SPN FIC - Cravings
Hooo-eee, it's a double-header. And it's only 2:00. Here's the first one...
Characters: the YED, John, Mary, wee!Dean, a couple of wee!demons, and the Sammy-bump
Rating: PG, because it's creepy
Pairings: just some Mom-and-Dad-significant glances
Length: 2248 words
Kleenex rating: gonna say 0
Spoilers: none
Ah, yes. His brother. His very special brother. The demon leaned in for a closer look, even though the little one’s brother was nothing more than a rounded lump under the covers. Still safe and warm inside his mother’s belly.
Well, warm, at least.
And because I haven't said this lately: I don't make a nickel off of any of this. All the pertinent stuff belongs to bigger fish than I. I just play.
Cravings
By Carol Davis
Sweet little family
In a sweet little house
On a sunshiny street
In Kaaaaaaansas
Sometimes, the demon thought, he was too easily amused. But…maybe not. Even the highest-ranking of his kind were pushed into laughter by humans and the concerns that kept them awake in the depths of the night. Life. Death. Taxes.
Thunderstorms.
Smiling absently - he had no face, no lips, but what he was doing felt like a smile - he faded into the shadows of the upstairs hallway as the boy came padding out of his room, feet bare, jaw tense. He slipped back out of the shadows once the boy had passed him and rounded the corner into the master bedroom.
So sweet.
So frightened.
“Mommy?” the boy said in a voice that matched his size. There was a tremor in it that did the demon’s heart good. “I can’t go asleep.”
Thunder rattled the house - an explosion without much of a rumbling build-up, just one solid BANG that made the bedroom windows shake in their frames. The boy stayed where he was, midway between the doorway and the bed, his shoulders stiffened and his small hands tightened into fists. Not looking much like papa’s good soldier now, are ya, champ? the demon thought with more than a little glee.
The woman in the bed held out a hand to her son and, when he approached, still moving tentatively, lifted the covers so he could crawl in beside her.
He hesitated again alongside the bed. “Come on,” she encouraged him.
He got into bed in a way that was almost prim, sitting carefully with his back against his father’s stack of pillows. His lower lip disappeared for a minute as he considered his mother. “Is my brother scared?” he asked finally, very solemnly.
Ah, yes. His brother. His very special brother. The demon leaned in for a closer look, even though the little one’s brother was nothing more than a rounded lump under the covers. Still safe and warm inside his mother’s belly.
Well, warm, at least.
“I think he might be. A little.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think maybe you should talk to him, and tell him it’s okay?”
The boy’s head dipped a little and his lip vanished again. He was silent for a long while, thinking. Mulling things over with all the gravity the situation didn’t require. Questions had probably been pondered less seriously at the U.N. “When’s Daddy coming back?”
“In a few minutes.”
“It’s raining a lot.”
“Yes,” the woman nodded. “It is.”
The boy pondered life and philosophy for another minute, then matched her nod and squirmed around so he could rest his cheek against the enormous hill of her belly. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he said softly but with what he probably thought was a grown-up tone. “You don’t need to be scared. I’ll take care of you. And it’s just only rain.” Then he peered at his mother. “Was that good?”
“That was very good.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little bit.”
“Why?”
“Do you know what ‘responsibility’ means?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You do?”
The boy’s head shifted against the lump that was his brother. “Daddy said because I’m bigger, I’m gonna be reponsable for Sammy. That means help take care of him, and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”
“And Daddy and I are responsible for you and Sammy. That’s a big job.”
“So it makes you scared?”
“A little. Because we want to do a very good job.”
“But why are you scared?”
She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, her face pulled into a fleeting expression of concern. Listening to the pounding rain, maybe. Worried about leaks in the roof. Or where her wandering husband might be. Maybe wondering if the maelstrom outside would spawn a tornado.
Not tonight; but she had no way of knowing that.
For all their alarms and sirens and satellite imaging, humans had no way of knowing what was coming.
