SPN Fic: Millstone
Millstone
Jo Harvelle, Rufus | PG | 1,000 words
a/n: Set during S4. Makes use of a bit of hunter information revealed in S6. Written for my spn_30snapshots table, prompt #19, and for joweek on tumblr. Beta by maerhys.
Summary: She knows this isn't the worst thing she'll ever face.
There's something nasty in the sewers of New York City.
Not that this is news to Jo, or anything that snopes.com hasn't already debunked. The problem is that whatever it is that doesn't actually exist in the sewers of New York City isn't staying in the sewers like a proper urban legend. It's crawling out and snatching small dogs and it even went after a six-year-old child who was playing close to a storm drain in a city park in lower Manhattan.
The hunter grapevine's a tricky beast, and by the time Rufus calls her to tell her about the sewer monster and finds out that she's still in Albany and therefore the hunter nearest to the job, it's hard to tell what really happened. Rufus says a lot of screaming, and by the time the cops showed up the parents had pulled their child to safety, while a bystander said they saw either a slimy tail or most likely a piece of rope.
"Civilians don't know how to give a useful observation worth a damn," Rufus says. "Anyway, Moishe Campbell's got his hands full with this haunting on the Staten Island Ferry, so…"
"A sewer job." Jo makes her voice extra sweet as she leans against the hood of her car. She's parked by a stream beneath an overpass, birds singing in the trees, peaceful as all get out. "Gee, thanks, Rufus, you shouldn't have. You're too good to me."
"Save the lip, young lady."
Jo knows this is far from the worst thing she's faced or will face, and she knows Rufus knows that she knows it. It didn't take her long after she struck out on her own to learn that the weight's easier for all of them if they act like there are better options. They pretend the grime and blood and stink-holes they often crawl through to kill some evil bastard are just a routine pain in the butt rather than something to be grateful for because if a hunter's doing it, it means they're still alive.
She reaches the city in a few hours and parks her car way over on Tenth Avenue. The scents of car exhaust and hot dogs greet her as she walks towards a more populated area, headed downtown. Here, she's just another girl, joining the swift flow of pedestrians, just another college kid with a backpack and her hair in a braid. Never mind the knife strapped to her ankle, out of sight inside her left boot. Never mind the shotguns in the trunk of her car or that her fingernails are still dirty from the last hunt, crap she can't figure out how to wash off yet.
At the park where the kid almost got snatched, Jo crouches by the storm drain, which rests at the base of a brick wall. The faded colors of a very old advertisement for a pharmacy show against the dull red.
She glances around to make sure no one's looking, then takes out her flashlight and aims the beam down into the opening. There isn't much to see--wet trash, dead leaves--but there's a path cut through the debris, a curving line as if something went through there recently.
Turning off the flashlight, Jo stands, shading her eyes against the sun. At the far end of the park, four high school kids play basketball beyond the chain-link fence. They shout to each other, leaping to make a basket, oblivious.
She's never been like that, can't remember not knowing that there were things that lived in the sewers, in closets, in cellars, in woods, in old houses, in graveyards, can't remember not knowing that just because it looks safe doesn't mean it is.
* * *
With the waste stench filling her nostrils, even with a cloth tied over her face, Jo raises her shotgun to her shoulder. The lantern she's set on the cement floor makes the trickle of water shine and reveals the long, slime-slick thing that crawls along the channel.
It's got tentacles. Jo gags silently, tightens her grip on her shotgun, and fires. The thing writhes, splashing, as Jo steps back.
Before she climbed down through the sewer access hatch and went down the ladder, Jo had considered calling her mom, just because. Just in case, one last time. But she didn't--better if she just made damn sure it wasn't necessary to call.
The creature turns, rushing at her using its stubby, reptilian legs to propel its body. Jo fires again, pumps to discharge the shell with a puff of smoke, and this time the creature jerks to a full stop, twitching with the glimmer of dark blood joining the gleam of water on its skin.
"Ew," Jo says, her voice muffled by the cloth, but still echoing down the tunnel. "Gross."
She lowers her gun, picks up the lantern, and walks back to the ladder where she left the duffel bag. After dousing the lantern and putting it and the gun away, Jo hitches the handle of the bag over her shoulder and begins to climb the ladder.
The pain in the ass clean-up hardly seems necessary; eventually some city worker will find the corpse. The blogs will go apeshit with rumors of mutant albino alligator fish snakes in the sewers, Snopes will debunk it again, and a week later everyone will forget.
Topside, the sun's setting over the Hudson. She blinks, adjusting her eyes to the brightness, and tugs down the cloth.
She texts Rufus. Got 'em.
A few minutes later he texts back Never doubted you.
Her chest goes a little warm at that--Rufus is usually sparing in his praise, that is to say, he hands it out like someone's stealing his last bottle of whiskey and it's an affront to expect him to let it go.
Jo sits on a low wall facing the river and watches the sun go down, and she almost doesn't even notice the smell on her clothes. Here, she could be any girl.
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/420018.html. Feel free to comment at either post.
