Events in Sun and Shadows, 3/?
Title: Events in Sun and Shadows, 3/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ben, Adam, Bobby.
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: In 2017, Adam visits a grieving Ben after the loss of his family and his beloved hero. He makes the same offer his dead half-brothers once made him: revenge, and a new life. AU.
Warnings: Major character death, confused adolescent feelings, more angst than you can shake a very angsty stick at.
The drive to South Dakota took a little more than a day, and to Ben’s surprise he slept for much of it. He was disturbed, but not awoken by, disjointed nightmares: images from the warehouse mostly, darkness, smoke and blood. Interspersed with flashes of earlier years - and of course Dean’s voice, obscured and with no words Ben could make out, just that accent and low gravelly quality which been the secret hot shame of Ben’s adolescence. When he did wake, the guilt was a physical weight, almost as bad as the ever-present pit of loss. Dean was dead, and Ben was sick enough that he was still betraying him.
Ben wasn’t queer or anything. There was one guy at school who was like that- hung around with the girls, used some fruity shampoo and liked chick flicks and clothes and all that shit. Ben wasn’t like that, not that he thought there was anything wrong with it. He just - wasn’t. Everybody had one secret, one thing about themselves that just didn’t fit with the rest of it. And now Dean was dead, and the secret and hopeless love would die with him. One day. And when it was gone, he’d have nothing.
“Stop for food?” Adam asked, slanting a glance across at Ben over the rim of his shades.
“You think about food a lot.” Ben’s voice sounded raspy and disused.
“Hell, I’m a growing boy.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Well okay, I’m twenty-three.” Adam grinned. “Guess I’ve pretty much stopped growing. But I live a very active lifestyle. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.” It was possible Adam winced slightly, but the shades made it hard to tell. They pulled up at a greasy diner. There was no way Mom would’ve let him eat junk food two days in a row, but Ben guessed he could eat it every day now for the rest of his life. The thought made him sick with grief.
Adam got a cheeseburger with extra pickles, fries and a side of coleslaw. Ben got the soup of the day, which was calling itself minestrone - a watery orange-pink concoction with small rings of pale slippery pasta, chunks of sweetcorn and some unknown pieces.
“You ought to start eating more,” Adam observed. “You’re getting too skinny.”
It wasn’t a comment anybody would make to Ben Braeden. Mom used to say he was like a bottomless pit. It made him feel like that guy was gone, dead in the warehouse with his family, and a stranger had invaded his skin instead.
“Besides,” Adam went on, “You need to build your strength up if you’re gonna hunt.” He looked clinically at Ben’s upper body, and Ben resisted the urge to cross his arms across his chest. Adam was lean, wiry and mature-looking, muscles defined beneath the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Looked like he did weights or something. Ben looked like what he was: an adolescent, and one whose best sport was pool.
* * *
“So you uh…where are you from?” Ben asked Adam a couple hours later. They were back on the Interstate - flat grass right and left and a dull grey cloud cover. It was dawning upon Ben that he knew almost nothing about the guy except for his claim to be Dean’s half-brother. Adam had more or less rescued him, despite Ben’s initial hostility. It seemed like the least Ben could do was start making a little small talk.
“Windom, Minnesota. My Mom was a nurse there. My dad, you know about.”
“Was a nurse?”
“She was killed be ghouls when I was sixteen,” Adam kept his eyes on the road. "Remember, I told you before."
“Right." It came back to him. The past few days were a haze in Ben's memory. The thing to say now would be, ‘I’m sorry,’ but the truth was, he wasn’t.
“That’s how I became a hunter,” Adam said. “So you know…a lot of us are kind of in the same boat, Ben. No-one does this for a hobby, you get me?”
“Yeah,” said Ben quietly.
“But we survive it,” Adam went on. “You will.”
Ben didn’t know how to answer.
* * *
It was close to midnight when the pickup chugged quietly under the wireframe entrance to Singer’s Auto Salvage. Whole cars, parts and skeletons hulked weirdly in the moonlight, stacked three or four high in places. The air smelled like dust and motor oil.
“Will he be up?” Ben asked.
“Probably. Bobby’s usually researching something at this hour…or drinking.”
