FIC: Rain Fall Down
Nov. 5th, 2007 10:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Rain Fall Down
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters herein are used without permission. No infringement intended, no profit made, no lawsuit preferred.
Summary: AU. Gen. Continuation of the Shelter-verse. Bobby strikes a truce.
A/N: Lightning-fast beta by the wonderfuleponin10. Any remaining mistakes are all me.
October came, bringing sharp winds at night. Carter rumbled at shadows, restless as hell. Bobby understood the itch; his lights flickered as he researched, and the air around his yard seemed tight. Ready to snap.
There was no sign of John at his usual haunts.
Probably hunting, Bobby's sources said. Don't worry about John, he always turns up sooner or later. Yeah, well. Bobby had one of the man's kids and another on his way from Kansas. Hard not to feel a bit anxious about tracking down John's sorry ass.
Bobby was in no place to raise a couple kids, too many guns and too much shattered glass strewn around his house. It didn't look like the soft places they showed on TV, smiling women hugging on clean children in a house with a swingset instead of salt lines. Beatrix would've known what to do with two boys, but Bobby had no clue how to deal with the one he'd already found. There was no sign of Dean in the yard, none at all, and it'd been three days. The kid had to be hungry, cold at night, maybe scared, but he hadn't come when Bobby left food and blankets on the back porch. Too much like John already; 12 and the kid was lined with barbed wire.
The wind tore across the yard, shaking the windows in their caulk, and it got bitter cold. There was no sign of Dean, no sign at all. The storm tasted like brimstone and fire.
Carter paced and growled.
***
Fourth day.
Bobby was bent over an open hood, trying to get an engine out while the sun scorched the back of his neck, when he felt Carter lift his head. A moment later, there was a creak, the soft noise of footsteps. Almost silent. If Bobby hadn't been hunting before Dean was born, he might've missed it.
He kept on working, moving slow and deliberate as he considered his options. Carter got up and plodded over, heading for the truck behind Bobby where Dean was probably crouching for cover. There came the unmistakable rattle of Carter's collar as Dean scratched the old mutt's good ear, and Bobby hid his smile under the brim of his cap.
After a few minutes of fiddling with the distributor cap, Bobby cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Dean."
Taut silence from Dean's corner.
"I've been looking for your daddy. Haven't found him yet. Last person who heard from him said he was in Washington state, dealing with a werebear. I've left plenty of messages, though, and he'll come around sooner or later. That's how he operates." Bobby stared at the inside of the hood, wondered whether or not to mention Sam, then let it go. If Missouri (treacherous old witch) decided to run with Sam, Bobby didn't want to deal with the fallout from Dean and John. John would rage, but Dean might just bolt, and they'd been lucky to find him once. "I told you I'd take you to him, and I plan to, but now we're waiting for his move."
In all his years with Carter, from bottle-raising him as an orphan pup until now, Bobby had never heard Carter whine. But whine Carter did, a piteous noise, and snuffled at Dean until the sounds of ear-scratching came again.
Dean might not wander close, but he trusted enough to take his eyes off Bobby to scratch his dog. Bobby smiled and got to work as Dean chewed on what he'd said. The scratching noise died down and Carter gave a groan, old bones settling in for a nap. There was a scuffle of shoe on dirt, like Carter had settled in on Dean and the pup wasn't sure what to do about it.
Bobby said. "You and me, we seem to be stuck with each other for now. So here it is: I'm not gonna belt you one. No cages here, and no tazers. You don't wanna talk, that's fine by me. I was never much for small talk anyway. All I want is for you to stay fed, warm and in the yard. Your daddy'll want to see that when he comes around. Sound fair?"
No answer.
"I'm taking that as a yes. You're stubborn as your old man, you know that?" Tugging at his cap, Bobby eyed the motor. It was loose as he could get it without a lift. "He left a jacket here once. It's on the porch. Might be big on you yet."
