(no subject)
Title: A Bond of Fate 4/4
Author: Mich
Rating: PG-13 for implied violence
Genre: AU, gen
Spoilers: up through episode 1.18 Something Wicked
Summary: Jayme works on a report to her people about the events in Fitchburg WI. But how do you explain a shtriga to people on another world?
Chapter Four
“Seriously, Jayme, you’re not finished yet? You know, if you’re gonna ride with us you need to work on our stuff too.” Dean tossed his cup into the trash can. The little roadside burger joint was picturesque in a northeastern sort of way; Sam was already absorbed in their next case at the table beside them, poring over newspapers and his laptop.
“I have to make sure they understand what it is I’m doing with you guys. Let’s face it, most of the stuff I’ve experienced is pretty out there. I have to do a lot of explaining and give a lot of background. And I have to make it sound-”
“Not completely psychotic?”
“Partly. I have to make sure I’m not giving away any information that could compromise you guys. Not that I think that anyone would, but you two have taught me the value of being paranoid.”
~~~
Now it was a matter of how. And the how was the tricky part.
We don’t usually use bait in our hunts; it has its uses but often leads to trouble. Bait in this world is a different thing altogether.
Both Sam and Dean have served as bait for creatures before. They do it willingly, with the full knowledge of the risks involved. In this case, the shtriga was going after siblings, and we had a sibling right in our midst. Sam objected, suggesting one of us instead, but Dean was certain that no trick would work.
They turned to me to ask Michael, I suppose since as a female I’m less threatening. I certainly didn’t want to do it, and suggested that since Dean had all the smarts he should do it.
The initial response was not encouraging. Of course, asking a child to submit himself to a monster intent on drawing the life from him is not exactly something you should expect him to leap forth to volunteer for. But surprisingly enough, he came around, and agreed to help us.
A final hurdle. We’d already decided that since I was small enough, I would conceal myself beneath Michael’s bed; since I may not have been able to be the bait, I could at least be in the room in case things went wrong. The question was whether to tell Michael of my shape-changing ability or not. If things went as planned there would be no need for me to change. However, if things went awry and I needed to shift forms in order to protect him, I didn’t want him to be driven into a panic. We went around and around and finally decided to tell Michael that if he felt fur, he was to close his eyes tight and remain calm, that furry arms would be there to protect him, not hurt him.
He did not seem reassured by this. Can’t say that I blame him.
Sam and Dean took up position in the other room, weapons at the ready, a hidden camera allowing them to monitor the room since I would not be able to shout or make a sound once the shtriga arrived. Michael lay in bed above me, keeping so still and silent that were it not for the faint sound of his breathing I might have thought he’d managed to run off. I stayed underneath, the covers obscuring everything save one spot where I could look out and see the open window through which we expected the shtriga to come. It was just as spooky as when I first came to earth, watching bare tree branches move back and forth like grasping fingers.
“Jayme, you still there?” Michael said after we’d been waiting over an hour.
“Right here, kiddo,” I replied.
“Do you think everything will be okay?”
“No promises, but yes, I do. When they come in, just roll out of bed and get under here. I’ll keep you safe. That I can promise.”
“Okay,” he said, going silent. I promised myself that I would not let him get hurt if it were in my power to do so.
We didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes later I saw movement at the window, a long skeletal hand like something out of my nightmares pushing the window open fully and sliding in. I tensed, resisting the instinct to snarl. I could hear Michael’s breathing grow rapid, though I heard no movement from above. The shtriga reminded me of one of the nazgul (see entries on J.R.R. Tolkien’s work “The Lord of the Rings” under Human Literature, Britain, 1950-1960), a tall figure in long, ragged black robes. It was definitely not a human wearing a disguise, and the harder job was now resisting the mad urge to shrink away from it.
It drew close to the bed, so close that its scent overwhelmed me, and I could hear Michael’s breaths speed up, though there was not a hint of movement. I heard a low hissing sound and waited, trying to figure out what the hell Sam and Dean were waiting for.
