SPN ficlet: Old Realm in a New World - Gen (PG-13)
Title: Old Realm in a New World
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mildly disturbing imagery, death of a child
Spoilers: general through S4
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: Sam and Dean reclaim territory.
A/N: I actually wrote gen! *shocked* For spnflashfic's Destination Anywhere challenge. Many thanks to sgflutegirl for confirming that this makes sense, LOL. Originally posted here.
ETA: This is also available as podfic here by speccygeekgrrl who awesomely recorded it for the fandom free-for-all. There's also an audiobook available here thanks to cybel.
It takes nearly a week to get there, when once the drive would’ve been mere hours. The highways here are worse than most places - the pavement overgrown and cracked almost beyond use - and Dean curses through every bump and bang. The abandoned cars don’t help either; they block the way more often than not and even though it makes for slower going, Sam insists on stopping for each one.
“Almost glad we had to leave the car. She doesn’t have to suffer through these crappy roads,” Dean says at one stop as he checks the body for damage. “Not that this piece of shit is holding up at all.”
“We’ll trade it for another later if it’s so bad. Hand me some matches, will you?” Dean digs through his jacket pocket for a moment then obeys, passing the cardboard sleeve over to Sam. “Anyway,” Sam continues as he strikes a match, “we should probably pick something good for off-roading next.”
When Sam drops the lit match, the derelict car and the bodies inside all burn easily, a warm crackle spreading over cloth and plastic and skin. He says, “I think the road’s clear for another coupla miles.”
“Thank fuck. This is taking forever.”
Sam shrugs. “At least it didn’t hit at rush hour.”
"Yeah, the Apocalypse had great timing." Dean shakes his head and turns back to their stolen Toyota. "C'mon, let's get going. I wanna get a little further before dark."
The car rattles and sputters as Dean pulls up as close as he can get to the entrance. The engine cuts off and they sit in the silence.
"Dude, this is gonna be nasty," Dean points out after a minute. "Can't we just burn the whole place?"
"You really think you could take out a blaze that big if it got outta control?"
"I'm just that awesome."
Sam rolls his eyes. "You know, you could get everything from the trunk, if you're not too busy boosting your own ego."
"Yeah, I get it: work now; recognition of my greatness later."
They get out of the car in unison, shutting the doors behind them as they look up at what's left. It's as bad as the highway, maybe worse; fissures web the main gates' brick and one side has begun to collapse, a slow fall thanks to time and weather. Broken glass from the dormers has scattered across the walkway. The landscaping in front, once carefully manicured, is now dead and dry from neglect.
Dean looks at the garden, tilting his head as he takes in the shriveled mess. "Hey, I think I can still see Mickey," he says as he points towards the plot's center circle where the colorful mascot had been pictured in flowers.
A familiar high-pitched whine fills the air, and Sam pulls the EMF meter from his jacket. "It's going wild."
"Like that's a big surprise. There's gotta be hundreds in there, at least. Who knows how many are sticking around."
"Hopefully they're not too violent yet."
"We're gonna find out soon enough," Dean says. He unlocks the trunk and reaches for their shotguns.
Inside is as bad as Dean would've expected. The coast is clear of spirits, for now, but the bodies are everywhere. Corpses lie where they died: paying at gift shop registers, resting on benches, waiting in line to ride the teacups. There are spoiled lunches, never eaten, still on restaurant tables. The store windows are still full of stuffed cartoon characters, souvenir mugs, or melted chocolates. Everything as it was in that one moment, changed only by decomposition.
The stench is choking, a mix of rot and desolation that fills up their lungs, and it takes all Dean's willpower not to gag. He's been used to the smell of decay for most of his life, but never on this scale. Even since that day, they've never worked on this scale.
Dean turns to Sam, ready to urge him on, but Sam stands stiffly, his line of sight straight on a nearby corpse. It's a girl, maybe nine or ten, her frilly pink dress stained, worn, and faded. What's left of her slumps over the side of an empty stroller, her face obscured by her long and brittle dark hair. And she is just one of many.
"Sam -"
Sam's tone is hard, like the line of his mouth and the clench of his fist against his side. "You don't need to keep telling me this all isn't my fault."
"Well, it's not."
He doesn't expect Sam to respond, but Sam does, quietly, "I know."
"We don't have to do this right now," Dean offers. "Survivors won't be wanting to get anywhere near this area for a long time. We could head somewhere else."
"You said it, Dean: this is the last place anyone's gonna want to come to look for us. It's safer."
"Sam, there's gonna be more like her, so if you -"
"It was hard enough getting here now. Who knows what it'll look like after another hurricane season? We get this done now."
Good reasons, all of them, and Dean is desperate to take them. He hesitates, but says, "If you're sure."
"Yeah," Sam says as he pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. "Let's get started."
Dean raises his shotgun to cover his brother while Sam picks up the little girl's body to begin the first pile.
Days later, they stand under the shadow of Cinderella's castle, an empty, sad thing when there are no children there to look at it with awe. At their feet, the last fire fades out slowly, leaving just ash and blacked bone.
"EMF's clear. The place is clean." Sam tucks the silent meter back in his pocket.
"Good. This one royally sucked," Dean replies. He pauses, and then continues, "Hey, how about we head back towards the Midwest for awhile? No snow yet, so it'd still be decent."
