Simple Telling
May. 1st, 2006 02:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mellaithwenTitle: Simple Telling
Chapters: One-shot
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for Salvation
Summary: Dean had been brought along to help kill her, and instead had watched as she and his father merely talked.
And this life you gave away was meant for me.
*-*-*
-Fin
.
Chapters: One-shot
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for Salvation
Summary: Dean had been brought along to help kill her, and instead had watched as she and his father merely talked.
And this life you gave away was meant for me.
Everything was tied in with the flames. His entire life was based on them. They had taken his mother, and his room, it being next door to the starting point of the fire. He had never done anything to them and didn’t understand why they had done this.
Daddy explained to him later that someone was making the flames do it. Controlling the fire, and it only made him more sad, because his father never knew who. At four, he had looked up at the house from the safety of the other side of the street. He had watched in fear as the orange glowed so brightly, and unconsciously scooted backwards to his father holding his brother. His eyes were wild, his throat shut tight, and he didn’t speak for so long, afraid that the fire might hear him and come back.
*-*-*
Always in the alleysways. Always in the inbetween, hiding in the crevices and cracks between the buildings, their images hidden by the darkening neutral shadows, the ones not in league with the devil, and scent kept at bay by the damp of the stone walls, and the lingering scent of trash on the street corners around them. She preferred it there, there was no point in showcasing the fact that she was a traitor.
"Do you know how many demons walked right past me? Didn't even blink?"
Dean regarded her quietly for a moment trying to discern if it was rhetorical or not.
"Four!"
Rhetorical then.
"Four demons walked right past and didn't say a word."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"No, Dean, it means they don't care that I'm meeting with a mortal. It means they have something better to do."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh."
They let a silence pass over the both of them as they assessed each other. She knew where every weapon was stashed on him, the hidden knife in his boot, and the one strapped to his wrist. His gun hidden behind him, tucked into his belt, and wearing that damn necklace as usual. Dean saw no weapons on her, but that was nothing new. She never carried them, choosing instead to act as peaceful as possible until the need to fight arose in which case, she could do nothing more than glare and that would be enough.
"Alone?"
She knew he wasn't and he shrugged. "Sam's in the car."
She nodded, sensing not only a reluctance to ask, but also a want to hurry this along.
"Well?"
*-*-*
The first time he had met her, she was his prey. Or rather, his father's prey. He hated making demonic contacts, but thy enemy's enemy is thy friend, and if it helped him get closer to his goal, then maybe it was worth it. For information, important information, John would help eradicate the competition of that particular contact, and the Witch, it seemed, was not particularly liked among the underworld's occupants. She batted for both teams, and betrayed everyone she met, unless given a reason to do otherwise. John made sure he could see the shades of grey, always, but that didn't stop him from ignoring them from time to time.
She hadn't begged for mercy, or feigned innocence. She had stood tall, ready, and had spoken to him, telling more than any contact could. Dean had been brought along to help kill her, and instead had watched as she and his father merely talked.
*-*-*
Always in the alleysways. Always in the inbetween, hiding in the crevices and cracks between the buildings, their images hidden by the darkening neutral shadows, the ones not in league with the devil, and scent kept at bay by the damp of the stone walls, and the lingering scent of trash on the street corners around them. She preferred it there, there was no point in showcasing the fact that she was a traitor.
"Do you know how many demons walked right past me? Didn't even blink?"
Dean regarded her quietly for a moment trying to discern if it was rhetorical or not.
"Four!"
Rhetorical then.
"Four demons walked right past and didn't say a word."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"No, Dean, it means they don't care that I'm meeting with a mortal. It means they have something better to do."
"Oh."
"Yes, oh."
They let a silence pass over the both of them as they assessed each other. She knew where every weapon was stashed on him, the hidden knife in his boot, and the one strapped to his wrist. His gun hidden behind him, tucked into his belt, and wearing that damn necklace as usual. Dean saw no weapons on her, but that was nothing new. She never carried them, choosing instead to act as peaceful as possible until the need to fight arose in which case, she could do nothing more than glare and that would be enough.