That made the demon smile again.
Hello, my sweet, he thought. And just as he expected her to, the woman stared at the bedroom doorway, into the shadows beyond it.
“Mommy?” the boy said.
She stroked his head absently, still frowning at the doorway. “It’s all right, Dean.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
Yes, indeed. Where’s Daddy? Lying dead in a ditch somewhere, if there’s anything right about the world. But don’t worry your little round head, there, sport. He’s…
There.
The boy’s father came out of the shadows at the top of the stairs, wearing nothing but underwear and toting a bowl, a spoon, a container of ice cream, and a sack of potato chips. The storm had done its job well: his hair was soaked and dripping and his shorts and t-shirt were damp enough to cling to his skin. He was moving rapidly, probably looking to get out of the rest of his wet clothes and snuggle into his nice warm bed with his nice warm little wife. But he stopped. Stopped right at the entrance to his bedroom and looked around.
As if he felt something.
Enemy on your turf, eh, Johnny? That old spidey-sense works well, doesn’t it? But no: no confrontations tonight. Take your darling her ice cream.
As if he’d heard that, the boy’s father shook himself like a dog and moved on into the bedroom.
“Daddy!” the boy cried out.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, the demon thought. So sweet my teeth ache.
The ice cream and potato chips were handed over without any endearments, then the boy’s father plucked clean shorts and shirt out of a dresser drawer and retreated to the bathroom.
“Daddy’s mad,” the boy observed softly.
His mother petted his hair again, looking in the direction of the bathroom. “No, he’s -“
Indulgence just goes so far, doesn’t it, my darling?
Her husband came back after a couple of minutes, hair toweled somewhat dry, bladder emptied, outfitted in the clean, dry underwear. His face had settled into something calmer, more befitting of a devoted family man.
The woman raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head.
“You were all wet,” the boy told him.
“You bet I was,” he said as he crawled into bed. “It’s raining like a son-of-a…”
The woman’s eyebrow went up again.
“Gun,” he said. “Wind’s really strong. Tipped over that big potted plant on Gundersons’ porch.” Before she could ask, he told her, “They had the TV on at the store. Storm’s moving fast. It’ll be gone in another hour. And no -“ He looked at her over the top of their son’s head and mouthed the words “tornado warnings.”
“That’s good,” she murmured.
“Ice cream’s melting. And if you tell me you don’t want it now, I’m likely to cry.”
“We’ll share.” She slid an arm around the boy, holding him close to her breast and her belly. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“So am I.”
“I’m sorry -“
“My own fault. Should’ve tried a little harder to convince you that what you really wanted was canned peaches.”
“John.” His name. An endearment. Another apology.
Sweet little family.
Sweeter than canned peaches.
“I can share too?” the boy asked.
His parents smiled at each other over the top of his head. “A little,” his father said. “You get a lot of sugar in you at this hour and you’ll be bouncing off the walls. You won’t sleep till Christmas.”
“I will so.”
“You think so?”
The boy’s round, soft little face scrunched up again: more Security Council-worthy pondering. “If Mommy eats ice cream, will Sammy be awake?”
“Could be.”
“Maybe we should just eat chips.”
“Good plan.”
Smiling, the woman twisted the lid off the container of ice cream, dipped the spoon into it and aimed it at her husband’s mouth. His lips opened and accepted the mouthful; his eyes stayed on her face, offering something the boy didn’t catch. Teasing, though. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then glanced down at her belly.
And he laughed.
For no good reason, he laughed, full and hearty.
The ice cream kept none of them awake. The storm took less than an hour to go on its way, and by the time the cacophony of thunder was finished and the house fell quiet, all three of them were asleep, the adults on either side and little Dean in the middle, nestled in together like animals in a burrow. What was left of the ice cream sat melting into sludge in its container, sitting in the middle of the bowl on the night table on Mary Winchester’s side of the bed. The bag of potato chips, which hadn’t been opened, had slipped off the table onto the floor. The demon glanced at it as he moved into the room and leaned casually against the dresser.
