Broken Chalice - SN/Black Jewels Trilogy xover - PG13
Title: Broken Chalice
Fandom: "Supernatural"/Black Jewels Trilogy crossover
Disclaimer: I did not create any of these characters. Eric Kripke and Anne Bishop can claim that.
Warnings: spoilers for The Black Jewels Trilogy
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1830
Point of view: third
Notes: Basic knowledge of the trilogy is helpful, but I think you can muddle your way through without it. However: here is a basic run through. If you haven't read the books, you really need to. Edited 8-26 to change format.
Once, his eyes were a bright green and his joyful grin shone light onto the world. Once he greeted each dawn with a smile. Once he stood tall, proud, full of life and love.
Once, he was not broken. Only barely can he remember those days.
He has no memory of how he came to be in this place. Sometimes, he sees glimpses of somewhere else, somewhere he was loved and cherished and protected.
But always, he is recalled to the present, to the torturous existence he sees no way out of.
Dorothea commands instant obedience. She does not accept failure or a wait. Only one person has ever openly defied her, to his knowledge, and that man wears the Black, something he cannot claim.
He is not even lucky enough to wear a Jewel at all, but no one has been able to remove the golden charm from his neck-not with Craft or the more base means of a knife.
A few speculate, where he cannot hear, what it means, that necklace, and the scars he arrived with. They have companions, now, those remnants of another life, many companions. No one is fast enough for Dorothea. Or subservient enough, and for some reason, groveling tastes bitter on his tongue.
He does not count the days, has not for a long time. Others come and go, most notably the wearer of the Black, Daemon Sadi, a dangerous man. Sadi’s voice was silken when he spoke to him, his fingers soft upon his face.
The Sadist, many call him. One who offers exquisite pleasure laced with pain.
“Who are you?” Sadi crooned, gently tracing his jaw.
“Samuel,” he answered, closing his eyes as the Sadist’s fingertip touched his lips.
“You are different, Samuel,” Sadi whispered. “I have not met your kind before.”
Dorothea called for Sadi then and the two did not speak again. Later, much later, he learned that Sadi escaped, vanished, and was rumored to have destroyed a court-and a child.
And even later, he learned that the Sadist fell into the Twisted Kingdom.
-
Once, he knows, he was happy. Now, though, he can hardly recall the definition of the word.
In this court, he is the lowest of the low, a slave of slaves. He has no rank, no prospect, no hope. He is a toy of all who wish to play with him, male and female alike.
Sometimes, he can remember being cherished. It is a distant feeling, always fleeting, and it leaves him aching deep inside.
He does not know how he can remember his name but not his family; how he can remember he was happy but not his past.
He does not know why the Sadist’s presence calmed him so, since Sadi is the most dangerous person in the realm.
But something in the man’s bearing, his touch-it stoked a fire inside him, struck a chord, and the echo reverberates in his dreams.
Except, Sadi’s golden eyes turn to hazel, if he thinks long enough, and his black hair lightens to dark blond.
-
He learned he was an anomaly early on. He did not look like any of the long-lived races, but he never aged. They studied him before casting him in the role of slave. They sent tendrils of power into his mind, his soul, his body-they raped him over and over, and he had no means of fighting back. He merely endured. He could not rise above the pain or sink into himself; he could only suffer in silence and heal when at last given the chance.
He clung to the few half-remembered glimpses of another life in those days. Even then, he thought them only fever dreams, concocted by a desperate man who needed something to clutch close for self-preservation.
They demanded his name, his past, and all he had to offer was, “Samuel.” They could not explain his green eyes or dark brown hair, and the fact that he did not age or wear a Jewel. They could not explain, but they could enslave.
And they did. An unknown, he was watched closely for a time he did not bother measuring. When he showed no sign of power or defiance, he was forgotten. Cast aside, ignored, beaten, branded a failure… branded useless, clearly just a mistake that should never have been born, never fallen from wherever he fell from…
Only noticed when someone wanted something. Only noticed for sex. His green eyes darkened and his scarred body hardened and he could feel himself fading, but no one noticed, no one cared-
-
And Dorothea died.
He felt the rush of power before anyone else, heard the voice calling on the air, sensed it all before it happened.
And he remembered. He remembered it all.
-
Falling… careening into the abyss… screaming… blood and death and fire-tell me this doesn’t freak you out-and a gentle touch to keep madness at bay.
-long as I’m around-where are you?-Sammy!-
Falling… rushing into the depths, lost and forgotten, and no matter how hard he searches… no matter where he looks, or how long…
-Dean-
Falling… into another world…
-
He had no explanation, no understanding. All he had was centuries of pain and loss, and the sure knowledge that Dean was long dead.
