SpN: Non Timebo Mala part 32
8/23/10 12:17 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
Word Count:1775
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.)
(Itty, bitt, tiny bridgey bit. Trying to get back on the horse, so to speak!)
"All right then. We're going back to Miss Missouri's and I'm going to put you to bed and in the morning, we're putting all this behind us."
"All right, Dean." Sam let Dean support him even though he didn’t need it. Just…Dean insisted, and it felt…he hardly knew what to call the feeling. He didn't want to put a name on it, was kind of frightened to.
"If you don't stop what you're doing, it's going to kill you."
He'd snuck back into 'Souri's kitchen from where Dean and him had bunked down in the stables, left Dean snoring like a bucksaw, with the dog sacked out practically on his head. His smile faded and he sighed, watching the stiff line of her back as Missouri beat batter like it'd done something to personally offend her.
"I can take care of myself," he muttered.
The wooden spoon hit the table with a crack loud as a gunshot, pale yellow spoon bread batter splattering the table and stone floor. Sam jumped at the sudden noise, dropped his head.
"Samuel, I'm goin' to say this one time. You let this boy take care of you or—or—" she turned to Sam, her eyes wet with furious tears. "I've held my tongue too long about this. It's my fault for letting your daddy shove what happened to you down, push it away. You think because you were mishandled it makes you some kind of monster. It don't. You ain't the only one…"
"I got—it was—a demon, don't you get that? Did that awful--thing to me, poisoned me!"
"Sam, it didn't. Not even when that boss demon put his blood in you, that…it didn't change you, not in the ways that matter most. What ever is happening to you now, you're doing it to yourself. Stop punishing yourself. Because it's not just you hurtin', it's Dean too. Can't you stop, for him?"
Sam swallowed hard…he was certain now that she'd divined his feelings for Dean. And it seemed she was willing to use those feelings if she had to. Dad had always said she was a tough little woman who made her own rules…"Yes. I already promised him. I won’t go back on my word. Not if I can help it."
She sighed, and the steel seemed to seep out of her. "Sam…" her head dropped, her hands folded over each other in her lap. She rocked a little in her chair and Sam knew she was praying from her posture—he couldn't pick out her words. When she looked up at him again, her face was wet. "I just want you to be happy. Forgive me, please, forgive me—just want you to be happy—"
"Of course, of course—you ain't never hurt me, never would. You're my friend—closer—you're like family."
He reached out and grabbed her hands, and she cried silently, held their clasped hands to her cheek. "I don’t know, I can't…I don't know…" She rocked back in her chair, took a deep breath and dropped Sam's hand. That steel was back in her--she about slapped the tears away, angry at herself, he thought.
"You pay no heed to a crazy old woman. Now get yourself back to sleep and let me finish making my 'bread. Swan, I'm getting worse and worse the older I get…" She jumped up and fussed with her batter, scooped out lard to grease her pans and was determinedly normal, if a little savage about wrestling the batter into the greased pans. Sam, on impulse kissed her cheek.
"Thank you," he said. "And I meant what I said."
The smile she gave him was wobbly, but genuine. "I know you did, boy. Now you take yourself on out to the stables and bed down, I promise you're gonna have pleasant dreams this night."
The next morning Sam and Dean had a slow, easy breakfast, perched together on the back porch, mugs of coffee sending up aromatic streamers of steam in the slightly chill air. Twin pairs of long legs stretched out over the stairs, boot toes leaning towards each other, separated by a chunky dirty white body. The dog lay with his butt pressed up against Dean's calf and his head draped over Sam's ankle, heaving sighs at each spoonful that didn't fall to the boards. They were bent over bowls of steaming spoon bread, butter spreading into a yellow lake on each, Sam's gilded with honey fresh from the comb. Dean made a face at him—"What is it with you? Honey comb, licorice, taffy, brittle—'swan, you could live off sweets, given the chance—"
"I seem to recall a certain someone with a habit for peppermint," Sam said.
"That's different. Peppermint is good for you. Aids the digestion. And I'm not chewing them down breakfast, dinner, and supper like you do."
Sam snorted. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Blacksmith." They ate on in silence for a bit until Sam finally let out a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'm thinking to look over the letters that Uncle Bobby sent. He always sends information that I'm sure will be interesting--to the both of us."