Ben shifted. He had a little experience with drinking. In the first couple of years after Sam Winchester died, Dean used to drink late at night, alone, and sometimes to his shame and horror Ben would hear him crying. In the morning he would act extra cheerful in front of Ben, offer to play baseball after school, but his eyes were red and Mom would watch him uneasily, unsure, until one day he heard Mom telling Dean he could no longer drink in the house. He had never been scary or threatening. Just - so terribly sad.
“Relax. Bobby knows how to hold his booze. He’s had a lot of practice,” Adam chuckled, hopped out of the car and Ben followed him up to the wooden porch of a large but ramshackle property. Adam rapped on the door with the knocker and called,
“It’s me!”
There was a thump from inside, then a long pause. Adam looked unperturbed. A series of sharp thuds started up, then drew closer at regular intervals. Three metallic chinks, sliding noises, then the door opened a little and a part of a grizzled face appeared above a series of chains and bolts. One watery blue eye regarded Adam, then slid across to Ben.
“That’s him,” Adam affirmed.
“Should hope so.” The door closed, then opened properly. In the entrance stood an old man, leaning heavily on a sturdy wooden cane. His face was lined, his beard and scruffy hair mostly grey and white. He was tall, even hunched over, and gave the impression he’d once been a big man, not used to looking up at people. Even now, there was something about him - an impression of slow strength. Adam entered the house immediately, slipping past Bobby and into the hall as though he lived there himself.
“Ben Braedon,” Bobby Singer said.
“Yes sir,” Ben said shakily. Then, to his shock, he pulled into a one-armed embrace by the old man. He froze for a second, then, depleted, accepted the gesture.
“You’ll always be welcome in this house son,” Bobby Singer said. Adam held Ben’s gaze intently over the old man’s shoulder.
Part Four
A/N: I did take a slight liberty with Ben and Adam’s ages. According to SuperWiki, Ben would be 18 and Adam 27 in the Autumn of 2017, but I needed them a little younger for the dynamic I’m aiming for. I also find it quite amusing that the Wiki lists Ben’s ‘Occupation’ as ‘Kid’ XD.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ben, Adam, Bobby.
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: In 2017, Adam visits a grieving Ben after the loss of his family and his beloved hero. He makes the same offer his dead half-brothers once made him: revenge, and a new life. AU.
Warnings: Major character death, confused adolescent feelings, more angst than you can shake a very angsty stick at.
The drive to South Dakota took a little more than a day, and to Ben’s surprise he slept for much of it. He was disturbed, but not awoken by, disjointed nightmares: images from the warehouse mostly, darkness, smoke and blood. Interspersed with flashes of earlier years - and of course Dean’s voice, obscured and with no words Ben could make out, just that accent and low gravelly quality which been the secret hot shame of Ben’s adolescence. When he did wake, the guilt was a physical weight, almost as bad as the ever-present pit of loss. Dean was dead, and Ben was sick enough that he was still betraying him.
Ben wasn’t queer or anything. There was one guy at school who was like that- hung around with the girls, used some fruity shampoo and liked chick flicks and clothes and all that shit. Ben wasn’t like that, not that he thought there was anything wrong with it. He just - wasn’t. Everybody had one secret, one thing about themselves that just didn’t fit with the rest of it. And now Dean was dead, and the secret and hopeless love would die with him. One day. And when it was gone, he’d have nothing.
“Stop for food?” Adam asked, slanting a glance across at Ben over the rim of his shades.
“You think about food a lot.” Ben’s voice sounded raspy and disused.
“Hell, I’m a growing boy.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Well okay, I’m twenty-three.” Adam grinned. “Guess I’ve pretty much stopped growing. But I live a very active lifestyle. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.” It was possible Adam winced slightly, but the shades made it hard to tell. They pulled up at a greasy diner. There was no way Mom would’ve let him eat junk food two days in a row, but Ben guessed he could eat it every day now for the rest of his life. The thought made him sick with grief.
Adam got a cheeseburger with extra pickles, fries and a side of coleslaw. Ben got the soup of the day, which was calling itself minestrone - a watery orange-pink concoction with small rings of pale slippery pasta, chunks of sweetcorn and some unknown pieces.
