Fic: Blood Stone
Sep. 2nd, 2009 09:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_summergenTitle: Blood Stone
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shay_renoylds
Recipient:caffienekitty
Rating: PG
Warnings: None overly. Spoilers to season two.
Summary: The brothers are forced to help a community in the middle of a forest fire. And, uh, it might just be their fault.
Sam had a feeling that this is what the front lines felt like.
Hour on hour, muscles aching with hauling heavy hoses, and spraying water. The broken machinery didn't help. The tired, irate, and hopeless townspeople helped even less.
Trying to herd cattle out of the way and then just giving up when it was apparent there was nothing that could be done.
People would drop and someone else would take their place. That was how it had to be. They couldn't fall back anymore or the village would be gone – as it was they'd already lost a mile.
“Dean. Stop. Really.” Sam could see the angst a mile away, the blame.
Dean didn't stop pushing on it. That might have stopped all of this from happening. Then again, Sam wasn't sure if anything would.
When Dean managed to get the hose working again, Sam tried to get his scattered focus back.
It wouldn't work. All he kept seeing was her all over the place.
- -
The village of Innisfil should have been decimated. There shouldn't have been any sort of containment left.
The government had given up on this little spit of a town after the third forest fire tried to rage through it.
Relocation, they urged. The townspeople didn't want to listen. Didn't listen.
They had history here, after all. It was their town. Had been there town since before there had even been a confederacy to bother them about things. The graveyard held more than a few generations of families around the church.
It wasn't much, maybe, but for them it was more than they needed. A gas station that hadn't had gas in over five years, a general store that doubled as a grocery store, and farmers that hadn't been able to bring in a full season of hay in the past decade.
And a special gift from the old country from when they set up shop – a rock of red sandstone to stand in the new church.
Had it been documented, had the hunters in England known, it wouldn't have come to plagues followed by droughts followed by fires.
But it wasn't documented, and the other piece of the stone was taken away from the original country before anyone could do anything about it.
It was Dean that figured out that actually, that hunk of rock? Not exactly just rock.
Mostly it was compressed stone, sandstone, as expected, but it was also a pain in the ass. In all actuality it had probably been a piece of the stone of destiny (Sam), and really just a bunch of pissy Scotish spirits in the end (Dean).
- -
The smell of cooking flesh – and cow, as Dean kept pointing out – was everywhere. Sam wasn't sure if there was a place they could get away from it.
There definitely wasn't a place to get away from the falling ash. Sam tried to tell himself it was for the best – it would be the last fire the area would see. It would be the start of a new era.
Right now it was hell on earth.
The fire had been unearthly. And no matter what had been done in the past, it couldn't actually have anything done with it.
- -
The spirit was definitely older than they expected – a matron rather than a maiden.
“Who spit in her cornflakes?”
“Dean.” Sam figured he could come up with something more... pointed to say. But this tone hadn't failed him in the last decade. Sam didn't change what wasn't already broken.
“Shouldn't she be happy she's free?”
One look at the spirit proved that wrong – she was definitely not impressed. It took Sam a moment, a moment of listening to wailing, before he figured it out.
“It was a blood sacrifice.”
“Come again.” Dean knew this, Sam was sure. Dad had drilled it into their heads.
“She was the blood sacrifice. The thing that cemented the stone to the land. When the stone was misplaced -
“Save the history lesson.”
The spirit jumped away from them. And when Dean had looked at him, panic in his eyes, he'd only been able to say one thing.
“Shit.”
Sam didn't think he'd ever agreed more with his brother.
- -
The guilt may have been why they stayed.
At least, that's what Sam tells himself. He knows, though, that there was no way for them to get out of there alive. At least not until some of the fire burned itself out. The Impala, guarded against everything, couldn't jump the flames.
So they threw themselves into the relief effort.
It seemed neighbourly at the time. And that girl down the road that Dean'd been eying the entire time they'd been there had probably helped a bit in that regard.
- -
When the spirit had screamed, the trail of fire followed.
Dean had tried to shoot it – tried everything he could.
But the spirit was gone.
And the shouts that followed, there was only one thing that could have happened – she took her revenge for her country scorned, and her people displaced.
“Freaking blood magic. Next time anyone even mentions it - we're sick, we're dead, we're in a godforsaken airplane. We tell Bobby to stuff it.”
- -
The first day was a hazy memory for Sam. Dean had been there, he's almost positive, but there'd been running, and bruises after the fact. And the harsh sound of both of them trying to breath the super-heated, dry-as-hell air.
Dean had to grab him, pull him back at some point. Sam had remembered that. He'd swayed, the heat being almost too much.
“You doin' alright there, champ?”
Dean had smiled, tight, brokenly.
“Can you -”
“No but the -”
“GET THE HOSE -”
“The pressure's dropping -”
“I don't care!”
That was when the limb hit Sam in the head. And Sam was almost sure he was happy he stopped caring there.
- -
Dean had watched Sam fall, but hadn't been able to get to him in time.
There'd been nothing he could do, but that didn't stop Dean from blaming himself.
