Something's At The Door
Author: seerargent
Title: Something’s At The Door
Rating: PG13, Gen
Word Count: 2,314
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general angst. Sorry about the holes!
A/N: Futurefic and pre-series teenfic (blame it on the flashback)
Setting: Las Vegas, NV, November 2008 and Portland, OR, November 1994
Summary: You can find answers in the strangest places
Once upon a time there was magic in the very air. There were monsters, and children lost in the woods. There were angels and demons, endless quests, flaming swords, and a grail. Water could be made holy while even the seas ran red. It was an age of darkness, and untold wonders.
Once upon a time there were battles with the Devil, and spears shot straight from the heart of God. There was desecration and faith, innocence and sin, and love, sacrifice, and loss. People still believed that good could triumph over evil. It was a world of opposites, and a time for simple truths.
Once upon a time there were heroes … and the possibility of salvation.
Once upon a time.
~~~
Fairy tales never come true in Vegas. No matter what story the hustlers try to sell you outside the bars and casinos, or even within the public library’s scattered geometric puzzle.
Kids! God, the buildings were full of them; a maelstrom of noise and movement, shards of colour exploding out from the centre before collapsing in and breaking out in yet another pattern. Children and teenagers all over the place, running wild amongst the homeless; ducking and diving under the streamers of kites suspended from the museum’s ceiling, hunched over keyboards; twisting and turning through other worlds via their iPods. Surprisingly, even more were curled up in armchairs actually reading. It was chaos barely held in check by the laughter of the staff.
It was nothing like those small quiet places of their youth. Why was he here, now? When it was all about to go to hell? It had seemed pointless when he’d first thought of it. Now, when he was supposed to be … God, it felt even more of a long shot. Would it be enough to tip the balance, to make a difference for either of their sakes?
Damn, he knew he looked like an out-of-place giant wandering the children’s section, cautious boots stepping over the technology-festooned midget inhabitants; skimming, searching, knowing he didn’t have much time … before. Time. His brother would probably yell if he knew he was wasting these last precious minutes in a library. Got it. He reached down and snagged an old green volume off the top shelf, settling down on the floor as he found the tale he was looking for. He didn’t even notice that he was reading aloud, heedless of the children who began to settle down around him drawn automatically into the orbit of his words.
‘Once upon a time …’
~~~
‘In Oregon,’ someone snickered, earning reluctant laughter from the adults standing guard at the back.
Heckles like that he could deal with. Years with his family had taught him when and where to pick his battles. This interruption, he could definitely work to his advantage.
‘Once upon a time, in Portland, there was a little girl called …’
He paused, looking around at the other children sitting cross-legged in the ragged circle with him.
‘Deedee,’ came a whisper from somewhere to his left.
He tilted forward trying to fit a face to the hesitant voice.
‘Deirdre,’ came another, firmer, voice.
Got them. A redheaded girl of about six. All freckles, and wonky plaits with miss-matched ribbons, sitting propped up against her brother. The protective attitude shouted their relationship more than the identical carrot tops. The brother was looking stubbornly around him, daring anyone to say something about sticking with his little sister during story-time.
It was the brothers Winchester all over again. Well, except for the girl thing, and the fact that they probably weren’t carrying weapons. And yeah, Winchesters didn’t do plaits. Ever. Okay, there was that one time in Alabama last spring. He still hadn’t gotten even for that. So, maybe, plaits were a sore point, but he couldn’t very well blame the girl for reminding him of the evil that was his brother.
‘Once upon a time in Portland there was a little girl called Deirdre, who had the reddest hair anyone had ever seen. Her …’
He hesitated at that familiar look in another’s eyes, and switched the next words.
‘Her brother looked after her while their father was away hunting. He always made sure she wore lots of layers and pulled her hoodie up against the rain every day in winter. But no matter what colour it was, everyone soon began to call her Little …’
‘Red Riding Hood!’ shouted the kids, echoed by some embarrassed looking parents.
‘One day her brother said to her, “Our grandmother is sick, Dad’s still away hunting, and I can’t skip school again this week.”
“I can do it!” Deirdre yelled. “I’m six, I’m a big kid now.”
“Only if you’re very careful,” her brother said.
“I will be,” she replied.
“Okay, go see how she is. Take her these … Twinkies.”’
More snickers. He put the book aside, looked around him, and decided that today he would finish this story the Winchester way, whatever the fallout.