“Hello, my sweet,” he said. “Long time no see.”
Her eyes opened.
She would think of this as a dream, if she thought of it at all, but it was no dream; more a tinkering with her perceptions.
She saw him as whole, solid, human.
“Get out of my house,” she said, and did an admirable job of sounding forceful.
He tut-tutted softly. “Now, is that any way to greet me after all these years?”
“I don’t want you here.”
“The thing is, Mary-Mary-quite-contrary…you don’t get a vote.” Smiling, the demon strolled around the room, drifting a finger against the dresser, the curtains, the bric-a-brac. “And I’ve just come to say hello, and wish you well. The night isn’t over, you see. And it’s a night of grand beginnings. The start of some truly marvelous things.”
The grin didn’t fade as he came close to the bed and rested a hand on her belly. “Hello, there, little Sammy.”
She flinched but kept her eyes on him. “I want you to leave.”
“And I will.”
“I don’t want any of those things you promised.”
“Apparently not. You certainly haven’t done anything to pursue them. And why would you? You have the apple-pie American Dream here. Devoted husband, lovely home, and two perfect sons. Who could ask for anything more?” Gently, he patted the curve of blanket under which baby Sammy lay sleeping. “Either way - I came to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For playing your part in the greater scheme of things.”
“Which is -?“
“Wouldn’t be fair to say. But it’s a big one.”
She trembled a little, looked first at her husband, then at little Dean. “I want you to go. Right now. I want you out of my house.”
“And when could I ever say no to you, pretty Mary?”
“Go -“
“We’ll see each other again.” His hand drifted against her cheek. “Sleep well. Or maybe not. I think it’s time for the curtain to rise on the next act of this lovely family drama.” With a wink he stepped away from the bed.
Moved out of the bedroom, into the deep shadows of the hallway.
And waited, but not for very long.
“Mommy?” Dean muttered.
Mary blinked hard, rubbed at her eyes with a balled fist. Grunted softly.
Dean squirmed around, crawled toward the head of the bed, looked at her with his face crunched into a grimace. “Somebody -“ His voice dropped. “It’s all wet.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.”
“Why is everything all wet?”
Trying for a smile, she reached over him and grasped her husband’s shoulder. “John,” she said firmly. “John.”
The demon watched John come awake, rub at his face and his hair. Watched Mary shrink into herself with pain. Watched the boy look to both of them for an explanation, still thinking one of them had wet the bed, because bless his little diligent heart, on his best day he couldn’t make that much pee. Faded into insubstantiality again, the demon nonetheless applauded softly and faded deeper into the darkness of the upstairs hall.
They’d go right past him on their way out: Dean to the neighbors’, his parents to the hospital.
As he shrank farther and farther away, closer to the window through whose chinks he would slip outside, he was flanked by his own family.
His daughter, his son.
Another one? his son asked.
The best one, he replied.
How can you know that already?
Trust your old man. I know.
Just before he slipped through the crack between window and sill that would take him out into the drizzling remnants of the storm, he glanced back. Saw John Winchester shepherd his family toward the stairs.
Saw the set of the man’s shoulders, the determination on his face.
And was amused.
So the curtain rises, he thought. See you soon, Johnny boy.
The three of them paused when they reached the open air outside the house. Really, the children were following his lead - as well they should.
What’s the big deal? his daughter asked. About these people?
He hummed quietly to himself: the tune he’d made up a few hours before. Sweet little family, sweet little house.
Worthy adversary, he said finally.
Who? That woman?
They’re human, his son said disdainfully. They wouldn’t last a minute against -
The three of them watched John Winchester shepherd his family into the car, slide into the driver’s seat, turn the dark bulk of the car away from the curb.
Don’t make assumptions.
Please. They’re human.
All he would offer in response to his children was a distant, pensive Hmmm as he watched the black car vanish into the night.