"Alone?"
She knew he wasn't and he shrugged. "Sam's in the car."
She nodded, sensing not only a reluctance to ask, but also a want to hurry this along.
"Well?"
*-*-*
The first time he had met her, she was his prey. Or rather, his father's prey. He hated making demonic contacts, but thy enemy's enemy is thy friend, and if it helped him get closer to his goal, then maybe it was worth it. For information, important information, John would help eradicate the competition of that particular contact, and the Witch, it seemed, was not particularly liked among the underworld's occupants. She batted for both teams, and betrayed everyone she met, unless given a reason to do otherwise. John made sure he could see the shades of grey, always, but that didn't stop him from ignoring them from time to time.
She hadn't begged for mercy, or feigned innocence. She had stood tall, ready, and had spoken to him, telling more than any contact could. Dean had been brought along to help kill her, and instead had watched as she and his father merely talked.
*-*-*
“You want me, to what? Tell you it’s perfectly normal for him to be seeing the future?” Her voice seemed shrill, mocking, and serious all in one. Her hood was keeping her eyes from being seen, their brightness too much for most mortals to handle if she wasn’t careful when it came to her emotions.
“That’d be a good place to start, yeah.”
“Tough.” She said simply, regarding him with a curled lip. “It isn’t. Not even in these dark corners of the world.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one’s supposed to see the future. Nobody. Not demon’s, not humans, not psychics nothing.”
“So what? Sam and Missouri are just exceptions?”
“Missouri can’t tell the future, she can only tell you what you’re already thinking. Her perceptions of what might come to be are based on what you suppose might happen. She’s only privy to information held out to her on a plate.” Her bitter tone betrayed the fact that she had clearly met the outspoken woman of Lawrence.
“And Sam? What’s he?”
She looked away, turned away, and Dean could have sworn he heard her mutter, different.
*-*-*
“Dean?” Mary called to her oldest boy, who began bouncing the ball beneath his palms as he neared his mother, and caught the boll skillfully. "Yeah Mom?"
“Look sweetie, no matter what your brother does, he's littler than you, so let him shoot once in a while, 'kay?”
“Okay mom,”
Went back to playing but then Mary called her youngest to her. Sam due fully ran forward abandoning the game and stood looking up at his mother's bulging belly. "Yes Mommy?"
“Get him,” She said, looking in Dean's direction as he bounced the ball a few more times. She laughed as her husband helped her into the car both of them watching as Sam managed to shoot easily and score.
He had never played basketball with his brother. He had only seen his mother pregnant once, and Sammy had not been around to annoy. Little Sammy had never known her, but as he grew older, his subconscious had always dwelled on the What If’s just as much as his waking mind quizzed the Why’s.
*-*-*
“What am I supposed to do? They’re his gifts!”
“And yet he is the one staying in the car.” She said, dryly before continuing. “This is not a gift, Dean. It’s not even a curse. It shouldn’t be, and you know that.”
“I don’t know anything! I don’t know why this is happening, or what to do. I don’t know if this is normal because I’ll be damned if I know what that is.”
“He’s like a beacon,” She said, straying out of the alley enough to have a bird’s eye view of the Impala’s waiting passenger.
“What?”
“Seen from a distance; he’s drawing demon’s in. Like demon-shapes-moths to a Sam-shaped flame.”
“I know what a beacon is.”
“And yet you refuse to acknowledge him being one. Think about it, they always seem to go for him first don’t they? Drawn to the whole ESP thing.”
“Feel free to stay out of my head.”
“Stop proving me right then.”
