Christmas Ficlet: Old Gods
And I have now stockpiled about 12 ficlets from the anonymous requests made and am still writing more. They are all fairly self-indulgent so please do not expect any great literary merit but I hope you enjoy them! And thank you ever so much for being so encouraging! You lot really are awesome.
This is a timestamp for The Old Gods Return and contains mpreg.
But before the fic, please have some wonderfully festive music from the Arkham Carollers! A friend bought me their album for Christmas and I am very much in love with it and wish to share! Change xx to tt in the links.
Carol of the Old Ones
Look to the sky, way up on high
There in the night stars are now right.
Eons have passed: now then at last
Prison walls break, Old Ones awake!
Madness will reign, terror and pain
Woes without end where they extend.
Blue Solstice
I'll have a blue solstice, Cthulhu.
I'll be so blue thinking what you'll do.
Sacrifices of red on the blue open sea
Won't mean a thing until you're here with me.
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Fish-Men
I'm beginning to hear a lot of fish-men
Right outside my door,
As I try to escape in fright
To the moonlit Innsmouth night
I can hear some more.
Dean's a fighter. Everyone’s always said it. It’s why they picked him. Problem is, the baby - the parasite - is a fighter too.
For the first three months, Dean is all denial. He rolls his eyes at Sam’s concern, slaps his hands away when Sam tries to reach out to him. Refuses to acknowledge that something has stolen his body and is taking him over from the inside.
“Chicks have been doing this for years, Sammy,” he says, staring out the window. “I think I can manage.”
He doesn’t ever consciously touch his belly but sometimes, when he’s sleeping, Sam’ll see his hand creep over the blankets to rest on the new subtle curve. It’s only because Sam knows the shape of Dean so well that he recognises how his body’s been distorted. No one else could look at him and know. The view of their lives from the outside has barely altered. It’s all inside.
“No,” says Sam. “They haven’t. Not like this. Their bodies were designed for…” He sighs and rubs his jaw. He goes back to staring at the words on the laptop screen but they don’t make sense to his aching eyes. “And the fetuses were human.”
Dean lets out a breath, half a laugh, and shrugs.
“The Devil’s in the detail, I guess.”
Denial is Dean's specialty and that’s all he’ll give to Sam in the face of this horror.
And then one day they’re driving and all of a sudden the Impala’s swerving across the blacktop and Dean’s doubling up, strange choked gasps breaking past his lips. Sam barely has attention enough to grab the wheel and steer them onto the roadside but he has to take care of the immediate danger before he can do anything for Dean. Dean’s slumped over, conscious, but when his gaze rolls to Sam his eyes are glazing over.
“I can feel it moving.” His face crumples, his whole body curls in around the shape of the baby. “Jesus, Sam, I can feel it moving.”
Dean doesn’t drive again. It’s not like he’s well enough to drive anyway. The baby starts kicking more often. Dean doesn’t tell him but Sam notices the way he flinches sometimes, catches the sudden look of pain and unease in his eyes. As Dean gets bigger, more swollen, he and Sam settle in at Bobby’s. It’s not like Dean can do much. He dry-retches in the morning and evening, suffers from nausea that produces nothing in between.
Sam and Bobby do what research they can but the best secrets of the Old Gods are locked up with the people who did this. Neither of them can get close enough to Dean to even get an idea of what’s happening inside him. It makes Sam sick to think of it, human anatomy redesigned to satisfy the needs of the ancient god-spawn growing inside him. He wants to cut it out of him, imagines drawing a blade over the curve of his brother’s belly, the skin peeling apart, all red and full to reveal the white, misshapen form of the creature within.
“You’d kill him,” says Bobby. “That thing is made to survive. So long as Dean has a heartbeat, it’ll have a heartbeat.”
There seems to be nothing but waiting, watching Dean grow ever more weaker. It’s no answer at all.
Dean’s answer is no better. Sam wakes to the sound of water one night. He thought it was nothing but his dream because that’s all Sam ever dreams of now: the sea and the stars. He’s drowning from the inside out. But as he sits up in his bed, his breathing still shaky, the sound of lapping water doesn’t go away. It’s not just in his head. It’s nearby. Close.
He follows the sound and finds Dean in the bathtub, the water cool and up to his chin. His eyes open as Sam’s shadow falls across him and tries to smile but fails. Sam’s gaze falls on the hunting knife, balanced on the edge of the tub. The reflection of the water ripples across the blade. Sam can’t breathe for a moment.
“I can’t,” says Dean. “I can’t do this. I’m trying, Sam, but… I can’t. I can’t find any… peace with it in me. I’m all wrong inside.”
Sam doesn’t answer him. Under the water, Dean’s shape is warped and shivering. It’s like a handful of extra flesh has been pressed against his body, stitched raggedly on. It looks exactly as it is: unnatural. Beneath the stretched skin, something moves. It’s long and sinuous and is no more human than Azazel had ever been.
Sam drops to his knees by the tub and reaches out to Dean. He grips his shoulder, fingers splayed over the slick, wet skin, and forces Dean to look at him. He wipes his hand over Dean’s face, as if brushing away tears. Right then, he knows that the time for waiting is long past.
Dean’s a fighter but so’s the parasite. And Sam knows which way this fight is gonna go if he doesn’t do anything.