Characters: the YED, John, Mary, wee!Dean, a couple of wee!demons, and the Sammy-bump
Rating: PG, because it's creepy
Pairings: just some Mom-and-Dad-significant glances
Length: 2248 words
Kleenex rating: gonna say 0
Spoilers: none
Ah, yes. His brother. His very special brother. The demon leaned in for a closer look, even though the little one’s brother was nothing more than a rounded lump under the covers. Still safe and warm inside his mother’s belly.
Well, warm, at least.
And because I haven't said this lately: I don't make a nickel off of any of this. All the pertinent stuff belongs to bigger fish than I. I just play.
Cravings
By Carol Davis
Sweet little family
In a sweet little house
On a sunshiny street
In Kaaaaaaansas
Sometimes, the demon thought, he was too easily amused. But…maybe not. Even the highest-ranking of his kind were pushed into laughter by humans and the concerns that kept them awake in the depths of the night. Life. Death. Taxes.
Thunderstorms.
Smiling absently - he had no face, no lips, but what he was doing felt like a smile - he faded into the shadows of the upstairs hallway as the boy came padding out of his room, feet bare, jaw tense. He slipped back out of the shadows once the boy had passed him and rounded the corner into the master bedroom.
So sweet.
So frightened.
“Mommy?” the boy said in a voice that matched his size. There was a tremor in it that did the demon’s heart good. “I can’t go asleep.”
Thunder rattled the house - an explosion without much of a rumbling build-up, just one solid BANG that made the bedroom windows shake in their frames. The boy stayed where he was, midway between the doorway and the bed, his shoulders stiffened and his small hands tightened into fists. Not looking much like papa’s good soldier now, are ya, champ? the demon thought with more than a little glee.
The woman in the bed held out a hand to her son and, when he approached, still moving tentatively, lifted the covers so he could crawl in beside her.
He hesitated again alongside the bed. “Come on,” she encouraged him.
He got into bed in a way that was almost prim, sitting carefully with his back against his father’s stack of pillows. His lower lip disappeared for a minute as he considered his mother. “Is my brother scared?” he asked finally, very solemnly.
Ah, yes. His brother. His very special brother. The demon leaned in for a closer look, even though the little one’s brother was nothing more than a rounded lump under the covers. Still safe and warm inside his mother’s belly.
Well, warm, at least.
“I think he might be. A little.”
“Oh.”
“Do you think maybe you should talk to him, and tell him it’s okay?”
The boy’s head dipped a little and his lip vanished again. He was silent for a long while, thinking. Mulling things over with all the gravity the situation didn’t require. Questions had probably been pondered less seriously at the U.N. “When’s Daddy coming back?”
“In a few minutes.”
“It’s raining a lot.”
“Yes,” the woman nodded. “It is.”
The boy pondered life and philosophy for another minute, then matched her nod and squirmed around so he could rest his cheek against the enormous hill of her belly. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he said softly but with what he probably thought was a grown-up tone. “You don’t need to be scared. I’ll take care of you. And it’s just only rain.” Then he peered at his mother. “Was that good?”
“That was very good.”
“Are you scared?”
“A little bit.”
“Why?”
“Do you know what ‘responsibility’ means?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You do?”
The boy’s head shifted against the lump that was his brother. “Daddy said because I’m bigger, I’m gonna be reponsable for Sammy. That means help take care of him, and make sure he doesn’t get hurt.”
“And Daddy and I are responsible for you and Sammy. That’s a big job.”
“So it makes you scared?”
“A little. Because we want to do a very good job.”
“But why are you scared?”
She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, her face pulled into a fleeting expression of concern. Listening to the pounding rain, maybe. Worried about leaks in the roof. Or where her wandering husband might be. Maybe wondering if the maelstrom outside would spawn a tornado.
Not tonight; but she had no way of knowing that.
For all their alarms and sirens and satellite imaging, humans had no way of knowing what was coming.
That made the demon smile again.
