Events in Sun and Shadows, 2/?
Title: Events in Sun and Shadows, 2/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ben, Adam
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: In 2017, Adam visits a grieving Ben after the loss of his family and his beloved hero. He makes the same offer his dead half-brothers once made him: revenge, and a new life. AU.
Warnings: Major character death, confused adolescent feelings, more angst than you can shake a very angsty stick at.
A/N: The Blake's 7 fic this was very very loosely inspired by is called ''Before and After', by Nova.
A/N 2: What does it say about me that I'm finding the creation of this angst-fest extremely happy-making? I swear I do my best fic as soon as the emergence of Xmas crap in the shops starts to depress me :S
When Adam came back, he had pizza.
Ben had spent the intervening twenty-four hours wandering aimlessly around the house, slightly alarmed by the fact he could no longer focus properly, and decided that as he hadn’t committed suicide yet, he apparently wasn’t planning on it. That in mind, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and attempted to eat it. Three bites in he started crying and feeling sick again, like he couldn’t think, and had to push the bowl away. He just didn’t understand how this could happen. One minute he’d had his family. The next he was utterly alone. He felt helpless, unable to stop crying. What was he supposed to do?
“Eat this,” Adam instructed, depositing the steaming, grease-marked cardboard box on the kitchen table, “Or, as much as you can.”
The smell of tomatoes, bread and cheese awakened Ben’s stomach, which had evidently taken note of his passive decision to remain alive, and demanded.
“How are you holding up?” asked Adam softly, watching him eat and making him uncomfortable with his big compassionate eyes. Ben snorted around a mouthful of crust.
“Yeah I figured,” said Adam, and sat down, opposite Ben. “Listen,” he said with hesitation, “This...might be too soon. But I don’t know how long I’m going to be around here, and I have to ask.”
Ben froze.
“Do you want to hunt? I mean, do you want revenge? Justice?”
“Hunt,” said Ben bitterly. “I can’t even fire I gun. I was useless, I...” His throat started to fill up again; he looked down at the mess on his hands. He realized belatedly that he’d forgotten to use a plate, and how his mother would kill him. Except that she wouldn’t, because.
“None of us did, once,” said Adam. “I didn’t, when ghouls killed my mother. Then I met the Winchesters, who were hunting the ghoul and....” he shrugged. “I knew what I had to do.”
“Dean said I was never to touch a gun. He didn’t want me to.” Ben sounded and felt like a child.
“Pretty much said the same thing to me,” Adam grinned, sadly. “Sam understood me better though. We...kept in touch.” Something passed across Adam’s face then: inexplicable, brief, and then shuttered. “He gave me the address of this old guy....Bobby Singer. Runs a scrap yard. But really he’s a hunter, and he trained me. He’d train you too, if you wanted. I could help.”
Ben paused and considered the absurdity of it. Him, a hunter. Hunters were heroes, extraordinary individuals drawn to a higher calling. They were impervious to pain, tiredness, decisive under pressure, self-sacrificial in the extreme. God, he had loved him. He may be seventeen, but he knew what he’d felt, his hopeless love. Ben lacked hand-eye co-ordination, was afraid of deep water, and had cried like a little girl two years ago when he’d broken his ankle falling out of a tree in attempt to retrieve a Frisbee. He still remembered hearing the snap, and the mind-blanking pain that had shot up his leg all the way through his body, and how he had vomited, indefensibly, and mostly over his personal hero, who had reached him before his mother had. He shuddered at the memory. He raised his eyes to Adam again.
“Not many people are born to this life,” Adam shrugged, watching him closely, “my brothers were exceptional. No-one becomes a hunter by accident. We’re just people. But - with a mission.” He shrugged, perhaps aware of the awkwardness of that statement. “I feel like I ought to give you the opportunity, as it was given to me.”
And - why not? Well, of course there were a million reasons why not, but the real question was, what else was he going to do?
“Aren’t you...hunting something though? I mean, aren’t you busy?”
“I lost it,” Adam winced. “I’m sorry - it’s long gone. There are other things I could look into, but...nothing that can’t wait. I can take you to Bobby’s first, if it’s what you want. Even stick around for a while.”