The scratching slowed, then stopped altogether. Carter made a disgruntled noise. When Bobby turned his head, Dean was gone.
"Huh," Bobby said, and smiled.
******
Day gave way to night, and the winds rolled in again. It should've been better, knowing that Dean was still in the yard, but nerves bit harder at Bobby until he realized he'd reread the same page five times over. He put the book aside, scrubbing at his face with one hand.
Young kids came in, figuring the hunt for a nonstop adrenaline rush, and went right out again. It was a dirty, lonely job for survivors, madmen and priests: getting kicked out of funeral homes and libraries, digging at the wounds of the grieving families, killing and bleeding and limping away from the fight until you found the thing that'd kill you. Bobby had buried too many hunters, only slightly fewer than the things he'd salted and burned.
He'd got the thing that murdered Beatrix. That was more than most could say.
Getting maudlin. Time to stop researching, drink a beer and catch a nap. It was uneasy work, sleeping under the weight and pressure outside, but he'd checked and rechecked the wards. The yard was as safe as it could be. Either the demon would attack, or it'd move on; Bobby had already called the usual suspects to deal with it when they could. He wouldn't dive into a hunt with a kid around, Winchester's pup or not.
Bobby stood, knees popping in protest, and started for the kitchen. Halfway there, he stopped short.
Dean was in his living room, dwarfed by John's jacket and shivering anyway. He flinched when Bobby came in, but didn't run. His jaw set stubbornly, eyes narrowed under the dirty shag of his hair. He'd borrowed one of Bobby's wrenches, gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. Carter sat by his feet, content as a damn lapdog.
Bobby nodded at them, then turned to peer out the open door. "Getting nasty out there. Glad you came in. Hungry?"
Dean didn't lower the wrench, but after a moment, he nodded.
Bobby headed into the kitchen and dished out two bowls of chili, left over from the big batch he'd made last Sunday. If he didn't look after the house and himself, he'd be useless on the hunt. If a man got hungry enough, he'd be careless. If he didn't know his own house, every creaking floorboard and caulked window, he'd miss a botched salt line or fault in his wards. It was a lesson John had never learned.
When Bobby came back with dinner, Dean hadn't moved. He watched, eyes narrowing as Bobby took both bowls to his battered old couch and sat. The pup had obviously expected Bobby to bring the food closer so Dean could tuck himself in a corner and wolf it down. Ingenious as that steam-bomb back at the sanitarium had been, Dean had a lot to learn about strategy. A wise hunter drew out his quarry instead of running it to ground.
Settling into his armchair with the chili and his journal, Bobby dug in. He was halfway finished by the time he saw Dean out of the corner of his eye, wavering towards the food. It took another few pages for Dean to make up his mind, snatching the bowl and tucking himself in the far corner of the couch. He stayed poised to run if Bobby so much as sneezed, so Bobby let him be and kept turning pages. Once in a while, he made notes.
A log popped in the fire. Dean jerked like a wild thing.
"Safer in here than out there," Bobby said without looking up. "There's a demon about. Probably higher level. It'll be gone soon enough."
Dean stared at him.
"C'mon, Dean. You know what that thing in the basement was. You were prepared for it." Bobby looked up at Dean. "I'm not here to lie to you. I'm a hunter. So's your daddy. And there's a demon out in the woods. You're no fool; you'll stay where the weapons are."
Dean blinked, then looked down at the empty bowl in his hands. He nudged the spoon, sliding it around, then back at Bobby. His expression was a question.
"Yeah, there's more." Bobby rose and went to the kitchen, refilled Dean's bowl. While he was there, he grabbed a heel of banana bread and slathered peanut butter on it. Dean could stand some fattening up.
When he got back, Dean had moved to the closer end of the couch and was peering at Bobby's research. He twitched guiltily when he saw Bobby, settling back on his heels. Carter had shifted over to sniff at Bobby's empty bowl.
Bobby put the food down where Dean could reach it. "There's a cannibal cult in New Mexico. I'm helping a friend of mine with research."
