of what the winter had taken and it turned out, the winter had gone for their throats. They'd checked out the barn and the sheds and fences, and they'd given the house a going over. What they'd found was a powerful lot of work that needed to be done.
There was the corral fence that needed repair—posts had slipped in the mud, rails had splintered under the weight of snow and ice. Thankfully, the barn was in fair shape, they only needed to reset the hinges on the doors. The sheds had come through the winter just fine, which meant the raw material for the forge was in good shape too. Tobe was stalking, with a stiff legged march, across the yard towards the forge and Den watched him with a frown. Yeah, he'd have to talk that mule-headed man into letting him shoulder more of the load himself. Wasn't that Tobe was an old man, not really, but the life he'd lead as a young man hadn't been in the slightest kind to him. Dean sighed and his thoughts wandered from Tobe to the house, specifically the roof.
The biggest work needed doing was the roof.
Earlier, the both of them had stood in the yard and stared up at what the spring sun revealed. There'd been quite a bit of damage done to the roof that long winter, shingles dropped or split, opening the roofing felt to rain and wind. A thick branch of the old pine tree, the one that had given the most shade in the yard, had come down under a load of ice and hit the roof. Dean was thankful that it hadn't gone through but it'd done a bit more damage than they'd thought at the time.
"Damn, Pa. That's not good," he'd said and Tobe had snorted at the complete and utter obviousness of that statement.
"Hmph. Sure it's not. Looks like we're headed to the big town. We're gonna need shingles, looks like a lot of 'em. Might as well pick up what else we need, too." Tobe had already begun to add up the cost, and hadn't seen how Dean had paled. Heights had never been a favorite of his, and while he knew the roof wasn't *that* high, there was nothing he could tell himself that made the idea palatable. And Tobe…well, he'd certainly tried to understand, but there was that thing in his eye, that thing that children hated of their parents, a kind of exasperated fondness that only needed a tiny push to tip over into laughter, and that Dean wasn't having. He'd stomped off, leaving Tobe standing on the yard calling, "What?" after him. Sure. Dean heard the chuckle in that man's voice…..
Tobe should count himself fortunate that Dean was such a forgiving man, he thought and watched his pa through the window. There was a certain old blacksmith who was making his own dinner tonight, he thought, just as Tobe looked up and caught him watching. Grinned wide and waved.
Oh yes, getting his own dinner for sure.
They spent most of that evening's dinner figuring out how many shingles they'd need for the roof, how many rails they'd really need to replace. Tobe decided that the posts that had shifted out of place might as well be yanked out, and new ones set, and he and Dean had a lively argument about that.
Tobe leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chest. "Whew. You make one hell of stew, boy. I think I filled up every empty place inside me. He stretched, grimaced and worked his hands. "I swan, old age is creeping up faster and faster. I can barely make a fist." He grinned. "Look like you might have to go up on the roof by yerself. Shame."
Dean snorted and narrowed his eyes at Tobe. "We'll see about that. In the mean time, you should go lie down and let me take care of these dishes, right?"
Dean made his way out to the pump, and filled a couple of bucket with water. He'd put some on the stove to boil for the dishes, and leave some for a wash-up later. He set a stainless steel pail on the outer edge of the stove and left a ladle in it, and poured some water into the big spouted pot that sat at the back of the stove. He washed up their dishes, and washed up himself and thought about asking Tobe if he wanted to wash up too, but he could hear his snores from where he stood. He grinned. Tomorrow, they'd go into Bristol for small items--Dean had a feeling Tobe would want to head out over the hill to the next town…and his 'friend'. Dean was more than fine with that. They could make a day of it, and with any luck, there'd be some new books or maybe new magazines in the general store there. He went to bed anticipating a pretty good day.
* * * *
Tobe rolled to his side and sighed. "You, already?"
We told you time was growing short.
"I know. I hate to leave the boy…he's so…innocent. Alone."
Not for long. And he's got protection against most who'd try to harm him. At least those who'd purposely try to harm him….
Tobe frowned and sat up in bed. "Well that doesn't make me feel any better, I'm sorry to tell you." The shadow rose as well.
Than take my hand, Blacksmith. All will be well.
Tobe felt a flicker of suspicion…he had the feeling that if he took that hand he might lose everything. He hesitated for a long second before reaching out and taking the dark hand extended to him. There was a moment in which the whole world went white and his eyes felt like they were boiling, trying to see—anything--and then sweet calm settled over him like cool silk on hot skin. The windows opened wide, light poured in and his old life…fell away, blew away like willow seeds, like chaff. He took one long step from out of his old self into himself and all that had made up Tobe Kane was gone.
Now he was himself again. There were stars in his hair, he held the wind of the bellows cupped in his hands, and he smiled, threw them high.
"I miss my brothers and sisters. I enjoyed my time here but I am ready to go home."
Thank you for your help, the shadow said and The Blacksmith bowed—a little.
"I do my duty when called," he said and bent his arms, flexed his knees. It felt good to move as himself again.
Do you want to see the boy before you go, the shadow asked and The Blacksmith looked puzzled for a moment, before shaking his head.
