SpN: Non Timebo Mala 24/?
3/19/10 02:33 am![[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
Word Count: 1930
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.)
Sam tipped the brim of his cap up a bit and tried to search out what was wrong. They'd been having a good talk until then…Sam blinked—of course. The reason Dean hadn't come to his room…Sam sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd read a man wrong. He was glad that he hadn't gone farther. He liked Dean and wouldn’t have wanted to put him in the dirt. Dean finished off his drink and slapped the glass down.
"Well, Sam Singer, I think it's time to hit the hay."
Sam was surprised—figured Dean would be showing him the gate, the way he'd looked. He asked, "I'm staying again?" and didn't bother to correct Dean's assumption concerning his last name.
"Well…yeah?"
The next morning he stuffed what he'd brought into the house back into his pack, and smoothed out the bed covers. The room's single window let yellow sun light into the room; it warmed the bare floorboards, near the bed, made the white blanket and pillow shine a bit like gold. Sam liked the little room, almost as much as he liked his room at Singer's. The bed he'd slept in was small, but not too small to be comfortable; the blanket folded on the foot of it was an old style trade blanket in excellent shape, despite the wear along its edges. Sam sat again for a moment, toyed with the frayed edges of the blanket and enjoyed imagining Dean coming back into the room, and pushing him back on the bed, climbing on and…and…Sam snorted. His imagination failed him at that point. Beds and time was something he didn't have a great deal of experience with.
He shouldered his bag and trotted down the stairs--a swift stab of disappointment pricked his chest. The kitchen was empty; there was no coffee pot perking on the stove, no food sitting ready for him. Sam sighed. Well, he'd known that was bound to happen—he'd got the feeling last night that he'd overstayed his welcome. He walked out to the barn and found Dean there, leaning against the stable that housed the black horse, talking to him in a low sweet voice. Sam felt himself leaning towards the voice and froze--cursed himself for ten kinds of fool. Just because a man liked animals didn't make him a good one, damn it. He looked up when Sam came in and smiled.
"Morning, Sam. I was talking to this big handsome fellow here. What d'you call him?"
"What do I *call* him…? I…my dad called him Pal. He's a good horse, good tempered, strong…" Sam answered, and shrugged. "Me, I don’t call him anything. It's just me and the horse and the dog. We know who we are."
Dean shook his head. He brought a bucket of water, and one of feed into the old horse in the next stall. He looked at Sam pointedly and said, "This is Gabe, and the colt out in the corral, that's Rafe. Those are their *names*."
Dean worked quietly for a bit, murmuring to the old horse, laughing softly at some private joke…suddenly he turned his head to Sam, caught him staring. He asked, "What did you come here for? We never got to that last night."
Sam bit his lip, remembering what sidetracked them. He let out a low breath. Now was as good a time as any…he hoped Dean wasn't going to mewl about what he was going to say. He couldn't stand pity; he sure wasn't going to take it from someone like Dean. "Your pa knew about magic, the good kind. And I know he knew about the bad kind too, and how to avoid it. He knew about evil things, monsters, such like. Well, I'm on the track of an evil thing, and I need something special to kill it. Robert had it in mind your pa could be one to make such a thing."
"A weapon? That's what you mean? Like, a…a magic sword?" Dean bit his lip, fighting a smile. "Fairy tales are full of things like that, Sam. Did you have a dream or something? Someone tell you to pull a sword out of a boulder?"
Sam frowned. Most times he ignored when someone made fun of him. It made him mad that it was harder to ignore because it was Dean. "I've got a reason for wanting it. An evil thing took most my family before I was weaned, took the only family I had left in the world not too long ago, an evil thing that marked me—us--a long time gone."
"Damn man, I'm real sorry to hear that…real sorry." Dean moved out of the shadow of the stall, let the empty feed bucket drop to the ground. "I…sounds like some kind of story waiting to be told. If you want to say more, that is."
Sam was moving around the stall the black horse was in, head down, letting the hat do its job of covering his face, giving him some space to collect himself. "I guess I could tell you," he said after a bit. "Just--let me take care of him first."
"I did that—hush, I told you before I don't mind doing it, fed the dog too. You'd have thought the poor scrap was starvin'—"
"Damn it Dean, you're gonna make him think he's some kind of little dog prince and then I'll have to deal with a foolish spoiled dog on the road." Dean just turned green eyes on him and smiled as if to say, you ain't foolin' no one, Sam Winchester—only he thought Sam was Sam Singer….Sam blinked hard and dropped his eyes from Dean's.