Dean shrugged and waited for the dog to move before he moved too—Sam rolled his eyes. The man was doing his level best to spoil the dog, catering to his every whim like he was a damn prince or something. Dean was gonna making the little bastard fat. Hell, might as well toss his plate on the ground soon as he got it, the way he fed that dog from it. Sam hoped the dog knew that spoiling was all gonna stop as soon as they were shut of Bristol and on the trail again, the way they were meant to—the pain that came with that thought took Sam by complete surprise. His hand came up to his chest, without thought he rubbed the spot the ache pulsed in.
Dean looked up at him and smiled, taking Sam's posture as reluctance to leave the stoop. "Maybe Miss Missouri's got some honeycomb set aside for you and your sweet tooth."
"Yeah…come on, I got work to do." Sam ignored the flash of hurt in Dean's eyes, not caring to explain why he was so abrupt. He wasn't completely sure himself.
* * * * *
Sam spread out a map, and Robert's letters across the work table in the kitchen, 'Souri being kind enough to give them the space to work. She set a re-filled mug by his elbow and he tipped his head in thanks. There was a lot to look at in those letters—copies of pieces of maps, clippings from a different newspapers, Robert's personal opinion of what was happening and the opinions of different Hunters that had been actually involved in some of the events. It worked out to a tale of bloodshed and death, but so scattered that there'd been no clear pattern to see—until it came under Robert Singer's eye. Uncle Robert had a sense for things like this puzzle, able to stack thin layers together until they became solid—made sense. Sam could see it too, and saw that the pattern had a vague resemblance to the pattern of destruction that had lured John Winchester to his death. He explained as much to Dean and Dean had suggested that they follow the pattern to its conclusion.
"Seems that all signs are leading to this town here," he said and pressed a finger to the map, tracing out a meandering circle that definitely had a familiar feel to Sam.
Sam nodded. "My thoughts, too. Robert says that it's demon possessions doing this. He says the feeling he gets is that it's not an average possession. I'm thinking…this is it. This is the one that killed my family. This thing…I know it. This pattern, the church desecrations—and whenever that happens, it's sure sign that regular people are following this monster, helping it…." He stopped at Dean's disgusted look. "I know. But some will do it for hopes of reward, some do it as payment for gifts granted. All of them will burn in hell regardless for their sins…no matter what your deal with demons, the final judgment is the same."
Missouri jerked in seat she'd taken by the door, and Sam looked at her curiously. She shook her head, waved him back to Dean's attention. "This is my chance Dean," he said. "If it's as big as I think it is, then that thing that made it so my mother and brother died, the thing that took my dad and marked me, is there at Sweetwater. I need to go see."
Dean shook his head. "No Sam, you need to wait until the gun is made. No way in hell—'xcuse me, ma'am—that you're going after this monster without protection and some dang good back-up—namely, me."
"I don’t have time—this thing could be doing—god knows what, headed god knows where."
Dean shook his head, said, "Sam, take a look at the dates. There's a long wait between…unpleasantness. It's moving slow, arrogant sonofa bi—gun. It figures it's got all the time in the world. Well, good. We'll make that gun and then you go after it, you hear? But not without me. Never without me.
Sam cast a guilty look back at 'Souri and she had him fixed with a glare fit to put a basilisk to shame. Her lips thinned out and her eyes held him like…well, a lot like a pinned butterfly. "No, Dean, I won’t go nowhere without you. Swear it, okay?"
"All right," Dean said, and Missouri's glare narrowed to a razor's edge before she snorted. Sam figured that it was past time for them to be hitting the road, before he found 'Souri and Dean clubbed up together and plotting against him.
When they'd saddled up the next day, ready to leave Osage, Missouri took Sam's hand. "Once upon a time I told you that the best thing you could do was atone for sins not quite your own. I'm thinking that I was wrong in that—I'm not rightly sure that's the case. I been seeing things…things that scare me, that I can't make full sense of. But Sam, one thing I'm sure of, your heart is bigger than you know, and no matter what, more full of good than you give yourself credit for. I wish you'd look inside yourself and see that good, it would help to save you from so much sorrow…" she stopped and Sam patted her cheek.
"Don't take on so, 'Souri. It worries me about you. I promise to take care of myself, and Dean too. I'll see you next spring; I'll stop on my way to Uncle's, just like I always do."
She cast her eyes down and nodded. "I hope so, son, I really do."
tbc
part 33
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Dean/OCs, Sam/OCs, Dean/Sam
Rating:R
Word Count:1775
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.)
(Itty, bitt, tiny bridgey bit. Trying to get back on the horse, so to speak!)
"All right then. We're going back to Miss Missouri's and I'm going to put you to bed and in the morning, we're putting all this behind us."