Hello, my sweet, he thought. And just as he expected her to, the woman stared at the bedroom doorway, into the shadows beyond it.
“Mommy?” the boy said.
She stroked his head absently, still frowning at the doorway. “It’s all right, Dean.”
“Where’s Daddy?”
Yes, indeed. Where’s Daddy? Lying dead in a ditch somewhere, if there’s anything right about the world. But don’t worry your little round head, there, sport. He’s…
There.
The boy’s father came out of the shadows at the top of the stairs, wearing nothing but underwear and toting a bowl, a spoon, a container of ice cream, and a sack of potato chips. The storm had done its job well: his hair was soaked and dripping and his shorts and t-shirt were damp enough to cling to his skin. He was moving rapidly, probably looking to get out of the rest of his wet clothes and snuggle into his nice warm bed with his nice warm little wife. But he stopped. Stopped right at the entrance to his bedroom and looked around.
As if he felt something.
Enemy on your turf, eh, Johnny? That old spidey-sense works well, doesn’t it? But no: no confrontations tonight. Take your darling her ice cream.
As if he’d heard that, the boy’s father shook himself like a dog and moved on into the bedroom.
“Daddy!” the boy cried out.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, the demon thought. So sweet my teeth ache.
The ice cream and potato chips were handed over without any endearments, then the boy’s father plucked clean shorts and shirt out of a dresser drawer and retreated to the bathroom.
“Daddy’s mad,” the boy observed softly.
His mother petted his hair again, looking in the direction of the bathroom. “No, he’s -“
Indulgence just goes so far, doesn’t it, my darling?
Her husband came back after a couple of minutes, hair toweled somewhat dry, bladder emptied, outfitted in the clean, dry underwear. His face had settled into something calmer, more befitting of a devoted family man.
The woman raised an eyebrow at him and he shook his head.
“You were all wet,” the boy told him.
“You bet I was,” he said as he crawled into bed. “It’s raining like a son-of-a…”
The woman’s eyebrow went up again.
“Gun,” he said. “Wind’s really strong. Tipped over that big potted plant on Gundersons’ porch.” Before she could ask, he told her, “They had the TV on at the store. Storm’s moving fast. It’ll be gone in another hour. And no -“ He looked at her over the top of their son’s head and mouthed the words “tornado warnings.”
“That’s good,” she murmured.
“Ice cream’s melting. And if you tell me you don’t want it now, I’m likely to cry.”
“We’ll share.” She slid an arm around the boy, holding him close to her breast and her belly. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“So am I.”
“I’m sorry -“
“My own fault. Should’ve tried a little harder to convince you that what you really wanted was canned peaches.”
“John.” His name. An endearment. Another apology.
Sweet little family.
Sweeter than canned peaches.
“I can share too?” the boy asked.
His parents smiled at each other over the top of his head. “A little,” his father said. “You get a lot of sugar in you at this hour and you’ll be bouncing off the walls. You won’t sleep till Christmas.”
“I will so.”
“You think so?”
The boy’s round, soft little face scrunched up again: more Security Council-worthy pondering. “If Mommy eats ice cream, will Sammy be awake?”
“Could be.”
“Maybe we should just eat chips.”
“Good plan.”
Smiling, the woman twisted the lid off the container of ice cream, dipped the spoon into it and aimed it at her husband’s mouth. His lips opened and accepted the mouthful; his eyes stayed on her face, offering something the boy didn’t catch. Teasing, though. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then glanced down at her belly.
And he laughed.
For no good reason, he laughed, full and hearty.
The ice cream kept none of them awake. The storm took less than an hour to go on its way, and by the time the cacophony of thunder was finished and the house fell quiet, all three of them were asleep, the adults on either side and little Dean in the middle, nestled in together like animals in a burrow. What was left of the ice cream sat melting into sludge in its container, sitting in the middle of the bowl on the night table on Mary Winchester’s side of the bed. The bag of potato chips, which hadn’t been opened, had slipped off the table onto the floor. The demon glanced at it as he moved into the room and leaned casually against the dresser.