‘Little Red tried hard to remember to do everything her brother had ever told her. She looked both ways crossing the streets, and third time for sure. She walked fast and didn’t talk to strangers, even when she got to the bus stop and had to wait forever with lots of people who smiled and tried to talk to her. She was good and didn’t talk to anyone until she climbed up the steep steps and bought her ticket with the coins her brother had given her.’
He stopped and looked out at his listeners. ‘Red couldn’t be expected to remember everything could she? After all, she was just a little girl out in the city on her own, without anyone to protect her.’ He sat there for a while letting that sink in. Judging by the restless movements amongst the adults he’d made his point to part of the audience. Trouble was, they weren’t his targets. He was here for these kids. Portland wasn’t the quiet town they all thought it was, and probably never had been. There were dark things prowling the streets, and even worse lurking in the forest. There had been too many deaths already. And now, the Winchesters were in town and nothing rested easy. None of them wanted to see any more bodies, especially those of children.
He pressed himself back against the pillar once more before continuing.
‘Red took that bus all the way across the city to where her grandmother lived right up against the forest’s walls. The bus driver smiled at her and called her “sweetheart” and let her sit behind him. But it was a long ride, and it seemed even longer without her brother sitting next to her, so she soon fell asleep while the driver sang along with the radio.
He had to shake her foot to wake her up at the last stop. There was no one else left on the bus, and they were on the wrong side of the forest, a long way from her grandmother’s house. She’d got it all wrong and knew her brother was going to be mad at her. The driver smiled even more and asked where her grandmother lived. He even offered to take her there in his car after his shift …’
He ignored the disturbed mutters from some of the parents and went on.
‘But Red’s brother had always warned her about people, especially the ones that smile at you a lot. She said no, but he grabbed at her, still smiling.
Red could hear her brother’s voice in her head, shouting “Run!” So, she did. Fleeing deep into the forest where she wouldn’t be able to feel any more smiles on her skin. She twisted and turned, and ran and ran until at long last she tripped over a fallen tree. Too tired to get up, and too scared to run any further she curled up inside the rotten log and fell asleep.
When she woke up later she’d slept the day away and it was already dark. But then she saw the light of the full moon sweeping towards her with a roar through the night sky. The earth shook under her feet as she screamed and crouched down in fear.
But the light wasn’t what she should have been afraid of. Her screams were loud enough to be heard by the terrible werewolf who was still prowling hungrily through the forest looking to … eat … Deirdre.’
At this stage there was a mass exodus of angry adults carrying protesting children.
By the time he started describing exactly how the werewolf toyed and chased Deirdre through the forest before running ahead to disembowel and eat Grandma Hood, in excruciatingly gory detail, most of the remaining unaccompanied children had left. Voluntarily.
It wasn’t all that surprising that by the time the werewolf managed to dodge the spilt salt, and the shakily brandished iron poker, and finally leapt upon Little Red Riding Hood and gobbled up her tender flesh there were only two other people left in the children’s section.
Deirdre sat contentedly sucking her thumb, while her brother glared at him, arms tight around his sister.
‘Silver bullet to the heart, it’s the only thing that will kill a werewolf. Red didn’t know that. Her brother should have told her. Her brother shouldn’t have let her go alone. There are monsters everywhere, even here and now. You’ve got to be prepared for anything.’
Something of the fear and rage in his voice got through, but a reluctant nod was the only response he got before Deirdre was carried swiftly away.
He put the book of fairy tales back on a nearby trolley with a sigh. Maybe it was enough to make a …
‘Why, Sammy, what big teeth you have!’
‘Shit, Dean!’ He spun around on the balls of his sneakered feet. His brother was leaning against the stack behind him. How long? ‘What are you doing here? You never pick me up till half after five on Thursdays. Did Coach Burton cancel track?’ He edged a little further to the left. Please, don’t let him see.
‘It’s gone six. Got a little carried away tonight, huh?’ Dean wandered casually closer, then quickly picked him up and dumped him to one side as he took a long look at the homemade sign tacked to a pillar.
STORY-TIME
The tales your parents never tell you!
Sammy wished there was some way he could hide behind that pillar. Forever. He knew his brother; he would tease him about this for the rest of their lives. Sammy refused to flinch as he stood waiting for the familiar sword of sarcasm to fall. He was never going to hear the end of this. And what if Dean told Dad?
Dean just raised a supercilious fifteen year-old eyebrow at him. It was obvious that, as usual, he knew exactly what his younger brother was thinking. ‘The villagers are gathering up pitchforks at the Reference Desk. Time to shut up shop.’ He pulled the sign down and folded it carefully into the original folds before sliding it into the side pocket of Sammy’s backpack.