"All right, Dean." Sam let Dean support him even though he didn’t need it. Just…Dean insisted, and it felt…he hardly knew what to call the feeling. He didn't want to put a name on it, was kind of frightened to.
"If you don't stop what you're doing, it's going to kill you."
He'd snuck back into 'Souri's kitchen from where Dean and him had bunked down in the stables, left Dean snoring like a bucksaw, with the dog sacked out practically on his head. His smile faded and he sighed, watching the stiff line of her back as Missouri beat batter like it'd done something to personally offend her.
"I can take care of myself," he muttered.
The wooden spoon hit the table with a crack loud as a gunshot, pale yellow spoon bread batter splattering the table and stone floor. Sam jumped at the sudden noise, dropped his head.
"Samuel, I'm goin' to say this one time. You let this boy take care of you or—or—" she turned to Sam, her eyes wet with furious tears. "I've held my tongue too long about this. It's my fault for letting your daddy shove what happened to you down, push it away. You think because you were mishandled it makes you some kind of monster. It don't. You ain't the only one…"
"I got—it was—a demon, don't you get that? Did that awful--thing to me, poisoned me!"
"Sam, it didn't. Not even when that boss demon put his blood in you, that…it didn't change you, not in the ways that matter most. What ever is happening to you now, you're doing it to yourself. Stop punishing yourself. Because it's not just you hurtin', it's Dean too. Can't you stop, for him?"
Sam swallowed hard…he was certain now that she'd divined his feelings for Dean. And it seemed she was willing to use those feelings if she had to. Dad had always said she was a tough little woman who made her own rules…"Yes. I already promised him. I won’t go back on my word. Not if I can help it."
She sighed, and the steel seemed to seep out of her. "Sam…" her head dropped, her hands folded over each other in her lap. She rocked a little in her chair and Sam knew she was praying from her posture—he couldn't pick out her words. When she looked up at him again, her face was wet. "I just want you to be happy. Forgive me, please, forgive me—just want you to be happy—"
"Of course, of course—you ain't never hurt me, never would. You're my friend—closer—you're like family."
He reached out and grabbed her hands, and she cried silently, held their clasped hands to her cheek. "I don’t know, I can't…I don't know…" She rocked back in her chair, took a deep breath and dropped Sam's hand. That steel was back in her--she about slapped the tears away, angry at herself, he thought.
"You pay no heed to a crazy old woman. Now get yourself back to sleep and let me finish making my 'bread. Swan, I'm getting worse and worse the older I get…" She jumped up and fussed with her batter, scooped out lard to grease her pans and was determinedly normal, if a little savage about wrestling the batter into the greased pans. Sam, on impulse kissed her cheek.
"Thank you," he said. "And I meant what I said."
The smile she gave him was wobbly, but genuine. "I know you did, boy. Now you take yourself on out to the stables and bed down, I promise you're gonna have pleasant dreams this night."
The next morning Sam and Dean had a slow, easy breakfast, perched together on the back porch, mugs of coffee sending up aromatic streamers of steam in the slightly chill air. Twin pairs of long legs stretched out over the stairs, boot toes leaning towards each other, separated by a chunky dirty white body. The dog lay with his butt pressed up against Dean's calf and his head draped over Sam's ankle, heaving sighs at each spoonful that didn't fall to the boards. They were bent over bowls of steaming spoon bread, butter spreading into a yellow lake on each, Sam's gilded with honey fresh from the comb. Dean made a face at him—"What is it with you? Honey comb, licorice, taffy, brittle—'swan, you could live off sweets, given the chance—"
"I seem to recall a certain someone with a habit for peppermint," Sam said.
"That's different. Peppermint is good for you. Aids the digestion. And I'm not chewing them down breakfast, dinner, and supper like you do."
Sam snorted. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Blacksmith." They ate on in silence for a bit until Sam finally let out a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'm thinking to look over the letters that Uncle Bobby sent. He always sends information that I'm sure will be interesting--to the both of us."
Dean shrugged and waited for the dog to move before he moved too—Sam rolled his eyes. The man was doing his level best to spoil the dog, catering to his every whim like he was a damn prince or something. Dean was gonna making the little bastard fat. Hell, might as well toss his plate on the ground soon as he got it, the way he fed that dog from it. Sam hoped the dog knew that spoiling was all gonna stop as soon as they were shut of Bristol and on the trail again, the way they were meant to—the pain that came with that thought took Sam by complete surprise. His hand came up to his chest, without thought he rubbed the spot the ache pulsed in.
Dean looked up at him and smiled, taking Sam's posture as reluctance to leave the stoop. "Maybe Miss Missouri's got some honeycomb set aside for you and your sweet tooth."