“Okay,” Ben heard himself say then, for he’d evidently gone insane. He pushed the remnants of his pizza away. “Then let’s go.”
“Well - hang on,” said Adam. “You need to pack some things. Bobby lives in South Dakota - it’s temperate right now, but it’s cooling down for a harsh winter. Cold weather clothes. Do you have boots?”
“Hiking boots....”
“That’ll do for now. Bring shirts that’ll take some wear. Dark colours. A strong backpack. I’m going to scope out the house for weapons.”
Something in Ben recoiled at that - that this near-stranger should touch the things that had been Dean’s. But someone had to, he supposed. Dean hadn’t wanted Ben to become a hunter - but Dean was dead, protecting him, and in some twisted way, if anyone was getting the weapons, he was glad it was someone with Winchester blood in his veins. Only half, impure, but something.
“We’re not them, and we never will be.” Had Adam a touch of the psychic ability, the way he was reading Ben’s mind? “They were masters. But, they’re dead and gone. We are alive now. All we can do is become our best, and try not to dishonour their memory.” He regarded Ben with those great sad eyes, like the glass-painted saints in the windows of churches in England. “Go and pack.”
With a shake of his head, and short harsh laugh at the absurdity of himself, Ben got up abruptly and took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom.
* * *
Adam drove a 2004 Ford Explorer in dark green; nondescript, a little faded, sturdy-looking.
“Not the easiest parker, but good on most terrain,” said Adam blandly, patting the dashboard as he slipped on a pair of sunglasses with his other hand. “Comfortable?” he had been making small talk ever since Ben had re-emerged from his (ex-) bedroom, carrying his rucksack.
“Yeah,” said Ben, staring out the windscreen. Adam glanced at the house, as though wondering if Ben would regret not saying a proper goodbye to it. Ben couldn’t have cared less. Everything that made the house home was gone; it was only a shell now. Instead, he studied his odd messenger of fate, inscrutable now, calm, and apparently light-hearted.
“Go to sleep if you can,” advised Adam as he started the engine : “We’ve got a long road ahead.”
Part Three
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ben, Adam
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: In 2017, Adam visits a grieving Ben after the loss of his family and his beloved hero. He makes the same offer his dead half-brothers once made him: revenge, and a new life. AU.
Warnings: Major character death, confused adolescent feelings, more angst than you can shake a very angsty stick at.
A/N: The Blake's 7 fic this was very very loosely inspired by is called ''Before and After', by Nova.
A/N 2: What does it say about me that I'm finding the creation of this angst-fest extremely happy-making? I swear I do my best fic as soon as the emergence of Xmas crap in the shops starts to depress me :S
When Adam came back, he had pizza.
Ben had spent the intervening twenty-four hours wandering aimlessly around the house, slightly alarmed by the fact he could no longer focus properly, and decided that as he hadn’t committed suicide yet, he apparently wasn’t planning on it. That in mind, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and attempted to eat it. Three bites in he started crying and feeling sick again, like he couldn’t think, and had to push the bowl away. He just didn’t understand how this could happen. One minute he’d had his family. The next he was utterly alone. He felt helpless, unable to stop crying. What was he supposed to do?
“Eat this,” Adam instructed, depositing the steaming, grease-marked cardboard box on the kitchen table, “Or, as much as you can.”
The smell of tomatoes, bread and cheese awakened Ben’s stomach, which had evidently taken note of his passive decision to remain alive, and demanded.
“How are you holding up?” asked Adam softly, watching him eat and making him uncomfortable with his big compassionate eyes. Ben snorted around a mouthful of crust.
“Yeah I figured,” said Adam, and sat down, opposite Ben. “Listen,” he said with hesitation, “This...might be too soon. But I don’t know how long I’m going to be around here, and I have to ask.”
Ben froze.
“Do you want to hunt? I mean, do you want revenge? Justice?”
“Hunt,” said Ben bitterly. “I can’t even fire I gun. I was useless, I...” His throat started to fill up again; he looked down at the mess on his hands. He realized belatedly that he’d forgotten to use a plate, and how his mother would kill him. Except that she wouldn’t, because.
