30 Days After the Dawn - PG13, Crossover with 30 Days of Night
So I saw 30 Days of Night. Josh Hartnett was hot, the movie was nicely disturbing and the gore was not without its purpose. All in all, I was quite pleased :) Enough to want to write a little something for it, but I've got so much else on my plate - I told myself I would restrain myself to the 20-minute-fic format so I don't eat into any valuable WIP time :p
And here is the result - judge gently but honestly! And hopefully enjoy ;)
Title: 30 Days After the Dawn (Two Alternate Endings to 30 Days of Night: A Set of Crossovers With Supernatural)
Author: nevcolleil
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
1.
They find her about thirty miles north of the slaughter. That’s as far as the bastards made it after dawn swept the remains of the town. She is sitting in the snow outside the lean-to the vamps erected trying to escape the sun.
She’s covered in blood and grinning - skin torn on one cheek; blonde hair streaked red and black with flesh and ash.
Someday they will take stock of all the hunters they have known, and Dean will say that she would have made a good one. A damned good one filled with all that rage - if only she’d had just a little experience. She took the whole damned nest by herself, but she did it careless and let the sickness take her too.
Right now Dean says it’s a damned shame. Says he wished they could have gotten here sooner - told her sooner. They promise to leave but they don’t. They just hole up near enough to keep watch and know when the change starts to take hold.
She marches herself out to the nearest, highest hilltop at sunrise - with her head held high and her shoulders straight. She just sits there and waits to burn. Doesn’t even scream when it happens, and she’s already dust by the time they head out.
“If we got to her one day sooner…” Dean will say someday. But Sam won’t believe that they could have made a difference. He saw it in the way she’d said, “It’s not for you to do” when they’d offered to wait with her. He saw it in the way she’d fiddled with a ring hanging from the chain around her neck.
He saw it in the way she’d cut those vamps when she could have destroyed the lean-to and let the daylight do them in.
Stella had known what she was doing. And she hadn’t been sorry that they’d arrived late. She’d had the ghosts in her head to keep her company through the killing and beyond - through the last days of her life and her death.
2.
He doesn’t look like any vampire they’ve ever seen. The change hasn’t altered the bone structure in his face or his posture, and he’s been around a while as far as they can tell.
He has the same black eyes, though; the same wicked-sharp teeth. He doesn’t flaunt them - which is different - but they’re there. Whenever he forgets himself and his smile is more than just the tilt of one corner of his lips.
He doesn’t act like any vampire they’ve ever met, either. Some are downright feral. They speak the ancient language (when they speak) and they react to fast movements like a shark to blood in the water. Others will do almost anything to blend in with humans, but Evan does none of this. He can sit and hold a conversation with them and almost seem to forget that there are beating hearts nearby. He laughs, and he’s even cool to talk to - intelligent and funny.
On the other hand, he doesn’t try to hide the times he’s remembered that he’s hungry. He goes automatically quiet and cocks his head to one side, listening to blood rushing through the veins all around him - pure vamp. He stares without blinking, unnaturally still. It freaks the other humans out and it’s another reason for Dean to begin on his ‘We ought to just frickin’ waste him’ campaign.
But it’s not like they have that choice. One hungry vamp in an enclosed space with a bunch of humans is never a fun mix, but it’s better than no vamp on their side. And all those hungry vamps out there, waiting to bust in and eat them.
To be honest, Evan is probably their only hope of making it out of this without any more casualties. Perhaps of making it out of this at all. Dean and Sam have killed vamps - whole nests of them. But never a nest this big, with the disadvantage of an arctic snowstorm and two dozen frightened civilians under their protection.
Sam just keeps talking Dean down. Keeps an eye on Evan. Hopes he won’t regret taking the vamp at his word that he doesn’t kill innocent people (they’ve heard this story before, but it’s only been true a few times).
When it’s all over he’s glad they took the risk. The vamps are done for - bloody, decapitated corpses or heaps of bone and ash. Most of the kills are Evan’s, to be honest, and the other humans are still alive, though they are a little worse for the wear.
Sam thinks he might have to say something when Evan tells them he’s going to be on his way and Dean’s hand tightens on the machete in his grip.
But the tenseness of the moment lasts only a second. Dean swallows, deciding, and Evan doesn’t blink.
“Yeah. You be good, huh?” Dean asks casually, but he is anything but.
Evan smirks as if amused by the implications. “You too,” he says simply.
He nods at Sam and Sam nods back, holding his tongue as the vampire walks out into the blizzard and disappears through the snow.
3.
“Nobody touches him,” he says. He doesn’t care how it sounds. There might be a monster’s blood in that needle - slowly seeping into his brother’s veins. But that’s his brother letting it - that’s his brother taking this thing onto his shoulders, the way he’s always done. Playing the hero like he always has, only it’s never been a game. That’s more than obvious now that there’s no way for him to win it at the end.
“He’s one of them now,” Denise says.
“Shut up,” he hisses at her, crawling closer to his brother’s huddled form than he knows he should. Lucy grabs at him but he pushes her hand away.