"Yeah…come on, I got work to do." Sam ignored the flash of hurt in Dean's eyes, not caring to explain why he was so abrupt. He wasn't completely sure himself.
Sam spread out a map, and Robert's letters across the work table in the kitchen, 'Souri being kind enough to give them the space to work. She set a re-filled mug by his elbow and he tipped his head in thanks. There was a lot to look at in those letters—copies of pieces of maps, clippings from a different newspapers, Robert's personal opinion of what was happening and the opinions of different Hunters that had been actually involved in some of the events. It worked out to a tale of bloodshed and death, but so scattered that there'd been no clear pattern to see—until it came under Robert Singer's eye. Uncle Robert had a sense for things like this puzzle, able to stack thin layers together until they became solid—made sense. Sam could see it too, and saw that the pattern had a vague resemblance to the pattern of destruction that had lured John Winchester to his death. He explained as much to Dean and Dean had suggested that they follow the pattern to its conclusion.
"Seems that all signs are leading to this town here," he said and pressed a finger to the map, tracing out a meandering circle that definitely had a familiar feel to Sam.
Sam nodded. "My thoughts, too. Robert says that it's demon possessions doing this. He says the feeling he gets is that it's not an average possession. I'm thinking…this is it. This is the one that killed my family. This thing…I know it. This pattern, the church desecrations—and whenever that happens, it's sure sign that regular people are following this monster, helping it…." He stopped at Dean's disgusted look. "I know. But some will do it for hopes of reward, some do it as payment for gifts granted. All of them will burn in hell regardless for their sins…no matter what your deal with demons, the final judgment is the same."
Missouri jerked in seat she'd taken by the door, and Sam looked at her curiously. She shook her head, waved him back to Dean's attention. "This is my chance Dean," he said. "If it's as big as I think it is, then that thing that made it so my mother and brother died, the thing that took my dad and marked me, is there at Sweetwater. I need to go see."
Dean shook his head. "No Sam, you need to wait until the gun is made. No way in hell—'xcuse me, ma'am—that you're going after this monster without protection and some dang good back-up—namely, me."
"I don’t have time—this thing could be doing—god knows what, headed god knows where."
Dean shook his head, said, "Sam, take a look at the dates. There's a long wait between…unpleasantness. It's moving slow, arrogant sonofa bi—gun. It figures it's got all the time in the world. Well, good. We'll make that gun and then you go after it, you hear? But not without me. Never without me.
Sam cast a guilty look back at 'Souri and she had him fixed with a glare fit to put a basilisk to shame. Her lips thinned out and her eyes held him like…well, a lot like a pinned butterfly. "No, Dean, I won’t go nowhere without you. Swear it, okay?"
"All right," Dean said, and Missouri's glare narrowed to a razor's edge before she snorted. Sam figured that it was past time for them to be hitting the road, before he found 'Souri and Dean clubbed up together and plotting against him.
When they'd saddled up the next day, ready to leave Osage, Missouri took Sam's hand. "Once upon a time I told you that the best thing you could do was atone for sins not quite your own. I'm thinking that I was wrong in that—I'm not rightly sure that's the case. I been seeing things…things that scare me, that I can't make full sense of. But Sam, one thing I'm sure of, your heart is bigger than you know, and no matter what, more full of good than you give yourself credit for. I wish you'd look inside yourself and see that good, it would help to save you from so much sorrow…" she stopped and Sam patted her cheek.
"Don't take on so, 'Souri. It worries me about you. I promise to take care of myself, and Dean too. I'll see you next spring; I'll stop on my way to Uncle's, just like I always do."
She cast her eyes down and nodded. "I hope so, son, I really do."
tbc
part 33
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
8/24/10 01:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/24/10 01:45 pm (UTC)Oh GIRL!!! READ THIS!!!!
The Things We Carry With Us (http://lovesrain44.livejournal.com/42788.html) AMAZING!!!!!!
(no subject)
8/24/10 05:58 pm (UTC)*pets him*
You do enjoy twisting him up, don't you? Evol.
But at least he's made some promises that he'd better keep.....!!
(no subject)
8/24/10 07:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
8/24/10 11:23 pm (UTC)As always, your characters are wonderful; lots of depth with humour and angst mixed together in realistic doses. Looking forward to more.
(no subject)
8/25/10 01:29 am (UTC)I'm so glad that you're still enjoying this--thanks so much for commenting!
(no subject)
8/25/10 05:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
9/6/10 03:09 am (UTC)It was a real pleasure to see this comment!