Not Particularly Kind… ~ R ~ unatral_kreatur
Title: Not Particularly Kind
Author: unatral_kreatur
Pairings/Characters: Supernatural
Burton Movie: Sweeney Todd
Rating: R
Category: Dark!Fic
Word Count: 1 751
Chapter: 11
Spoilers: Season Two
Summary: Dean returns to New York, a place of haunting memories. There he meets a strange woman who seems to provide the tools of his revenge.
Warnings: Disturbing Themes, Violence.
Notes: Only got one chapter done. So damned busy. And now I have the FLU! XS
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Kripke and the CW network. I do not own Supernatural and there is no profit being made from this Fanfiction.
~
Chapter Eleven ~ Free Food
“Any day now,” Mrs. Bucket pushed her hair back and sighed impatiently.
Dean knew she was referring to the demon charm she had recently finished. Three days had passed and they hadn’t had so much as a single customer. He rose his eyebrow, amused by her frustration when she snapped at him.
“It’ll work, don’t you doubt me Dean! We just need to be patient,” she growled.
“Practice what you preach,” Dean joked.
She mock growled at him, leant over the counter and smacked the tea towel over his head, “Smartass!”
“You know the drill then?” she asked, busying herself with the cooking of food not likely to be eaten.
“Yup, everything is set up. Devil’s Traps, Holy Water next to the shaving cream, and if you did... whatever it is you do to the razors right, then we’re all set.”
“Of course I did it right!”
They sat in silence, Dean analysed her face when she wasn’t looking. He found himself strangely attracted to her. It was a kind of attraction he hadn’t felt in a very long time, the strangest thing being how difficult he found recognizing the feeling. It was at the same time frustrating as well as calming. And yet, he did not flirt with her as much as any other woman, if at all.
He rose his eyebrow again as she leant over the open oven.
“Dean Winchester,” she said, turning toward him. She smirked at him as she crossed her arms.
“What?” Dean tried asked innocently but was incapable of hiding a smirk.
She just shook her head for a moment and rolled her eyes. Then without warning let out a laugh. Her face lit up she gestured toward the window.
“A customer!” she chimed.
Dean looked out to see a middle aged man standing in the court yard. With a cigar in his mouth he looked up the staircase and it was in that moment a young boy came into their view. Unlike the man, who had dark brown hair and olive skin, the young boy had a curly crop of red hair and pale skin littered with freckles. They only saw him because they witnessed the older man hit the child over the head and growl something at him, whatever it was the child hurried inside, eyes to the floor.
As the man waited outside, the boy, who would have been no older than twelve, rushed up to the counter where Mrs. Bucket stood.
“Excuse me Miss, is Mr. Barker in? Mr. Collins was wondering if he could make an appointment,” his eyes flashed toward the door for a moment, “and he apologizes for not making one in advance.”
Mrs. Bucket smiled at him, suspecting the boy was mistreated, “Of course, he’s right behind you.”
The boy looked back at Dean who smiled and nodded at him.
“I’ll get right on it,” he patted the boy on the head, “I’ll tell him you’re right to stay in here, Mrs. Bucket doesn’t bite.”
The boy beamed as both he and Mrs. Bucket watched Dean go greet Mr. Collins and gesture him upstairs. Mrs. Bucket smiled as well, though for an entirely different reason.
She smiled kindly at the boy, “Well it’s a special occasion,” she told the child, “because Mr. Collins is Mr. Barker’s first customer!”
The child’s face glowed orange as he smiled, but the brightness of his smile was dimmed by the obvious fact that he had not eaten for quite some time, or had been neglected enough food for even longer.
“This deserves a celebration! How about a free pastie?”
The boy grinned ear to ear, “Really? Yes, yes please!”
Mrs. Bucket was taking quite a liking to the boy, “What’s your name, dear?”
“Kurt,” he replied as he eagerly watched her retrieve a pastie from the oven.
“Well Kurt,” she knew his name already though, just as she could tell that the man he came with was not a relation, just as she knew that the man was abusive and that there was a bruise just below the Kurt’s collar, “I hope you have a strong stomach!”
But the boy obviously didn’t care much about what the pastie tasted like, considering as she placed it on the table he grabbed it with his hands and attacked it like a savage dog. Mrs. Bucket rose an eyebrow, though she didn’t mind, she could help but be a little surprised.
Kurt, realising his lack of manners, placed the pastie back on the plate and took the knife and fork beside the plate, blushing violently as he unwrapped the napkin that held the cutlery together.
“Don’t worry yourself boy, good to see you’re enjoying yourself!” she winked at him.