Dean headed towards the doorway, tapping Sam lightly on the shoulder. "Do you want to come out to the forge with me, Sam?"
Sam forced down the quick flare of--of something warm, and maybe a bit frightening--he felt at Dean's words. Maybe…maybe he was wrong. It sure seemed Dean was eager to have him about…at least he wasn't trying hard to run him off. Maybe.
Sam leaned against the forge's doorway and watched Dean prepare the forge for the day's work. The man was already sweating, and the flames of the fireplace sent light dancing over him. Dean was a powerful handsome man, Sam thought. Handsome hardly began to describe it…the muscles under his skin coiled and uncoiled as he worked the bellows. His eyes glowed in the firelight, and Sam shifted, locked his arms together to keep himself from reaching out for Dean—or touching himself. Damn it. He'd have to figure out some way he could ask Dean where his feeling lie without getting a boot in his ass if he was wrong.
Dean caught sight of Sam and motioned him closer. "So," he called out over the roar of the flames. "You say you had a terrible thing happen to you? What brought it out?"
Dean hammered as he spoke, not missing a beat. Sweat beaded up, rolled down Dean's chest and Sam was hopelessly lost in following the bead downward…until he noticed Dean's spirit bag. There was a pentagram looped on the thong holding it. Strong magic, both of them—good magic. Sam watched it sway with Dean's movements. Swallowed hard and watched it sweep over his skin. ….
Dean mistook his silent regard for reluctance and apologized. "I misspoke, I guess. I'm sorry, I don't usually go on so much. I'm not usually rude like that."
"No Dean, that's not it. I'm just…not used to talking about it. Not used to talking about myself at all, really." He reached up and twisted the cap's bill, fiddled with it a bit before resettling it. "I'm not used to talking much." He snorted. Until he got to this damn town and ran off at the mouth with everyone, felt like.
Dean frowned at him, and Sam had the feeling he'd misstepped again with the man, but
Dean just shook his head and said, "Well. Keep me company if you want. Talk if you want. Don’t if you don't feel up to it."
Sam came to stand closer, the heat of the fire making his face feel tight and hot. Tiny sparks leaped off the iron bar Dean worked. The sparks stung like tiny bees but it was a puny pain, compared, ignored easily. Dean had eyes only for his work, and Sam felt an overwhelming fascination. He was so—right. Dean knew what he was doing and was confident, content—here was a man who knew who he was, and what he was about. Secure, steady….
"I had a brother once," Sam said. "He died."
Dean didn’t startle at Sam suddenly speaking. He kept working, nodded, and let Sam speak.
"I had a mother too, and devils took them both away. I mean it when I say that. Demons broke my family into bits. They did things to them no human should have to bear, and I want desperately to pay them back—I want to pay back the one who killed my father. That's why I need this thing that can kill demons."
Dean stopped. "Your sword."
Sam smirked. "Well now,I don’t think I want to drag a sword all over creation, man…I'm thinking something a little less showy. I'm thinking something like a knife. Easy to carry, easy to conceal."
Dean looked thoughtful as he hammered the iron, turning it this way and that before looking at Sam side-wise. He smiled. "Like Carnewennan?"
Sam was startled into coughing out a brief laugh. "The King Arthur's knife? Something like that, I suppose—though I think the magic in that knife lay in the good heart of the wielder. I'm gonna need something that's got magic all by itself…" Sam grew livelier talking about it. "I've collected what needs to go into the making it—only touched by me--most of the legends say it should be that way, make it easier for me to use. Uncle Robert said that'd be best, for us to go by whatever the legends say. We kinda threw 'em all in a hat and picked out was was most likely. Then Uncle put together a list of what we'd need to make whatever weapon we choose. Herbs to go into the fire and minerals to go into the metal. Maybe…maybe you'd take a look at it? Tell me if…you can make it? That's if you have a mind to…" He knew his voice had gone a little begging. He coughed hard to clear it and hoped he hadn't turned Dean off of him by whining….
Dean stared at anvil for a long moment, his expression enough a puzzle to Sam that he felt he had indeed put the man off. Sam just stood to the side and watched Dean think, the small hope that had fluttered inside him curling up and dying… and then Dean exhaled. Looked Sam in the eyes and said, "All right."
Sam felt a small wash of dizzy thrill. He was one step closer. One step closer to revenge for his dad—for all his family.