He had no way home, no one in this world who cared. All he had was a golden charm and no reason of how it got there, and why it wouldn’t come off.
Waiting for Witch’s forces to find the survivors, Samuel held the charm in his fist.
Surely, the Sadist would help him.
-
The closer he moved to Witch’s keep, the more the power filled him.
He still wore no Jewel but a golden necklace from a different life, but he started to believe it didn’t matter.
That rush of dark intent, coupled with love for all-like Sadi, it reminded him of Dean. In his mind’s eye, he could see his brother, smirking and grinning and laughing and yelling at him for being stupid enough to fall into a portal.
His eyes misted and the carriage stopped before the imposing building. As he passed through the doors, he could sense the grief that permeated the place-these people, for all their strength, could not help him. They were as lost as he was, perhaps moreso.
He glanced once more around him and closed his eyes, Dean appearing in front of him. Dean, in all his living glory, bathed in sunlight, a beacon of hope-
Who are you? a deep, dark, kind voice asked and he raised his head.
No one stood in sight. “Samuel,” he answered.
This is not your world, Samuel, the voice continued. This is not your place.
“No sir,” he replied respectfully, still searching.
We cannot help you, child. Not now. Perhaps, if you had come sooner… the voice trailed off, but regret tinted his tone.
Samuel quickly assured him, “It’s not your fault, sir. I doubt anyone could help me now, or then.” He sighed and added, “Have a good day, sir.”
He turned and exited through the doors, the carriage long gone, but he just walked. He passed what seemed like a zoo, but they all paused to look at him; the Kindred they were called. Animals that wore a Jewel and spoke.
Have hope, the voice called as he left. Have hope in twilight.
Samuel did not know what that meant, but he touched his brother’s charm and knew he would.
-
Seasons passed, seasons beyond counting. He ate when hungry, sipped water when parched, slept when he wearied, and walked. He felt the return of the Queen, of the one once called Witch, and learned that the dark, kind voice had been Lorn, a dragon older than the world, nearly.
Witch had cleansed the realms and now Jaenelle, as Queen, ruled them.
None of which helped him. Witch alone had the power to send him home, but Witch no longer existed.
He returned to the place he’d entered Hayll, searching for any clue, for the door that had opened and let him fall through, but there was nothing.
Even if he got home… Dean was long dead.
-
The few hours he slept, he dreamed of his childhood. As he walked, he sought out dark blond hair and a leather jacket. When he ate, he imagined it was in a diner somewhere in America, with his brother across the table. In the wind, he sometimes heard Dean’s laugh.
His eyes slowly brightened when his slavery ended. His body stayed just as hard, just as scarred, but his soul lightened.
Lorn had told him to have hope. Surely-the father of the Blood would not lie, or offer a false promise.
-
He opens his eyes and sees a gray ceiling. Beneath him, he feels a mattress. Spread out over him, is a faded blanket.
He reaches for the charm, but it’s gone.
Samuel lunges up and out of the bed, searching-a toilet flushes and he knows.
The bathroom door opens and his brother walks out. The charm rests by his heart. “Dean,” Samuel whispers.
Dean looks up and meets his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, stretching. “Nightmare?”
Samuel nods jerkily, not ready to accept it’s all over, just an endless nightmare. He can feel the cracks in his psyche, in his soul-he was broken.
Dean walks over and looks up into Samuel’s eyes. “You’re awake now, little brother,” he says. “Now, go take a shower. We’ve gotta hit the road.”
Samuel nods and steps around him, hesitating in the doorway. He glances over his shoulder and asks, “If I fell through a portal and you couldn’t find a way in, what would you do?”
Dean straightens from packing and meets his gaze. “I’d find a way.”
-
Falling… careening into the abyss… screaming… blood and death and fire-tell me this doesn’t freak you out-and a gentle touch to keep madness at bay.
-long as I’m around-where are you?-Sammy!-
Falling… rushing into the depths, lost and forgotten, and no matter how hard he searches… no matter where he looks, or how long…
-Dean-
Falling… into another world…
-
“Sam!”
His eyes open. The sun is bright, the ground hard beneath him, and his body aches. “Dean?” he whispers but there is no answer. “Dean!” The scream is primal, terrified, and Dean calls, “Sammy!”
He doesn’t move when Dean nearly trips over him; it hurts too much. He doesn’t cry when Dean lifts him, barely able to support them both. He doesn’t say anything when Dean gently puts him in the Impala and breaks every traffic law getting to the hospital.
He cries when he wakes the next morning because Dean is asleep in the chair next to the hospital bed and he finally realizes he’s fallen back home.
