New SPN fic: Orders of an Elder Time. Sequel to Events in Sun and Shadows.
Title: Orders of an Elder Time
Verse: The Libation Bearers
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ben/Adam, Bobby.
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: Follows Events in Sun and Shadows. The year is 2019. Adam and Ben are making some kind of life together. But the demon, to coin a phrase, is still out there, and Ben's dreams start to take a strange turn.
Warnings: Major characters...are dead, later gore, more angst than you can shake a very angsty stick at.
He who has wrought shall pay; that is law./ Then who shall tear the curse from their blood?/ The seed is stiffened to ruin. - Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 1564-566.
You won the ancient goddesses over with wine/And so destroyed the orders of an elder time. - The Eumenides, 727-28.
May 2, 2019.
Ben awoke and sat bolt upright in bed, images of his nightmare already fading from his brain. In the first months, he’d dreamed of it almost every night. Half-formed memories of blood, splintered wood and torn flesh. And….something else. He had never seen the demon that killed his family, other than as a swirl of black smoke spiraling away from an abandoned warehouse - but lately his mind had been playing tricks on him. The cruel suggestion of - presence.
When Ben and Adam had started sleeping together, the nightmares had decreased to about twice a week. It was sharing a bed and not anything else that made the difference - they had ‘gotten together’, to use the dumb teenage expression Ben still hadn’t found a good substitute for, the Christmas Ben was seventeen, but Adam had refused to go all the way until Ben’s eighteenth birthday. Ridiculous, but Adam had some strange ideas, and could be immovable once he’d made up his mind about something.
The night Ben lost his virginity he had fallen asleep deeply and suddenly, but still woken a few hours later from a particularly bad dream. Sex, for all the expectation which surrounds it for a person who had waited till the age of eighteen, didn’t fix your life. It released some pretty awesome endorphins. But it didn’t save your world.
“Hi,” Adam said sleepily, waking up - it was the first thing he usually said upon waking, and depending on his tone, could mean anything from ‘good morning’ to ‘I want to kiss you right now’ to ‘I need a coffee’ to ‘Are you okay?’. This time he meant the latter, and sat up to place a hand on Ben’s back, between his shoulder blades. Adam’s hands were usually cold, but they never failed to calm him.
“Yeah,” Ben said, sighing.
“So,” Adam reached with his other hand to their small alarm clock, whose glowing numbers blinked 03.45. “Happy birthday. Nineteen.”
“Not till four o’ clock in the afternoon.”
“Details.”
They kissed. It was almost absent, an affirmation: everything’s okay.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nah.” Ben stretched. There was no point in rehashing the dream-conversation. He knew; Adam knew; they could only assume they’d eventually fade, or become less frequent, like the overwhelming grief and confusion of the very first weeks had. You didn’t just get over something like losing your family. If you did, there’d be far fewer hunters. “Go back to sleep,” he said to Adam.
“Are you getting up?”
“….” There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Ben supposed he might as well.
“Want me to get up with you?”
Adam would, if he asked. He might even if Ben didn’t ask. But they were both tired - they’d just gotten back from a salt-and-burn, very routine as hunts go, but it had required staying up all the previous night to track a ghost to its hidden burial place. The guy had been a loan shark, killed by a confederation of clients. It was anyone’s guess whether his unfinished business was his murder or the money he was owed.
“No,” Ben said after a moment. “I think…I’m just gonna go watch TV for a while.”
“Okay,” Adam yawned. “Wake me up if you change y’mind.” He was already falling asleep again, sand-coloured eyelashes flickering closed. Ben felt a tug of affection. Endearments weren’t Adam’s style - or Ben’s either, come to that. But the offer of support was real and heartfelt. Ben really could wake him up again if he needed to, and Adam would be glad he’d done it.
Ben watched his face for a moment. Pale skin, high cheekbones. Slightly downturned mouth. By most people’s standards, Adam was pretty hot. Ben could finally think that about another guy without it seeming weird. That wasn’t why they were together though. Adam was kind, loyal, intelligent and impeccably trustworthy. But Ben wasn’t even sure that was the reason either. Sometimes it seemed like necessity, or fate. They were the last surviving members of the Winchester extended ‘family’: all the heroes were dead. They were left alone to remember, get by, do what little good they could manage in the world. How could they not find each other?
Ben went to the bathroom and got a drink of water, by which time he felt wide awake. He went downstairs and clicked the old TV on to an infomercial for the new generation of Wonder Blades - the kitchen knife that stays sharp for life. “It slices through even the toughest joints like butter!” enthused the host.
“But does it work on werewolves?” Ben asked him, and Bobby Singer replied out of nowhere,
“Don’t pretend ignorance.”
Ben jumped out of his skin, though he ought to have learned that the old man could be surprisingly stealthy at times. Arthritis wasn’t enough to turn an ex-hunter into a lumbering bear. Bobby had appeared in the doorway, holding a bottle of something in one hand and two glasses between his fingers. His other hand was occupied with his steel cane - a formidable looking knob-headed implement which Ben had no doubt could double as a weapon. He settled himself in his favourite straight-backed chair - it was his house, after all - set the glasses and bottle on the table and poured two generous shots of whiskey. His ancient dog Tara came padding in after and settled down by his chair. Ben hesitated, looking at the shot glass.