“You ought to start eating more,” Adam observed. “You’re getting too skinny.”
It wasn’t a comment anybody would make to Ben Braeden. Mom used to say he was like a bottomless pit. It made him feel like that guy was gone, dead in the warehouse with his family, and a stranger had invaded his skin instead.
“Besides,” Adam went on, “You need to build your strength up if you’re gonna hunt.” He looked clinically at Ben’s upper body, and Ben resisted the urge to cross his arms across his chest. Adam was lean, wiry and mature-looking, muscles defined beneath the sleeves of his plaid shirt. Looked like he did weights or something. Ben looked like what he was: an adolescent, and one whose best sport was pool.
* * *
“So you uh…where are you from?” Ben asked Adam a couple hours later. They were back on the Interstate - flat grass right and left and a dull grey cloud cover. It was dawning upon Ben that he knew almost nothing about the guy except for his claim to be Dean’s half-brother. Adam had more or less rescued him, despite Ben’s initial hostility. It seemed like the least Ben could do was start making a little small talk.
“Windom, Minnesota. My Mom was a nurse there. My dad, you know about.”
“Was a nurse?”
“She was killed be ghouls when I was sixteen,” Adam kept his eyes on the road. "Remember, I told you before."
“Right." It came back to him. The past few days were a haze in Ben's memory. The thing to say now would be, ‘I’m sorry,’ but the truth was, he wasn’t.
“That’s how I became a hunter,” Adam said. “So you know…a lot of us are kind of in the same boat, Ben. No-one does this for a hobby, you get me?”
“Yeah,” said Ben quietly.
“But we survive it,” Adam went on. “You will.”
Ben didn’t know how to answer.
* * *
It was close to midnight when the pickup chugged quietly under the wireframe entrance to Singer’s Auto Salvage. Whole cars, parts and skeletons hulked weirdly in the moonlight, stacked three or four high in places. The air smelled like dust and motor oil.
“Will he be up?” Ben asked.
“Probably. Bobby’s usually researching something at this hour…or drinking.”
Ben shifted. He had a little experience with drinking. In the first couple of years after Sam Winchester died, Dean used to drink late at night, alone, and sometimes to his shame and horror Ben would hear him crying. In the morning he would act extra cheerful in front of Ben, offer to play baseball after school, but his eyes were red and Mom would watch him uneasily, unsure, until one day he heard Mom telling Dean he could no longer drink in the house. He had never been scary or threatening. Just - so terribly sad.
“Relax. Bobby knows how to hold his booze. He’s had a lot of practice,” Adam chuckled, hopped out of the car and Ben followed him up to the wooden porch of a large but ramshackle property. Adam rapped on the door with the knocker and called,
“It’s me!”
There was a thump from inside, then a long pause. Adam looked unperturbed. A series of sharp thuds started up, then drew closer at regular intervals. Three metallic chinks, sliding noises, then the door opened a little and a part of a grizzled face appeared above a series of chains and bolts. One watery blue eye regarded Adam, then slid across to Ben.
“That’s him,” Adam affirmed.
“Should hope so.” The door closed, then opened properly. In the entrance stood an old man, leaning heavily on a sturdy wooden cane. His face was lined, his beard and scruffy hair mostly grey and white. He was tall, even hunched over, and gave the impression he’d once been a big man, not used to looking up at people. Even now, there was something about him - an impression of slow strength. Adam entered the house immediately, slipping past Bobby and into the hall as though he lived there himself.
“Ben Braedon,” Bobby Singer said.
“Yes sir,” Ben said shakily. Then, to his shock, he pulled into a one-armed embrace by the old man. He froze for a second, then, depleted, accepted the gesture.
“You’ll always be welcome in this house son,” Bobby Singer said. Adam held Ben’s gaze intently over the old man’s shoulder.
Part Four
A/N: I did take a slight liberty with Ben and Adam’s ages. According to SuperWiki, Ben would be 18 and Adam 27 in the Autumn of 2017, but I needed them a little younger for the dynamic I’m aiming for. I also find it quite amusing that the Wiki lists Ben’s ‘Occupation’ as ‘Kid’ XD.