"No, I will see him again one day. I will know him, and he will know who I am and we will talk then."
The Blacksmith and the shadow walked out of the house, through the small stand of oaks, past the edge of the yard, past the hills, passed out of the world….
* * * *
Dean woke up, the ropes supporting his mattress creaking with his sudden movement. He rolled to his side and realized it was the icy cold that had woken him. He yawned loudly, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and reluctantly left the fading warmth of his bed. He'd run down and start the fire, he decided, and trotted down to the kitchen. He wrestled a few logs into the fireplace and dazedly watched them catch, still drifting between sleep and waking….
As soon as the flames were crackling, he went to feed coal into the stove and start the coffee. There was bread in the warmer set in the high back of the stove, and he thought he'd cut a few pieces off and make toast...should probably check and see if Pa wanted eggs this morning, or maybe just cornbread and molasses. The coffee started popping against the pot's lid as it came to a boil and Dean took it off the burner and set it on the table, next to Tobe's mug. When he set the cup down, and the sugar next to it, it hit him, Tobe hadn't come in yet, grumbling over the cold or the early hour....
Dean tapped at his door, and when Tobe didn’t answer, pushed it open a crack. "Pa? Say Pa, you ready to get up? We got a lot to do today—" No answer, no snoring. Tobe's room felt cold and…Dean shivered, his heart clenched and skipped…the room felt empty.
He knew. Dean walked into the room and stopped—his throat closed on a sob. He didn’t need to check. He could feel in the air that his father's spirit had flown. He dropped to the floor. "Aw, shit, old man, don’t leave. Don’t leave yet." He put his head in his hands and mouthed into his palms, "Don’t leave me…."
part 18
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OCs, Dean/Sam
Rating: R for violence
Word Count:
Spoilers: might be considered spoilery for All Hell Breaks Loose
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, thus, expect anachronisms and flagrant display of personal fanon. Warnings for sex ( occasional het and M/M, incest, rape.)
Additional warning this chapter for character death.
The gift was a pendent, no bigger than Dean's fingertip. A star in a circle, with a ring of stylized flames around it. On the back, written around the circle were two words:never forgotten. Dean liked it, liked that the words could mean…whatever he wanted. "Thanks, Pa," he said again and turned the pendant in his palm. "It's silver…that's good. And…small. Very small," he said and puzzled over it for a moment. It would fit on the thong he wore around his wrist but….
"It's meant to go in your bag—and speaking of your bag—" Tobe handed Dean a new cord, with bits of silver wire woven into it. "You need a new cord; the old one's wearing through—don't want to loose that bag nowhere, right?"
Warm air wafted through the front room's window, teasing the curls around Dean's forehead. He scrubbed his fingers through them absentmindedly, as he stared out at the far end of their yard. Through the still mostly bare branches of the red oaks there, he could see hawks floating in the updrafts. He took a deep breath and searched for calm—he was tired, and on edge and the day hadn't really shaped up to be a good one. The winter had been harsh, and spring was taking its slow, wet time about getting settled in. The puddles of icy water and mud that dotted the yard reminded him of the work that stretched in front of them, and as far as Dean was concerned, anything that didn’t involve the forge was boring, mind-numbing. He leaned his elbows on the window sill and another long sigh escaped him.
On this less wet, less chilly day, he and Tobe had taken stock of what the winter had taken and it turned out, the winter had gone for their throats. They'd checked out the barn and the sheds and fences, and they'd given the house a going over. What they'd found was a powerful lot of work that needed to be done.
There was the corral fence that needed repair—posts had slipped in the mud, rails had splintered under the weight of snow and ice. Thankfully, the barn was in fair shape, they only needed to reset the hinges on the doors. The sheds had come through the winter just fine, which meant the raw material for the forge was in good shape too. Tobe was stalking, with a stiff legged march, across the yard towards the forge and Den watched him with a frown. Yeah, he'd have to talk that mule-headed man into letting him shoulder more of the load himself. Wasn't that Tobe was an old man, not really, but the life he'd lead as a young man hadn't been in the slightest kind to him. Dean sighed and his thoughts wandered from Tobe to the house, specifically the roof.
The biggest work needed doing was the roof.
Earlier, the both of them had stood in the yard and stared up at what the spring sun revealed. There'd been quite a bit of damage done to the roof that long winter, shingles dropped or split, opening the roofing felt to rain and wind. A thick branch of the old pine tree, the one that had given the most shade in the yard, had come down under a load of ice and hit the roof. Dean was thankful that it hadn't gone through but it'd done a bit more damage than they'd thought at the time.
"Damn, Pa. That's not good," he'd said and Tobe had snorted at the complete and utter obviousness of that statement.
