LAS Challenge #11
Jan. 23rd, 2011 05:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
glasslogicStory Title: Justified (LAS Prompt #11 - "Life is life, fight for it" - Mother Teresa)
Name:
glasslogic
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Disclaimer: I have no rights to any of the copyrighted characters/material in this fic, and I make no profit from it.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 998
Warnings/Spoilers: none
This story is for the SPN Last Author Standing challenge, one prompt a week, one story per prompt, one author voted off each cycle until only one is left. Stories must be between 100 - 1000 words. No betas allowed, voting is completely blind.
I forgot to stick the italics into the version I submitted for the challenge *facepalm* This was easily the most difficult prompt for me so far. I wrote 4 different stories for it. I really wanted to have Dean in a boxing ring fighting for...life. But I couldn't really "hook" it in 1000 words. Maybe next round...
~~~~~
As fall faded into winter, abandoned churches deep in the woods weren't high on Sam’s list of places to visit. But at least he had protection from the wind. At fifteen, being sick was the only thing that saved him from being outside with his Dad and Dean as they dug up potentially dozens of graves. Instead, Sam’s task was to find clues in the collapsing ruins that would narrow things down.
He shivered as he picked through crumbling ledgers, flashlight pinned between his jaw and shoulder, trying to decipher faded writing, now more than a century old. It was a miracle of luck that the pages still existed, but Sam wasn’t finding any information about the burials. He sighed, knowing it was going to be another long week, when the air became suddenly heavy with the scent of hyacinth.
“Go away.”
Sam jumped, flashlight falling from his shoulder as he spun. He snatched it back up and shined it on a figure standing amidst the dusty pews. A girl’s face, framed by thick yellow braids tied off with blue ribbons watched him impassively. Her tattered dress covered her from neck to ankle and her feet were bare against the cold stone floor. Sam wracked his brain for something to say that wouldn’t end with him smeared across the wall.
“Um, hi?”
Her voice echoed in his mind. “You want to kill me.”
Sam stared. “You’re already dead.”
Her face twisted into a inhuman expression of sorrow and rage. She flickered and they were suddenly nose to nose. Sam stumbled back until he was pressed against the wall.
“I’m still here! He took my life then, and you want to take what I have left now! It’s still my life! GO AWAY!”
The volume of her scream drove Sam into a huddle against the wall, his hands clamped futilely over his ears. As she vanished on the last word, he scrambled to his feet and fled outside.
Dirt streaked and exhausted, Dean and John followed Sam back into the crumbling church. The ghost had no name, and no history anyone knew. She had been showing at the margins of the township for decades as a nuisance, but recently her apparition had caused a man’s death and she became enough of a priority for a hunters attention.
“It’s only been our best guess she was even buried here.” John clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sounds like we guessed right if she’s trying to run us off.”
Sam shifted. “She sounded really upset.”
Dean snorted. “She’s a pissed off spook. She’s got chains to rattle and people to kill. We’re raining on her parade.”
“But she’s been here for more than a hundred years, and she only killed once.”
“What do you want us to do, Sam?” John asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe ...ask her why? If she had a good reason--”
John shook his head and Sam’s voice died away. “What if she did? Our job is to protect lives.” Seeing uncertainly in his youngest’s eyes he added, “She’s not at peace. Setting her free is the right thing for her too.”
Sam nodded reluctantly.
He heard her occasionally as the afternoon progressed. The creak of floorboards from footsteps above his head, faint sobbing in the hallway that faded away when he got close. Sam dug into the loose salt in his pocket each time, but there was never anything more than that. Not until his fingers closed on the last ledger. Then a gust of icy air ripped the book from his grasp and slammed into him, pinning him flat against the wall. She was suddenly there again, pacing the cold stone in jumps and static, wringing one of her long braids in translucent hands.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” she wailed.
“You killed someone!” Sam managed to get out from frozen lips.
The ghost turned on him. “He was a bad man and hurt his little girl, like my father was a bad man.” She raised her chin defiantly and Sam could see finger-shaped bruises above the high collar of her dress.
The pressure eased a bit and Sam found he could breathe. “Just like...”
“She’s here with me. Not as strong, but real! Alive!”
Sam swallowed. “This isn’t a life.”
“It is! We’re here! People come to walk in the wildwood, we watch them and we’re ...content. I don’t want to die again. Please.”
The pressure abruptly vanished and Sam found himself on his knees looking up into big blue eyes wet with tears. She was a ghost, but she was scared, and ...aware.
“You should talk to my Dad.“
She shook her head sending braids flying. “No! I’ve seen others like him. They come here and try to find me, to make me go away. Please don’t let them kill us. Please. ”
Footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Sammy? Light’s fading, we’re calling it a night. You ready?”
Sam wiped his running nose on the back of his sleeve and stared at the empty space in front of him. “Yeah... I’m ready.”
The next morning in the cemetery Sam wasn’t sure if the cold was the weather or his guilt, but he was resolved.
“You sure about the limits of the cemetery, Sam?”
Sam nodded. “The survey information uses the church cornerstone and the far end of that stone wall.”
“So this is all of it then? Where’s the spook?” Dean leaned on a shovel, shirt stained with sweat even in the cool air.
John raked a filthy hand through his hair. “She could be anywhere. Out in the field, under the foundations, and anywhere else imaginable. “
Dean and John exchanged a look, then John nodded. “We’re done here. Pack up. Something is living in a well outside Norfolk that eating people’s kids.”
