The Apostate, 4/?
Title: The Apostate, 4/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ruby, Lilith, Sam, Dean, John
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: 'If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them' - Marcus Aurelius, 121-180 AD.
Warnings: Christian blasphemy (though not more than Show), Milton abuse.
A/N: I learned the legend of Tailypo from the sweet and funny fic ‘Unspoken’ by Gekizetsu/eighth-horizon.
For an indeterminate time, Lilith gripped her. On occasion, Ruby reminded Lilith of the ‘project’. But Lilith would just say, “Later, love. There is time”, and pretend to stroke her hair. The creeping impression of her fingers made Ruby almost glad they were both non-corporeal. Meanwhile, Azazel flaunted his success with the Special Children, describing the favors that Lucifer would bestow on him:
“He is not a despot who plays favorites,” Ruby restrained herself from telling him. “He is a leader. He rebelled against an arbitrary tyrant.”
But she bided her time.
Lilith let her go again quite suddenly:
“Go and see that other one,” she seemed nervous.
“Have you glimpsed the future, Mistress?” Ruby asked.
“I am not sure,” Lilith petted her face, edgily. “Go and see him for me. You were right, my darling: he is strange.”
And so Ruby endured the Passage again, and where she broke the veil, the year was 1996, as they counted it.
* * *
If it weren’t for Ava, Ruby would think that the thing which connected the Special Children was misery. She located the emanations of the Child in question - Sam Winchester was in Maine, his father intent on a colony of tailypo dwelling deep in the forest. Ruby zoomed in past the white clouds, past the grey, past the sleeting snow and the building tops to the city suburb: Sam sat cross-legged in the living space of a rundown apartment building, his back to a failing space heater as he hunched over a textbook. Ruby entered through the crack between the window and the window-frame, reluctantly summoning strength through her tie to Lilith in order to cross the salt line. She hovered, and the boy looked up, startled. He glanced around uneasily, eyes going to the window, then the door, checking the salt - he got up and tested the door handle, calling,
“Dean? Dad?”
When there was no answer, he shook his head, muttered ‘stupid’, and returned to his textbook. Ruby cast out curiously, searching for the boy’s family, but there was nothing for her to identify them by, no hook or catch. Resigning herself to wait, she recalled Him sitting like a cormorant in the Tree of Life, watching and waiting. She smiled to herself like that secretive bird, and silently thanked His prophet for the inspiration.
When the sky darkened, and the boy’s breath came in white puffs as the heater failed against the increasing cold, there was a sharp rap and the door, as though with the butt of an instrument. The boy sprang up and breathed out, sharply:
“Password?”
“Ten Years Gone.”
The responding voice was deeper, but less than adult. Sam unbolted the three door bolts and stood aside to let a man and an older boy enter. Ruby assumed this must be the unfortunate family. Neither bore much resemblance to Sam, though they did rather strongly to each other: the same big expressive eyes, solid build and facial structures. The younger boy was narrower-framed, angular features of an almost Slavic cast. The man and the elder boy were both covered with a wet mist of half-melted snow, red-cheeked and dressed for the outdoors, in heavy boots and flannels. Each held a gun with experience.
“What’s up, Sammy?” The elder boy was keyed up, happy, messing his brother’s hair and slapping him on the shoulder before heading to the refrigerator. He retrieved two cans and passed one to his father with a slightly questioning glance: the man nodded and sat down, taking one can and opening it.
“You got them?” Sam asked anxiously.
“Most all,” his father confirmed.
It was strange to hear humans speak so complacently of the things most preferred not to think about.
“We’re heading back out tomorrow night,” the older boy went out: “Make sure none of the furry bastards got away. Hey Dad, can Sammy have a beer?”
“No. He can come scout with us tomorrow night, though.”
“I have a history test.”
“No you don’t. We’re out of here as soon as we clean this job up. Goddamn Maine winters.” The man extracted himself from his wet jacket.
