Cayenne 11, Mocha 29, & CCM 7
Author: Casey
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy (NIEE) universe, post NIEE
Challenge: Cayenne 11 (ambush), Mocha 29 (when all else fails), CCM 7 (turbulent)
Toppings & Extras: Caramel
Word Count: 1,114
Rating: PG (minor violence, child kidnapping)
Summary: Although Dean doesn’t think he exists, he finds out the hard way that someone knows about him.
Notes: Last Cayenne!! Yay for kidnapping?
“Good morning!” Dean called cheerfully as he bounded into the kitchen containing his father and Russ.
“Morning, Dean. Ready for breakfast?”
“You bet! The garden’s almost already weed free. At least for today,” Dean said with a wide grin as he held up grimy hands. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Nothing for you until you wash those hands,” Sorin said, amused.
Dean wrinkled his nose but bounced to the bucket of water used for that purpose and started scrubbing. “What’s for breakfast once my hands are clean?”
“Our last eggs and bread. Russ will have to head into town after breakfast.”
“I will?” Russ asked.
“Let me!” Dean butted in excitedly. “I’ll go.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing it,” Russ said.
“You and Dad can catch up. You don’t want to either. You’re just saying so to get a rise out of me,” Dean said, smirking at him as he dropped into his seat at the table and dried his hands.
“Is this the start of that whole teenage stage?” Russ asked suspiciously. “Rebellion and being obnoxious and all that.”
Dean laughed. “No, why would I need to rebel? I don’t exist anyway.”
“Dean,” Sorin said sharply.
“Just tellin’ the truth, Dad. Don’t worry. It doesn’t bother me or anything.” He accurately read the expression on Sorin’s face, though, and changed the subject. “So, what do I need to pick up?”
“I have a list over on the counter,” Sorin said, expression not entirely clearing he regarded his twelve-year-old son. “You make sure you wear your knife, understand?”
Dean let out an overdramatic sigh. “Nothing ever happens, Dad, but I will wear it.”
“That’s a good thing. Calm and quiet is good,” Russ said firmly before Sorin could.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not boring!” Dean said, plowing through his meal and hopping to his feet. “Can I go now?”
“Be home for dinner,” Russ said.
“Pick up the letters at the inn,” Sorin added.
Dean made a face. “Having you home, Russ, is like having two fathers sometimes,” he complained but skipped out the door happily. Mind on other things - like what he would buy with the extra coin he knew his father would have slipped in for him and where he would sit to people watch at the weekly market - Dean almost didn’t hear the footsteps coming after him until he was about halfway to the village. When he clued in, his hand went instantly to his knife as he glanced behind up, sizing up the three men hot on his heels. Instinctually, Dean knew he was their target. He hadn’t even reached the next house along the road from theirs and something about them raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
Spinning to face them, he drew his knife subtly, keeping it down at his side, grip tight. They stopped too, seeming stymied by this display of defiance. “How far to the village?” one of them asked after a moment of general confusion.
“Just around the next bend,” Dean lied. It was a distance before the houses became regular and a long sprint to the next house, since it was around the bend and up a long dirt path to the house - and that was assuming someone was home.
“Liar,” he heard one murmur.
Dean didn’t wait, turning and sprinting off towards that farm, his one chance. He heard a few choice curse words in his wake but didn’t slow, remembering what Russ had told him once - that looking back only slowed you down. Within seconds, he could hear feet pounding after him and he put on a burst of speed, seeking to get some space and time. As he hit the wooded path to the house, a hand clamped around his arm, almost ripping him off his feet. Dean stabbed out wildly with his knife and was rewarded with a yell of pain as the grip loosened. He tore himself free and took off again. This time he’d only gotten about three steps before someone grabbed his right arm, the one with the knife, and then quickly wrapped an arm around his neck. Dean didn’t hesitate, all the hours of training with his father and Russ kicking in instantly. He slammed the heel of his foot into his attacker’s instep and bit his arm, tugging at the skin to make it as painful as possible. This man didn’t cry out, but his grip loosened, giving Dean the chance to slam his foot again, as well as throw his elbow back into the man’s midsection, and then slip underneath his arm.
“Damn, he’s good!” one of them said.
When something went whistling by his head, however, he risked a glance back to see that the one he’d stabbed was chucking sticks at him with his good arm, swearing, as the other two pursued him. The glance back was his undoing because he never saw the man step out of the woods bordering the drive into his way until he was already on his bottom, staring up at him, having bounced right off. Dean scrambled to his feet desperately, knowing this man was his last chance to get free. His heart was pounding and fear was rippling through him, especially as he heard his pursuers pant up behind him.
“You gotta help me. These guys...” That’s as far as he got before the man grabbed his right wrist and twisted it sharply, forcing Dean to drop his knife or risk more serious injury. The twelve-year-old stared up at him with wide eyes. “But!”
“I would have thought you could have handled a child,” the man still holding Dean’s wrist snapped.
“Someone’s trained him well. He’s got a hell of a bite. Literally,” the man Dean had bitten said, holding up his arm to show the bloody patch from where Dean had broken skin.
“Still. There are three of you and one of him.”
“Let go of me!” Dean snapped, trying to wiggle his arm out of the man’s grasp, although he had a bad feeling now that they had pretty much encircled him. The man holding him shoved him back into the arms of the one man he hadn’t attacked, who grabbed him. Dean immediately tensed to react. “Why?” he demanded in an attempt to stall for time.
“Orders are orders,” the man responded. Dean opened his mouth to respond but something slammed into the back of his head and the world went hazy as he staggered, legs almost going out. Despite how fuzzy his vision had gone, he still heard the next thing the man said, “It’s nothing personal, Dean.” Then something else hit him and he went down, the world going black.