Jo Harvelle, Rufus | PG | 1,000 words
a/n: Set during S4. Makes use of a bit of hunter information revealed in S6. Written for my spn_30snapshots table, prompt #19, and for joweek on tumblr. Beta by maerhys.
Summary: She knows this isn't the worst thing she'll ever face.
There's something nasty in the sewers of New York City.
Not that this is news to Jo, or anything that snopes.com hasn't already debunked. The problem is that whatever it is that doesn't actually exist in the sewers of New York City isn't staying in the sewers like a proper urban legend. It's crawling out and snatching small dogs and it even went after a six-year-old child who was playing close to a storm drain in a city park in lower Manhattan.
The hunter grapevine's a tricky beast, and by the time Rufus calls her to tell her about the sewer monster and finds out that she's still in Albany and therefore the hunter nearest to the job, it's hard to tell what really happened. Rufus says a lot of screaming, and by the time the cops showed up the parents had pulled their child to safety, while a bystander said they saw either a slimy tail or most likely a piece of rope.
"Civilians don't know how to give a useful observation worth a damn," Rufus says. "Anyway, Moishe Campbell's got his hands full with this haunting on the Staten Island Ferry, so…"
"A sewer job." Jo makes her voice extra sweet as she leans against the hood of her car. She's parked by a stream beneath an overpass, birds singing in the trees, peaceful as all get out. "Gee, thanks, Rufus, you shouldn't have. You're too good to me."
"Save the lip, young lady."
Jo knows this is far from the worst thing she's faced or will face, and she knows Rufus knows that she knows it. It didn't take her long after she struck out on her own to learn that the weight's easier for all of them if they act like there are better options. They pretend the grime and blood and stink-holes they often crawl through to kill some evil bastard are just a routine pain in the butt rather than something to be grateful for because if a hunter's doing it, it means they're still alive.
She reaches the city in a few hours and parks her car way over on Tenth Avenue. The scents of car exhaust and hot dogs greet her as she walks towards a more populated area, headed downtown. Here, she's just another girl, joining the swift flow of pedestrians, just another college kid with a backpack and her hair in a braid. Never mind the knife strapped to her ankle, out of sight inside her left boot. Never mind the shotguns in the trunk of her car or that her fingernails are still dirty from the last hunt, crap she can't figure out how to wash off yet.
At the park where the kid almost got snatched, Jo crouches by the storm drain, which rests at the base of a brick wall. The faded colors of a very old advertisement for a pharmacy show against the dull red.
She glances around to make sure no one's looking, then takes out her flashlight and aims the beam down into the opening. There isn't much to see--wet trash, dead leaves--but there's a path cut through the debris, a curving line as if something went through there recently.
Turning off the flashlight, Jo stands, shading her eyes against the sun. At the far end of the park, four high school kids play basketball beyond the chain-link fence. They shout to each other, leaping to make a basket, oblivious.
She's never been like that, can't remember not knowing that there were things that lived in the sewers, in closets, in cellars, in woods, in old houses, in graveyards, can't remember not knowing that just because it looks safe doesn't mean it is.
* * *
With the waste stench filling her nostrils, even with a cloth tied over her face, Jo raises her shotgun to her shoulder. The lantern she's set on the cement floor makes the trickle of water shine and reveals the long, slime-slick thing that crawls along the channel.
It's got tentacles. Jo gags silently, tightens her grip on her shotgun, and fires. The thing writhes, splashing, as Jo steps back.
Before she climbed down through the sewer access hatch and went down the ladder, Jo had considered calling her mom, just because. Just in case, one last time. But she didn't--better if she just made damn sure it wasn't necessary to call.
The creature turns, rushing at her using its stubby, reptilian legs to propel its body. Jo fires again, pumps to discharge the shell with a puff of smoke, and this time the creature jerks to a full stop, twitching with the glimmer of dark blood joining the gleam of water on its skin.
"Ew," Jo says, her voice muffled by the cloth, but still echoing down the tunnel. "Gross."
She lowers her gun, picks up the lantern, and walks back to the ladder where she left the duffel bag. After dousing the lantern and putting it and the gun away, Jo hitches the handle of the bag over her shoulder and begins to climb the ladder.
The pain in the ass clean-up hardly seems necessary; eventually some city worker will find the corpse. The blogs will go apeshit with rumors of mutant albino alligator fish snakes in the sewers, Snopes will debunk it again, and a week later everyone will forget.
Topside, the sun's setting over the Hudson. She blinks, adjusting her eyes to the brightness, and tugs down the cloth.
She texts Rufus. Got 'em.
A few minutes later he texts back Never doubted you.
Her chest goes a little warm at that--Rufus is usually sparing in his praise, that is to say, he hands it out like someone's stealing his last bottle of whiskey and it's an affront to expect him to let it go.
Jo sits on a low wall facing the river and watches the sun go down, and she almost doesn't even notice the smell on her clothes. Here, she could be any girl.
This entry is also on dreamwidth: http://dotfic.dreamwidth.org/420018.html. Feel free to comment at either post.