Updatage and Ficcage, oh my!
Okay, so I completely forgot a had this little Pie verse oneshot tucked away in my files. *hangs head* Sorry guys! Also, I have not forgotten this place or my verse. I want to thank you guys that have commented on the update post and say that I appreciate your interest so much, and I wish I was able to give you more of this verse sooner.
The past couple months have been kind of hard for me. Between work, school, and unending family drama, it's been all I could do to keep my head above water. I had to put Pie on the backburner for a while, but I didn't stop working on it completely. I kept outlining and adding notes, and now that spn_gen_bigbang has announced that signups will start soon I will be using that to finish Dean's sequel.
Also, I have a lot of Undertaker shorts and drabbles that have come out of working on that novel. Is anyone interested in seeing more Fred and Taz shenanigans in their original verse (and even some from Pie that didn't make the cut)? I figured I could start posting drabbles and shorts from there and the other stuff I work on to keep me productive.
Anyway, long story stort, I'm going to start posting more often so you lovely readers have something to see. And now on to the ficcage!
Title: And They Say Mama Bears are Vicious
Rating: PG
Summary: Coyote is a lot of things, but when it comes to what is his merciful is not part of the equation.
Wordcount: 994
Notes: This accompanies The Art of Pulling Pie from Thin Air and won't make much sense without it. You can go here to read it first.
Coyote watches Sam on his journey. He doesn’t interfere for the most part. After all, kids gotta learn how to make it on their own; they gotta fall down and scrape their knees and learn to pick themselves back up again.
It’s the way of things, the way of parenthood, but Coyote will be damned if he lets someone get away with doing that to one of his own.
Big brother wakes from a dead sleep with the pleading cries of little brother ringing sharp in his ears. Coyote watches him throw on clothes and weapons and slide into his car. Big brother finds little brother just fine, and Coyote lopes behind, invisible in the night of dim shining stars and crappy streetlights.
Big brother busts in and interrupts the ritual. Coyote can feel the spell break; he can feel his pup’s fear and pain rocket through him from one end to another. He’s at the door and coming in as big brother fights the other hunters. Little brother crawls away, his mind too warped with pain and fear to do anything other than try and escape.
Big brother is losing the fight; the hunters have age and weight on their side, and a lot of self-righteous bigotry. Big brother is good, but he’s fighting with his heart clouding his head. Coyote slips between and gets a hold of the hunters. Big brother startles as he comes into sight, this too big to be natural Coyote walking on hind legs.
“Take care of your own,” Coyote tells him. Big brother’s eyes glaze over and he stumbles away. Coyote looks down at the hunters. Their fear clogs his nose with stink and he pulls his lips back in a snarl. “You two are mine.”
Coyote lets them go and they don’t move. He watches them a moment, then plunges his hands into their chests. Their eyes go wide as he grips their spirits tight. They pulse and fight in his fists like hot, slippery fish.
Coyote casts a look at the brothers. Big brother is gathering little brother up and taking him outside. He’s going to be fine now. Coyote turns his attention back to the hunters and walks from the abandoned house into the Shadowlands.
Coyote says nothing as he goes into the desert, the two hunters hovering just off the ground, their feet kicking and hands clawing at his arms.
“Please,” one gurgles. “Please, no.”
“Pray to someone likely to show mercy,” Coyote growls. “Because I won’t.”
Coyote stops when he is ready and drops the men to the ground. They collapse on knees like jelly and stare up at him with naked terror and awe, spirits trembling, limbs twitching, their tiny minds mewling. Coyote gathers his essence and reaches out to their foreheads. He touches two fingers there, right between their eyes.
“You went after something of mine,” he says. “That is the last mistake you will ever make. Go, get out of here and live out the rest of your days as twisted on the outside as you are inside.”
When he steps back, the men have shrank, their bodies turned gray and hairless. One lets out a startled yip and trips over its paws. The other backs up, its spindly tail tucked between its legs. They flinch away, their bones barely hanging together bound by mangy skin.
