SPN: PC: These puppies of mine
So, Eli wanted his voice heard, and waited patiently this entire time to say his piece. I held off, but then I realized that his story helps to lay the foundation of another piece I'm working on. It'll make a few things more clear. No worries, I'm still working on the Master Rules, but until then, please enjoy, and feel free to leave any comments or questions that you like. ^_^
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These puppies we made, they are beautiful. I thank my stars every time that I see them, that they survived, clung on when others may not have, and dug claws in. They are special, my boys, more blessed than many of their breed.
My girl was tempted in a moment of weakness, did what she knew better than to. Behind her ear is a tiny lock of braided grey fur, the long guard hairs coiled around the silky underfur that she tugged loose from my corpse before she lit it. I thank her for that, as much as she can’t hear me, because without that moment of temptation, I would never have been able to see our cubs, or find them when they step away from the protection of the Den.
The firstborn is much like what she tells me of Dean, the man who has stood in as their father, their uncle, grandfather and godfather as much as Sam. It’s only appropriate that he bears the man’s name as his own, buried under family name and GivenName as it is. Isaac Allyon Dean, known more affectionately as Tank, is a stubborn mule of a Loup, puppy-blue eyes already tenacious and protective. He cares not so much the hows or the whys or the idea of subtlety. That is what his twin is for. He instead is better relied on for brute force, bowling over whatever stands between him and his goal. He looks much as I did as a cub, the typical, non-descript grey fur. My mother was so insulted by Kiara’s fur, the markings so distinct and noticeable. ‘Hardly the type to blend in. Won’t take long at all until she’s hung on someone’s wall’. I wonder what my mother thought of the news, of my mate long out-living myself. He’ll be powerful, I have no doubt. I am most curious how the path the Elders have laid for him shall turn to.
He snuffles quietly in his sleep, alert enough to notice my almost-presence, but it’s familiar enough that he can realize subconsciously it’s not a threat to his brother. Fox is awake, watching me with eyes that seem to see the here and now, as well as past the veil as easily. This cubling, he has a hard path. The Elders were not just in deciding his fate, but with the strength of his brother at his side, and his Pack at his back, I think he may just end up with the last laugh on all of us. I do not recall any of my family having the look he does; Elders know I stood in the Pelt-Shed often enough, running childish hands over the furs of my ancestors, and never do I remember that distinct foxy look; the narrow muzzle, perked and black-tipped ears, reddish fur already more than apparent. His eyes have a shimmer of green under the puppy-blue, and I find myself curious if our Irish brethren have the look my youngest does.
He tilts his head at me, stretching his black nose towards me a touch, and I long to pet him, soothe him back into sleep that he fights so hard. This child is the one that kept Kiara awake at night, twisting and turning as his brother slept at his side. The MotherMoon talks to him like it does rarely to our kind, offering him blessings that have already cost him much. He grumbles quietly, settling back on the pillow beside his mother, and sighs in frustration. He has the same stubborn streak as his mother and brother, just not as immediately obvious. He’ll make a good Beta one day, if a Pack will take him with his defects. If Tank will stay by his side, they’ll make an impressive team, and I think the Pack that would take them would be the strongest yet, nevermind the number count.
Part of my heart aches that Kiara doesn’t see me, doesn’t recognize me, despite the fact that the cubs do. She has much stress, keeping a newly formed Pack aloft and alive, and even more when one considers the Hunts that she takes us on. I have never harbored anger or bitterness at her for how that last Hunt ended…it was a true mistake. I don’t think the others realized just how close she came to tearing apart the Pack then, falling into the darkness as a Rogue rather than sticking with her Loups. I brush a transparent hand through short red hair, quirking a smile as she sighs quietly, turning her face into the cool touch. There is another preparing to court her, a good male, and I only hope that she accepts his gifts, gives him a chance to love her as much as I did, to love the boys as much as I do now. I know she’ll never agree if Sam and Dean do not approve, but she is by far harsher than they.
I leave the fragments of my family, ease my way up the stairs and into the only bedroom not blocked. Sam looks up a split second before the EMF meter in the drawer chirps, hazel eyes scanning the doorway before he relaxes. “Tank’s not feeling quite well today.” I nod, even though I don’t think he can see me. “Kiara made some noise about sticking around again this Christmas; I think she’s afraid of wearing out her welcome or something. I don’t think she realizes just how much Dean adores those kids. I know, she’s got a lot going on at home, but it’s nice to see her and the kids.” He trails off, running his tongue across his teeth, and I ice over his mirror, focusing hard to trace the letters, struggling against distance and death to send my message. I have no doubt it looks like a toddler’s work, but it’s difficult.