Fandom: "Supernatural"/Black Jewels Trilogy crossover
Disclaimer: I did not create any of these characters. Eric Kripke and Anne Bishop can claim that.
Warnings: spoilers for The Black Jewels Trilogy
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1830
Point of view: third
Notes: Basic knowledge of the trilogy is helpful, but I think you can muddle your way through without it. However: here is a basic run through. If you haven't read the books, you really need to. Edited 8-26 to change format.
Once, his eyes were a bright green and his joyful grin shone light onto the world. Once he greeted each dawn with a smile. Once he stood tall, proud, full of life and love.
Once, he was not broken. Only barely can he remember those days.
He has no memory of how he came to be in this place. Sometimes, he sees glimpses of somewhere else, somewhere he was loved and cherished and protected.
But always, he is recalled to the present, to the torturous existence he sees no way out of.
Dorothea commands instant obedience. She does not accept failure or a wait. Only one person has ever openly defied her, to his knowledge, and that man wears the Black, something he cannot claim.
He is not even lucky enough to wear a Jewel at all, but no one has been able to remove the golden charm from his neck-not with Craft or the more base means of a knife.
A few speculate, where he cannot hear, what it means, that necklace, and the scars he arrived with. They have companions, now, those remnants of another life, many companions. No one is fast enough for Dorothea. Or subservient enough, and for some reason, groveling tastes bitter on his tongue.
He does not count the days, has not for a long time. Others come and go, most notably the wearer of the Black, Daemon Sadi, a dangerous man. Sadi’s voice was silken when he spoke to him, his fingers soft upon his face.
The Sadist, many call him. One who offers exquisite pleasure laced with pain.
“Who are you?” Sadi crooned, gently tracing his jaw.
“Samuel,” he answered, closing his eyes as the Sadist’s fingertip touched his lips.
“You are different, Samuel,” Sadi whispered. “I have not met your kind before.”
Dorothea called for Sadi then and the two did not speak again. Later, much later, he learned that Sadi escaped, vanished, and was rumored to have destroyed a court-and a child.
And even later, he learned that the Sadist fell into the Twisted Kingdom.
-
Once, he knows, he was happy. Now, though, he can hardly recall the definition of the word.
In this court, he is the lowest of the low, a slave of slaves. He has no rank, no prospect, no hope. He is a toy of all who wish to play with him, male and female alike.
Sometimes, he can remember being cherished. It is a distant feeling, always fleeting, and it leaves him aching deep inside.
He does not know how he can remember his name but not his family; how he can remember he was happy but not his past.
He does not know why the Sadist’s presence calmed him so, since Sadi is the most dangerous person in the realm.
But something in the man’s bearing, his touch-it stoked a fire inside him, struck a chord, and the echo reverberates in his dreams.
Except, Sadi’s golden eyes turn to hazel, if he thinks long enough, and his black hair lightens to dark blond.
-
He learned he was an anomaly early on. He did not look like any of the long-lived races, but he never aged. They studied him before casting him in the role of slave. They sent tendrils of power into his mind, his soul, his body-they raped him over and over, and he had no means of fighting back. He merely endured. He could not rise above the pain or sink into himself; he could only suffer in silence and heal when at last given the chance.
He clung to the few half-remembered glimpses of another life in those days. Even then, he thought them only fever dreams, concocted by a desperate man who needed something to clutch close for self-preservation.
They demanded his name, his past, and all he had to offer was, “Samuel.” They could not explain his green eyes or dark brown hair, and the fact that he did not age or wear a Jewel. They could not explain, but they could enslave.
And they did. An unknown, he was watched closely for a time he did not bother measuring. When he showed no sign of power or defiance, he was forgotten. Cast aside, ignored, beaten, branded a failure… branded useless, clearly just a mistake that should never have been born, never fallen from wherever he fell from…
Only noticed when someone wanted something. Only noticed for sex. His green eyes darkened and his scarred body hardened and he could feel himself fading, but no one noticed, no one cared-
-
And Dorothea died.
He felt the rush of power before anyone else, heard the voice calling on the air, sensed it all before it happened.
And he remembered. He remembered it all.
-
Falling… careening into the abyss… screaming… blood and death and fire-tell me this doesn’t freak you out-and a gentle touch to keep madness at bay.
-long as I’m around-where are you?-Sammy!-
Falling… rushing into the depths, lost and forgotten, and no matter how hard he searches… no matter where he looks, or how long…
-Dean-
Falling… into another world…
-
He had no explanation, no understanding. All he had was centuries of pain and loss, and the sure knowledge that Dean was long dead.