Coyote smirks and leaves them. Whether they live or die here, they will never leave the Shadowlands, he makes sure of that. Their souls are special enough that he will make sure they wander starving and trapped for eternity, whether or not their current bodies expire.
Little brother is in a hospital when Coyote checks back in on him, big brother by his side. He won’t be pried away from little brother ever again, and Coyote smiles. Big brother will put things right, he’ll make sure little brother finds his way and stays there.
Coyote leaves them there, steps out of the room and comes out in a sports bar in Utah. Rabbit looks up from her pool game, a lit pipe hanging from her mouth as she lines up her next shot. She pulls it from her lips and quirks her eyebrows.
“Trouble with the offspring?” she shifts and juts her hip out, every inch the seductive temptress in a short leather skirt, heeled boots, and tight flannel shirt. Despite this, none of the human males make a move towards her. Tempting she might be, but they sense too much power to approach.
“Nah,” Coyote says and picks up a pool cue and rolls his shoulders. “It’s all good now.”
Rabbit puts the pipe back in her mouth, takes a long pull, and lines up her shot again. “Good, you still owe me a rematch, Old Man. Get your ass over here and rack them up.”
The eight ball rolls across the green spread, bouncing off the sides at impossible angles, and sinks into the right corner pocket.
“Your funeral, sweetheart.”
She laughs and blows smoke rings into the air. Coyote racks the balls and ignores the locals that start to clear out, their primal senses urging them to get away from the old power gathering in the bar. He and Rabbit play on into the night, each winning their fair share and coming out even by the time the sun rises over the hills.
Rabbit punches his shoulder in play and tucks the pipe into a pocket. She walks out and goes east, disappearing into the sharp light of the sun. Coyote turned north. He hasn’t been that way in a while; the wooded lands and pine are calling to him.
Inside, he feels little brother’s heart beating softly against his. Fear, uncertainty, and weariness quicken the beat. Until little brother comes full circle Coyote has other work to do. Picking up the pace he changes from two legged to four and lopes past the highway and into the waking desert.
The past couple months have been kind of hard for me. Between work, school, and unending family drama, it's been all I could do to keep my head above water. I had to put Pie on the backburner for a while, but I didn't stop working on it completely. I kept outlining and adding notes, and now that spn_gen_bigbang has announced that signups will start soon I will be using that to finish Dean's sequel.
Also, I have a lot of Undertaker shorts and drabbles that have come out of working on that novel. Is anyone interested in seeing more Fred and Taz shenanigans in their original verse (and even some from Pie that didn't make the cut)? I figured I could start posting drabbles and shorts from there and the other stuff I work on to keep me productive.
Anyway, long story stort, I'm going to start posting more often so you lovely readers have something to see. And now on to the ficcage!
Title: And They Say Mama Bears are Vicious
Rating: PG
Summary: Coyote is a lot of things, but when it comes to what is his merciful is not part of the equation.
Wordcount: 994
Notes: This accompanies The Art of Pulling Pie from Thin Air and won't make much sense without it. You can go here to read it first.
Coyote watches Sam on his journey. He doesn’t interfere for the most part. After all, kids gotta learn how to make it on their own; they gotta fall down and scrape their knees and learn to pick themselves back up again.
It’s the way of things, the way of parenthood, but Coyote will be damned if he lets someone get away with doing that to one of his own.
Big brother wakes from a dead sleep with the pleading cries of little brother ringing sharp in his ears. Coyote watches him throw on clothes and weapons and slide into his car. Big brother finds little brother just fine, and Coyote lopes behind, invisible in the night of dim shining stars and crappy streetlights.
Big brother busts in and interrupts the ritual. Coyote can feel the spell break; he can feel his pup’s fear and pain rocket through him from one end to another. He’s at the door and coming in as big brother fights the other hunters. Little brother crawls away, his mind too warped with pain and fear to do anything other than try and escape.