“I can smell your blood.” Everyone goes still.
Then Lucy and Denise slowly start to back away. One part of his mind knows that he should follow - hears the tonelessness of his brother’s voice and understands what it means.
The other insists that there was a quiver at the end, some sign of lingering humanity.
He sees it in the black eyes that open on him - real or imagined. “Time to go, little brother,” says the lips that have read him bedtime stories, taught him the alphabet; told him the facts of life and given him pointers during driving lessons…
And more than he ever has before, he wishes he were a normal fifteen-year-old boy - like every other fifteen-year-old boy in the world. One who didn’t have to deal with shit like this in his abnormal life.
He barely feels Denise and Lucy at his elbows, uttering soothing words into his ear and patting his back through the battle. He watches what must be the lead vampire toss his brother around like a toy. For a moment, he doesn’t care about the vampires - doesn’t care about Stella and the little girl under the pickup. He wants to run out there and grab his family by the hand and run with it, and that’s when Lucy’s hands hold him the tightest.
Then his brother starts to fight back. And the battle is over so quickly he can’t believe it. He just watches his brother’s fist rip through that man - that vamp’s head like paper, over and over again in his mind.
“They’re leaving!” Denise cries out suddenly, grabbing onto him, voice rising in joy. Stella is crawling out from beneath the truck.
He sprints for the stairs before anyone can stop him - doesn’t slow down when he hears the yells. He stumbles through the carnage and the snow until he is tumbling at his brother’s feet and blood-stained hands are helping him up, gripping him tight. The face that buries itself in his shoulder - in the curve of his neck - is blood-stained too, but he can’t pull back from the embrace. He leans into it, needing to remind himself that his brother is alive. In whatever way, Dean’s alive. He beat them and it worked and they’re gone and nothing else can ever take him away…
Except for the sun, starting to rise on the horizon. Sam fists his hands in the back of his big brother’s jacket and catches a sob in his throat.
“Sammy…” his brother breathes. And if he hadn’t already made his decision, Sam would have made it right there. With the sound of apology and terror ringing in the single utterance of his name.
“We’ve got to go,” Sam says, making himself look up into Dean’s dark eyes. “We- We’ve got to get you in out of the sun. Dean, we’ve got to go!”
“Sam…”
“You’ve got to go, Dean,” Sam begs, desperate. “You can’t leave me alone!”
Even if it’s in Dean’s nature as a hunter to wait for the sunlight to burn. Even if Sam may be damned if he doesn’t. They don’t know if or when Dean will become like all the others. They don’t know a goddamned thing.
“Dean, please,” Sam cries, trying to drag Dean towards shelter.
Dean hesitates and swallows. Sam can see the questions in his expression.
He follows Sam to safety.
Thirty days later they have answers.
[ end. ]
And here is the result - judge gently but honestly! And hopefully enjoy ;)
Title: 30 Days After the Dawn (Two Alternate Endings to 30 Days of Night: A Set of Crossovers With Supernatural)
Author: nevcolleil
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
1.
They find her about thirty miles north of the slaughter. That’s as far as the bastards made it after dawn swept the remains of the town. She is sitting in the snow outside the lean-to the vamps erected trying to escape the sun.
She’s covered in blood and grinning - skin torn on one cheek; blonde hair streaked red and black with flesh and ash.
Someday they will take stock of all the hunters they have known, and Dean will say that she would have made a good one. A damned good one filled with all that rage - if only she’d had just a little experience. She took the whole damned nest by herself, but she did it careless and let the sickness take her too.
Right now Dean says it’s a damned shame. Says he wished they could have gotten here sooner - told her sooner. They promise to leave but they don’t. They just hole up near enough to keep watch and know when the change starts to take hold.
She marches herself out to the nearest, highest hilltop at sunrise - with her head held high and her shoulders straight. She just sits there and waits to burn. Doesn’t even scream when it happens, and she’s already dust by the time they head out.
“If we got to her one day sooner…” Dean will say someday. But Sam won’t believe that they could have made a difference. He saw it in the way she’d said, “It’s not for you to do” when they’d offered to wait with her. He saw it in the way she’d fiddled with a ring hanging from the chain around her neck.
He saw it in the way she’d cut those vamps when she could have destroyed the lean-to and let the daylight do them in.
Stella had known what she was doing. And she hadn’t been sorry that they’d arrived late. She’d had the ghosts in her head to keep her company through the killing and beyond - through the last days of her life and her death.
2.
He doesn’t look like any vampire they’ve ever seen. The change hasn’t altered the bone structure in his face or his posture, and he’s been around a while as far as they can tell.
He has the same black eyes, though; the same wicked-sharp teeth. He doesn’t flaunt them - which is different - but they’re there. Whenever he forgets himself and his smile is more than just the tilt of one corner of his lips.
He doesn’t act like any vampire they’ve ever met, either. Some are downright feral. They speak the ancient language (when they speak) and they react to fast movements like a shark to blood in the water. Others will do almost anything to blend in with humans, but Evan does none of this. He can sit and hold a conversation with them and almost seem to forget that there are beating hearts nearby. He laughs, and he’s even cool to talk to - intelligent and funny.