"No...not yet; we're not done here. There's still MGM."
Pairing: None
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mildly disturbing imagery, death of a child
Spoilers: general through S4
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: Sam and Dean reclaim territory.
A/N: I actually wrote gen! *shocked* For spnflashfic's Destination Anywhere challenge. Many thanks to sgflutegirl for confirming that this makes sense, LOL. Originally posted here.
ETA: This is also available as podfic here by speccygeekgrrl who awesomely recorded it for the fandom free-for-all. There's also an audiobook available here thanks to cybel.
It takes nearly a week to get there, when once the drive would’ve been mere hours. The highways here are worse than most places - the pavement overgrown and cracked almost beyond use - and Dean curses through every bump and bang. The abandoned cars don’t help either; they block the way more often than not and even though it makes for slower going, Sam insists on stopping for each one.
“Almost glad we had to leave the car. She doesn’t have to suffer through these crappy roads,” Dean says at one stop as he checks the body for damage. “Not that this piece of shit is holding up at all.”
“We’ll trade it for another later if it’s so bad. Hand me some matches, will you?” Dean digs through his jacket pocket for a moment then obeys, passing the cardboard sleeve over to Sam. “Anyway,” Sam continues as he strikes a match, “we should probably pick something good for off-roading next.”
When Sam drops the lit match, the derelict car and the bodies inside all burn easily, a warm crackle spreading over cloth and plastic and skin. He says, “I think the road’s clear for another coupla miles.”
“Thank fuck. This is taking forever.”
Sam shrugs. “At least it didn’t hit at rush hour.”
"Yeah, the Apocalypse had great timing." Dean shakes his head and turns back to their stolen Toyota. "C'mon, let's get going. I wanna get a little further before dark."
The car rattles and sputters as Dean pulls up as close as he can get to the entrance. The engine cuts off and they sit in the silence.
"Dude, this is gonna be nasty," Dean points out after a minute. "Can't we just burn the whole place?"
"You really think you could take out a blaze that big if it got outta control?"
"I'm just that awesome."
Sam rolls his eyes. "You know, you could get everything from the trunk, if you're not too busy boosting your own ego."
"Yeah, I get it: work now; recognition of my greatness later."
They get out of the car in unison, shutting the doors behind them as they look up at what's left. It's as bad as the highway, maybe worse; fissures web the main gates' brick and one side has begun to collapse, a slow fall thanks to time and weather. Broken glass from the dormers has scattered across the walkway. The landscaping in front, once carefully manicured, is now dead and dry from neglect.
Dean looks at the garden, tilting his head as he takes in the shriveled mess. "Hey, I think I can still see Mickey," he says as he points towards the plot's center circle where the colorful mascot had been pictured in flowers.
A familiar high-pitched whine fills the air, and Sam pulls the EMF meter from his jacket. "It's going wild."
"Like that's a big surprise. There's gotta be hundreds in there, at least. Who knows how many are sticking around."
"Hopefully they're not too violent yet."
"We're gonna find out soon enough," Dean says. He unlocks the trunk and reaches for their shotguns.
Inside is as bad as Dean would've expected. The coast is clear of spirits, for now, but the bodies are everywhere. Corpses lie where they died: paying at gift shop registers, resting on benches, waiting in line to ride the teacups. There are spoiled lunches, never eaten, still on restaurant tables. The store windows are still full of stuffed cartoon characters, souvenir mugs, or melted chocolates. Everything as it was in that one moment, changed only by decomposition.
The stench is choking, a mix of rot and desolation that fills up their lungs, and it takes all Dean's willpower not to gag. He's been used to the smell of decay for most of his life, but never on this scale. Even since that day, they've never worked on this scale.
Dean turns to Sam, ready to urge him on, but Sam stands stiffly, his line of sight straight on a nearby corpse. It's a girl, maybe nine or ten, her frilly pink dress stained, worn, and faded. What's left of her slumps over the side of an empty stroller, her face obscured by her long and brittle dark hair. And she is just one of many.
"Sam -"
Sam's tone is hard, like the line of his mouth and the clench of his fist against his side. "You don't need to keep telling me this all isn't my fault."
"Well, it's not."
He doesn't expect Sam to respond, but Sam does, quietly, "I know."
"We don't have to do this right now," Dean offers. "Survivors won't be wanting to get anywhere near this area for a long time. We could head somewhere else."
"You said it, Dean: this is the last place anyone's gonna want to come to look for us. It's safer."
"Sam, there's gonna be more like her, so if you -"
"It was hard enough getting here now. Who knows what it'll look like after another hurricane season? We get this done now."
Good reasons, all of them, and Dean is desperate to take them. He hesitates, but says, "If you're sure."
"Yeah," Sam says as he pulls on a pair of rubber gloves. "Let's get started."
Dean raises his shotgun to cover his brother while Sam picks up the little girl's body to begin the first pile.
Days later, they stand under the shadow of Cinderella's castle, an empty, sad thing when there are no children there to look at it with awe. At their feet, the last fire fades out slowly, leaving just ash and blacked bone.
"EMF's clear. The place is clean." Sam tucks the silent meter back in his pocket.
"Good. This one royally sucked," Dean replies. He pauses, and then continues, "Hey, how about we head back towards the Midwest for awhile? No snow yet, so it'd still be decent."
"No...not yet; we're not done here. There's still MGM."