It would have been so much easier if Michael were a neromancer. Humans, for all their intellect and endless imagination, do not view life as we do. Most of them live for comfort, shying away from things that are dangerous or physically demanding. Most cannot fight without extensive training that only a small fraction of them choose. Katarinian children are not just physically stronger, but mentally as well. Perhaps it’s all the scary stories adults fill their heads with-and that’s without the benefit Sam and Dean have, knowing that the monsters are real.
But human children can surprise you. When Dean kicked the door in Michael rolled off the bed just like we practiced, and I pulled him close as the guns went off above us.
Then silence.
We thought it was over, but the shtriga was not willing to go so quietly. It was tenekheka, feigning death, and when it rose it threw Dean across the room as if he were a child himself. Then it turned on Sam, and all my instincts cried out for me to change forms and attack, to grab the thing that was sucking the life from Sam and rip it to pieces, but I had a more fragile life to protect, and the Winchesters are not children.
Besides, it wasn’t my right. This was Dean’s eterehn. Humans-at least, humans in this country-have no equivalent term. Revenge comes close but doesn’t mean the same thing. Revenge is giving back to another what that person did to you. This was more righting a wrong, giving Dean closure with what he saw as a failure. So I wasn’t going to interfere; it was his fight, and his to complete.
He didn’t disappoint. His shot was true and the shtriga fell. Everything was silent as Michael and I came out, staying on the other side of the bed as Dean finished the creature off. I never got a good look at it but it was not human, that I can say. The scent I got from it-I might not have seen its face but I was mere inches away-was not like any human scent I’ve ever encountered. This was something completely different.
Michael came out, looking to Dean for reassaurance that everything was really over. I remember very clearly the expression on his face, a gentle smile as he palced a hand on Michael’s shoulder, saying without words that everything would be all right. The thing that has stayed with me is that at that moment I saw a different side of Dean, what was really beneath the image he projects to the world-a smartass who doesn’t take things seriously. That, in a way, is as much a cover for him as mine is for me.
I’ve been with Sam and Dean for almost two months now, and just in that short time I’ve gotten a very good taste of the lunacy that is their lives, my intitial excitement giving way to a larger sense of the seriousness of what they do. It’s an enormous thing to ask of two humans who are both still so young, despite everything they’ve seen and done that has forced them to grow up very quickly.
I know I’ve alluded to those things before in my more abbreviated reports, but it was this hunt that made me realize how much it’s affected me, and how close I’ve grown to them. I will stay with them as long as they’ll have me. Such honor deserves no less.
To finish the story, though this is hardly fiction; the boys’ mother returned the next morning after we had cleaned everything up, leaving no sign of what had happened the night before. Dean asked how Michael’s younger brother was doing, receiving the good news that he was recovering, as were all the other children who had been attacked. As well, Dr. Heidacker-the disguise worn by the shtriga-had not been seen that day and was assumed to be sick. Dean agreed, his face giving away nothing.
You would think that with the things they do that the Winchesters must have an enormous store of gratitude and appreciation from those whose lives have been saved through their efforts. Much to my irritation this is not always the case. I think that some people are so shaken by the things which they now know are real that they haven’t yet come to grips with things by the time we leave. Others have offered thanks with the knowledge that words aren’t enough, but they don’t know what else to do or say. I think in Michael’s case his thanks were given in his joy that his brother was going to be okay, and of course his mother had no idea what had really happened and hopefully never will.
We left shortly thereafter, Sam wishing that he could have had the same innocence about the things that really lurk in the dark, and Dean wished that for him too. Not for himself, I noticed.
I think this moment is when I fell in love with him.
~~~
“It reads like stereo instructions.”
Dean looked up from the laptop before him. “Dude, I thought you said you’ve never seen that movie.”
Sam just shrugged, handing Jayme’s computer back. “Well, it certainly gives all the details. But I thought you had to put in some stuff about your feelings and perceptions and all. I can’t even tell from this if you even like us.”
Jayme gave him a small smile. “If you haven’t figured that out by now you’re not very observant. Besides, we’re already into another job here and I need to get this in already. I’m about to go over deadline. I can put mushy stuff into the next one.”
She sat back as the pair argued over what to do next, keeping her expression absolutely neutral as she closed and deleted what Sam had been reading, giving her real report a final look before submitting it just as Sarah arrived, drawing her attention to business of a different sort.