“None of us did, once,” said Adam. “I didn’t, when ghouls killed my mother. Then I met the Winchesters, who were hunting the ghoul and....” he shrugged. “I knew what I had to do.”
“Dean said I was never to touch a gun. He didn’t want me to.” Ben sounded and felt like a child.
“Pretty much said the same thing to me,” Adam grinned, sadly. “Sam understood me better though. We...kept in touch.” Something passed across Adam’s face then: inexplicable, brief, and then shuttered. “He gave me the address of this old guy....Bobby Singer. Runs a scrap yard. But really he’s a hunter, and he trained me. He’d train you too, if you wanted. I could help.”
Ben paused and considered the absurdity of it. Him, a hunter. Hunters were heroes, extraordinary individuals drawn to a higher calling. They were impervious to pain, tiredness, decisive under pressure, self-sacrificial in the extreme. God, he had loved him. He may be seventeen, but he knew what he’d felt, his hopeless love. Ben lacked hand-eye co-ordination, was afraid of deep water, and had cried like a little girl two years ago when he’d broken his ankle falling out of a tree in attempt to retrieve a Frisbee. He still remembered hearing the snap, and the mind-blanking pain that had shot up his leg all the way through his body, and how he had vomited, indefensibly, and mostly over his personal hero, who had reached him before his mother had. He shuddered at the memory. He raised his eyes to Adam again.
“Not many people are born to this life,” Adam shrugged, watching him closely, “my brothers were exceptional. No-one becomes a hunter by accident. We’re just people. But - with a mission.” He shrugged, perhaps aware of the awkwardness of that statement. “I feel like I ought to give you the opportunity, as it was given to me.”
And - why not? Well, of course there were a million reasons why not, but the real question was, what else was he going to do?
“Aren’t you...hunting something though? I mean, aren’t you busy?”
“I lost it,” Adam winced. “I’m sorry - it’s long gone. There are other things I could look into, but...nothing that can’t wait. I can take you to Bobby’s first, if it’s what you want. Even stick around for a while.”
“Okay,” Ben heard himself say then, for he’d evidently gone insane. He pushed the remnants of his pizza away. “Then let’s go.”
“Well - hang on,” said Adam. “You need to pack some things. Bobby lives in South Dakota - it’s temperate right now, but it’s cooling down for a harsh winter. Cold weather clothes. Do you have boots?”
“Hiking boots....”
“That’ll do for now. Bring shirts that’ll take some wear. Dark colours. A strong backpack. I’m going to scope out the house for weapons.”
Something in Ben recoiled at that - that this near-stranger should touch the things that had been Dean’s. But someone had to, he supposed. Dean hadn’t wanted Ben to become a hunter - but Dean was dead, protecting him, and in some twisted way, if anyone was getting the weapons, he was glad it was someone with Winchester blood in his veins. Only half, impure, but something.
“We’re not them, and we never will be.” Had Adam a touch of the psychic ability, the way he was reading Ben’s mind? “They were masters. But, they’re dead and gone. We are alive now. All we can do is become our best, and try not to dishonour their memory.” He regarded Ben with those great sad eyes, like the glass-painted saints in the windows of churches in England. “Go and pack.”
With a shake of his head, and short harsh laugh at the absurdity of himself, Ben got up abruptly and took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom.
* * *
Adam drove a 2004 Ford Explorer in dark green; nondescript, a little faded, sturdy-looking.
“Not the easiest parker, but good on most terrain,” said Adam blandly, patting the dashboard as he slipped on a pair of sunglasses with his other hand. “Comfortable?” he had been making small talk ever since Ben had re-emerged from his (ex-) bedroom, carrying his rucksack.
“Yeah,” said Ben, staring out the windscreen. Adam glanced at the house, as though wondering if Ben would regret not saying a proper goodbye to it. Ben couldn’t have cared less. Everything that made the house home was gone; it was only a shell now. Instead, he studied his odd messenger of fate, inscrutable now, calm, and apparently light-hearted.
“Go to sleep if you can,” advised Adam as he started the engine : “We’ve got a long road ahead.”
Part Three