“Oh my God,” Sam groaned quietly.
“Don’t start that,” said the man.
“Dad, I don’t want to go shoot at animals.” Ruby felt her skepticism build - perhaps she’d been wrong on this count. A child afraid of a little bloodsport hardly seemed a likely candidate.
“They’re not puppy dogs, Samuel,” snapped the man. “They kill people. Three travelers ripped up inside a week. You want more of that?”
“Hey,” the older boy looked meaningfully at the younger, something Ruby couldn’t read: “It’ll be fun. Like camping. There probably aren’t any left out there.”
“And if there are, you need the target practice. You’re coming.” The man pinned his youngest son with an intent gaze.
The boy glared at the floor, miserable. Ruby pondered. He was sullen and petulant, but not weak. There was a spark here that could be nurtured. Suddenly Sam looked up again, almost in Ruby’s direction. Hurriedly she retreated into herself. Two pairs of eyes followed the young boy’s direction.
“What?” the father asked quickly.
“I just….nothing. A weird feeling.”
“Dean, check the salt lines, and lay some iron down. What kind of feeling, Sam?” The older boy immediately left the table.
“I don’t know.”
“Well what good does that do?!”
“I don’t know! Maybe I’m just being a freak again!”
“Okay, okay,” the man took a breath. “Go to bed, Sam. We’ll double up all the sigils and keep one on watch tonight. It’s probably nothing.”
As the layers of protection around the apartment strengthened, Ruby felt herself stretched thin. Her essence stuttered, just slightly. She retreated hastily, beyond the window, and settled herself - like the cormorant - in a tree just behind the apartment. She did not feel cold, being incorporeal, but the residues of the charms they had used still grated upon her. She watched the light and shadows inside the apartment window, the shapes of the two boys as they prepared for bed. The outline of the man in the kitchen window, upright, watching. Ruby could play that game. She withdrew herself into herself and brooded, waiting for morning.
Part Five.
A/N: The description of Satan referenced comes from Paradise Lost IV, 194-98.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ruby, Lilith, Sam, Dean, John
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: 'If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them' - Marcus Aurelius, 121-180 AD.
Warnings: Christian blasphemy (though not more than Show), Milton abuse.
A/N: I learned the legend of Tailypo from the sweet and funny fic ‘Unspoken’ by Gekizetsu/eighth-horizon.
For an indeterminate time, Lilith gripped her. On occasion, Ruby reminded Lilith of the ‘project’. But Lilith would just say, “Later, love. There is time”, and pretend to stroke her hair. The creeping impression of her fingers made Ruby almost glad they were both non-corporeal. Meanwhile, Azazel flaunted his success with the Special Children, describing the favors that Lucifer would bestow on him:
“He is not a despot who plays favorites,” Ruby restrained herself from telling him. “He is a leader. He rebelled against an arbitrary tyrant.”
But she bided her time.
Lilith let her go again quite suddenly:
“Go and see that other one,” she seemed nervous.
“Have you glimpsed the future, Mistress?” Ruby asked.
“I am not sure,” Lilith petted her face, edgily. “Go and see him for me. You were right, my darling: he is strange.”
And so Ruby endured the Passage again, and where she broke the veil, the year was 1996, as they counted it.
* * *
If it weren’t for Ava, Ruby would think that the thing which connected the Special Children was misery. She located the emanations of the Child in question - Sam Winchester was in Maine, his father intent on a colony of tailypo dwelling deep in the forest. Ruby zoomed in past the white clouds, past the grey, past the sleeting snow and the building tops to the city suburb: Sam sat cross-legged in the living space of a rundown apartment building, his back to a failing space heater as he hunched over a textbook. Ruby entered through the crack between the window and the window-frame, reluctantly summoning strength through her tie to Lilith in order to cross the salt line. She hovered, and the boy looked up, startled. He glanced around uneasily, eyes going to the window, then the door, checking the salt - he got up and tested the door handle, calling,
“Dean? Dad?”