Huh. Sammy looked at his brother as they picked the lock of the back door to make their escape. Who knew? They felt the same way about it. Better that kids be afraid; that they knew what was out there, waiting for them in the dark.
Once upon a time there were monsters.
~~~
‘All the better to eat you with, Dean?’
Damn it. He was out of time. He’d known Sam would track him down fast. Particularly now. And with hindsight, possibly a library wasn’t the best place to hole up in. It was his little brother’s home turf after all.
‘Hey, Sam.’ Dean forced a grin over the heads of the kids flooding back to their more high tech pursuits.
Sam gently touched the well-worn spine of the volume Dean had been reading from. ‘Turning into a myth-head on me, Dean?’
Ouch. Now that was downright evil. ‘You started it!’ Yeah, great. Now that was a real clever comeback. Being around all those kids had fucked with his mojo; that was all. Certainly wasn’t stress or anything remotely like that.
Sam blandly refused to continue the fight, and that irritated Dean the most. Yeah. Sam knew him too well. And probably knew better than he did why he was here at all; getting up close and personal with myths and legends, paying closer attention to freaking signs. Remembering their past. And maybe Dean had been waiting for him, just a little. And Sam undoubtedly knew that too.
‘It’s all right, Sam. I’m ready to go.’
Sam’s only answer was to thump him up the back of his head.
‘What?’ Dean bitched, happy for the distraction. Those huge paws hurt.
‘It’s Sammy.’
Oh. Nope. Dean told himself sternly that he wasn’t going to let any emo crap get to him, even now. He was a Winchester, damn it!
Sammy just widened his eyes at him.
No need for either of them to say anything more. There was nothing they hadn’t already argued about and planned for in the short year since Cold Oak. Prayer? That was only number six on a long list of things they weren’t talking about. But still - ain’t over till the … Nah. Never say … OK, bad choice. Fight ‘em in the trenches. That’s better. Books? Who needed them? That was Sammy’s specialty. Him? Well, he just did what needed to be done, like their father always had, regardless of the cost.
So, there at the end of a very long road they walked together out into what surely should have been a less crappy sunset.
Once upon a time there were heroes.
~~~
Title: Something’s At The Door
Rating: PG13, Gen
Word Count: 2,314
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general angst. Sorry about the holes!
A/N: Futurefic and pre-series teenfic (blame it on the flashback)
Setting: Las Vegas, NV, November 2008 and Portland, OR, November 1994
Summary: You can find answers in the strangest places
Once upon a time there was magic in the very air. There were monsters, and children lost in the woods. There were angels and demons, endless quests, flaming swords, and a grail. Water could be made holy while even the seas ran red. It was an age of darkness, and untold wonders.
Once upon a time there were battles with the Devil, and spears shot straight from the heart of God. There was desecration and faith, innocence and sin, and love, sacrifice, and loss. People still believed that good could triumph over evil. It was a world of opposites, and a time for simple truths.
Once upon a time there were heroes … and the possibility of salvation.
Once upon a time.
~~~
Fairy tales never come true in Vegas. No matter what story the hustlers try to sell you outside the bars and casinos, or even within the public library’s scattered geometric puzzle.
Kids! God, the buildings were full of them; a maelstrom of noise and movement, shards of colour exploding out from the centre before collapsing in and breaking out in yet another pattern. Children and teenagers all over the place, running wild amongst the homeless; ducking and diving under the streamers of kites suspended from the museum’s ceiling, hunched over keyboards; twisting and turning through other worlds via their iPods. Surprisingly, even more were curled up in armchairs actually reading. It was chaos barely held in check by the laughter of the staff.
It was nothing like those small quiet places of their youth. Why was he here, now? When it was all about to go to hell? It had seemed pointless when he’d first thought of it. Now, when he was supposed to be … God, it felt even more of a long shot. Would it be enough to tip the balance, to make a difference for either of their sakes?
Damn, he knew he looked like an out-of-place giant wandering the children’s section, cautious boots stepping over the technology-festooned midget inhabitants; skimming, searching, knowing he didn’t have much time … before. Time. His brother would probably yell if he knew he was wasting these last precious minutes in a library. Got it. He reached down and snagged an old green volume off the top shelf, settling down on the floor as he found the tale he was looking for. He didn’t even notice that he was reading aloud, heedless of the children who began to settle down around him drawn automatically into the orbit of his words.
