Run run run (genfic, 1286 words, pg, underage and non-con)
Inspired by Patrick Wolf's The Childcatcher. I liked the song very much but wanted a different angle on it. And Bobby is love so…
Run run run
(genfic but implied Dean/omc, 1286 words, pg, underage and non-con)
Jim Murphy and Bobby deal with an ethical problem.
"We can't tell John."
Jim's face is haggard, strained into premature wrinkles. There's a low urgency in his voice and Bobby looks at him for a long moment before he nods. At Bobby's agreement, some of the tension seeps out of Jim. Anxiety is able to slip into sorrow. He braces his hands against the counter and lets out a deep breath. Bobby listens for the creak of floorboards in Dean's room above their heads. It's silent.
He said Dad wouldn't believe me. He said I'd been teasing him for weeks. He said he knew I wanted it really.
"It wouldn't help Dean and it would kill John," says Jim. His reflection is warped in the dull surface of the kitchen sink.
"You mean John would kill Fletcher," says Bobby, calm and even but not prepared to deal with any of Jim's bullshit. Jim looks at him, stricken, and Bobby feels a pang of guilt. "Okay, we're not gonna tell John, but don't pretend, Jim. You know as well as I do what's gonna happen if we tell John what he did to Dean. That's why we're not telling John."
Beyond the window, Sam is sitting in the wretched little playground, small feet scraping the dust as he drifts listlessly back and forth on the swing, head bowed. It was Sam who called them both here, his voice shrill with panic. Sam who'd met Bobby at the door, tear tracks still wet on his tanned, dirty cheeks, and dragged Bobby up to Dean's bedroom. Tell him! Sam shrieks. Tell him, Dean! Tell him what he did to you!
Jim had only been twenty minutes behind, his car skidding to a halt outside the rented house. And Jim had taken charge because all of Bobby's expertise hadn't prepared him for how to handle Dean. Jim had coaxed the story out of him but he hadn't really needed to bother. Bobby had taken one look at Dean, skittish and ashamed, wringing his hands until his fingers were curled in arthritic twists, and known.
I should have run, shouldn't I? But I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. I should have run.
"Justice is for God, Bobby," says Jim. "Whatever John would do, it could only be revenge. And revenge is…" Jim shakes his head and straightens up. "John's province is the supernatural. He can't become judge, jury and executioner for humans, even if they're monsters too. It's not… not right."
Bobby nods again and doesn't say anything. Jim is watching Sam out of the window. In the orange and brown haze of dusk, the landscape looks like a sepia photograph, the lines at turns indistinct and stark. One of them should go out and see Sam. Christ knows Dean would still be keeping his secret if Sam hadn't been screaming and sobbing, scared enough to call and beg for help from Jim and Bobby. Bobby can only imagine how the poor kid's world has turned upside down.
And then there's Dean.
He said I was lucky, because he was gonna treat me right, because he'd make sure I liked it. He said it was gonna happen sooner or later and I should be grateful it was with a guy like him, who knew what he was doing.
"John should have been here," Jim says. It's not judgemental or bitter. Nothing but a simple statement of fact. "Maybe it would have happened anyway if he were here, maybe it wouldn't. But he should have been here. He's not just a hunter, he's a father as well. His son was raped and he's not even in the same state. If I tell him, he will never forgive himself. And he shouldn't forgive himself but… But he has enough on his conscience, Bobby. And if telling him means that he will go out and murder a human being then-"
"We're not going to tell him," Bobby cuts in, shutting the discussion down.
Jim looks at him, as if searching his face for something. Maybe he finds what he's looking for or maybe he just gives up. Either way, he looks back out of the window, wets his lips and starts to make plans.
"I'll take them back with me," he says. "We'll tell John that Dean was sick and Sam got scared and called for us, and that I took them to stay with me until he got back from his hunt. We'll explain to Sam why he can't tell John. He's a smart kid, he'll understand. And Dean…" Jim trails off and sighs.
"Dean thinks his daddy doesn't have any time for victims," Bobby says grimly. "He's not gonna say anything about it."
"And Fletcher." Jim takes a calming breath, his lips going tight and thin. "We can't… We can't do nothing. Otherwise he'll do it again."