"So," Dean said, "how 'bout you give me a look at your list, man, and tell you what I think." He held up the bar, now magically transformed into a hook, examined it closely for what, Sam had no idea. Its glare faded slowly from yellow to red—Dean put it back into the fire and the flames shot up. All Sam could see was Dean's eyes, green through the dancing flame. It put him in mind of those dreams, those weird, too real, troublesome dreams. Sam shivered at the chill that ran through him, the same time as a hot pulse throbbed in his gut. Too real for sure…he felt he knew those eyes, knew the man, like he was a part of him. It made Sam want to run….
He stood his ground and tried to fight the feeling down, he did, but Dean working was a sight to behold, that smooth, mostly unmarked skin wet and gleaming, the muscles that clenched and stretched in his wide back, in his strong arms. Sam watched him work and thought of pretty green eyes closed, long lashes on his cheeks and that soft pink mouth open. Sam wanted to touch so bad and refused to let himself think about the wanting, the useless, useless wanting.
Dean worked on, unaware. He said, "I think we can work together—maybe."
Sam's eyes dropped shut. He breathed, low so Dean wouldn't hear him, "That's my fondest wish."
part 25
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OCs, Dean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count: 1930
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.)
Sam tipped the brim of his cap up a bit and tried to search out what was wrong. They'd been having a good talk until then…Sam blinked—of course. The reason Dean hadn't come to his room…Sam sighed. It wasn't the first time he'd read a man wrong. He was glad that he hadn't gone farther. He liked Dean and wouldn’t have wanted to put him in the dirt. Dean finished off his drink and slapped the glass down.
"Well, Sam Singer, I think it's time to hit the hay."
Sam was surprised—figured Dean would be showing him the gate, the way he'd looked. He asked, "I'm staying again?" and didn't bother to correct Dean's assumption concerning his last name.
"Well…yeah?"
The next morning he stuffed what he'd brought into the house back into his pack, and smoothed out the bed covers. The room's single window let yellow sun light into the room; it warmed the bare floorboards, near the bed, made the white blanket and pillow shine a bit like gold. Sam liked the little room, almost as much as he liked his room at Singer's. The bed he'd slept in was small, but not too small to be comfortable; the blanket folded on the foot of it was an old style trade blanket in excellent shape, despite the wear along its edges. Sam sat again for a moment, toyed with the frayed edges of the blanket and enjoyed imagining Dean coming back into the room, and pushing him back on the bed, climbing on and…and…Sam snorted. His imagination failed him at that point. Beds and time was something he didn't have a great deal of experience with.
He shouldered his bag and trotted down the stairs--a swift stab of disappointment pricked his chest. The kitchen was empty; there was no coffee pot perking on the stove, no food sitting ready for him. Sam sighed. Well, he'd known that was bound to happen—he'd got the feeling last night that he'd overstayed his welcome. He walked out to the barn and found Dean there, leaning against the stable that housed the black horse, talking to him in a low sweet voice. Sam felt himself leaning towards the voice and froze--cursed himself for ten kinds of fool. Just because a man liked animals didn't make him a good one, damn it. He looked up when Sam came in and smiled.
"Morning, Sam. I was talking to this big handsome fellow here. What d'you call him?"
"What do I *call* him…? I…my dad called him Pal. He's a good horse, good tempered, strong…" Sam answered, and shrugged. "Me, I don’t call him anything. It's just me and the horse and the dog. We know who we are."
Dean shook his head. He brought a bucket of water, and one of feed into the old horse in the next stall. He looked at Sam pointedly and said, "This is Gabe, and the colt out in the corral, that's Rafe. Those are their *names*."
Dean worked quietly for a bit, murmuring to the old horse, laughing softly at some private joke…suddenly he turned his head to Sam, caught him staring. He asked, "What did you come here for? We never got to that last night."
Sam bit his lip, remembering what sidetracked them. He let out a low breath. Now was as good a time as any…he hoped Dean wasn't going to mewl about what he was going to say. He couldn't stand pity; he sure wasn't going to take it from someone like Dean. "Your pa knew about magic, the good kind. And I know he knew about the bad kind too, and how to avoid it. He knew about evil things, monsters, such like. Well, I'm on the track of an evil thing, and I need something special to kill it. Robert had it in mind your pa could be one to make such a thing."
"A weapon? That's what you mean? Like, a…a magic sword?" Dean bit his lip, fighting a smile. "Fairy tales are full of things like that, Sam. Did you have a dream or something? Someone tell you to pull a sword out of a boulder?"