He runs a focused gaze over the icy words, grins sadly, and nods once. “You know we will.” The effort leaves me trembling, and I find the world going grey again as I fade out, returning to the nebulous between that’s neither here nor there, and I resign myself to it, trusting in the Winchesters to do what they’ve done since they first met my Kiara.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
These puppies we made, they are beautiful. I thank my stars every time that I see them, that they survived, clung on when others may not have, and dug claws in. They are special, my boys, more blessed than many of their breed.
My girl was tempted in a moment of weakness, did what she knew better than to. Behind her ear is a tiny lock of braided grey fur, the long guard hairs coiled around the silky underfur that she tugged loose from my corpse before she lit it. I thank her for that, as much as she can’t hear me, because without that moment of temptation, I would never have been able to see our cubs, or find them when they step away from the protection of the Den.
The firstborn is much like what she tells me of Dean, the man who has stood in as their father, their uncle, grandfather and godfather as much as Sam. It’s only appropriate that he bears the man’s name as his own, buried under family name and GivenName as it is. Isaac Allyon Dean, known more affectionately as Tank, is a stubborn mule of a Loup, puppy-blue eyes already tenacious and protective. He cares not so much the hows or the whys or the idea of subtlety. That is what his twin is for. He instead is better relied on for brute force, bowling over whatever stands between him and his goal. He looks much as I did as a cub, the typical, non-descript grey fur. My mother was so insulted by Kiara’s fur, the markings so distinct and noticeable. ‘Hardly the type to blend in. Won’t take long at all until she’s hung on someone’s wall’. I wonder what my mother thought of the news, of my mate long out-living myself. He’ll be powerful, I have no doubt. I am most curious how the path the Elders have laid for him shall turn to.
He snuffles quietly in his sleep, alert enough to notice my almost-presence, but it’s familiar enough that he can realize subconsciously it’s not a threat to his brother. Fox is awake, watching me with eyes that seem to see the here and now, as well as past the veil as easily. This cubling, he has a hard path. The Elders were not just in deciding his fate, but with the strength of his brother at his side, and his Pack at his back, I think he may just end up with the last laugh on all of us. I do not recall any of my family having the look he does; Elders know I stood in the Pelt-Shed often enough, running childish hands over the furs of my ancestors, and never do I remember that distinct foxy look; the narrow muzzle, perked and black-tipped ears, reddish fur already more than apparent. His eyes have a shimmer of green under the puppy-blue, and I find myself curious if our Irish brethren have the look my youngest does.
He tilts his head at me, stretching his black nose towards me a touch, and I long to pet him, soothe him back into sleep that he fights so hard. This child is the one that kept Kiara awake at night, twisting and turning as his brother slept at his side. The MotherMoon talks to him like it does rarely to our kind, offering him blessings that have already cost him much. He grumbles quietly, settling back on the pillow beside his mother, and sighs in frustration. He has the same stubborn streak as his mother and brother, just not as immediately obvious. He’ll make a good Beta one day, if a Pack will take him with his defects. If Tank will stay by his side, they’ll make an impressive team, and I think the Pack that would take them would be the strongest yet, nevermind the number count.
Part of my heart aches that Kiara doesn’t see me, doesn’t recognize me, despite the fact that the cubs do. She has much stress, keeping a newly formed Pack aloft and alive, and even more when one considers the Hunts that she takes us on. I have never harbored anger or bitterness at her for how that last Hunt ended…it was a true mistake. I don’t think the others realized just how close she came to tearing apart the Pack then, falling into the darkness as a Rogue rather than sticking with her Loups. I brush a transparent hand through short red hair, quirking a smile as she sighs quietly, turning her face into the cool touch. There is another preparing to court her, a good male, and I only hope that she accepts his gifts, gives him a chance to love her as much as I did, to love the boys as much as I do now. I know she’ll never agree if Sam and Dean do not approve, but she is by far harsher than they.
I leave the fragments of my family, ease my way up the stairs and into the only bedroom not blocked. Sam looks up a split second before the EMF meter in the drawer chirps, hazel eyes scanning the doorway before he relaxes. “Tank’s not feeling quite well today.” I nod, even though I don’t think he can see me. “Kiara made some noise about sticking around again this Christmas; I think she’s afraid of wearing out her welcome or something. I don’t think she realizes just how much Dean adores those kids. I know, she’s got a lot going on at home, but it’s nice to see her and the kids.” He trails off, running his tongue across his teeth, and I ice over his mirror, focusing hard to trace the letters, struggling against distance and death to send my message. I have no doubt it looks like a toddler’s work, but it’s difficult.
He runs a focused gaze over the icy words, grins sadly, and nods once. “You know we will.” The effort leaves me trembling, and I find the world going grey again as I fade out, returning to the nebulous between that’s neither here nor there, and I resign myself to it, trusting in the Winchesters to do what they’ve done since they first met my Kiara.