Her and the boy talked for a few minutes and she found herself adoring Kurt. He was just a innocent young boy, orphaned and taken up by an abusive guardian. Worst of all, this boy’s guardian wasn’t entirely human. As Kurt told her little things like he didn’t eat much Mrs. Bucket could hear that he would be forced to fast for days before being force fed more than he could stand. She felt her insides sink as Kurt told her that “Mr. Collins” had a short temper but she knew he would beat the boy. And Worse.
In the short time they had been talking, he had eaten two pasties. As she thought to give him another she felt a wave of rage that was not her own wash over her. Thinking on her feet, she offered the child chocolate, an offer that had him delighted.
She led him away from the kitchen and into the lounge room, closing the door as she went.
~
“After you,” Dean motioned Mr. Collins inside.
Mr. Collins let his eyes wander, scanning the room as he entered. Dean closed the door behind him, flicking the lock as the door closed, masking the very fact.
“Just a shave today?” Dean asked.
“Funny,” said Mr. Collins, “that I should see you in such a large city not much longer than a week ago, and that I should see you again after reading your ad taped to a telephone pole.”
Dean shrugged, “Chance is funny like that.”
“I prefer to call it luck,” he grinned as he took off his jacket.
“Have a seat,” Dean moved over to the table behind the chair he had gestured to.
“Luck,” Mr. Collins continued, “That after so many years, I should see you, you of all people, again.”
Dean froze, his finger twitching towards the razor blade tucked within the inside pocket of his open coat.
He turned cautiously, “Who are you?”
“Really? You don’t remember me?” Mr. Collins moved around the chair so it was between him and Dean.
“Don’t touch that holy water” his finger swayed and the bottle fell from the side of the table, shattering as it hit the ground.
Dean snarled, “So, what? Did I exorcise you? Were we Hell Buddies? What?”
“Better,” Mr. Collins smirked, “It was years and years ago, back when you sold your soul for Sam.”
Dean stepped forward, fists and jaw clenched. He of course moved no further.
“That was me,” the so called Mr. Collins laughed, “I gave you one year before Lilith tore you a new, or rather a few new holes. Boy wasn’t that year a blast! Unfortunately, when Lilith took your contract from me, she must have been feeling a little pissed ‘cause the bitch sent me under.”
He looked around the room, strolling over to the window, “You wouldn’t remember but when you and Alistar were getting all friendly, I was one of your ‘projects.’ Lilith forced me back several times before the angels brought you back, but boy, you’ve hell to pay!”
Dean grinned, “So you got what was coming to you.”
The demon grinned back, “As will you Dean, as will you.”
“How are you here anyway, I didn’t summon you, I don’t intend to make a deal so why the hell are you here?”
The demon’s grin broadened as his eye’s flashed into red, “Oh I’ve moved up, and with the Gathering and all, I’m here to stay!”
“Gathering? What is that anyway? You guys having a party or something?” Dean watched intently as the Demon moved over to the wall the chair faced, built into which was a large laundry chute.
“Never you mind Dean,” it opened the chute and closed it again, “You won’t live long enough for it to matter to you. You’re lucky to have lived this long!”
Dean’s brow rose before it hit him, “Wait, the imps! That was you, wasn’t it?”
It grinned once more, “Bingo!”
“Well Dean, this has been fun but-“ it moved, as if to step forward, but stopped before it had the chance. The demon’s face was confused for only a moment before it rolled it’s eye’s and sighed, “Perfect!”
It moved the rug it was standing on to see the Devil’s Trap, “How original! Well bring on the exorcism big boy! I’ve got a one-way ticket back up here. I’ll be back and when I am, I’ll bring a few friends. I wanted to surprise the Gathering by bringing your head on a stick but screw it!”
Dean smiled a cold, cruel smile for a moment, but then the demon started again, “This is the room isn’t it? Oh I heard what happened to dear Sammy!”
Dean’s face was cold but the smile was no longer there.
“The time he would have had! That demon had quite the sexual appetite, knife-play was his favourite,” Dean turned away, his lungs heaving the air in and out of his lungs, “Nasty how he would have gone out, screaming for sure. Torn, bleeding and well fucked I’m sur-“
The razor moved as swift as Dean’s roar was abrupt, the silver wing glided through the air before meeting the tendon of the demons neck. It snapped audibly as Dean opened it’s throat and a crimson fountain bellowed out in gurgles.
Dean’s lip rose in a snarl as he looked into the demon’s eyes. In those ruby eye’s he saw the realisation that there was no coming back from Hell as there was no going to Hell.
Just the mortal feeling of pain as a human heart pumped out rivers of blood.
The pain of falling to the ground, having the blood pour back down throat and into the lungs.