Sam hadn't wanted to move back – the line they'd held was weakening by the minute and it was his own damn stubborn fault that branch had fallen on him – but that didn't make this any better.
The fires were mostly out, now, thanks to the increased watch of the fire patrol – and Dean's manic focus on getting Sam the hell out of dodge – meaning they would be in the clear soon
Dean was thankful, now, about that girl he'd been eying – Cindi, with an “i” - was a nurse when she wasn't helping protect small town Iowa from rampant firestorms. And she checked, and double checked that Sam really was okay.
It wasn't a coma. She kept repeating it again, and again, and again – but all Dean could see was a petite brunette who asked him to follow her into the light, and Dean was praying, in the church that started this whole mess - Dean - that Sam would come through, that Sam wasn't reliving the same arguments he'd had.
That it wouldn't be Sam's spirit he'd be getting rid of next.
Dean could tell that Cindi-with-an-i was starting to worry about when the not-coma hit the twenty hour mark.
But then Sam had stirred, a bit. And the townspeople had run into the make-shift hospital in the school and thumped Dean on the back.
“You boys can get out of here if you want -”
“I don't want to move him if we're not sure -”
And Sam's gargantuan hand had thumped onto his shoulder and Dean jumped, with a squeak, and no one said anything.
Sam had been groggy as hell. “What happened?”
“Your moronic head, happened. You gotta be thankful it's as hard as it is big, Sam. Otherwise, you'd probably be dead right now.”
“Wait -”
“The tree you tried to save, boy – right sweet of you to do it, too – caught fire faster than you could blink. Half the tree fell on your head, your brother here thought you were dead.”
“Didn't. I knew he'd come through.”
“So, what'll it be for dinner boys? We got some mighty fine venison for the two conquering heroes of Innisfil. And maybe some veil, though it might be extra crispy.”
- -
And that... was that. A few days of extended clean-up, and a minute, inch-by-inch check-up that meant Sam was fine, and they packed the Impala – safe, minus a bit of discolouration – onto the road.
The entire town, what was left of it, stood to see them off.
“Remember.” Candi-with-an-i happened to also be the mayor's daughter. Who knew. “You're always welcome here. Both of you.”
Sam grinned sheepishly from the passenger seat, bandage a bit askew.
“Thanks. But we have something we need to do.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean felt it was fitting – at least, y'know, this time. Dean tried to pretend that feeling of belonging wasn't something he was going to miss. Taking a last look in the rearview, he had to admit there were definitely some... assets, possibly-ending-in-an-i... that he was going to miss.
Author:
shay_renoyldsRecipient:
caffienekitty Rating: PG
Warnings: None overly. Spoilers to season two.
Summary: The brothers are forced to help a community in the middle of a forest fire. And, uh, it might just be their fault.
Sam had a feeling that this is what the front lines felt like.
Hour on hour, muscles aching with hauling heavy hoses, and spraying water. The broken machinery didn't help. The tired, irate, and hopeless townspeople helped even less.
Trying to herd cattle out of the way and then just giving up when it was apparent there was nothing that could be done.
People would drop and someone else would take their place. That was how it had to be. They couldn't fall back anymore or the village would be gone – as it was they'd already lost a mile.
“Dean. Stop. Really.” Sam could see the angst a mile away, the blame.
Dean didn't stop pushing on it. That might have stopped all of this from happening. Then again, Sam wasn't sure if anything would.
When Dean managed to get the hose working again, Sam tried to get his scattered focus back.
It wouldn't work. All he kept seeing was her all over the place.
- -
The village of Innisfil should have been decimated. There shouldn't have been any sort of containment left.
The government had given up on this little spit of a town after the third forest fire tried to rage through it.
Relocation, they urged. The townspeople didn't want to listen. Didn't listen.
They had history here, after all. It was their town. Had been there town since before there had even been a confederacy to bother them about things. The graveyard held more than a few generations of families around the church.
It wasn't much, maybe, but for them it was more than they needed. A gas station that hadn't had gas in over five years, a general store that doubled as a grocery store, and farmers that hadn't been able to bring in a full season of hay in the past decade.
And a special gift from the old country from when they set up shop – a rock of red sandstone to stand in the new church.
Had it been documented, had the hunters in England known, it wouldn't have come to plagues followed by droughts followed by fires.
But it wasn't documented, and the other piece of the stone was taken away from the original country before anyone could do anything about it.
It was Dean that figured out that actually, that hunk of rock? Not exactly just rock.
Mostly it was compressed stone, sandstone, as expected, but it was also a pain in the ass. In all actuality it had probably been a piece of the stone of destiny (Sam), and really just a bunch of pissy Scotish spirits in the end (Dean).
- -
The smell of cooking flesh – and cow, as Dean kept pointing out – was everywhere. Sam wasn't sure if there was a place they could get away from it.
There definitely wasn't a place to get away from the falling ash. Sam tried to tell himself it was for the best – it would be the last fire the area would see. It would be the start of a new era.
Right now it was hell on earth.