Big brother is losing the fight; the hunters have age and weight on their side, and a lot of self-righteous bigotry. Big brother is good, but he’s fighting with his heart clouding his head. Coyote slips between and gets a hold of the hunters. Big brother startles as he comes into sight, this too big to be natural Coyote walking on hind legs.
“Take care of your own,” Coyote tells him. Big brother’s eyes glaze over and he stumbles away. Coyote looks down at the hunters. Their fear clogs his nose with stink and he pulls his lips back in a snarl. “You two are mine.”
Coyote lets them go and they don’t move. He watches them a moment, then plunges his hands into their chests. Their eyes go wide as he grips their spirits tight. They pulse and fight in his fists like hot, slippery fish.
Coyote casts a look at the brothers. Big brother is gathering little brother up and taking him outside. He’s going to be fine now. Coyote turns his attention back to the hunters and walks from the abandoned house into the Shadowlands.
Coyote says nothing as he goes into the desert, the two hunters hovering just off the ground, their feet kicking and hands clawing at his arms.
“Please,” one gurgles. “Please, no.”
“Pray to someone likely to show mercy,” Coyote growls. “Because I won’t.”
Coyote stops when he is ready and drops the men to the ground. They collapse on knees like jelly and stare up at him with naked terror and awe, spirits trembling, limbs twitching, their tiny minds mewling. Coyote gathers his essence and reaches out to their foreheads. He touches two fingers there, right between their eyes.
“You went after something of mine,” he says. “That is the last mistake you will ever make. Go, get out of here and live out the rest of your days as twisted on the outside as you are inside.”
When he steps back, the men have shrank, their bodies turned gray and hairless. One lets out a startled yip and trips over its paws. The other backs up, its spindly tail tucked between its legs. They flinch away, their bones barely hanging together bound by mangy skin.
Coyote smirks and leaves them. Whether they live or die here, they will never leave the Shadowlands, he makes sure of that. Their souls are special enough that he will make sure they wander starving and trapped for eternity, whether or not their current bodies expire.
Little brother is in a hospital when Coyote checks back in on him, big brother by his side. He won’t be pried away from little brother ever again, and Coyote smiles. Big brother will put things right, he’ll make sure little brother finds his way and stays there.
Coyote leaves them there, steps out of the room and comes out in a sports bar in Utah. Rabbit looks up from her pool game, a lit pipe hanging from her mouth as she lines up her next shot. She pulls it from her lips and quirks her eyebrows.
“Trouble with the offspring?” she shifts and juts her hip out, every inch the seductive temptress in a short leather skirt, heeled boots, and tight flannel shirt. Despite this, none of the human males make a move towards her. Tempting she might be, but they sense too much power to approach.
“Nah,” Coyote says and picks up a pool cue and rolls his shoulders. “It’s all good now.”
Rabbit puts the pipe back in her mouth, takes a long pull, and lines up her shot again. “Good, you still owe me a rematch, Old Man. Get your ass over here and rack them up.”
The eight ball rolls across the green spread, bouncing off the sides at impossible angles, and sinks into the right corner pocket.
“Your funeral, sweetheart.”
She laughs and blows smoke rings into the air. Coyote racks the balls and ignores the locals that start to clear out, their primal senses urging them to get away from the old power gathering in the bar. He and Rabbit play on into the night, each winning their fair share and coming out even by the time the sun rises over the hills.
Rabbit punches his shoulder in play and tucks the pipe into a pocket. She walks out and goes east, disappearing into the sharp light of the sun. Coyote turned north. He hasn’t been that way in a while; the wooded lands and pine are calling to him.
Inside, he feels little brother’s heart beating softly against his. Fear, uncertainty, and weariness quicken the beat. Until little brother comes full circle Coyote has other work to do. Picking up the pace he changes from two legged to four and lopes past the highway and into the waking desert.