Pain of dying. For the last time.
~
Author: unatral_kreatur
Pairings/Characters: Supernatural
Burton Movie: Sweeney Todd
Rating: R
Category: Dark!Fic
Word Count: 1 751
Chapter: 11
Spoilers: Season Two
Summary: Dean returns to New York, a place of haunting memories. There he meets a strange woman who seems to provide the tools of his revenge.
Warnings: Disturbing Themes, Violence.
Notes: Only got one chapter done. So damned busy. And now I have the FLU! XS
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Kripke and the CW network. I do not own Supernatural and there is no profit being made from this Fanfiction.
~
Chapter Eleven ~ Free Food
“Any day now,” Mrs. Bucket pushed her hair back and sighed impatiently.
Dean knew she was referring to the demon charm she had recently finished. Three days had passed and they hadn’t had so much as a single customer. He rose his eyebrow, amused by her frustration when she snapped at him.
“It’ll work, don’t you doubt me Dean! We just need to be patient,” she growled.
“Practice what you preach,” Dean joked.
She mock growled at him, leant over the counter and smacked the tea towel over his head, “Smartass!”
“You know the drill then?” she asked, busying herself with the cooking of food not likely to be eaten.
“Yup, everything is set up. Devil’s Traps, Holy Water next to the shaving cream, and if you did... whatever it is you do to the razors right, then we’re all set.”
“Of course I did it right!”
They sat in silence, Dean analysed her face when she wasn’t looking. He found himself strangely attracted to her. It was a kind of attraction he hadn’t felt in a very long time, the strangest thing being how difficult he found recognizing the feeling. It was at the same time frustrating as well as calming. And yet, he did not flirt with her as much as any other woman, if at all.
He rose his eyebrow again as she leant over the open oven.
“Dean Winchester,” she said, turning toward him. She smirked at him as she crossed her arms.
“What?” Dean tried asked innocently but was incapable of hiding a smirk.
She just shook her head for a moment and rolled her eyes. Then without warning let out a laugh. Her face lit up she gestured toward the window.
“A customer!” she chimed.
Dean looked out to see a middle aged man standing in the court yard. With a cigar in his mouth he looked up the staircase and it was in that moment a young boy came into their view. Unlike the man, who had dark brown hair and olive skin, the young boy had a curly crop of red hair and pale skin littered with freckles. They only saw him because they witnessed the older man hit the child over the head and growl something at him, whatever it was the child hurried inside, eyes to the floor.
As the man waited outside, the boy, who would have been no older than twelve, rushed up to the counter where Mrs. Bucket stood.
“Excuse me Miss, is Mr. Barker in? Mr. Collins was wondering if he could make an appointment,” his eyes flashed toward the door for a moment, “and he apologizes for not making one in advance.”
Mrs. Bucket smiled at him, suspecting the boy was mistreated, “Of course, he’s right behind you.”
The boy looked back at Dean who smiled and nodded at him.
“I’ll get right on it,” he patted the boy on the head, “I’ll tell him you’re right to stay in here, Mrs. Bucket doesn’t bite.”
The boy beamed as both he and Mrs. Bucket watched Dean go greet Mr. Collins and gesture him upstairs. Mrs. Bucket smiled as well, though for an entirely different reason.
She smiled kindly at the boy, “Well it’s a special occasion,” she told the child, “because Mr. Collins is Mr. Barker’s first customer!”
The child’s face glowed orange as he smiled, but the brightness of his smile was dimmed by the obvious fact that he had not eaten for quite some time, or had been neglected enough food for even longer.
“This deserves a celebration! How about a free pastie?”
The boy grinned ear to ear, “Really? Yes, yes please!”
Mrs. Bucket was taking quite a liking to the boy, “What’s your name, dear?”
“Kurt,” he replied as he eagerly watched her retrieve a pastie from the oven.
“Well Kurt,” she knew his name already though, just as she could tell that the man he came with was not a relation, just as she knew that the man was abusive and that there was a bruise just below the Kurt’s collar, “I hope you have a strong stomach!”
But the boy obviously didn’t care much about what the pastie tasted like, considering as she placed it on the table he grabbed it with his hands and attacked it like a savage dog. Mrs. Bucket rose an eyebrow, though she didn’t mind, she could help but be a little surprised.
Kurt, realising his lack of manners, placed the pastie back on the plate and took the knife and fork beside the plate, blushing violently as he unwrapped the napkin that held the cutlery together.
“Don’t worry yourself boy, good to see you’re enjoying yourself!” she winked at him.