‘Once upon a time …’
~~~
‘In Oregon,’ someone snickered, earning reluctant laughter from the adults standing guard at the back.
Heckles like that he could deal with. Years with his family had taught him when and where to pick his battles. This interruption, he could definitely work to his advantage.
‘Once upon a time, in Portland, there was a little girl called …’
He paused, looking around at the other children sitting cross-legged in the ragged circle with him.
‘Deedee,’ came a whisper from somewhere to his left.
He tilted forward trying to fit a face to the hesitant voice.
‘Deirdre,’ came another, firmer, voice.
Got them. A redheaded girl of about six. All freckles, and wonky plaits with miss-matched ribbons, sitting propped up against her brother. The protective attitude shouted their relationship more than the identical carrot tops. The brother was looking stubbornly around him, daring anyone to say something about sticking with his little sister during story-time.
It was the brothers Winchester all over again. Well, except for the girl thing, and the fact that they probably weren’t carrying weapons. And yeah, Winchesters didn’t do plaits. Ever. Okay, there was that one time in Alabama last spring. He still hadn’t gotten even for that. So, maybe, plaits were a sore point, but he couldn’t very well blame the girl for reminding him of the evil that was his brother.
‘Once upon a time in Portland there was a little girl called Deirdre, who had the reddest hair anyone had ever seen. Her …’
He hesitated at that familiar look in another’s eyes, and switched the next words.
‘Her brother looked after her while their father was away hunting. He always made sure she wore lots of layers and pulled her hoodie up against the rain every day in winter. But no matter what colour it was, everyone soon began to call her Little …’
‘Red Riding Hood!’ shouted the kids, echoed by some embarrassed looking parents.
‘One day her brother said to her, “Our grandmother is sick, Dad’s still away hunting, and I can’t skip school again this week.”
“I can do it!” Deirdre yelled. “I’m six, I’m a big kid now.”
“Only if you’re very careful,” her brother said.
“I will be,” she replied.
“Okay, go see how she is. Take her these … Twinkies.”’
More snickers. He put the book aside, looked around him, and decided that today he would finish this story the Winchester way, whatever the fallout.
‘Little Red tried hard to remember to do everything her brother had ever told her. She looked both ways crossing the streets, and third time for sure. She walked fast and didn’t talk to strangers, even when she got to the bus stop and had to wait forever with lots of people who smiled and tried to talk to her. She was good and didn’t talk to anyone until she climbed up the steep steps and bought her ticket with the coins her brother had given her.’
He stopped and looked out at his listeners. ‘Red couldn’t be expected to remember everything could she? After all, she was just a little girl out in the city on her own, without anyone to protect her.’ He sat there for a while letting that sink in. Judging by the restless movements amongst the adults he’d made his point to part of the audience. Trouble was, they weren’t his targets. He was here for these kids. Portland wasn’t the quiet town they all thought it was, and probably never had been. There were dark things prowling the streets, and even worse lurking in the forest. There had been too many deaths already. And now, the Winchesters were in town and nothing rested easy. None of them wanted to see any more bodies, especially those of children.
He pressed himself back against the pillar once more before continuing.
‘Red took that bus all the way across the city to where her grandmother lived right up against the forest’s walls. The bus driver smiled at her and called her “sweetheart” and let her sit behind him. But it was a long ride, and it seemed even longer without her brother sitting next to her, so she soon fell asleep while the driver sang along with the radio.
He had to shake her foot to wake her up at the last stop. There was no one else left on the bus, and they were on the wrong side of the forest, a long way from her grandmother’s house. She’d got it all wrong and knew her brother was going to be mad at her. The driver smiled even more and asked where her grandmother lived. He even offered to take her there in his car after his shift …’
He ignored the disturbed mutters from some of the parents and went on.
‘But Red’s brother had always warned her about people, especially the ones that smile at you a lot. She said no, but he grabbed at her, still smiling.
Red could hear her brother’s voice in her head, shouting “Run!” So, she did. Fleeing deep into the forest where she wouldn’t be able to feel any more smiles on her skin. She twisted and turned, and ran and ran until at long last she tripped over a fallen tree. Too tired to get up, and too scared to run any further she curled up inside the rotten log and fell asleep.
When she woke up later she’d slept the day away and it was already dark. But then she saw the light of the full moon sweeping towards her with a roar through the night sky. The earth shook under her feet as she screamed and crouched down in fear.