Dean nodded and sank back into the couch. John's jacket wrapped around him like a blanket, hiding everything but his dirty face and hands. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a spatter of freckles under the grime. With a glance at Bobby, Dean picked up his bowl and cupped it in his hands. He ate slower now, closing his eyes with every bite.
The pup was good company, quiet and mostly still. He didn't squirm like Ellen's kid had, no trying to touch things or ask questions. He held himself like an old hunter crouching in the bushes, the wrench propped up against his hip. When he finished the second bowl, Dean put it down and cased the room with tired interest. His attention lingered on the weapons and protective sigils.
"His last placement, he had a little girl with him. Two years old. Parents wake up to her screaming, and they come in to find him over her bed with a knife. He'd been pushing her in a swing that afternoon. Hurt her real bad."
Yeah. Dean hadn't hurt that little girl. He'd been trying to protect her. Probably saved her life, for all the good it did him. A Winchester alone in the world, his daddy's blood drawing demons down on him...
No. No, the strategy didn't hold. If Dean was meant to be used or killed, there had been nothing in the way. No reason for the demons to be satisfied by hurting the girl. It might've been chance, some unaffiliated beast coincidentally choosing that house, but Bobby didn't much believe in coincidence. It had been deliberate. Something had been herding Dean out of that house and into state custody, into the concrete cage of a facility. If John's intel was good, Dean had been in institutions up until the last few years. Why let him out and put him in again?
Why did the demons want a twelve year old boy alive but out of the way? To get to John?
Or to get to Sam?
Dean looked hunted, and Bobby realized that he had to be staring. Clearing his throat, Bobby paged past his cult research towards the folded-up notes in the back. He included a pencil for good measure. "No use in you being idle. Circle what you don't understand and we'll start from there."
Dean wouldn't take the pages from Bobby's hand, but once they were set between them, Dean snatched them up and started reading. He devoured the information like he had the chili, half-starved. Bobby wondered belatedly whether they'd been trying to teach the boy anything in that hellhole, or if they'd just let him run wild. Damned fine caretaker Bobby was turning out to be. He'd call Jim in the morning, try to figure out this schooling nonsense. For the moment, it was better to give Dean protection than homework.
It wasn't until Dean stopped short, his fingers frozen on the page, that Bobby remembered that the intro to demonology notes had originally been for John. He scrounged through his memory for a decent story to tell Dean about his daddy, but Dean swallowed hard and didn't look up. One skinny hand tugged John's coat tighter around his shoulders, and there was nothing Bobby could say.
In New Mexico, the cult kept killing. Bobby went back to his research, worked and waited, as the storm raged on.
Author:
nilchanceRating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters herein are used without permission. No infringement intended, no profit made, no lawsuit preferred.
Summary: AU. Gen. Continuation of the Shelter-verse. Bobby strikes a truce.
A/N: Lightning-fast beta by the wonderful
eponin10. Any remaining mistakes are all me. October came, bringing sharp winds at night. Carter rumbled at shadows, restless as hell. Bobby understood the itch; his lights flickered as he researched, and the air around his yard seemed tight. Ready to snap.
There was no sign of John at his usual haunts.
Probably hunting, Bobby's sources said. Don't worry about John, he always turns up sooner or later. Yeah, well. Bobby had one of the man's kids and another on his way from Kansas. Hard not to feel a bit anxious about tracking down John's sorry ass.
Bobby was in no place to raise a couple kids, too many guns and too much shattered glass strewn around his house. It didn't look like the soft places they showed on TV, smiling women hugging on clean children in a house with a swingset instead of salt lines. Beatrix would've known what to do with two boys, but Bobby had no clue how to deal with the one he'd already found. There was no sign of Dean in the yard, none at all, and it'd been three days. The kid had to be hungry, cold at night, maybe scared, but he hadn't come when Bobby left food and blankets on the back porch. Too much like John already; 12 and the kid was lined with barbed wire.