Her and the boy talked for a few minutes and she found herself adoring Kurt. He was just a innocent young boy, orphaned and taken up by an abusive guardian. Worst of all, this boy’s guardian wasn’t entirely human. As Kurt told her little things like he didn’t eat much Mrs. Bucket could hear that he would be forced to fast for days before being force fed more than he could stand. She felt her insides sink as Kurt told her that “Mr. Collins” had a short temper but she knew he would beat the boy. And Worse.
In the short time they had been talking, he had eaten two pasties. As she thought to give him another she felt a wave of rage that was not her own wash over her. Thinking on her feet, she offered the child chocolate, an offer that had him delighted.
She led him away from the kitchen and into the lounge room, closing the door as she went.
~
“After you,” Dean motioned Mr. Collins inside.
Mr. Collins let his eyes wander, scanning the room as he entered. Dean closed the door behind him, flicking the lock as the door closed, masking the very fact.
“Just a shave today?” Dean asked.
“Funny,” said Mr. Collins, “that I should see you in such a large city not much longer than a week ago, and that I should see you again after reading your ad taped to a telephone pole.”
Dean shrugged, “Chance is funny like that.”
“I prefer to call it luck,” he grinned as he took off his jacket.
“Have a seat,” Dean moved over to the table behind the chair he had gestured to.
“Luck,” Mr. Collins continued, “That after so many years, I should see you, you of all people, again.”
Dean froze, his finger twitching towards the razor blade tucked within the inside pocket of his open coat.
He turned cautiously, “Who are you?”
“Really? You don’t remember me?” Mr. Collins moved around the chair so it was between him and Dean.
“Don’t touch that holy water” his finger swayed and the bottle fell from the side of the table, shattering as it hit the ground.
Dean snarled, “So, what? Did I exorcise you? Were we Hell Buddies? What?”
“Better,” Mr. Collins smirked, “It was years and years ago, back when you sold your soul for Sam.”
Dean stepped forward, fists and jaw clenched. He of course moved no further.
“That was me,” the so called Mr. Collins laughed, “I gave you one year before Lilith tore you a new, or rather a few new holes. Boy wasn’t that year a blast! Unfortunately, when Lilith took your contract from me, she must have been feeling a little pissed ‘cause the bitch sent me under.”
He looked around the room, strolling over to the window, “You wouldn’t remember but when you and Alistar were getting all friendly, I was one of your ‘projects.’ Lilith forced me back several times before the angels brought you back, but boy, you’ve hell to pay!”
Dean grinned, “So you got what was coming to you.”
The demon grinned back, “As will you Dean, as will you.”
“How are you here anyway, I didn’t summon you, I don’t intend to make a deal so why the hell are you here?”
The demon’s grin broadened as his eye’s flashed into red, “Oh I’ve moved up, and with the Gathering and all, I’m here to stay!”
“Gathering? What is that anyway? You guys having a party or something?” Dean watched intently as the Demon moved over to the wall the chair faced, built into which was a large laundry chute.
“Never you mind Dean,” it opened the chute and closed it again, “You won’t live long enough for it to matter to you. You’re lucky to have lived this long!”
Dean’s brow rose before it hit him, “Wait, the imps! That was you, wasn’t it?”
It grinned once more, “Bingo!”
“Well Dean, this has been fun but-“ it moved, as if to step forward, but stopped before it had the chance. The demon’s face was confused for only a moment before it rolled it’s eye’s and sighed, “Perfect!”
It moved the rug it was standing on to see the Devil’s Trap, “How original! Well bring on the exorcism big boy! I’ve got a one-way ticket back up here. I’ll be back and when I am, I’ll bring a few friends. I wanted to surprise the Gathering by bringing your head on a stick but screw it!”
Dean smiled a cold, cruel smile for a moment, but then the demon started again, “This is the room isn’t it? Oh I heard what happened to dear Sammy!”
Dean’s face was cold but the smile was no longer there.
“The time he would have had! That demon had quite the sexual appetite, knife-play was his favourite,” Dean turned away, his lungs heaving the air in and out of his lungs, “Nasty how he would have gone out, screaming for sure. Torn, bleeding and well fucked I’m sur-“
The razor moved as swift as Dean’s roar was abrupt, the silver wing glided through the air before meeting the tendon of the demons neck. It snapped audibly as Dean opened it’s throat and a crimson fountain bellowed out in gurgles.
Dean’s lip rose in a snarl as he looked into the demon’s eyes. In those ruby eye’s he saw the realisation that there was no coming back from Hell as there was no going to Hell.
Just the mortal feeling of pain as a human heart pumped out rivers of blood.
The pain of falling to the ground, having the blood pour back down throat and into the lungs.
Pain of dying. For the last time.
~