fic: a night with el diablo...AND RECS :DDDD
And here, have two more BigBang recommendations (for anyone interested): Dillinger's Got Nothing on Us: The Short Life and Interesting Times of The Jay Gang by tsuki_no_bara. RPF (with slight J2 UST) AU. Some violence, but mostly just awesome world building in which The Jay Gang rob banks in 1930s America. Then there's withdiamonds's The Minor Fall and the Major Lift. It's a post s2 AU, in which Sam becomes a spirit for a while in the aftermath of the first part of the s2 finale (also established wincest [Sam's...15?]). This fic flips beautifully between Dean's time in the cabin before heading to the Crossroads and the WinBros past. I am not doing it justice at all, really. It's amazing.
/recc'ing
Whee, okay, so I finished all my ficlets (even my spn_solstice one) and had unstressed freetime this evening. Therefore, here's another ficlet for the devil himself-'verse. I forgot how much fun it is writing Bobby and Lucifer ;DDDD
OMGWTF: Bobby-POV; gen (maybe slashy if you squint); unbeta'd; not really set in any time period...after the boys get their hands on the Colt? John's dead? That vague enough?
required reading: hallelujah, we'll make it last, and wish that we could save them all, oh, and it's the passion that you play, and meet with courtesy and grace.
a night with el diablo
He can feel (Nick. Nick. His name is Nick) behind him. Almost feel Nick's breath on the back of his own neck, but the Impala's a fading break against the horizon, dust already settling back to the ground, and Bobby doesn't want to look away. Not yet, not when the only other thing willing to hold his attention is something he can't name. Is something he can only vaguely remember, brief outlines against his life and his grief. A word here and a touch there.
"You're going to have to let them go, Bobby."
Maybe that's true. Bobby can already see the cracks - the anger and the fear and the confusion. Those boys are about as put together as the cars in Bobby's yard.
"You know it, don't you? All those books finally adding up to the final picture?" Nick hasn't moved, and now that the last signs of John's boys are gone, Bobby steps forward, away from the man at his back, before turning to face him. "You won't save them."
"I don't have to."
Nick laughs, then, loud and long enough that Bobby's dogs start kickin up a fuss in the distant corners of the scrapyard. Bobby hadn't failed to notice that the mutts didn't come up when Nick first started talking, and he's pretty sure he caught slinking shadows on the edges of his vision. The traitors.
"Will they save themselves?"
The words are light, teasing, but there's a shadow of something on Nick's face. Something old and cruel etched into the lines of his face. Bobby's breath ghosts over his own lips as it leaves, a soft sound that gets Nick's attention, eyes flickering to Bobby's mouth a second before they drift over the rest of Bobby's face.
"Or do you want me to tell you how this is going to end?"
No, Bobby thinks. No, I don't want to know. Because Nick might not lie to him, he might tell Bobby the truth, twisted and bizarre as it is. And Bobby doesn't want it, not when there's so much already here.
He's got two boys fallin apart, lookin at him for answers, for reasons he don't got. He's got this Nick, tracking him down and screwing with him, and Bobby doesn't know exactly what he is. Demon, almost definitely, although nothin about him makes sense that way, really, but he doesn't fit the profile for anything else, either. And it's not like Bobby's house and property ain't warded six ways to Sunday, either, but each time Nick comes here (and they're shadowy memories, vague things that seem like a dream, except every time, now, that he tries to pretend they are, Nick shows up, and Bobby's starting to remember more and more of each encounter), and he walks around like nothin's there.
"We've got time," Nick says, and the words are familiar, or feel that way at least. Bobby shakes his head, denial or shaking off the weird lassitude coming over him that he faintly remembers from countless times before.
"No," he finally gets out, "you ain't comin back this way." Like there's anything Bobby can do that hasn't already been done to keep this...thing from finding its way back.
A gun, Bobby thinks, almost dizzy with it. A gun, and his mind flashes on a bullet, old and useless. The Colt, and the history behind it.
He knows before Nick even opens his mouth. Knows so strongly he mouths the words when Nick says, "no gun will kill me."
"I could find out what you are." Damn stupid bravado, and Nick seems to think so, too, judging by the way he laughs, clamps down on the sound until his lips are twisted into a smile.
"I could tell you what I am." Nick shrugs. "You don't want to know. It'll always come back to that. To you. Do you know how...important you are? Essential?" Nick's suddenly much too close, reaching out with cold fingers to run them along Bobby's cheek, down to his beard, just to the side of his mouth. "Maybe that's why I can't stay away, hmm? I'm not used to a human wielding so much power." Nick's eyes follow his fingers. Bobby's shifting, feeling heat burn his ears, the skin of his face, but when he pulls away Nick tsks, goes with the movement.
Goddammit.
"It's...intriguing," Nick finishes, and they're suddenly two men standing too close in the ruins of a scrapyard. Bobby coughs, and this time when he steps back Nick stays put.
"Why don't you just stay away, huh?" It's Bobby, now, that leans in close, close, too close, and if he was less angry he'd maybe care about that. They're on some weird orbit - circling around each other, zooming in, trailing out, over and over and over again. "Leave me alone. If. If you know how this ends, just go and wait for it to happen! I ain't helpin you hurt my boys." Because there - now he's said it, he knows. He knows with a certainty that chills him that this - this man, this thing could be the end of them. Him, maybe, but without a doubt Sam. Dean. "Go."