The wind tore across the yard, shaking the windows in their caulk, and it got bitter cold. There was no sign of Dean, no sign at all. The storm tasted like brimstone and fire.
Carter paced and growled.
***
Fourth day.
Bobby was bent over an open hood, trying to get an engine out while the sun scorched the back of his neck, when he felt Carter lift his head. A moment later, there was a creak, the soft noise of footsteps. Almost silent. If Bobby hadn't been hunting before Dean was born, he might've missed it.
He kept on working, moving slow and deliberate as he considered his options. Carter got up and plodded over, heading for the truck behind Bobby where Dean was probably crouching for cover. There came the unmistakable rattle of Carter's collar as Dean scratched the old mutt's good ear, and Bobby hid his smile under the brim of his cap.
After a few minutes of fiddling with the distributor cap, Bobby cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Dean."
Taut silence from Dean's corner.
"I've been looking for your daddy. Haven't found him yet. Last person who heard from him said he was in Washington state, dealing with a werebear. I've left plenty of messages, though, and he'll come around sooner or later. That's how he operates." Bobby stared at the inside of the hood, wondered whether or not to mention Sam, then let it go. If Missouri (treacherous old witch) decided to run with Sam, Bobby didn't want to deal with the fallout from Dean and John. John would rage, but Dean might just bolt, and they'd been lucky to find him once. "I told you I'd take you to him, and I plan to, but now we're waiting for his move."
In all his years with Carter, from bottle-raising him as an orphan pup until now, Bobby had never heard Carter whine. But whine Carter did, a piteous noise, and snuffled at Dean until the sounds of ear-scratching came again.
Dean might not wander close, but he trusted enough to take his eyes off Bobby to scratch his dog. Bobby smiled and got to work as Dean chewed on what he'd said. The scratching noise died down and Carter gave a groan, old bones settling in for a nap. There was a scuffle of shoe on dirt, like Carter had settled in on Dean and the pup wasn't sure what to do about it.
Bobby said. "You and me, we seem to be stuck with each other for now. So here it is: I'm not gonna belt you one. No cages here, and no tazers. You don't wanna talk, that's fine by me. I was never much for small talk anyway. All I want is for you to stay fed, warm and in the yard. Your daddy'll want to see that when he comes around. Sound fair?"
No answer.
"I'm taking that as a yes. You're stubborn as your old man, you know that?" Tugging at his cap, Bobby eyed the motor. It was loose as he could get it without a lift. "He left a jacket here once. It's on the porch. Might be big on you yet."
The scratching slowed, then stopped altogether. Carter made a disgruntled noise. When Bobby turned his head, Dean was gone.
"Huh," Bobby said, and smiled.
******
Day gave way to night, and the winds rolled in again. It should've been better, knowing that Dean was still in the yard, but nerves bit harder at Bobby until he realized he'd reread the same page five times over. He put the book aside, scrubbing at his face with one hand.
Young kids came in, figuring the hunt for a nonstop adrenaline rush, and went right out again. It was a dirty, lonely job for survivors, madmen and priests: getting kicked out of funeral homes and libraries, digging at the wounds of the grieving families, killing and bleeding and limping away from the fight until you found the thing that'd kill you. Bobby had buried too many hunters, only slightly fewer than the things he'd salted and burned.
He'd got the thing that murdered Beatrix. That was more than most could say.
Getting maudlin. Time to stop researching, drink a beer and catch a nap. It was uneasy work, sleeping under the weight and pressure outside, but he'd checked and rechecked the wards. The yard was as safe as it could be. Either the demon would attack, or it'd move on; Bobby had already called the usual suspects to deal with it when they could. He wouldn't dive into a hunt with a kid around, Winchester's pup or not.
Bobby stood, knees popping in protest, and started for the kitchen. Halfway there, he stopped short.
