The Other Sons
Mar. 9th, 2011 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
super_seme04Title: The Other Sons
Pairing: none, gen
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Summary: There are worse things than being forgotten.
The boy doesn't say anything for a while.
Days, weeks.
Balthazar brings him soft, baggy clothes that he's sure will feel alien against his skin.
Food, water.
It's like having a plant that never wants to see the sun and Adam stays in his room.
Never mind that it's Balthazar's room. His bed, his sheets, his pillows.
Adam eats slowly.
It's not to savor.
He's forgotten how to eat.
Balthazar watches him carefully and find himself watched openly and curiously in return. There's no crippling fear or instant mistrust which should be surprising but isn't.
Not really, anyway.
Humans are rather resilient creatures.
Today's meal is filet mignon with a side of soft, honey sweetened baby carrots and a small serving of garden greens lightly splashed with a mild vinaigrette dressing.
Adam eats the carrots and takes small sips from his glass of water.
He succeeds in eating all of the chocolate cake, though.
Balthazar reheats the meal with a lazy snap of his fingers.
The meat is soft and tender.
His newest acquisition is an odd, quiet thing.
He still carries the legacy of his father in his blood, but it's tempered by a love free of guilt and duty though it's now bruised.
“I hope you sing for me soon, love,” Balthazar genially says. “It's not often that Death does anyone a favor, you know. Luckily, he seems rather fond of you lot.”
Adam doesn't so much as twitch, but his eyes drift over to settle on Balthazar with a deliberateness that's unmistakable.
This just might be interesting after all.
Pairing: none, gen
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Summary: There are worse things than being forgotten.
The boy doesn't say anything for a while.
Days, weeks.
Balthazar brings him soft, baggy clothes that he's sure will feel alien against his skin.
Food, water.
It's like having a plant that never wants to see the sun and Adam stays in his room.
Never mind that it's Balthazar's room. His bed, his sheets, his pillows.
Adam eats slowly.
It's not to savor.
He's forgotten how to eat.
Balthazar watches him carefully and find himself watched openly and curiously in return. There's no crippling fear or instant mistrust which should be surprising but isn't.
Not really, anyway.
Humans are rather resilient creatures.
Today's meal is filet mignon with a side of soft, honey sweetened baby carrots and a small serving of garden greens lightly splashed with a mild vinaigrette dressing.
Adam eats the carrots and takes small sips from his glass of water.
He succeeds in eating all of the chocolate cake, though.
Balthazar reheats the meal with a lazy snap of his fingers.
The meat is soft and tender.
His newest acquisition is an odd, quiet thing.
He still carries the legacy of his father in his blood, but it's tempered by a love free of guilt and duty though it's now bruised.
“I hope you sing for me soon, love,” Balthazar genially says. “It's not often that Death does anyone a favor, you know. Luckily, he seems rather fond of you lot.”
Adam doesn't so much as twitch, but his eyes drift over to settle on Balthazar with a deliberateness that's unmistakable.
This just might be interesting after all.