He's shaking with fear, with fury. With grief. They're safe, he thinks, and can almost picture the shining black of the Impala heading unerringly away. Dean's hands careless and sure on the wheel. Sam's mile-long legs scrunched up under the dash. They're not here, and he breathes easy, the sudden constriction gone from around his lungs, his chest.
When he calms down enough, he's unsurprised to find Nick long gone.
/recc'ing
Whee, okay, so I finished all my ficlets (even my spn_solstice one) and had unstressed freetime this evening. Therefore, here's another ficlet for the devil himself-'verse. I forgot how much fun it is writing Bobby and Lucifer ;DDDD
OMGWTF: Bobby-POV; gen (maybe slashy if you squint); unbeta'd; not really set in any time period...after the boys get their hands on the Colt? John's dead? That vague enough?
required reading: hallelujah, we'll make it last, and wish that we could save them all, oh, and it's the passion that you play, and meet with courtesy and grace.
a night with el diablo
He can feel (Nick. Nick. His name is Nick) behind him. Almost feel Nick's breath on the back of his own neck, but the Impala's a fading break against the horizon, dust already settling back to the ground, and Bobby doesn't want to look away. Not yet, not when the only other thing willing to hold his attention is something he can't name. Is something he can only vaguely remember, brief outlines against his life and his grief. A word here and a touch there.
"You're going to have to let them go, Bobby."
Maybe that's true. Bobby can already see the cracks - the anger and the fear and the confusion. Those boys are about as put together as the cars in Bobby's yard.
"You know it, don't you? All those books finally adding up to the final picture?" Nick hasn't moved, and now that the last signs of John's boys are gone, Bobby steps forward, away from the man at his back, before turning to face him. "You won't save them."
"I don't have to."
Nick laughs, then, loud and long enough that Bobby's dogs start kickin up a fuss in the distant corners of the scrapyard. Bobby hadn't failed to notice that the mutts didn't come up when Nick first started talking, and he's pretty sure he caught slinking shadows on the edges of his vision. The traitors.
"Will they save themselves?"
The words are light, teasing, but there's a shadow of something on Nick's face. Something old and cruel etched into the lines of his face. Bobby's breath ghosts over his own lips as it leaves, a soft sound that gets Nick's attention, eyes flickering to Bobby's mouth a second before they drift over the rest of Bobby's face.
"Or do you want me to tell you how this is going to end?"
No, Bobby thinks. No, I don't want to know. Because Nick might not lie to him, he might tell Bobby the truth, twisted and bizarre as it is. And Bobby doesn't want it, not when there's so much already here.
He's got two boys fallin apart, lookin at him for answers, for reasons he don't got. He's got this Nick, tracking him down and screwing with him, and Bobby doesn't know exactly what he is. Demon, almost definitely, although nothin about him makes sense that way, really, but he doesn't fit the profile for anything else, either. And it's not like Bobby's house and property ain't warded six ways to Sunday, either, but each time Nick comes here (and they're shadowy memories, vague things that seem like a dream, except every time, now, that he tries to pretend they are, Nick shows up, and Bobby's starting to remember more and more of each encounter), and he walks around like nothin's there.
"We've got time," Nick says, and the words are familiar, or feel that way at least. Bobby shakes his head, denial or shaking off the weird lassitude coming over him that he faintly remembers from countless times before.
"No," he finally gets out, "you ain't comin back this way." Like there's anything Bobby can do that hasn't already been done to keep this...thing from finding its way back.
A gun, Bobby thinks, almost dizzy with it. A gun, and his mind flashes on a bullet, old and useless. The Colt, and the history behind it.
He knows before Nick even opens his mouth. Knows so strongly he mouths the words when Nick says, "no gun will kill me."
"I could find out what you are." Damn stupid bravado, and Nick seems to think so, too, judging by the way he laughs, clamps down on the sound until his lips are twisted into a smile.
"I could tell you what I am." Nick shrugs. "You don't want to know. It'll always come back to that. To you. Do you know how...important you are? Essential?" Nick's suddenly much too close, reaching out with cold fingers to run them along Bobby's cheek, down to his beard, just to the side of his mouth. "Maybe that's why I can't stay away, hmm? I'm not used to a human wielding so much power." Nick's eyes follow his fingers. Bobby's shifting, feeling heat burn his ears, the skin of his face, but when he pulls away Nick tsks, goes with the movement.
Goddammit.
"It's...intriguing," Nick finishes, and they're suddenly two men standing too close in the ruins of a scrapyard. Bobby coughs, and this time when he steps back Nick stays put.
"Why don't you just stay away, huh?" It's Bobby, now, that leans in close, close, too close, and if he was less angry he'd maybe care about that. They're on some weird orbit - circling around each other, zooming in, trailing out, over and over and over again. "Leave me alone. If. If you know how this ends, just go and wait for it to happen! I ain't helpin you hurt my boys." Because there - now he's said it, he knows. He knows with a certainty that chills him that this - this man, this thing could be the end of them. Him, maybe, but without a doubt Sam. Dean. "Go."
He's shaking with fear, with fury. With grief. They're safe, he thinks, and can almost picture the shining black of the Impala heading unerringly away. Dean's hands careless and sure on the wheel. Sam's mile-long legs scrunched up under the dash. They're not here, and he breathes easy, the sudden constriction gone from around his lungs, his chest.
When he calms down enough, he's unsurprised to find Nick long gone.