Sam frowned. Most times he ignored when someone made fun of him. It made him mad that it was harder to ignore because it was Dean. "I've got a reason for wanting it. An evil thing took most my family before I was weaned, took the only family I had left in the world not too long ago, an evil thing that marked me—us--a long time gone."
"Damn man, I'm real sorry to hear that…real sorry." Dean moved out of the shadow of the stall, let the empty feed bucket drop to the ground. "I…sounds like some kind of story waiting to be told. If you want to say more, that is."
Sam was moving around the stall the black horse was in, head down, letting the hat do its job of covering his face, giving him some space to collect himself. "I guess I could tell you," he said after a bit. "Just--let me take care of him first."
"I did that—hush, I told you before I don't mind doing it, fed the dog too. You'd have thought the poor scrap was starvin'—"
"Damn it Dean, you're gonna make him think he's some kind of little dog prince and then I'll have to deal with a foolish spoiled dog on the road." Dean just turned green eyes on him and smiled as if to say, you ain't foolin' no one, Sam Winchester—only he thought Sam was Sam Singer….Sam blinked hard and dropped his eyes from Dean's.
Dean headed towards the doorway, tapping Sam lightly on the shoulder. "Do you want to come out to the forge with me, Sam?"
Sam forced down the quick flare of--of something warm, and maybe a bit frightening--he felt at Dean's words. Maybe…maybe he was wrong. It sure seemed Dean was eager to have him about…at least he wasn't trying hard to run him off. Maybe.
Sam leaned against the forge's doorway and watched Dean prepare the forge for the day's work. The man was already sweating, and the flames of the fireplace sent light dancing over him. Dean was a powerful handsome man, Sam thought. Handsome hardly began to describe it…the muscles under his skin coiled and uncoiled as he worked the bellows. His eyes glowed in the firelight, and Sam shifted, locked his arms together to keep himself from reaching out for Dean—or touching himself. Damn it. He'd have to figure out some way he could ask Dean where his feeling lie without getting a boot in his ass if he was wrong.
Dean caught sight of Sam and motioned him closer. "So," he called out over the roar of the flames. "You say you had a terrible thing happen to you? What brought it out?"
Dean hammered as he spoke, not missing a beat. Sweat beaded up, rolled down Dean's chest and Sam was hopelessly lost in following the bead downward…until he noticed Dean's spirit bag. There was a pentagram looped on the thong holding it. Strong magic, both of them—good magic. Sam watched it sway with Dean's movements. Swallowed hard and watched it sweep over his skin. ….
Dean mistook his silent regard for reluctance and apologized. "I misspoke, I guess. I'm sorry, I don't usually go on so much. I'm not usually rude like that."
"No Dean, that's not it. I'm just…not used to talking about it. Not used to talking about myself at all, really." He reached up and twisted the cap's bill, fiddled with it a bit before resettling it. "I'm not used to talking much." He snorted. Until he got to this damn town and ran off at the mouth with everyone, felt like.
Dean frowned at him, and Sam had the feeling he'd misstepped again with the man, but
Dean just shook his head and said, "Well. Keep me company if you want. Talk if you want. Don’t if you don't feel up to it."
Sam came to stand closer, the heat of the fire making his face feel tight and hot. Tiny sparks leaped off the iron bar Dean worked. The sparks stung like tiny bees but it was a puny pain, compared, ignored easily. Dean had eyes only for his work, and Sam felt an overwhelming fascination. He was so—right. Dean knew what he was doing and was confident, content—here was a man who knew who he was, and what he was about. Secure, steady….
"I had a brother once," Sam said. "He died."
Dean didn’t startle at Sam suddenly speaking. He kept working, nodded, and let Sam speak.
"I had a mother too, and devils took them both away. I mean it when I say that. Demons broke my family into bits. They did things to them no human should have to bear, and I want desperately to pay them back—I want to pay back the one who killed my father. That's why I need this thing that can kill demons."
Dean stopped. "Your sword."
Sam smirked. "Well now,I don’t think I want to drag a sword all over creation, man…I'm thinking something a little less showy. I'm thinking something like a knife. Easy to carry, easy to conceal."
Dean looked thoughtful as he hammered the iron, turning it this way and that before looking at Sam side-wise. He smiled. "Like Carnewennan?"