Dean was in his living room, dwarfed by John's jacket and shivering anyway. He flinched when Bobby came in, but didn't run. His jaw set stubbornly, eyes narrowed under the dirty shag of his hair. He'd borrowed one of Bobby's wrenches, gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. Carter sat by his feet, content as a damn lapdog.
Bobby nodded at them, then turned to peer out the open door. "Getting nasty out there. Glad you came in. Hungry?"
Dean didn't lower the wrench, but after a moment, he nodded.
Bobby headed into the kitchen and dished out two bowls of chili, left over from the big batch he'd made last Sunday. If he didn't look after the house and himself, he'd be useless on the hunt. If a man got hungry enough, he'd be careless. If he didn't know his own house, every creaking floorboard and caulked window, he'd miss a botched salt line or fault in his wards. It was a lesson John had never learned.
When Bobby came back with dinner, Dean hadn't moved. He watched, eyes narrowing as Bobby took both bowls to his battered old couch and sat. The pup had obviously expected Bobby to bring the food closer so Dean could tuck himself in a corner and wolf it down. Ingenious as that steam-bomb back at the sanitarium had been, Dean had a lot to learn about strategy. A wise hunter drew out his quarry instead of running it to ground.
Settling into his armchair with the chili and his journal, Bobby dug in. He was halfway finished by the time he saw Dean out of the corner of his eye, wavering towards the food. It took another few pages for Dean to make up his mind, snatching the bowl and tucking himself in the far corner of the couch. He stayed poised to run if Bobby so much as sneezed, so Bobby let him be and kept turning pages. Once in a while, he made notes.
A log popped in the fire. Dean jerked like a wild thing.
"Safer in here than out there," Bobby said without looking up. "There's a demon about. Probably higher level. It'll be gone soon enough."
Dean stared at him.
"C'mon, Dean. You know what that thing in the basement was. You were prepared for it." Bobby looked up at Dean. "I'm not here to lie to you. I'm a hunter. So's your daddy. And there's a demon out in the woods. You're no fool; you'll stay where the weapons are."
Dean blinked, then looked down at the empty bowl in his hands. He nudged the spoon, sliding it around, then back at Bobby. His expression was a question.
"Yeah, there's more." Bobby rose and went to the kitchen, refilled Dean's bowl. While he was there, he grabbed a heel of banana bread and slathered peanut butter on it. Dean could stand some fattening up.
When he got back, Dean had moved to the closer end of the couch and was peering at Bobby's research. He twitched guiltily when he saw Bobby, settling back on his heels. Carter had shifted over to sniff at Bobby's empty bowl.
Bobby put the food down where Dean could reach it. "There's a cannibal cult in New Mexico. I'm helping a friend of mine with research."
Dean nodded and sank back into the couch. John's jacket wrapped around him like a blanket, hiding everything but his dirty face and hands. There were dark circles under his eyes, and a spatter of freckles under the grime. With a glance at Bobby, Dean picked up his bowl and cupped it in his hands. He ate slower now, closing his eyes with every bite.
The pup was good company, quiet and mostly still. He didn't squirm like Ellen's kid had, no trying to touch things or ask questions. He held himself like an old hunter crouching in the bushes, the wrench propped up against his hip. When he finished the second bowl, Dean put it down and cased the room with tired interest. His attention lingered on the weapons and protective sigils.
"His last placement, he had a little girl with him. Two years old. Parents wake up to her screaming, and they come in to find him over her bed with a knife. He'd been pushing her in a swing that afternoon. Hurt her real bad."
Yeah. Dean hadn't hurt that little girl. He'd been trying to protect her. Probably saved her life, for all the good it did him. A Winchester alone in the world, his daddy's blood drawing demons down on him...
No. No, the strategy didn't hold. If Dean was meant to be used or killed, there had been nothing in the way. No reason for the demons to be satisfied by hurting the girl. It might've been chance, some unaffiliated beast coincidentally choosing that house, but Bobby didn't much believe in coincidence. It had been deliberate. Something had been herding Dean out of that house and into state custody, into the concrete cage of a facility. If John's intel was good, Dean had been in institutions up until the last few years. Why let him out and put him in again?