As Sam pulled his foot into the car something blew against it. Faded and ragged, the ribbon was still obviously blue. He pressed it to his nose and smelled hyacinth.
Name:
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Disclaimer: I have no rights to any of the copyrighted characters/material in this fic, and I make no profit from it.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 998
Warnings/Spoilers: none
This story is for the SPN Last Author Standing challenge, one prompt a week, one story per prompt, one author voted off each cycle until only one is left. Stories must be between 100 - 1000 words. No betas allowed, voting is completely blind.
I forgot to stick the italics into the version I submitted for the challenge *facepalm* This was easily the most difficult prompt for me so far. I wrote 4 different stories for it. I really wanted to have Dean in a boxing ring fighting for...life. But I couldn't really "hook" it in 1000 words. Maybe next round...
~~~~~
As fall faded into winter, abandoned churches deep in the woods weren't high on Sam’s list of places to visit. But at least he had protection from the wind. At fifteen, being sick was the only thing that saved him from being outside with his Dad and Dean as they dug up potentially dozens of graves. Instead, Sam’s task was to find clues in the collapsing ruins that would narrow things down.
He shivered as he picked through crumbling ledgers, flashlight pinned between his jaw and shoulder, trying to decipher faded writing, now more than a century old. It was a miracle of luck that the pages still existed, but Sam wasn’t finding any information about the burials. He sighed, knowing it was going to be another long week, when the air became suddenly heavy with the scent of hyacinth.
“Go away.”
Sam jumped, flashlight falling from his shoulder as he spun. He snatched it back up and shined it on a figure standing amidst the dusty pews. A girl’s face, framed by thick yellow braids tied off with blue ribbons watched him impassively. Her tattered dress covered her from neck to ankle and her feet were bare against the cold stone floor. Sam wracked his brain for something to say that wouldn’t end with him smeared across the wall.
“Um, hi?”
Her voice echoed in his mind. “You want to kill me.”
Sam stared. “You’re already dead.”
Her face twisted into a inhuman expression of sorrow and rage. She flickered and they were suddenly nose to nose. Sam stumbled back until he was pressed against the wall.
“I’m still here! He took my life then, and you want to take what I have left now! It’s still my life! GO AWAY!”
The volume of her scream drove Sam into a huddle against the wall, his hands clamped futilely over his ears. As she vanished on the last word, he scrambled to his feet and fled outside.
Dirt streaked and exhausted, Dean and John followed Sam back into the crumbling church. The ghost had no name, and no history anyone knew. She had been showing at the margins of the township for decades as a nuisance, but recently her apparition had caused a man’s death and she became enough of a priority for a hunters attention.
“It’s only been our best guess she was even buried here.” John clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sounds like we guessed right if she’s trying to run us off.”
Sam shifted. “She sounded really upset.”
Dean snorted. “She’s a pissed off spook. She’s got chains to rattle and people to kill. We’re raining on her parade.”
“But she’s been here for more than a hundred years, and she only killed once.”
“What do you want us to do, Sam?” John asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe ...ask her why? If she had a good reason--”
John shook his head and Sam’s voice died away. “What if she did? Our job is to protect lives.” Seeing uncertainly in his youngest’s eyes he added, “She’s not at peace. Setting her free is the right thing for her too.”
Sam nodded reluctantly.
He heard her occasionally as the afternoon progressed. The creak of floorboards from footsteps above his head, faint sobbing in the hallway that faded away when he got close. Sam dug into the loose salt in his pocket each time, but there was never anything more than that. Not until his fingers closed on the last ledger. Then a gust of icy air ripped the book from his grasp and slammed into him, pinning him flat against the wall. She was suddenly there again, pacing the cold stone in jumps and static, wringing one of her long braids in translucent hands.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” she wailed.
“You killed someone!” Sam managed to get out from frozen lips.
The ghost turned on him. “He was a bad man and hurt his little girl, like my father was a bad man.” She raised her chin defiantly and Sam could see finger-shaped bruises above the high collar of her dress.
The pressure eased a bit and Sam found he could breathe. “Just like...”
“She’s here with me. Not as strong, but real! Alive!”
Sam swallowed. “This isn’t a life.”
“It is! We’re here! People come to walk in the wildwood, we watch them and we’re ...content. I don’t want to die again. Please.”
The pressure abruptly vanished and Sam found himself on his knees looking up into big blue eyes wet with tears. She was a ghost, but she was scared, and ...aware.
“You should talk to my Dad.“
She shook her head sending braids flying. “No! I’ve seen others like him. They come here and try to find me, to make me go away. Please don’t let them kill us. Please. ”
Footsteps pounded down the stairs. “Sammy? Light’s fading, we’re calling it a night. You ready?”
Sam wiped his running nose on the back of his sleeve and stared at the empty space in front of him. “Yeah... I’m ready.”
The next morning in the cemetery Sam wasn’t sure if the cold was the weather or his guilt, but he was resolved.
“You sure about the limits of the cemetery, Sam?”
Sam nodded. “The survey information uses the church cornerstone and the far end of that stone wall.”
“So this is all of it then? Where’s the spook?” Dean leaned on a shovel, shirt stained with sweat even in the cool air.
John raked a filthy hand through his hair. “She could be anywhere. Out in the field, under the foundations, and anywhere else imaginable. “
Dean and John exchanged a look, then John nodded. “We’re done here. Pack up. Something is living in a well outside Norfolk that eating people’s kids.”
As Sam pulled his foot into the car something blew against it. Faded and ragged, the ribbon was still obviously blue. He pressed it to his nose and smelled hyacinth.