But the light wasn’t what she should have been afraid of. Her screams were loud enough to be heard by the terrible werewolf who was still prowling hungrily through the forest looking to … eat … Deirdre.’
At this stage there was a mass exodus of angry adults carrying protesting children.
By the time he started describing exactly how the werewolf toyed and chased Deirdre through the forest before running ahead to disembowel and eat Grandma Hood, in excruciatingly gory detail, most of the remaining unaccompanied children had left. Voluntarily.
It wasn’t all that surprising that by the time the werewolf managed to dodge the spilt salt, and the shakily brandished iron poker, and finally leapt upon Little Red Riding Hood and gobbled up her tender flesh there were only two other people left in the children’s section.
Deirdre sat contentedly sucking her thumb, while her brother glared at him, arms tight around his sister.
‘Silver bullet to the heart, it’s the only thing that will kill a werewolf. Red didn’t know that. Her brother should have told her. Her brother shouldn’t have let her go alone. There are monsters everywhere, even here and now. You’ve got to be prepared for anything.’
Something of the fear and rage in his voice got through, but a reluctant nod was the only response he got before Deirdre was carried swiftly away.
He put the book of fairy tales back on a nearby trolley with a sigh. Maybe it was enough to make a …
‘Why, Sammy, what big teeth you have!’
‘Shit, Dean!’ He spun around on the balls of his sneakered feet. His brother was leaning against the stack behind him. How long? ‘What are you doing here? You never pick me up till half after five on Thursdays. Did Coach Burton cancel track?’ He edged a little further to the left. Please, don’t let him see.
‘It’s gone six. Got a little carried away tonight, huh?’ Dean wandered casually closer, then quickly picked him up and dumped him to one side as he took a long look at the homemade sign tacked to a pillar.
STORY-TIME
The tales your parents never tell you!
Sammy wished there was some way he could hide behind that pillar. Forever. He knew his brother; he would tease him about this for the rest of their lives. Sammy refused to flinch as he stood waiting for the familiar sword of sarcasm to fall. He was never going to hear the end of this. And what if Dean told Dad?
Dean just raised a supercilious fifteen year-old eyebrow at him. It was obvious that, as usual, he knew exactly what his younger brother was thinking. ‘The villagers are gathering up pitchforks at the Reference Desk. Time to shut up shop.’ He pulled the sign down and folded it carefully into the original folds before sliding it into the side pocket of Sammy’s backpack.
Huh. Sammy looked at his brother as they picked the lock of the back door to make their escape. Who knew? They felt the same way about it. Better that kids be afraid; that they knew what was out there, waiting for them in the dark.
Once upon a time there were monsters.
~~~
‘All the better to eat you with, Dean?’
Damn it. He was out of time. He’d known Sam would track him down fast. Particularly now. And with hindsight, possibly a library wasn’t the best place to hole up in. It was his little brother’s home turf after all.
‘Hey, Sam.’ Dean forced a grin over the heads of the kids flooding back to their more high tech pursuits.
Sam gently touched the well-worn spine of the volume Dean had been reading from. ‘Turning into a myth-head on me, Dean?’
Ouch. Now that was downright evil. ‘You started it!’ Yeah, great. Now that was a real clever comeback. Being around all those kids had fucked with his mojo; that was all. Certainly wasn’t stress or anything remotely like that.
Sam blandly refused to continue the fight, and that irritated Dean the most. Yeah. Sam knew him too well. And probably knew better than he did why he was here at all; getting up close and personal with myths and legends, paying closer attention to freaking signs. Remembering their past. And maybe Dean had been waiting for him, just a little. And Sam undoubtedly knew that too.
‘It’s all right, Sam. I’m ready to go.’
Sam’s only answer was to thump him up the back of his head.
‘What?’ Dean bitched, happy for the distraction. Those huge paws hurt.
‘It’s Sammy.’
Oh. Nope. Dean told himself sternly that he wasn’t going to let any emo crap get to him, even now. He was a Winchester, damn it!
Sammy just widened his eyes at him.
No need for either of them to say anything more. There was nothing they hadn’t already argued about and planned for in the short year since Cold Oak. Prayer? That was only number six on a long list of things they weren’t talking about. But still - ain’t over till the … Nah. Never say … OK, bad choice. Fight ‘em in the trenches. That’s better. Books? Who needed them? That was Sammy’s specialty. Him? Well, he just did what needed to be done, like their father always had, regardless of the cost.
So, there at the end of a very long road they walked together out into what surely should have been a less crappy sunset.
Once upon a time there were heroes.
~~~