"I'll handle him," says Bobby. He sees the concern flare up in Jim's eyes and he shakes his head, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. "Don't worry. I'll just scare him so bad he won't even think of putting his hands on a kid again."
Jim nods and claps Bobby on the shoulder, smiles shakily. "Damn but it's a relief having you in this with me. Never met anyone with a cooler head than you, Singer."
It takes all of half an hour to get the boys packed up and ready to go. Jim collects Dean from his room, careful not to touch him and keeping his voice quiet and gentle. As they go out the front door, Dean looks back and meets Bobby's gaze. He's the same kid, and he isn't. Something's gone and it isn’t coming back. And maybe it's better that it stays gone because Bobby would bet his life that no one's ever going to get the chance to hurt Dean like that again. Dean's learnt his lesson.
Leaving Jim to get Dean in the car, Bobby goes out the back door and crosses the patch of scratchy, yellow grass towards Sam. He looks up at Bobby's approach and there's a blankness to the set of his face. Hysteria's long since passed and now Sam's silent and composed, too self-controlled for such a young kid.
"You're gonna go stay with Pastor Jim until your dad gets back," says Bobby. "He'll take care of you and your brother."
Obediently, Sam slides off the swing and walks with Bobby back across the yard. But before they go into the house, he stops and tilts his face up to Bobby. The sun's all but set, and in the shadows Sam's smooth face and wide eyes are strangely alien. He barely comes up to Bobby's chest but it doesn't seem to matter. His voice is even and ageless.
"All the things Dad hunts… None of them deserve to die more than he does."
Bobby's still hearing it as he watches Jim help Sam into the back of the car, next to his brother. Dean startles as Sam settles beside him but then he smiles and his lips move, saying something to him that Bobby doesn't catch. Before he climbs in, Jim casts a troubled look back at Bobby who's waiting on the doorstep. Bobby waves a hand and goes on watching until the car's trundled out of sight.
I… I came, says Dean. He said that meant I liked it. Does it? Does it mean I liked it?
:::
When he leaves Fletcher's, Bobby puts the gun back in the glove pocket and wonders whether he should give Jim a call and tell him not to worry 'cause it didn't bother his conscience none when he put a bullet between Fletcher's eyes, then decides it's kinder to leave Jim ignorant.
~end
Run run run
(genfic but implied Dean/omc, 1286 words, pg, underage and non-con)
Jim Murphy and Bobby deal with an ethical problem.
"We can't tell John."
Jim's face is haggard, strained into premature wrinkles. There's a low urgency in his voice and Bobby looks at him for a long moment before he nods. At Bobby's agreement, some of the tension seeps out of Jim. Anxiety is able to slip into sorrow. He braces his hands against the counter and lets out a deep breath. Bobby listens for the creak of floorboards in Dean's room above their heads. It's silent.
He said Dad wouldn't believe me. He said I'd been teasing him for weeks. He said he knew I wanted it really.
"It wouldn't help Dean and it would kill John," says Jim. His reflection is warped in the dull surface of the kitchen sink.
"You mean John would kill Fletcher," says Bobby, calm and even but not prepared to deal with any of Jim's bullshit. Jim looks at him, stricken, and Bobby feels a pang of guilt. "Okay, we're not gonna tell John, but don't pretend, Jim. You know as well as I do what's gonna happen if we tell John what he did to Dean. That's why we're not telling John."
Beyond the window, Sam is sitting in the wretched little playground, small feet scraping the dust as he drifts listlessly back and forth on the swing, head bowed. It was Sam who called them both here, his voice shrill with panic. Sam who'd met Bobby at the door, tear tracks still wet on his tanned, dirty cheeks, and dragged Bobby up to Dean's bedroom. Tell him! Sam shrieks. Tell him, Dean! Tell him what he did to you!
Jim had only been twenty minutes behind, his car skidding to a halt outside the rented house. And Jim had taken charge because all of Bobby's expertise hadn't prepared him for how to handle Dean. Jim had coaxed the story out of him but he hadn't really needed to bother. Bobby had taken one look at Dean, skittish and ashamed, wringing his hands until his fingers were curled in arthritic twists, and known.
I should have run, shouldn't I? But I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. I should have run.