“For gawd’s sake boy, take it,” Bobby grumbled. “You think your generation invented underage drinking?”
Ben downed the shot in one - a shame, because it was the good stuff. But Bobby seemed to understand the need to take the edge off fast. He sipped his own whiskey slowly.
“So,” Bobby said. “Happy, uh…” he coughed. “I was going to give it to you in the morning but seeing as we’re both up…second shelf, on top of the Daemonologie.”
He nodded in the direction. Ben stood up and retrieved a small, flat package, wrapped in brown paper.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to …go to any trouble.” Sometimes Ben still had a hard time accepting all Bobby did for them. He pretty much fed and housed them, though they made it a point to help out on the rare occasions they got paid for their job. The old man was probably the single best human being Ben had ever encountered, and he would never quite know how to tell him that.
“Didn’t,” Bobby grunted. “Had it already. Just waitin’ for someone to come along as’ll put it to good use.”
In the package was a small, flat-bladed knife with an ornate handle.
“Relic,” Bobby informed him. “Supposedly blessed by Solomon, or Suleman in this case. He’s supposed to have done a lot of things. Anyhow, all I know is it doesn’t degenerate, and it hurts demons.”
“Can it kill them?” Ben looked up sharply. He had never encountered a demon himself, except for his glimpse that night.
“Never had a chance a to try it.” Bobby eyed him. His watery blue eyes were intent, steady as he leaned forward in his chair. “I been saving this for you for a reason, Ben. I coulda given it to Adam. But I understand…if you ever find it….if you ever want to find it…”
“I do,” Ben said. He hadn’t even thought about it. It was just - what they did, right? Now that he was a real hunter? Hunt down the things that destroyed their old lives and avenge the dead? Of course he would.
“Alright then,” Bobby sat back. “Now don’t goddam lose it. And turn that up,” he nodded towards the television: “They’re talking about the Cupcake Master 3000. Damn, I gotta get me one of those.”
Part Two
A/N: So it appears that my brain has a project to make this a ‘verse. All Aeschylus quoted above is from the Richard Lattimore translation of the Oresteia. The Libation Bearers, which title I have stolen, is given to the second play. Anyone who hasn’t, and particularly any fans of SPN and epic tragedy in general who haven’t, read this trilogy in this translation. It’s mind-blowing.
Verse: The Libation Bearers
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Ben/Adam, Bobby.
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: Follows Events in Sun and Shadows. The year is 2019. Adam and Ben are making some kind of life together. But the demon, to coin a phrase, is still out there, and Ben's dreams start to take a strange turn.
Warnings: Major characters...are dead, later gore, more angst than you can shake a very angsty stick at.
He who has wrought shall pay; that is law./ Then who shall tear the curse from their blood?/ The seed is stiffened to ruin. - Aeschylus, Agamemnon, 1564-566.
You won the ancient goddesses over with wine/And so destroyed the orders of an elder time. - The Eumenides, 727-28.
May 2, 2019.
Ben awoke and sat bolt upright in bed, images of his nightmare already fading from his brain. In the first months, he’d dreamed of it almost every night. Half-formed memories of blood, splintered wood and torn flesh. And….something else. He had never seen the demon that killed his family, other than as a swirl of black smoke spiraling away from an abandoned warehouse - but lately his mind had been playing tricks on him. The cruel suggestion of - presence.
When Ben and Adam had started sleeping together, the nightmares had decreased to about twice a week. It was sharing a bed and not anything else that made the difference - they had ‘gotten together’, to use the dumb teenage expression Ben still hadn’t found a good substitute for, the Christmas Ben was seventeen, but Adam had refused to go all the way until Ben’s eighteenth birthday. Ridiculous, but Adam had some strange ideas, and could be immovable once he’d made up his mind about something.
The night Ben lost his virginity he had fallen asleep deeply and suddenly, but still woken a few hours later from a particularly bad dream. Sex, for all the expectation which surrounds it for a person who had waited till the age of eighteen, didn’t fix your life. It released some pretty awesome endorphins. But it didn’t save your world.
“Hi,” Adam said sleepily, waking up - it was the first thing he usually said upon waking, and depending on his tone, could mean anything from ‘good morning’ to ‘I want to kiss you right now’ to ‘I need a coffee’ to ‘Are you okay?’. This time he meant the latter, and sat up to place a hand on Ben’s back, between his shoulder blades. Adam’s hands were usually cold, but they never failed to calm him.
“Yeah,” Ben said, sighing.
“So,” Adam reached with his other hand to their small alarm clock, whose glowing numbers blinked 03.45. “Happy birthday. Nineteen.”
“Not till four o’ clock in the afternoon.”
“Details.”