:::
Still to come in the ficlets we have evil!Sam, girl!Dean, conned!Bobby, angsty!John, obsessed!Henrickson, naked!Ash and confused!Ben Braden. But not all in the same ficlet. :)
This is a timestamp for The Old Gods Return and contains mpreg.
But before the fic, please have some wonderfully festive music from the Arkham Carollers! A friend bought me their album for Christmas and I am very much in love with it and wish to share! Change xx to tt in the links.
Carol of the Old Ones
Look to the sky, way up on high
There in the night stars are now right.
Eons have passed: now then at last
Prison walls break, Old Ones awake!
Madness will reign, terror and pain
Woes without end where they extend.
Blue Solstice
I'll have a blue solstice, Cthulhu.
I'll be so blue thinking what you'll do.
Sacrifices of red on the blue open sea
Won't mean a thing until you're here with me.
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Fish-Men
I'm beginning to hear a lot of fish-men
Right outside my door,
As I try to escape in fright
To the moonlit Innsmouth night
I can hear some more.
Dean's a fighter. Everyone’s always said it. It’s why they picked him. Problem is, the baby - the parasite - is a fighter too.
For the first three months, Dean is all denial. He rolls his eyes at Sam’s concern, slaps his hands away when Sam tries to reach out to him. Refuses to acknowledge that something has stolen his body and is taking him over from the inside.
“Chicks have been doing this for years, Sammy,” he says, staring out the window. “I think I can manage.”
He doesn’t ever consciously touch his belly but sometimes, when he’s sleeping, Sam’ll see his hand creep over the blankets to rest on the new subtle curve. It’s only because Sam knows the shape of Dean so well that he recognises how his body’s been distorted. No one else could look at him and know. The view of their lives from the outside has barely altered. It’s all inside.
“No,” says Sam. “They haven’t. Not like this. Their bodies were designed for…” He sighs and rubs his jaw. He goes back to staring at the words on the laptop screen but they don’t make sense to his aching eyes. “And the fetuses were human.”
Dean lets out a breath, half a laugh, and shrugs.
“The Devil’s in the detail, I guess.”
Denial is Dean's specialty and that’s all he’ll give to Sam in the face of this horror.
And then one day they’re driving and all of a sudden the Impala’s swerving across the blacktop and Dean’s doubling up, strange choked gasps breaking past his lips. Sam barely has attention enough to grab the wheel and steer them onto the roadside but he has to take care of the immediate danger before he can do anything for Dean. Dean’s slumped over, conscious, but when his gaze rolls to Sam his eyes are glazing over.
“I can feel it moving.” His face crumples, his whole body curls in around the shape of the baby. “Jesus, Sam, I can feel it moving.”
Dean doesn’t drive again. It’s not like he’s well enough to drive anyway. The baby starts kicking more often. Dean doesn’t tell him but Sam notices the way he flinches sometimes, catches the sudden look of pain and unease in his eyes. As Dean gets bigger, more swollen, he and Sam settle in at Bobby’s. It’s not like Dean can do much. He dry-retches in the morning and evening, suffers from nausea that produces nothing in between.
Sam and Bobby do what research they can but the best secrets of the Old Gods are locked up with the people who did this. Neither of them can get close enough to Dean to even get an idea of what’s happening inside him. It makes Sam sick to think of it, human anatomy redesigned to satisfy the needs of the ancient god-spawn growing inside him. He wants to cut it out of him, imagines drawing a blade over the curve of his brother’s belly, the skin peeling apart, all red and full to reveal the white, misshapen form of the creature within.
“You’d kill him,” says Bobby. “That thing is made to survive. So long as Dean has a heartbeat, it’ll have a heartbeat.”
There seems to be nothing but waiting, watching Dean grow ever more weaker. It’s no answer at all.
Dean’s answer is no better. Sam wakes to the sound of water one night. He thought it was nothing but his dream because that’s all Sam ever dreams of now: the sea and the stars. He’s drowning from the inside out. But as he sits up in his bed, his breathing still shaky, the sound of lapping water doesn’t go away. It’s not just in his head. It’s nearby. Close.
He follows the sound and finds Dean in the bathtub, the water cool and up to his chin. His eyes open as Sam’s shadow falls across him and tries to smile but fails. Sam’s gaze falls on the hunting knife, balanced on the edge of the tub. The reflection of the water ripples across the blade. Sam can’t breathe for a moment.
“I can’t,” says Dean. “I can’t do this. I’m trying, Sam, but… I can’t. I can’t find any… peace with it in me. I’m all wrong inside.”
Sam doesn’t answer him. Under the water, Dean’s shape is warped and shivering. It’s like a handful of extra flesh has been pressed against his body, stitched raggedly on. It looks exactly as it is: unnatural. Beneath the stretched skin, something moves. It’s long and sinuous and is no more human than Azazel had ever been.
Sam drops to his knees by the tub and reaches out to Dean. He grips his shoulder, fingers splayed over the slick, wet skin, and forces Dean to look at him. He wipes his hand over Dean’s face, as if brushing away tears. Right then, he knows that the time for waiting is long past.
Dean’s a fighter but so’s the parasite. And Sam knows which way this fight is gonna go if he doesn’t do anything.
:::
Still to come in the ficlets we have evil!Sam, girl!Dean, conned!Bobby, angsty!John, obsessed!Henrickson, naked!Ash and confused!Ben Braden. But not all in the same ficlet. :)