Sam was startled into coughing out a brief laugh. "The King Arthur's knife? Something like that, I suppose—though I think the magic in that knife lay in the good heart of the wielder. I'm gonna need something that's got magic all by itself…" Sam grew livelier talking about it. "I've collected what needs to go into the making it—only touched by me--most of the legends say it should be that way, make it easier for me to use. Uncle Robert said that'd be best, for us to go by whatever the legends say. We kinda threw 'em all in a hat and picked out was was most likely. Then Uncle put together a list of what we'd need to make whatever weapon we choose. Herbs to go into the fire and minerals to go into the metal. Maybe…maybe you'd take a look at it? Tell me if…you can make it? That's if you have a mind to…" He knew his voice had gone a little begging. He coughed hard to clear it and hoped he hadn't turned Dean off of him by whining….
Dean stared at anvil for a long moment, his expression enough a puzzle to Sam that he felt he had indeed put the man off. Sam just stood to the side and watched Dean think, the small hope that had fluttered inside him curling up and dying… and then Dean exhaled. Looked Sam in the eyes and said, "All right."
Sam felt a small wash of dizzy thrill. He was one step closer. One step closer to revenge for his dad—for all his family.
"So," Dean said, "how 'bout you give me a look at your list, man, and tell you what I think." He held up the bar, now magically transformed into a hook, examined it closely for what, Sam had no idea. Its glare faded slowly from yellow to red—Dean put it back into the fire and the flames shot up. All Sam could see was Dean's eyes, green through the dancing flame. It put him in mind of those dreams, those weird, too real, troublesome dreams. Sam shivered at the chill that ran through him, the same time as a hot pulse throbbed in his gut. Too real for sure…he felt he knew those eyes, knew the man, like he was a part of him. It made Sam want to run….
He stood his ground and tried to fight the feeling down, he did, but Dean working was a sight to behold, that smooth, mostly unmarked skin wet and gleaming, the muscles that clenched and stretched in his wide back, in his strong arms. Sam watched him work and thought of pretty green eyes closed, long lashes on his cheeks and that soft pink mouth open. Sam wanted to touch so bad and refused to let himself think about the wanting, the useless, useless wanting.
Dean worked on, unaware. He said, "I think we can work together—maybe."
Sam's eyes dropped shut. He breathed, low so Dean wouldn't hear him, "That's my fondest wish."
part 25
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(no subject)
3/19/10 03:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/10 03:31 pm (UTC)Oh well, I will suck it up and keep dancing because I *know* this story is pretty good--so there Universe! Check it out, me all pos attitude!
Love you! It was great seeing you last night! You have no idea how happy your happy made me! *GGGG*
(no subject)
3/19/10 04:13 pm (UTC)*flails*
These boys.
And hey! I'm with
*smoooch*
(no subject)
3/19/10 04:30 pm (UTC)But I do like this story, and it is still fun, so, I might just suck it up! ;)
(no subject)
3/19/10 04:35 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/10 04:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/19/10 05:18 pm (UTC)*luffs you muchly*
(no subject)
3/21/10 12:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/22/10 06:55 pm (UTC)Thank you *so* much, thanks for delurking and letting me know that you're enjoying reading this story as much as I am writing it.
(no subject)
5/6/10 02:36 am (UTC)This is an incredible world you've constructed; different and true to itself, but also true to the characters Kripke created with just enough spin to say that it's yours.
I've read up to this point in the last day and a half because, even though I tell myself I should do something else, I keep getting pulled back because I have to know what happens next.
Speaking of which, I'm off to the next chapter... =]
(no subject)
5/6/10 02:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/27/10 06:46 pm (UTC)I was so proud of that boy for speaking up and just laying (most of) it out for Dean to see. And the little bantering they did? Awwwwww. Nerdy bonding over King Arthur legends FTW.
Thank you for the mental imagery this section evokes: sweaty, shirtless, muscle-rippling, blacksmith!Dean and tall, stoic, voyeur!Sammy. Phew. I'll be in my bunk. . .
(Awesomesauce as always, m'dear, but I did have one nitpick-y thing: should this He looked at Sam pointedly and said, "This is Gabe, and the colt out in the coral, that's Rafe. Those are their *names*." read corral instead of coral? *nervous eyebrow-age*)
ETA: Hey, when did you add that summary? Cos it's freakin' perfect!!!
(no subject)
3/27/10 07:12 pm (UTC)Also, God what a doofy mistake and thanks a mil for catching it!! Oy! It most certainly isn't coral, because that would make them seahorses and Dean would be the little merman...*headslap*
I'm trying my best to get these boys together--I'm poking them with sharp sticks and everything!
(no subject)
4/2/10 06:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
4/5/10 10:18 pm (UTC)