When there was no answer, he shook his head, muttered ‘stupid’, and returned to his textbook. Ruby cast out curiously, searching for the boy’s family, but there was nothing for her to identify them by, no hook or catch. Resigning herself to wait, she recalled Him sitting like a cormorant in the Tree of Life, watching and waiting. She smiled to herself like that secretive bird, and silently thanked His prophet for the inspiration.
When the sky darkened, and the boy’s breath came in white puffs as the heater failed against the increasing cold, there was a sharp rap and the door, as though with the butt of an instrument. The boy sprang up and breathed out, sharply:
“Password?”
“Ten Years Gone.”
The responding voice was deeper, but less than adult. Sam unbolted the three door bolts and stood aside to let a man and an older boy enter. Ruby assumed this must be the unfortunate family. Neither bore much resemblance to Sam, though they did rather strongly to each other: the same big expressive eyes, solid build and facial structures. The younger boy was narrower-framed, angular features of an almost Slavic cast. The man and the elder boy were both covered with a wet mist of half-melted snow, red-cheeked and dressed for the outdoors, in heavy boots and flannels. Each held a gun with experience.
“What’s up, Sammy?” The elder boy was keyed up, happy, messing his brother’s hair and slapping him on the shoulder before heading to the refrigerator. He retrieved two cans and passed one to his father with a slightly questioning glance: the man nodded and sat down, taking one can and opening it.
“You got them?” Sam asked anxiously.
“Most all,” his father confirmed.
It was strange to hear humans speak so complacently of the things most preferred not to think about.
“We’re heading back out tomorrow night,” the older boy went out: “Make sure none of the furry bastards got away. Hey Dad, can Sammy have a beer?”
“No. He can come scout with us tomorrow night, though.”
“I have a history test.”
“No you don’t. We’re out of here as soon as we clean this job up. Goddamn Maine winters.” The man extracted himself from his wet jacket.
“Oh my God,” Sam groaned quietly.
“Don’t start that,” said the man.
“Dad, I don’t want to go shoot at animals.” Ruby felt her skepticism build - perhaps she’d been wrong on this count. A child afraid of a little bloodsport hardly seemed a likely candidate.
“They’re not puppy dogs, Samuel,” snapped the man. “They kill people. Three travelers ripped up inside a week. You want more of that?”
“Hey,” the older boy looked meaningfully at the younger, something Ruby couldn’t read: “It’ll be fun. Like camping. There probably aren’t any left out there.”
“And if there are, you need the target practice. You’re coming.” The man pinned his youngest son with an intent gaze.
The boy glared at the floor, miserable. Ruby pondered. He was sullen and petulant, but not weak. There was a spark here that could be nurtured. Suddenly Sam looked up again, almost in Ruby’s direction. Hurriedly she retreated into herself. Two pairs of eyes followed the young boy’s direction.
“What?” the father asked quickly.
“I just….nothing. A weird feeling.”
“Dean, check the salt lines, and lay some iron down. What kind of feeling, Sam?” The older boy immediately left the table.
“I don’t know.”
“Well what good does that do?!”
“I don’t know! Maybe I’m just being a freak again!”
“Okay, okay,” the man took a breath. “Go to bed, Sam. We’ll double up all the sigils and keep one on watch tonight. It’s probably nothing.”
As the layers of protection around the apartment strengthened, Ruby felt herself stretched thin. Her essence stuttered, just slightly. She retreated hastily, beyond the window, and settled herself - like the cormorant - in a tree just behind the apartment. She did not feel cold, being incorporeal, but the residues of the charms they had used still grated upon her. She watched the light and shadows inside the apartment window, the shapes of the two boys as they prepared for bed. The outline of the man in the kitchen window, upright, watching. Ruby could play that game. She withdrew herself into herself and brooded, waiting for morning.
Part Five.
A/N: The description of Satan referenced comes from Paradise Lost IV, 194-98.