“Hello, my sweet,” he said. “Long time no see.”
Her eyes opened.
She would think of this as a dream, if she thought of it at all, but it was no dream; more a tinkering with her perceptions.
She saw him as whole, solid, human.
“Get out of my house,” she said, and did an admirable job of sounding forceful.
He tut-tutted softly. “Now, is that any way to greet me after all these years?”
“I don’t want you here.”
“The thing is, Mary-Mary-quite-contrary…you don’t get a vote.” Smiling, the demon strolled around the room, drifting a finger against the dresser, the curtains, the bric-a-brac. “And I’ve just come to say hello, and wish you well. The night isn’t over, you see. And it’s a night of grand beginnings. The start of some truly marvelous things.”
The grin didn’t fade as he came close to the bed and rested a hand on her belly. “Hello, there, little Sammy.”
She flinched but kept her eyes on him. “I want you to leave.”
“And I will.”
“I don’t want any of those things you promised.”
“Apparently not. You certainly haven’t done anything to pursue them. And why would you? You have the apple-pie American Dream here. Devoted husband, lovely home, and two perfect sons. Who could ask for anything more?” Gently, he patted the curve of blanket under which baby Sammy lay sleeping. “Either way - I came to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For playing your part in the greater scheme of things.”
“Which is -?“
“Wouldn’t be fair to say. But it’s a big one.”
She trembled a little, looked first at her husband, then at little Dean. “I want you to go. Right now. I want you out of my house.”
“And when could I ever say no to you, pretty Mary?”
“Go -“
“We’ll see each other again.” His hand drifted against her cheek. “Sleep well. Or maybe not. I think it’s time for the curtain to rise on the next act of this lovely family drama.” With a wink he stepped away from the bed.
Moved out of the bedroom, into the deep shadows of the hallway.
And waited, but not for very long.
“Mommy?” Dean muttered.
Mary blinked hard, rubbed at her eyes with a balled fist. Grunted softly.
Dean squirmed around, crawled toward the head of the bed, looked at her with his face crunched into a grimace. “Somebody -“ His voice dropped. “It’s all wet.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart.”
“Why is everything all wet?”
Trying for a smile, she reached over him and grasped her husband’s shoulder. “John,” she said firmly. “John.”
The demon watched John come awake, rub at his face and his hair. Watched Mary shrink into herself with pain. Watched the boy look to both of them for an explanation, still thinking one of them had wet the bed, because bless his little diligent heart, on his best day he couldn’t make that much pee. Faded into insubstantiality again, the demon nonetheless applauded softly and faded deeper into the darkness of the upstairs hall.
They’d go right past him on their way out: Dean to the neighbors’, his parents to the hospital.
As he shrank farther and farther away, closer to the window through whose chinks he would slip outside, he was flanked by his own family.
His daughter, his son.
Another one? his son asked.
The best one, he replied.
How can you know that already?
Trust your old man. I know.
Just before he slipped through the crack between window and sill that would take him out into the drizzling remnants of the storm, he glanced back. Saw John Winchester shepherd his family toward the stairs.
Saw the set of the man’s shoulders, the determination on his face.
And was amused.
So the curtain rises, he thought. See you soon, Johnny boy.
The three of them paused when they reached the open air outside the house. Really, the children were following his lead - as well they should.
What’s the big deal? his daughter asked. About these people?
He hummed quietly to himself: the tune he’d made up a few hours before. Sweet little family, sweet little house.
Worthy adversary, he said finally.
Who? That woman?
They’re human, his son said disdainfully. They wouldn’t last a minute against -
The three of them watched John Winchester shepherd his family into the car, slide into the driver’s seat, turn the dark bulk of the car away from the curb.
Don’t make assumptions.
Please. They’re human.
All he would offer in response to his children was a distant, pensive Hmmm as he watched the black car vanish into the night.