He had no way home, no one in this world who cared. All he had was a golden charm and no reason of how it got there, and why it wouldn’t come off.
Waiting for Witch’s forces to find the survivors, Samuel held the charm in his fist.
Surely, the Sadist would help him.
-
The closer he moved to Witch’s keep, the more the power filled him.
He still wore no Jewel but a golden necklace from a different life, but he started to believe it didn’t matter.
That rush of dark intent, coupled with love for all-like Sadi, it reminded him of Dean. In his mind’s eye, he could see his brother, smirking and grinning and laughing and yelling at him for being stupid enough to fall into a portal.
His eyes misted and the carriage stopped before the imposing building. As he passed through the doors, he could sense the grief that permeated the place-these people, for all their strength, could not help him. They were as lost as he was, perhaps moreso.
He glanced once more around him and closed his eyes, Dean appearing in front of him. Dean, in all his living glory, bathed in sunlight, a beacon of hope-
Who are you? a deep, dark, kind voice asked and he raised his head.
No one stood in sight. “Samuel,” he answered.
This is not your world, Samuel, the voice continued. This is not your place.
“No sir,” he replied respectfully, still searching.
We cannot help you, child. Not now. Perhaps, if you had come sooner… the voice trailed off, but regret tinted his tone.
Samuel quickly assured him, “It’s not your fault, sir. I doubt anyone could help me now, or then.” He sighed and added, “Have a good day, sir.”
He turned and exited through the doors, the carriage long gone, but he just walked. He passed what seemed like a zoo, but they all paused to look at him; the Kindred they were called. Animals that wore a Jewel and spoke.
Have hope, the voice called as he left. Have hope in twilight.
Samuel did not know what that meant, but he touched his brother’s charm and knew he would.
-
Seasons passed, seasons beyond counting. He ate when hungry, sipped water when parched, slept when he wearied, and walked. He felt the return of the Queen, of the one once called Witch, and learned that the dark, kind voice had been Lorn, a dragon older than the world, nearly.
Witch had cleansed the realms and now Jaenelle, as Queen, ruled them.
None of which helped him. Witch alone had the power to send him home, but Witch no longer existed.
He returned to the place he’d entered Hayll, searching for any clue, for the door that had opened and let him fall through, but there was nothing.
Even if he got home… Dean was long dead.
-
The few hours he slept, he dreamed of his childhood. As he walked, he sought out dark blond hair and a leather jacket. When he ate, he imagined it was in a diner somewhere in America, with his brother across the table. In the wind, he sometimes heard Dean’s laugh.
His eyes slowly brightened when his slavery ended. His body stayed just as hard, just as scarred, but his soul lightened.
Lorn had told him to have hope. Surely-the father of the Blood would not lie, or offer a false promise.
-
He opens his eyes and sees a gray ceiling. Beneath him, he feels a mattress. Spread out over him, is a faded blanket.
He reaches for the charm, but it’s gone.
Samuel lunges up and out of the bed, searching-a toilet flushes and he knows.
The bathroom door opens and his brother walks out. The charm rests by his heart. “Dean,” Samuel whispers.
Dean looks up and meets his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks, stretching. “Nightmare?”
Samuel nods jerkily, not ready to accept it’s all over, just an endless nightmare. He can feel the cracks in his psyche, in his soul-he was broken.
Dean walks over and looks up into Samuel’s eyes. “You’re awake now, little brother,” he says. “Now, go take a shower. We’ve gotta hit the road.”
Samuel nods and steps around him, hesitating in the doorway. He glances over his shoulder and asks, “If I fell through a portal and you couldn’t find a way in, what would you do?”
Dean straightens from packing and meets his gaze. “I’d find a way.”
-
Falling… careening into the abyss… screaming… blood and death and fire-tell me this doesn’t freak you out-and a gentle touch to keep madness at bay.
-long as I’m around-where are you?-Sammy!-
Falling… rushing into the depths, lost and forgotten, and no matter how hard he searches… no matter where he looks, or how long…
-Dean-
Falling… into another world…
-
“Sam!”
His eyes open. The sun is bright, the ground hard beneath him, and his body aches. “Dean?” he whispers but there is no answer. “Dean!” The scream is primal, terrified, and Dean calls, “Sammy!”
He doesn’t move when Dean nearly trips over him; it hurts too much. He doesn’t cry when Dean lifts him, barely able to support them both. He doesn’t say anything when Dean gently puts him in the Impala and breaks every traffic law getting to the hospital.
He cries when he wakes the next morning because Dean is asleep in the chair next to the hospital bed and he finally realizes he’s fallen back home.