On the other hand, he doesn’t try to hide the times he’s remembered that he’s hungry. He goes automatically quiet and cocks his head to one side, listening to blood rushing through the veins all around him - pure vamp. He stares without blinking, unnaturally still. It freaks the other humans out and it’s another reason for Dean to begin on his ‘We ought to just frickin’ waste him’ campaign.
But it’s not like they have that choice. One hungry vamp in an enclosed space with a bunch of humans is never a fun mix, but it’s better than no vamp on their side. And all those hungry vamps out there, waiting to bust in and eat them.
To be honest, Evan is probably their only hope of making it out of this without any more casualties. Perhaps of making it out of this at all. Dean and Sam have killed vamps - whole nests of them. But never a nest this big, with the disadvantage of an arctic snowstorm and two dozen frightened civilians under their protection.
Sam just keeps talking Dean down. Keeps an eye on Evan. Hopes he won’t regret taking the vamp at his word that he doesn’t kill innocent people (they’ve heard this story before, but it’s only been true a few times).
When it’s all over he’s glad they took the risk. The vamps are done for - bloody, decapitated corpses or heaps of bone and ash. Most of the kills are Evan’s, to be honest, and the other humans are still alive, though they are a little worse for the wear.
Sam thinks he might have to say something when Evan tells them he’s going to be on his way and Dean’s hand tightens on the machete in his grip.
But the tenseness of the moment lasts only a second. Dean swallows, deciding, and Evan doesn’t blink.
“Yeah. You be good, huh?” Dean asks casually, but he is anything but.
Evan smirks as if amused by the implications. “You too,” he says simply.
He nods at Sam and Sam nods back, holding his tongue as the vampire walks out into the blizzard and disappears through the snow.
3.
“Nobody touches him,” he says. He doesn’t care how it sounds. There might be a monster’s blood in that needle - slowly seeping into his brother’s veins. But that’s his brother letting it - that’s his brother taking this thing onto his shoulders, the way he’s always done. Playing the hero like he always has, only it’s never been a game. That’s more than obvious now that there’s no way for him to win it at the end.
“He’s one of them now,” Denise says.
“Shut up,” he hisses at her, crawling closer to his brother’s huddled form than he knows he should. Lucy grabs at him but he pushes her hand away.
“I can smell your blood.” Everyone goes still.
Then Lucy and Denise slowly start to back away. One part of his mind knows that he should follow - hears the tonelessness of his brother’s voice and understands what it means.
The other insists that there was a quiver at the end, some sign of lingering humanity.
He sees it in the black eyes that open on him - real or imagined. “Time to go, little brother,” says the lips that have read him bedtime stories, taught him the alphabet; told him the facts of life and given him pointers during driving lessons…
And more than he ever has before, he wishes he were a normal fifteen-year-old boy - like every other fifteen-year-old boy in the world. One who didn’t have to deal with shit like this in his abnormal life.
He barely feels Denise and Lucy at his elbows, uttering soothing words into his ear and patting his back through the battle. He watches what must be the lead vampire toss his brother around like a toy. For a moment, he doesn’t care about the vampires - doesn’t care about Stella and the little girl under the pickup. He wants to run out there and grab his family by the hand and run with it, and that’s when Lucy’s hands hold him the tightest.
Then his brother starts to fight back. And the battle is over so quickly he can’t believe it. He just watches his brother’s fist rip through that man - that vamp’s head like paper, over and over again in his mind.
“They’re leaving!” Denise cries out suddenly, grabbing onto him, voice rising in joy. Stella is crawling out from beneath the truck.
He sprints for the stairs before anyone can stop him - doesn’t slow down when he hears the yells. He stumbles through the carnage and the snow until he is tumbling at his brother’s feet and blood-stained hands are helping him up, gripping him tight. The face that buries itself in his shoulder - in the curve of his neck - is blood-stained too, but he can’t pull back from the embrace. He leans into it, needing to remind himself that his brother is alive. In whatever way, Dean’s alive. He beat them and it worked and they’re gone and nothing else can ever take him away…
Except for the sun, starting to rise on the horizon. Sam fists his hands in the back of his big brother’s jacket and catches a sob in his throat.
“Sammy…” his brother breathes. And if he hadn’t already made his decision, Sam would have made it right there. With the sound of apology and terror ringing in the single utterance of his name.
“We’ve got to go,” Sam says, making himself look up into Dean’s dark eyes. “We- We’ve got to get you in out of the sun. Dean, we’ve got to go!”
“Sam…”
“You’ve got to go, Dean,” Sam begs, desperate. “You can’t leave me alone!”
Even if it’s in Dean’s nature as a hunter to wait for the sunlight to burn. Even if Sam may be damned if he doesn’t. They don’t know if or when Dean will become like all the others. They don’t know a goddamned thing.
“Dean, please,” Sam cries, trying to drag Dean towards shelter.
Dean hesitates and swallows. Sam can see the questions in his expression.
He follows Sam to safety.
Thirty days later they have answers.
[ end. ]