"Justice is for God, Bobby," says Jim. "Whatever John would do, it could only be revenge. And revenge is…" Jim shakes his head and straightens up. "John's province is the supernatural. He can't become judge, jury and executioner for humans, even if they're monsters too. It's not… not right."
Bobby nods again and doesn't say anything. Jim is watching Sam out of the window. In the orange and brown haze of dusk, the landscape looks like a sepia photograph, the lines at turns indistinct and stark. One of them should go out and see Sam. Christ knows Dean would still be keeping his secret if Sam hadn't been screaming and sobbing, scared enough to call and beg for help from Jim and Bobby. Bobby can only imagine how the poor kid's world has turned upside down.
And then there's Dean.
He said I was lucky, because he was gonna treat me right, because he'd make sure I liked it. He said it was gonna happen sooner or later and I should be grateful it was with a guy like him, who knew what he was doing.
"John should have been here," Jim says. It's not judgemental or bitter. Nothing but a simple statement of fact. "Maybe it would have happened anyway if he were here, maybe it wouldn't. But he should have been here. He's not just a hunter, he's a father as well. His son was raped and he's not even in the same state. If I tell him, he will never forgive himself. And he shouldn't forgive himself but… But he has enough on his conscience, Bobby. And if telling him means that he will go out and murder a human being then-"
"We're not going to tell him," Bobby cuts in, shutting the discussion down.
Jim looks at him, as if searching his face for something. Maybe he finds what he's looking for or maybe he just gives up. Either way, he looks back out of the window, wets his lips and starts to make plans.
"I'll take them back with me," he says. "We'll tell John that Dean was sick and Sam got scared and called for us, and that I took them to stay with me until he got back from his hunt. We'll explain to Sam why he can't tell John. He's a smart kid, he'll understand. And Dean…" Jim trails off and sighs.
"Dean thinks his daddy doesn't have any time for victims," Bobby says grimly. "He's not gonna say anything about it."
"And Fletcher." Jim takes a calming breath, his lips going tight and thin. "We can't… We can't do nothing. Otherwise he'll do it again."
"I'll handle him," says Bobby. He sees the concern flare up in Jim's eyes and he shakes his head, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. "Don't worry. I'll just scare him so bad he won't even think of putting his hands on a kid again."
Jim nods and claps Bobby on the shoulder, smiles shakily. "Damn but it's a relief having you in this with me. Never met anyone with a cooler head than you, Singer."
It takes all of half an hour to get the boys packed up and ready to go. Jim collects Dean from his room, careful not to touch him and keeping his voice quiet and gentle. As they go out the front door, Dean looks back and meets Bobby's gaze. He's the same kid, and he isn't. Something's gone and it isn’t coming back. And maybe it's better that it stays gone because Bobby would bet his life that no one's ever going to get the chance to hurt Dean like that again. Dean's learnt his lesson.
Leaving Jim to get Dean in the car, Bobby goes out the back door and crosses the patch of scratchy, yellow grass towards Sam. He looks up at Bobby's approach and there's a blankness to the set of his face. Hysteria's long since passed and now Sam's silent and composed, too self-controlled for such a young kid.
"You're gonna go stay with Pastor Jim until your dad gets back," says Bobby. "He'll take care of you and your brother."
Obediently, Sam slides off the swing and walks with Bobby back across the yard. But before they go into the house, he stops and tilts his face up to Bobby. The sun's all but set, and in the shadows Sam's smooth face and wide eyes are strangely alien. He barely comes up to Bobby's chest but it doesn't seem to matter. His voice is even and ageless.
"All the things Dad hunts… None of them deserve to die more than he does."
Bobby's still hearing it as he watches Jim help Sam into the back of the car, next to his brother. Dean startles as Sam settles beside him but then he smiles and his lips move, saying something to him that Bobby doesn't catch. Before he climbs in, Jim casts a troubled look back at Bobby who's waiting on the doorstep. Bobby waves a hand and goes on watching until the car's trundled out of sight.
I… I came, says Dean. He said that meant I liked it. Does it? Does it mean I liked it?
:::
When he leaves Fletcher's, Bobby puts the gun back in the glove pocket and wonders whether he should give Jim a call and tell him not to worry 'cause it didn't bother his conscience none when he put a bullet between Fletcher's eyes, then decides it's kinder to leave Jim ignorant.
~end