"Hmph. Sure it's not. Looks like we're headed to the big town. We're gonna need shingles, looks like a lot of 'em. Might as well pick up what else we need, too." Tobe had already begun to add up the cost, and hadn't seen how Dean had paled. Heights had never been a favorite of his, and while he knew the roof wasn't *that* high, there was nothing he could tell himself that made the idea palatable. And Tobe…well, he'd certainly tried to understand, but there was that thing in his eye, that thing that children hated of their parents, a kind of exasperated fondness that only needed a tiny push to tip over into laughter, and that Dean wasn't having. He'd stomped off, leaving Tobe standing on the yard calling, "What?" after him. Sure. Dean heard the chuckle in that man's voice…..
Tobe should count himself fortunate that Dean was such a forgiving man, he thought and watched his pa through the window. There was a certain old blacksmith who was making his own dinner tonight, he thought, just as Tobe looked up and caught him watching. Grinned wide and waved.
Oh yes, getting his own dinner for sure.
They spent most of that evening's dinner figuring out how many shingles they'd need for the roof, how many rails they'd really need to replace. Tobe decided that the posts that had shifted out of place might as well be yanked out, and new ones set, and he and Dean had a lively argument about that.
Tobe leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chest. "Whew. You make one hell of stew, boy. I think I filled up every empty place inside me. He stretched, grimaced and worked his hands. "I swan, old age is creeping up faster and faster. I can barely make a fist." He grinned. "Look like you might have to go up on the roof by yerself. Shame."
Dean snorted and narrowed his eyes at Tobe. "We'll see about that. In the mean time, you should go lie down and let me take care of these dishes, right?"
Dean made his way out to the pump, and filled a couple of bucket with water. He'd put some on the stove to boil for the dishes, and leave some for a wash-up later. He set a stainless steel pail on the outer edge of the stove and left a ladle in it, and poured some water into the big spouted pot that sat at the back of the stove. He washed up their dishes, and washed up himself and thought about asking Tobe if he wanted to wash up too, but he could hear his snores from where he stood. He grinned. Tomorrow, they'd go into Bristol for small items--Dean had a feeling Tobe would want to head out over the hill to the next town…and his 'friend'. Dean was more than fine with that. They could make a day of it, and with any luck, there'd be some new books or maybe new magazines in the general store there. He went to bed anticipating a pretty good day.
Tobe rolled to his side and sighed. "You, already?"
We told you time was growing short.
"I know. I hate to leave the boy…he's so…innocent. Alone."
Not for long. And he's got protection against most who'd try to harm him. At least those who'd purposely try to harm him….
Tobe frowned and sat up in bed. "Well that doesn't make me feel any better, I'm sorry to tell you." The shadow rose as well.
Than take my hand, Blacksmith. All will be well.
Tobe felt a flicker of suspicion…he had the feeling that if he took that hand he might lose everything. He hesitated for a long second before reaching out and taking the dark hand extended to him. There was a moment in which the whole world went white and his eyes felt like they were boiling, trying to see—anything--and then sweet calm settled over him like cool silk on hot skin. The windows opened wide, light poured in and his old life…fell away, blew away like willow seeds, like chaff. He took one long step from out of his old self into himself and all that had made up Tobe Kane was gone.
Now he was himself again. There were stars in his hair, he held the wind of the bellows cupped in his hands, and he smiled, threw them high.
"I miss my brothers and sisters. I enjoyed my time here but I am ready to go home."
Thank you for your help, the shadow said and The Blacksmith bowed—a little.
"I do my duty when called," he said and bent his arms, flexed his knees. It felt good to move as himself again.
Do you want to see the boy before you go, the shadow asked and The Blacksmith looked puzzled for a moment, before shaking his head.
"No, I will see him again one day. I will know him, and he will know who I am and we will talk then."
The Blacksmith and the shadow walked out of the house, through the small stand of oaks, past the edge of the yard, past the hills, passed out of the world….
Dean woke up, the ropes supporting his mattress creaking with his sudden movement. He rolled to his side and realized it was the icy cold that had woken him. He yawned loudly, wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and reluctantly left the fading warmth of his bed. He'd run down and start the fire, he decided, and trotted down to the kitchen. He wrestled a few logs into the fireplace and dazedly watched them catch, still drifting between sleep and waking….
As soon as the flames were crackling, he went to feed coal into the stove and start the coffee. There was bread in the warmer set in the high back of the stove, and he thought he'd cut a few pieces off and make toast...should probably check and see if Pa wanted eggs this morning, or maybe just cornbread and molasses. The coffee started popping against the pot's lid as it came to a boil and Dean took it off the burner and set it on the table, next to Tobe's mug. When he set the cup down, and the sugar next to it, it hit him, Tobe hadn't come in yet, grumbling over the cold or the early hour....
Dean tapped at his door, and when Tobe didn’t answer, pushed it open a crack. "Pa? Say Pa, you ready to get up? We got a lot to do today—" No answer, no snoring. Tobe's room felt cold and…Dean shivered, his heart clenched and skipped…the room felt empty.
He knew. Dean walked into the room and stopped—his throat closed on a sob. He didn’t need to check. He could feel in the air that his father's spirit had flown. He dropped to the floor. "Aw, shit, old man, don’t leave. Don’t leave yet." He put his head in his hands and mouthed into his palms, "Don’t leave me…."
part 18
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1/26/10 03:29 am (UTC)