Why did the demons want a twelve year old boy alive but out of the way? To get to John?
Or to get to Sam?
Dean looked hunted, and Bobby realized that he had to be staring. Clearing his throat, Bobby paged past his cult research towards the folded-up notes in the back. He included a pencil for good measure. "No use in you being idle. Circle what you don't understand and we'll start from there."
Dean wouldn't take the pages from Bobby's hand, but once they were set between them, Dean snatched them up and started reading. He devoured the information like he had the chili, half-starved. Bobby wondered belatedly whether they'd been trying to teach the boy anything in that hellhole, or if they'd just let him run wild. Damned fine caretaker Bobby was turning out to be. He'd call Jim in the morning, try to figure out this schooling nonsense. For the moment, it was better to give Dean protection than homework.
It wasn't until Dean stopped short, his fingers frozen on the page, that Bobby remembered that the intro to demonology notes had originally been for John. He scrounged through his memory for a decent story to tell Dean about his daddy, but Dean swallowed hard and didn't look up. One skinny hand tugged John's coat tighter around his shoulders, and there was nothing Bobby could say.
In New Mexico, the cult kept killing. Bobby went back to his research, worked and waited, as the storm raged on.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 04:19 pm (UTC)Lost!pup Dean is to die for.
Bobby is great, totally out of his element and yet doing his best, and oh I can't wait for John to arrive eventually.
thanks!
:D
no subject
Date: 2007-11-09 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 04:36 pm (UTC)I logged on this morning, thinking that there were like 3 WIPs that I'd bother to read before I got ready for school,
and then this was here and everything else got thrown out the window because MUST READ NOW!
And you didn't disappoint. Wow. Dean and Bobby are awesome. I love the subtle interactions, and how slow it goes and how patient Bobby has to be.
The dog is super cool too.
LOve love love.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-09 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 05:11 pm (UTC)I cannot wait to see what will happen when Sam and Dean get back together!
This was fantastic, thanks for making my morning.
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Date: 2007-11-09 03:57 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2007-11-05 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 09:19 pm (UTC)Hello. I've been lurking and reading your fic for a while now, so have a comment. This is awesome. I have so much Bobby-love, and reluctant-childminder!Bobby is adorable here. And Dean. Oh, Dean. With the heartbreaking. I'm very glad you posted some more fic. Glad like a junkie getting her fix.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 09:54 pm (UTC)I'm not crying, I just got something in my eye.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 09:59 pm (UTC)*is totally late for work now* <3!
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Date: 2007-11-05 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-05 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 12:58 am (UTC)I adore the fact that Bobby views Dean as a pup, and interacts with him as such. Considering how feral Dean has had to become though, it seems like a good strategy. And I just want to hug Dean! (He wouldn't let me, but I still want to.) He's a pure survivor right now, and just doesn't know how to deal with human kindness without a darker intent behind it.
Thank you for writing.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 02:01 am (UTC)I like how Dean is still wary after several days, and I like how Bobby is so careful with him. Great update!
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 04:00 am (UTC)You wrote more!
YAY!
::camps out in your front yard to wait for more::
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 04:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 04:47 am (UTC)One of the moments that really stood out for me in this one is Dean going after John’s jacket. So, so bittersweet. I just want John to hurry up and come back to him.
Favorite lines:
Too much like John already; 12 and the kid was lined with barbed wire.
Great description.
There came the unmistakable rattle of Carter's collar as Dean scratched the old mutt's good ear
Good detail.
Dean was in his living room, dwarfed by John's jacket and shivering anyway.
Oh, Dean.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 06:06 am (UTC)I can just imagine Bobby treating Dean like a poor abandoned puppy and trying to earn his trust...awwww.
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Date: 2007-11-06 10:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 10:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-06 11:06 am (UTC)