*-*-*
“So, am I going to have a little sister?” Dean asked his mother, and her bulging belly. Mary smiled, her eyes twinkling, and Dean basked in the glow that seemed to encompass her. Her hair was golden, tied back letting little ringlets slide forward and frame her face. Her smile was wide and sweet, teeth showing, hidden sometimes shyly, and cheeks reddened with happiness. She seemed so jolly, so happy, and she always made him smile. He missed sitting in her lap, he missed her bending over and kissing him at night but he knew the baby was there. The baby was in the way...
“What do you think, love?” Mary asked her little boy, and he pressed his hand against her stomach, squinting for a moment, his nose scrunched up as he wondered and concentrated and she watched him with wonder. He shook his head enthusiastically; his hair shaking around him, as he said indignantly, “Uh-uh,”
If it was possible Mary's smile grew wider.
*-*-*
“What do you want me to do? Cover him with a blanket?”
“You could try...for the sole purpose of amusing yourself. It won’t work; it isn’t a light you can switch on and off. He’s practically glowing with energy, begging to be attacked.”
He growled, ready to leave when her voice floated over to him, ringing in his ears and mind, demanding to be adhered.
“Dean,”
“What?” He snapped, but her complexion was fair.
“Get rid of him.”
“What?” He repeated, incredulous. She stepped forward.
“I know he’s your brother, but he’s endangering you and everyone you’ll ever meet. It’s a wonder he went so long in Stanford without being attacked, and I wonder if that was your father’s doing.”
Her eyes strayed to the ever-present-around-his-neck amulet, sitting idly against his chest. He followed her gaze before looking back up at her, frowning. She scoffed at his ignorance, walking away as though she had better things to do rather than explain.
*-*-*
Seldom did Dean’s father give him anything. A horrible thought to most, but in all reality, it never really fazed Dean. His first birthday after the fire he had been too sad to notice, and the second meant he had had well over a year on the road to realise things were going to be drastically different. Sometimes a new weapon would be introduced. Sometimes a new book, or a new second-hand book. A few times they had gotten Sam a cake, but soon even that tradition died out. The hunt was their lives, and anything else could wait ‘til after.
So when his father did give him something, it always made him wary. Was this a trick? Was there a lesson in all of this?
“Do you remember this, kiddo?” He’d asked, holding out the pendant on string. Dean shook his head, he didn’t. John nodded in understanding.
“Your mother gave you this when you were born.” He said quietly, and Dean’s eyes softened at the mention of her. “When you were too little to wear it on your neck, she wrapped it around your wrist, and sometimes she tied it to your mobile, above your crib.”
Dean listened carefully, unsure of what his father was expecting and hoping it wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. Another sigh and it seemed to the son, that his father was fighting hard to keep his emotions at bay.
He didn’t carry on with the story; maybe there was nothing else to tell. Or at least, nothing more that John could shed light on. He made sure the knots on the necklace were tight, ones that wouldn’t untie themselves any time soon, and put it over his son’s head letting the pendant rock against the boy’s chest as he looked down at it, before smiling at his father, and rushing back to his brother in the garden.
*-*-*
He waited, ever impatiently, tapping his foot, annoying her enough to make her turn again, turning back to him, facing him.
“All of those children, the ones the demon’s after, have you noticed anything about the pattern?”
“Signs show up a week before-.”
“No, not that kind of pattern.” She sighed. “Did your father ever tell you if they had siblings?” He frowned once more.
“No,” He supplied after a thoughtful pause. She took a breath, un-amused, clearly.
“Every single child the demon has gone after, was the first born.”
Dean felt a hitch in his throat.
“You can check if you don’t believe me, Dean, but they were all only children.”
“So why the hell did it go after Sam?”
She strayed forward, touching the pendant once again, only with her fingernails, her skin, it seemed, was reluctant to be near it.
“You tell me.”
.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 03:27 pm (UTC)Random in the sense of most of anything I write is written down first...this...seriously just winged it, plus random because it's so damn confusing.
Lol! gah I'm 7 days of the week, hence my getting nothing done of late
no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 05:41 pm (UTC)(I was taking the piss, just smile and nod)