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Sad Exchange
By : annehunter
Category: Supernatural > Slash - Male/Male
Views: 2032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural nor make any profit out of this - Chapter List
Title: Sad Exchange (1/?)
Author: Anne Midnight Hunter Beta: None! Fandom: Supernatural Pair/Characters: Ben, Jesse, Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, Bobby/Crowley, Impala, Lisa Rate: PG-13 (It can go up) Type: Slash/Angst/Dark/MCD (Minor Character Death) Warning: All the seasons till episode 6.14 Mannequin 3: The Reckoning, after that everything is product of my muse, Paul. Also, you need to know who Jesse Turner is. If you know, you guys are perfect. Anne: Hi! Well, this is my first Ben-centered fic. I love that kid, he doesn't get (if not at all) love from us, the fanfiction fans. Well, I really haven't read any at all, and he's like Adam to me, lovable but people tend to forget. And it gets me pissed off! Also, I loved Jesse! Only one episode and he grabbed my heart, hope he doesn't squeezed too hard. XD Hope you have a good read! ooOOoo Prologue The rain hit the windows of the Impala with a bit of hatred, as if they were trying to beat the crystals out of the car. The sky was dark with dark-gray clouds and night. The only sounds inside the muscle car were the silent sobs and sniffs from the dark haired boy in the back seat. He wiped his flushed face, but the tears continue falling. He felt as if his heart was torn, as if he was stab in the chest with a hot, burning blade. His head throbbed and his eyes just got blurred with more salty tears that made his red-cherry lips sting. He knew that Dean was talking to him, but even though he knew the language, he felt as if the blond hunter was talking gibberish to him. He just curled into himself, hiding in Dean's leather jacket, inhaling the musky scent, Old Spice, and leather that surrounded his makeshift cocoon. The most important thing in his world was gone. Taken. Beaten. Destroyed. All because of him. Because he was a stupid, little kid wanting to play grown-up. Because she loved him so much. He felt the Impala stop, a heavy, gentle hand shook him up, and a warm, tired voice spoke to him in a soft tone. He just curled more into himself. He heard the front doors of the car open and the car bounced a bit when the weight of two six-foot-something men got out. His door was open, and that Old Spice scent assaulted his nose, making his body relax and become pliant when a pair of strong arms scoop him up and took him out of the car. The boy wrapped his arms around the man's neck and gazed into those green eyes, they reflected his pain. His sorrow. He felt as if he was drowning in them, the green was a misty forest color. So dense, so lonely. It made the boy cry harder. "I'm sorry, Dean. Sorry. I-I didn't- "The boy just cling to the older man, not minding the rain falling around them. Dean just nodded tightly and kissed the boy salty, red, soft cheek. "I know, baby boy. I know. Please, don't cry. I-I can't handle it if you keep crying." Dean's deep voice held pain, and reassurance at the same time. The hunter made his way to their motel room with the sobbing boy in his arms; his brother was waiting for them with the door open. They shared a look and Dean enters the room with his human bundle. He deposits the boy in his bed and lay with him. The boy worm his way to his strong arms and rest his head on the man's strong chest. Dean's heart beat lulled him to sleep. He felt save in his arms. He felt the man's cracked lips kiss his forehead, and inhale his hair. "I'll protect you, Ben. Your mom's sacrifice won't be in vain. And those bloodsuckin' sons of bitches, I'll rip 'em apart." At those words, Ben's constricted heart, lifted a bit and a small smile graced his face. "I know, De. I know." T.B.C. Anne: Ok! This is the prologue! I know its short, but oh well! Please review! Tell me if I should continue this or give up and keep doing my other fics! See you!- You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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