"The General"
Title: The General
Author: LadyMacbeth
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 599
Disclaimer: “Supernatural” and all its characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke. I make no profit.
Summary: Another ficlet dedicated to the idea of Dean as the rebirth of Lucifer. For julorean and her much belated birthday. Cut text shamelessly stolen from Our Lady Peace's One Man Army.
The old man swings again, cracking Sam across the face with the back of his hand.
“Now, I’m only gonna ask you one more time, boy,” the hunter growls, inches from the young man’s face. “What’n the hell is your plan? Where are you leadin’ that Godforsaken army a’yours?”
The man’s hand suddenly shoots out, and snags a fistful of Sam’s shaggy hair.
“Answer me, you traitorous son of a bitch!”
“Now, I gotta tell ya,” a voice comes out of the shadows, “it’s not a real good idea to talk about our mother like that.”
The hunter jerks sharply away from the bound boy and squints into the dark.
“Winchester? Dean Winchester?” The hunter slowly pulls a gun from a holster hidden beneath his jacket. “Come on out, boy,” he calls, his eyes raking the room for movement. “Things don’t have to be sour between us. We’re both just men, tryin’ to do the right thing. Why don’t you just show yourself?”
As if he had formed out of shadow itself, Dean Winchester steps out of the darkness.
“Ah ah ah,” the hunter chides, swinging the gun until the muzzle is pressed firmly against Sam’s forehead.
The younger man squirms against his binds, protests muffled by the gag in his mouth.
Instantly, the cocky smile on Dean’s face evaporates.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the older boy growls, steel and brimstone in his voice.
“Look, son,” the hunter starts, gun hand unwavering. “You and I both know your brother’s gone and joined up on the wrong side a’this war. Hell, he’s leadin’ the damn charge! He’s gone bad, Dean, and he has to be stopped.”
“You know I can’t let you do that,” Dean almost whispers, eyes hard and fierce.
“How’re you gonna stop me, boy?” the hunter smirks, thumb sliding over the gun, clicking off the safety. The sound echoes throughout the ruined house.
“I’m givin’ you one last warning, old man,” Dean growls, unmoving.
The hunter chuckles as if Dean has just told him a joke. “I really don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats, boy.”
“Oh,” Dean says, a sudden and unnerving smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “you’d be surprised.”
The old hunter is tossed across the room before he can respond.
Sam attempts to shout through his gag as he struggles again against his binds, but the cries are rendered inaudible by the thick cloth. He remains seated, forced to watch as the hunter screams and curses, unable to break free of the mental hold that has pinned him against the wall.
From this angle, Sam can see with perfect clarity the confusion and terror in the old man’s eyes. His wide, wild eyes are trained on Dean, as the young man advances towards him, brow furrowed in concentration.
Dean stops when he reaches Sam’s side. Without taking his eyes off the hunter, pinned flat against the wall, feet dangling above the ground, he pulls the gag from Sam’s mouth, then lets the same hand drift into the younger boy’s hair, carding it gently.
“Really, old man,” Dean purrs, fingers tickling Sam’s scalp, “you should know better than to pick on my Sammy.” Dean tilts his head ever so slightly, smirk pulling at his lips. The hunter cries in agony. “Besides,” the older boy says, hand falling from Sam’s hair as he advances towards his prey once more, “Sam’s not the one leading the demon army.” He stops, inches from the quivering old man.
“I am,” Dean whispers and his eyes go black as hell.
The End
Author: LadyMacbeth
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 599
Disclaimer: “Supernatural” and all its characters belong to the genius that is Eric Kripke. I make no profit.
Summary: Another ficlet dedicated to the idea of Dean as the rebirth of Lucifer. For julorean and her much belated birthday. Cut text shamelessly stolen from Our Lady Peace's One Man Army.
The old man swings again, cracking Sam across the face with the back of his hand.
“Now, I’m only gonna ask you one more time, boy,” the hunter growls, inches from the young man’s face. “What’n the hell is your plan? Where are you leadin’ that Godforsaken army a’yours?”
The man’s hand suddenly shoots out, and snags a fistful of Sam’s shaggy hair.
“Answer me, you traitorous son of a bitch!”
“Now, I gotta tell ya,” a voice comes out of the shadows, “it’s not a real good idea to talk about our mother like that.”
The hunter jerks sharply away from the bound boy and squints into the dark.
“Winchester? Dean Winchester?” The hunter slowly pulls a gun from a holster hidden beneath his jacket. “Come on out, boy,” he calls, his eyes raking the room for movement. “Things don’t have to be sour between us. We’re both just men, tryin’ to do the right thing. Why don’t you just show yourself?”
As if he had formed out of shadow itself, Dean Winchester steps out of the darkness.
“Ah ah ah,” the hunter chides, swinging the gun until the muzzle is pressed firmly against Sam’s forehead.
The younger man squirms against his binds, protests muffled by the gag in his mouth.
Instantly, the cocky smile on Dean’s face evaporates.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the older boy growls, steel and brimstone in his voice.
“Look, son,” the hunter starts, gun hand unwavering. “You and I both know your brother’s gone and joined up on the wrong side a’this war. Hell, he’s leadin’ the damn charge! He’s gone bad, Dean, and he has to be stopped.”
“You know I can’t let you do that,” Dean almost whispers, eyes hard and fierce.
“How’re you gonna stop me, boy?” the hunter smirks, thumb sliding over the gun, clicking off the safety. The sound echoes throughout the ruined house.
“I’m givin’ you one last warning, old man,” Dean growls, unmoving.
The hunter chuckles as if Dean has just told him a joke. “I really don’t think you’re in any position to be making threats, boy.”
“Oh,” Dean says, a sudden and unnerving smile pulling at the corner of his lips, “you’d be surprised.”
The old hunter is tossed across the room before he can respond.
Sam attempts to shout through his gag as he struggles again against his binds, but the cries are rendered inaudible by the thick cloth. He remains seated, forced to watch as the hunter screams and curses, unable to break free of the mental hold that has pinned him against the wall.
From this angle, Sam can see with perfect clarity the confusion and terror in the old man’s eyes. His wide, wild eyes are trained on Dean, as the young man advances towards him, brow furrowed in concentration.
Dean stops when he reaches Sam’s side. Without taking his eyes off the hunter, pinned flat against the wall, feet dangling above the ground, he pulls the gag from Sam’s mouth, then lets the same hand drift into the younger boy’s hair, carding it gently.
“Really, old man,” Dean purrs, fingers tickling Sam’s scalp, “you should know better than to pick on my Sammy.” Dean tilts his head ever so slightly, smirk pulling at his lips. The hunter cries in agony. “Besides,” the older boy says, hand falling from Sam’s hair as he advances towards his prey once more, “Sam’s not the one leading the demon army.” He stops, inches from the quivering old man.
“I am,” Dean whispers and his eyes go black as hell.
The End