They kissed. It was almost absent, an affirmation: everything’s okay.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nah.” Ben stretched. There was no point in rehashing the dream-conversation. He knew; Adam knew; they could only assume they’d eventually fade, or become less frequent, like the overwhelming grief and confusion of the very first weeks had. You didn’t just get over something like losing your family. If you did, there’d be far fewer hunters. “Go back to sleep,” he said to Adam.
“Are you getting up?”
“….” There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. Ben supposed he might as well.
“Want me to get up with you?”
Adam would, if he asked. He might even if Ben didn’t ask. But they were both tired - they’d just gotten back from a salt-and-burn, very routine as hunts go, but it had required staying up all the previous night to track a ghost to its hidden burial place. The guy had been a loan shark, killed by a confederation of clients. It was anyone’s guess whether his unfinished business was his murder or the money he was owed.
“No,” Ben said after a moment. “I think…I’m just gonna go watch TV for a while.”
“Okay,” Adam yawned. “Wake me up if you change y’mind.” He was already falling asleep again, sand-coloured eyelashes flickering closed. Ben felt a tug of affection. Endearments weren’t Adam’s style - or Ben’s either, come to that. But the offer of support was real and heartfelt. Ben really could wake him up again if he needed to, and Adam would be glad he’d done it.
Ben watched his face for a moment. Pale skin, high cheekbones. Slightly downturned mouth. By most people’s standards, Adam was pretty hot. Ben could finally think that about another guy without it seeming weird. That wasn’t why they were together though. Adam was kind, loyal, intelligent and impeccably trustworthy. But Ben wasn’t even sure that was the reason either. Sometimes it seemed like necessity, or fate. They were the last surviving members of the Winchester extended ‘family’: all the heroes were dead. They were left alone to remember, get by, do what little good they could manage in the world. How could they not find each other?
Ben went to the bathroom and got a drink of water, by which time he felt wide awake. He went downstairs and clicked the old TV on to an infomercial for the new generation of Wonder Blades - the kitchen knife that stays sharp for life. “It slices through even the toughest joints like butter!” enthused the host.
“But does it work on werewolves?” Ben asked him, and Bobby Singer replied out of nowhere,
“Don’t pretend ignorance.”
Ben jumped out of his skin, though he ought to have learned that the old man could be surprisingly stealthy at times. Arthritis wasn’t enough to turn an ex-hunter into a lumbering bear. Bobby had appeared in the doorway, holding a bottle of something in one hand and two glasses between his fingers. His other hand was occupied with his steel cane - a formidable looking knob-headed implement which Ben had no doubt could double as a weapon. He settled himself in his favourite straight-backed chair - it was his house, after all - set the glasses and bottle on the table and poured two generous shots of whiskey. His ancient dog Tara came padding in after and settled down by his chair. Ben hesitated, looking at the shot glass.
“For gawd’s sake boy, take it,” Bobby grumbled. “You think your generation invented underage drinking?”
Ben downed the shot in one - a shame, because it was the good stuff. But Bobby seemed to understand the need to take the edge off fast. He sipped his own whiskey slowly.
“So,” Bobby said. “Happy, uh…” he coughed. “I was going to give it to you in the morning but seeing as we’re both up…second shelf, on top of the Daemonologie.”
He nodded in the direction. Ben stood up and retrieved a small, flat package, wrapped in brown paper.
“Thanks. You didn’t have to …go to any trouble.” Sometimes Ben still had a hard time accepting all Bobby did for them. He pretty much fed and housed them, though they made it a point to help out on the rare occasions they got paid for their job. The old man was probably the single best human being Ben had ever encountered, and he would never quite know how to tell him that.
“Didn’t,” Bobby grunted. “Had it already. Just waitin’ for someone to come along as’ll put it to good use.”
In the package was a small, flat-bladed knife with an ornate handle.
“Relic,” Bobby informed him. “Supposedly blessed by Solomon, or Suleman in this case. He’s supposed to have done a lot of things. Anyhow, all I know is it doesn’t degenerate, and it hurts demons.”
“Can it kill them?” Ben looked up sharply. He had never encountered a demon himself, except for his glimpse that night.
“Never had a chance a to try it.” Bobby eyed him. His watery blue eyes were intent, steady as he leaned forward in his chair. “I been saving this for you for a reason, Ben. I coulda given it to Adam. But I understand…if you ever find it….if you ever want to find it…”
“I do,” Ben said. He hadn’t even thought about it. It was just - what they did, right? Now that he was a real hunter? Hunt down the things that destroyed their old lives and avenge the dead? Of course he would.
“Alright then,” Bobby sat back. “Now don’t goddam lose it. And turn that up,” he nodded towards the television: “They’re talking about the Cupcake Master 3000. Damn, I gotta get me one of those.”
Part Two
A/N: So it appears that my brain has a project to make this a ‘verse. All Aeschylus quoted above is from the Richard Lattimore translation of the Oresteia. The Libation Bearers, which title I have stolen, is given to the second play. Anyone who hasn’t, and particularly any fans of SPN and epic tragedy in general who haven’t, read this trilogy in this translation. It’s mind-blowing.