Story: Nothing is Ever Easy (NIEE) universe, post NIEE
Challenge: Cayenne 11 (ambush), Mocha 29 (when all else fails), CCM 7 (turbulent)
Toppings & Extras: Caramel
Word Count: 1,114
Rating: PG (minor violence, child kidnapping)
Summary: Although Dean doesn’t think he exists, he finds out the hard way that someone knows about him.
Notes: Last Cayenne!! Yay for kidnapping?
“Good morning!” Dean called cheerfully as he bounded into the kitchen containing his father and Russ.
“Morning, Dean. Ready for breakfast?”
“You bet! The garden’s almost already weed free. At least for today,” Dean said with a wide grin as he held up grimy hands. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Nothing for you until you wash those hands,” Sorin said, amused.
Dean wrinkled his nose but bounced to the bucket of water used for that purpose and started scrubbing. “What’s for breakfast once my hands are clean?”
“Our last eggs and bread. Russ will have to head into town after breakfast.”
“I will?” Russ asked.
“Let me!” Dean butted in excitedly. “I’ll go.”
“I’m perfectly capable of doing it,” Russ said.
“You and Dad can catch up. You don’t want to either. You’re just saying so to get a rise out of me,” Dean said, smirking at him as he dropped into his seat at the table and dried his hands.
“Is this the start of that whole teenage stage?” Russ asked suspiciously. “Rebellion and being obnoxious and all that.”
Dean laughed. “No, why would I need to rebel? I don’t exist anyway.”
“Dean,” Sorin said sharply.
“Just tellin’ the truth, Dad. Don’t worry. It doesn’t bother me or anything.” He accurately read the expression on Sorin’s face, though, and changed the subject. “So, what do I need to pick up?”
“I have a list over on the counter,” Sorin said, expression not entirely clearing he regarded his twelve-year-old son. “You make sure you wear your knife, understand?”
Dean let out an overdramatic sigh. “Nothing ever happens, Dad, but I will wear it.”
“That’s a good thing. Calm and quiet is good,” Russ said firmly before Sorin could.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not boring!” Dean said, plowing through his meal and hopping to his feet. “Can I go now?”
“Be home for dinner,” Russ said.
“Pick up the letters at the inn,” Sorin added.
Dean made a face. “Having you home, Russ, is like having two fathers sometimes,” he complained but skipped out the door happily. Mind on other things - like what he would buy with the extra coin he knew his father would have slipped in for him and where he would sit to people watch at the weekly market - Dean almost didn’t hear the footsteps coming after him until he was about halfway to the village. When he clued in, his hand went instantly to his knife as he glanced behind up, sizing up the three men hot on his heels. Instinctually, Dean knew he was their target. He hadn’t even reached the next house along the road from theirs and something about them raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
Spinning to face them, he drew his knife subtly, keeping it down at his side, grip tight. They stopped too, seeming stymied by this display of defiance. “How far to the village?” one of them asked after a moment of general confusion.
“Just around the next bend,” Dean lied. It was a distance before the houses became regular and a long sprint to the next house, since it was around the bend and up a long dirt path to the house - and that was assuming someone was home.
“Liar,” he heard one murmur.
Dean didn’t wait, turning and sprinting off towards that farm, his one chance. He heard a few choice curse words in his wake but didn’t slow, remembering what Russ had told him once - that looking back only slowed you down. Within seconds, he could hear feet pounding after him and he put on a burst of speed, seeking to get some space and time. As he hit the wooded path to the house, a hand clamped around his arm, almost ripping him off his feet. Dean stabbed out wildly with his knife and was rewarded with a yell of pain as the grip loosened. He tore himself free and took off again. This time he’d only gotten about three steps before someone grabbed his right arm, the one with the knife, and then quickly wrapped an arm around his neck. Dean didn’t hesitate, all the hours of training with his father and Russ kicking in instantly. He slammed the heel of his foot into his attacker’s instep and bit his arm, tugging at the skin to make it as painful as possible. This man didn’t cry out, but his grip loosened, giving Dean the chance to slam his foot again, as well as throw his elbow back into the man’s midsection, and then slip underneath his arm.
“Damn, he’s good!” one of them said.
When something went whistling by his head, however, he risked a glance back to see that the one he’d stabbed was chucking sticks at him with his good arm, swearing, as the other two pursued him. The glance back was his undoing because he never saw the man step out of the woods bordering the drive into his way until he was already on his bottom, staring up at him, having bounced right off. Dean scrambled to his feet desperately, knowing this man was his last chance to get free. His heart was pounding and fear was rippling through him, especially as he heard his pursuers pant up behind him.
“You gotta help me. These guys...” That’s as far as he got before the man grabbed his right wrist and twisted it sharply, forcing Dean to drop his knife or risk more serious injury. The twelve-year-old stared up at him with wide eyes. “But!”
“I would have thought you could have handled a child,” the man still holding Dean’s wrist snapped.
“Someone’s trained him well. He’s got a hell of a bite. Literally,” the man Dean had bitten said, holding up his arm to show the bloody patch from where Dean had broken skin.
“Still. There are three of you and one of him.”
“Let go of me!” Dean snapped, trying to wiggle his arm out of the man’s grasp, although he had a bad feeling now that they had pretty much encircled him. The man holding him shoved him back into the arms of the one man he hadn’t attacked, who grabbed him. Dean immediately tensed to react. “Why?” he demanded in an attempt to stall for time.
“Orders are orders,” the man responded. Dean opened his mouth to respond but something slammed into the back of his head and the world went hazy as he staggered, legs almost going out. Despite how fuzzy his vision had gone, he still heard the next thing the man said, “It’s nothing personal, Dean.” Then something else hit him and he went down, the world going black.