End
Author: Mich
Rating: PG-13 for implied violence
Genre: AU, gen
Spoilers: up through episode 1.18 Something Wicked
Summary: Jayme works on a report to her people about the events in Fitchburg WI. But how do you explain a shtriga to people on another world?
Chapter Four
“Seriously, Jayme, you’re not finished yet? You know, if you’re gonna ride with us you need to work on our stuff too.” Dean tossed his cup into the trash can. The little roadside burger joint was picturesque in a northeastern sort of way; Sam was already absorbed in their next case at the table beside them, poring over newspapers and his laptop.
“I have to make sure they understand what it is I’m doing with you guys. Let’s face it, most of the stuff I’ve experienced is pretty out there. I have to do a lot of explaining and give a lot of background. And I have to make it sound-”
“Not completely psychotic?”
“Partly. I have to make sure I’m not giving away any information that could compromise you guys. Not that I think that anyone would, but you two have taught me the value of being paranoid.”
~~~
Now it was a matter of how. And the how was the tricky part.
We don’t usually use bait in our hunts; it has its uses but often leads to trouble. Bait in this world is a different thing altogether.
Both Sam and Dean have served as bait for creatures before. They do it willingly, with the full knowledge of the risks involved. In this case, the shtriga was going after siblings, and we had a sibling right in our midst. Sam objected, suggesting one of us instead, but Dean was certain that no trick would work.
They turned to me to ask Michael, I suppose since as a female I’m less threatening. I certainly didn’t want to do it, and suggested that since Dean had all the smarts he should do it.
The initial response was not encouraging. Of course, asking a child to submit himself to a monster intent on drawing the life from him is not exactly something you should expect him to leap forth to volunteer for. But surprisingly enough, he came around, and agreed to help us.
A final hurdle. We’d already decided that since I was small enough, I would conceal myself beneath Michael’s bed; since I may not have been able to be the bait, I could at least be in the room in case things went wrong. The question was whether to tell Michael of my shape-changing ability or not. If things went as planned there would be no need for me to change. However, if things went awry and I needed to shift forms in order to protect him, I didn’t want him to be driven into a panic. We went around and around and finally decided to tell Michael that if he felt fur, he was to close his eyes tight and remain calm, that furry arms would be there to protect him, not hurt him.
He did not seem reassured by this. Can’t say that I blame him.
Sam and Dean took up position in the other room, weapons at the ready, a hidden camera allowing them to monitor the room since I would not be able to shout or make a sound once the shtriga arrived. Michael lay in bed above me, keeping so still and silent that were it not for the faint sound of his breathing I might have thought he’d managed to run off. I stayed underneath, the covers obscuring everything save one spot where I could look out and see the open window through which we expected the shtriga to come. It was just as spooky as when I first came to earth, watching bare tree branches move back and forth like grasping fingers.
“Jayme, you still there?” Michael said after we’d been waiting over an hour.
“Right here, kiddo,” I replied.
“Do you think everything will be okay?”
“No promises, but yes, I do. When they come in, just roll out of bed and get under here. I’ll keep you safe. That I can promise.”
“Okay,” he said, going silent. I promised myself that I would not let him get hurt if it were in my power to do so.
We didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes later I saw movement at the window, a long skeletal hand like something out of my nightmares pushing the window open fully and sliding in. I tensed, resisting the instinct to snarl. I could hear Michael’s breathing grow rapid, though I heard no movement from above. The shtriga reminded me of one of the nazgul (see entries on J.R.R. Tolkien’s work “The Lord of the Rings” under Human Literature, Britain, 1950-1960), a tall figure in long, ragged black robes. It was definitely not a human wearing a disguise, and the harder job was now resisting the mad urge to shrink away from it.
It drew close to the bed, so close that its scent overwhelmed me, and I could hear Michael’s breaths speed up, though there was not a hint of movement. I heard a low hissing sound and waited, trying to figure out what the hell Sam and Dean were waiting for.