The fire had been unearthly. And no matter what had been done in the past, it couldn't actually have anything done with it.
- -
The spirit was definitely older than they expected – a matron rather than a maiden.
“Who spit in her cornflakes?”
“Dean.” Sam figured he could come up with something more... pointed to say. But this tone hadn't failed him in the last decade. Sam didn't change what wasn't already broken.
“Shouldn't she be happy she's free?”
One look at the spirit proved that wrong – she was definitely not impressed. It took Sam a moment, a moment of listening to wailing, before he figured it out.
“It was a blood sacrifice.”
“Come again.” Dean knew this, Sam was sure. Dad had drilled it into their heads.
“She was the blood sacrifice. The thing that cemented the stone to the land. When the stone was misplaced -
“Save the history lesson.”
The spirit jumped away from them. And when Dean had looked at him, panic in his eyes, he'd only been able to say one thing.
“Shit.”
Sam didn't think he'd ever agreed more with his brother.
- -
The guilt may have been why they stayed.
At least, that's what Sam tells himself. He knows, though, that there was no way for them to get out of there alive. At least not until some of the fire burned itself out. The Impala, guarded against everything, couldn't jump the flames.
So they threw themselves into the relief effort.
It seemed neighbourly at the time. And that girl down the road that Dean'd been eying the entire time they'd been there had probably helped a bit in that regard.
- -
When the spirit had screamed, the trail of fire followed.
Dean had tried to shoot it – tried everything he could.
But the spirit was gone.
And the shouts that followed, there was only one thing that could have happened – she took her revenge for her country scorned, and her people displaced.
“Freaking blood magic. Next time anyone even mentions it - we're sick, we're dead, we're in a godforsaken airplane. We tell Bobby to stuff it.”
- -
The first day was a hazy memory for Sam. Dean had been there, he's almost positive, but there'd been running, and bruises after the fact. And the harsh sound of both of them trying to breath the super-heated, dry-as-hell air.
Dean had to grab him, pull him back at some point. Sam had remembered that. He'd swayed, the heat being almost too much.
“You doin' alright there, champ?”
Dean had smiled, tight, brokenly.
“Can you -”
“No but the -”
“GET THE HOSE -”
“The pressure's dropping -”
“I don't care!”
That was when the limb hit Sam in the head. And Sam was almost sure he was happy he stopped caring there.
- -
Dean had watched Sam fall, but hadn't been able to get to him in time.
There'd been nothing he could do, but that didn't stop Dean from blaming himself.
Sam hadn't wanted to move back – the line they'd held was weakening by the minute and it was his own damn stubborn fault that branch had fallen on him – but that didn't make this any better.
The fires were mostly out, now, thanks to the increased watch of the fire patrol – and Dean's manic focus on getting Sam the hell out of dodge – meaning they would be in the clear soon
Dean was thankful, now, about that girl he'd been eying – Cindi, with an “i” - was a nurse when she wasn't helping protect small town Iowa from rampant firestorms. And she checked, and double checked that Sam really was okay.
It wasn't a coma. She kept repeating it again, and again, and again – but all Dean could see was a petite brunette who asked him to follow her into the light, and Dean was praying, in the church that started this whole mess - Dean - that Sam would come through, that Sam wasn't reliving the same arguments he'd had.
That it wouldn't be Sam's spirit he'd be getting rid of next.
Dean could tell that Cindi-with-an-i was starting to worry about when the not-coma hit the twenty hour mark.
But then Sam had stirred, a bit. And the townspeople had run into the make-shift hospital in the school and thumped Dean on the back.
“You boys can get out of here if you want -”
“I don't want to move him if we're not sure -”
And Sam's gargantuan hand had thumped onto his shoulder and Dean jumped, with a squeak, and no one said anything.
Sam had been groggy as hell. “What happened?”
“Your moronic head, happened. You gotta be thankful it's as hard as it is big, Sam. Otherwise, you'd probably be dead right now.”
“Wait -”
“The tree you tried to save, boy – right sweet of you to do it, too – caught fire faster than you could blink. Half the tree fell on your head, your brother here thought you were dead.”
“Didn't. I knew he'd come through.”
“So, what'll it be for dinner boys? We got some mighty fine venison for the two conquering heroes of Innisfil. And maybe some veil, though it might be extra crispy.”
- -
And that... was that. A few days of extended clean-up, and a minute, inch-by-inch check-up that meant Sam was fine, and they packed the Impala – safe, minus a bit of discolouration – onto the road.
The entire town, what was left of it, stood to see them off.
“Remember.” Candi-with-an-i happened to also be the mayor's daughter. Who knew. “You're always welcome here. Both of you.”
Sam grinned sheepishly from the passenger seat, bandage a bit askew.
“Thanks. But we have something we need to do.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean felt it was fitting – at least, y'know, this time. Dean tried to pretend that feeling of belonging wasn't something he was going to miss. Taking a last look in the rearview, he had to admit there were definitely some... assets, possibly-ending-in-an-i... that he was going to miss.
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