It would have been so much easier if Michael were a neromancer. Humans, for all their intellect and endless imagination, do not view life as we do. Most of them live for comfort, shying away from things that are dangerous or physically demanding. Most cannot fight without extensive training that only a small fraction of them choose. Katarinian children are not just physically stronger, but mentally as well. Perhaps it’s all the scary stories adults fill their heads with-and that’s without the benefit Sam and Dean have, knowing that the monsters are real.
But human children can surprise you. When Dean kicked the door in Michael rolled off the bed just like we practiced, and I pulled him close as the guns went off above us.
Then silence.
We thought it was over, but the shtriga was not willing to go so quietly. It was tenekheka, feigning death, and when it rose it threw Dean across the room as if he were a child himself. Then it turned on Sam, and all my instincts cried out for me to change forms and attack, to grab the thing that was sucking the life from Sam and rip it to pieces, but I had a more fragile life to protect, and the Winchesters are not children.
Besides, it wasn’t my right. This was Dean’s eterehn. Humans-at least, humans in this country-have no equivalent term. Revenge comes close but doesn’t mean the same thing. Revenge is giving back to another what that person did to you. This was more righting a wrong, giving Dean closure with what he saw as a failure. So I wasn’t going to interfere; it was his fight, and his to complete.
He didn’t disappoint. His shot was true and the shtriga fell. Everything was silent as Michael and I came out, staying on the other side of the bed as Dean finished the creature off. I never got a good look at it but it was not human, that I can say. The scent I got from it-I might not have seen its face but I was mere inches away-was not like any human scent I’ve ever encountered. This was something completely different.
Michael came out, looking to Dean for reassaurance that everything was really over. I remember very clearly the expression on his face, a gentle smile as he palced a hand on Michael’s shoulder, saying without words that everything would be all right. The thing that has stayed with me is that at that moment I saw a different side of Dean, what was really beneath the image he projects to the world-a smartass who doesn’t take things seriously. That, in a way, is as much a cover for him as mine is for me.
I’ve been with Sam and Dean for almost two months now, and just in that short time I’ve gotten a very good taste of the lunacy that is their lives, my intitial excitement giving way to a larger sense of the seriousness of what they do. It’s an enormous thing to ask of two humans who are both still so young, despite everything they’ve seen and done that has forced them to grow up very quickly.
I know I’ve alluded to those things before in my more abbreviated reports, but it was this hunt that made me realize how much it’s affected me, and how close I’ve grown to them. I will stay with them as long as they’ll have me. Such honor deserves no less.
To finish the story, though this is hardly fiction; the boys’ mother returned the next morning after we had cleaned everything up, leaving no sign of what had happened the night before. Dean asked how Michael’s younger brother was doing, receiving the good news that he was recovering, as were all the other children who had been attacked. As well, Dr. Heidacker-the disguise worn by the shtriga-had not been seen that day and was assumed to be sick. Dean agreed, his face giving away nothing.
You would think that with the things they do that the Winchesters must have an enormous store of gratitude and appreciation from those whose lives have been saved through their efforts. Much to my irritation this is not always the case. I think that some people are so shaken by the things which they now know are real that they haven’t yet come to grips with things by the time we leave. Others have offered thanks with the knowledge that words aren’t enough, but they don’t know what else to do or say. I think in Michael’s case his thanks were given in his joy that his brother was going to be okay, and of course his mother had no idea what had really happened and hopefully never will.
We left shortly thereafter, Sam wishing that he could have had the same innocence about the things that really lurk in the dark, and Dean wished that for him too. Not for himself, I noticed.
I think this moment is when I fell in love with him.
~~~
“It reads like stereo instructions.”
Dean looked up from the laptop before him. “Dude, I thought you said you’ve never seen that movie.”
Sam just shrugged, handing Jayme’s computer back. “Well, it certainly gives all the details. But I thought you had to put in some stuff about your feelings and perceptions and all. I can’t even tell from this if you even like us.”
Jayme gave him a small smile. “If you haven’t figured that out by now you’re not very observant. Besides, we’re already into another job here and I need to get this in already. I’m about to go over deadline. I can put mushy stuff into the next one.”
She sat back as the pair argued over what to do next, keeping her expression absolutely neutral as she closed and deleted what Sam had been reading, giving her real report a final look before submitting it just as Sarah arrived, drawing her attention to business of a different sort.
End