the price

[ultraviolet9a]

 >> the price

 

TITLE: the price

AUTHOR: ultraviolet9a
SPOILER: Season 2 finale two-parter for spn, for 3.01-3.04

GENRE: Gen.

CHARACTERS: Samuel Colt, OCs, Ruby, (the Winchesters, demons)

SUMMARY: Didn’t you ever wonder how the gate was made? And the Colt? The whole background of it?

RATING: R. Mainly cuz it’s fucked up.

FEEDBACK: Dude…duh. 
DISCLAIMER: I don’t need Colt or Ruby, but wouldn’t say no to the Winchesters. Who would?

NOTE: Have you ever woken up at 5.45 in the morning because suddenly the plot donkey you had abandoned in the stable came trotting smugly and started kicking you? Have you? Ugh.

NOTE2: betaed by oh so shiny hiyacynth.

NOTE3: evolia said she didn’t want anything for her birthday but loooove. Here’s loooove from me, honey. Along with a wee fic. Just because.

 

 

Back in 1835, When Haley's Comet was overhead, same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter. A man like us, only on horseback. Story goes, he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. They say... they say this gun can kill anything.

 

-John Winchester, 1.20 Dead Man's Blood-

 

 

There is always a price.

 

.:::.

 

There are holes in the world. Gates, leading elsewhere. Traps, sucking innocents in. Tears, letting things leak through. Not good things.

 

Sometimes people will find out the truth. It will move in stories, through the mouth of Seers, through tales told by parents to child to grandchild. Sometimes they will seal them permanently (as permanently as any gate to elsewhere) finding a way to build a lock on them. Like a circle of stones that no archaeologist can figure out years later. Calendar, they’ll say. It’s alright. As long as the circle stands.

 

The circles change shape, just like the world. But the essence remains.

 

In Wyoming, when the hunter found out about the hole (I saw it, she said. Clear as day it was, though I was dreamin’), all he could think of was to build a gate. Like a family tomb. Like all those he’d buried.

 

.:::.

 

He needs help. Years of riding through the land, learning about darkness, have made him forget how to build instead of destroy. He knows that no matter how many souls he’ll save along the way, his will always be lost to the darkness he’s facing. It’s alright. The light is behind him. She’s wrapping her hands around his waist, face on his back, and the wind blows her blonde tresses to him. They smell of hay and lavender. They smell of her.

 

.:::.

 

Samuel Colt owes him his life and that of his brothers. The loss of innocence is a small price to pay for those the hunter saved.

 

So, with the hunter’s help, Samuel Colt builds the Devil’s Gate.

 

“The Gate needs to stand,” the hunter says.

 

“What if it doesn’t?” Samuel asks, wiping sweat off his eyebrows.

 

“Then I need something that will kill anything that comes crowlin’ out, Samuel.”

 

The hunter has old eyes and windswept skin, and he has already picked out his sacrifice.

 

.:::.

 

Samuel is an ingenious man. He can see how things work, how things tick. The hunter has shown him darkness and magic, and Samuel understands how that works, too. Understands too well, too much of what the man isn’t telling him.

 

“No,” Colt says.

 

“Yes,” the man replies.

 

“No. I can’t be part of it. Won’t be part of it.”

 

“You make me the gun, Mr Colt,” the man says. “You owe me. The rest is up to me.”

 

“I can’t bear this weight,” Colt says.

 

“You can’t bear the debt either. Listen to me.” The hunter looks even more weary. “Trust me. There’s always a price. I’ll be the one paying it. You make me the gun, Mr Colt. You owe the world that. The weight? I’ll bear it.”

 

So Samuel Colt (and the hunter) build the gate, the giant Devil’s trap around it.

 

.:::.

 

“I love you,” the man says, as he takes her virginity.

 

“I know,” she replies wiping a stray tear away. “I saw it.”

 

“Is there no other way?”

 

“The world can’t afford you dead. I saw that too. You can’t fight fate. Only darkness.”

 

And fate has already picked out the sacrifice for him.

 

.:::.

 

In 1835, Haley’s Comet is overhead.

 

Samuel Colt makes the Key. A special key. A gun. With special bullets. That will kill anything. Almost.

 

That night, it is christened in blood by the hunter. That night, Samuel Colt finishes The Gun That Can Kill Anything.

 

.:::.

 

It won’t hold without a sacrifice. A special one. It’s she who makes the Gate stand. She who makes the bullets fly.

 

Because this is old, elementary magic. Magic built on bones and blood and salt. And debt.

 

The price for killing anything you want to kill…is that you have got to kill something you don’t want to.

 

.:::.

 

The Gate holds. Holds the demons back. Holds Hell inside. Holds her inside Hell.

 

The hunter allows himself few tears, and tries to choke down sobs that make his body convulse with grief. He has no time for grief. There is only the hunt.

 

He whispers her name and rides off into the darkness. Until the day he dies, the wind carries her name.

 

.:::.

 

She’s dead when she enters Hell. There’s nothing left of her when the demon slips inside her. The sacrifice is already done.

 

But the demon keeps the body together. Keeps it to itself. Waits.

 

And years later, it uses her blood, some of that sacrifice, to make the bullets fly again, wondering if Sam Winchester would be willing to pay the price too.

 

.:::.

 

In the darkness the hunter went, using the bullets wisely, allowing himself no grief, no love, just the fight for light.

 

And the wind carried her name.

 

Ruby.

 

 

-The End.

 

 

SIDENOTE: There’s this folksong about a town I used to live in. It has a famous bridge. The tale is about how every time they built it, the bridge fell. And a bird came, speaking in humane voice, and it said, a sacrifice had to be made. The master builder’s wife. They tricked her inside the foundations, claiming how the master builder had lost his ring. So she went to retrieve it. And when they were immuring her inside the foundations, she cursed the bridge, that it should tremble and that all passengers should drop like leaves. And they told her not to, because she had a brother, and her brother might cross. So she changed the curse, that if the wild mountains should tremble, then so should the bridge, and if birds ever fell, so should those who cross the bridge, because she had a brother who might cross and she didn’t want to lose him, not like her other sisters.

 

Ok, so it’s not exactly relevant to the fic (and have you noticed how my sidenotes tend to become more…irrelevant with each story? Huh.) BUT. The idea of sacrificing people in order for something to “hold”, is common in folklore. It always fascinated me. So did the idea of willing (self)sacrifice. (You should have seen me weep my eyes out when Buffy took that plunge). So anyway. The idea for this fic started out  how Colt sacrificed his daughter. Or wife. Somehow it didn’t work out, plus I couldn’t make it fit with Colt’s real biography. So I brainstormed and it ended up somehow like this. Uhm. Yes.

Comments

[tabaqui]

The circles change shape, just like the world. But the essence remains.

Excellent.

It won’t hold without a sacrifice. A special one. It’s she who makes the Gate stand. She who makes the bullets fly.

Because this is old, elementary magic. Magic built on bones and blood and salt. And debt.

The price for killing anything you want to kill…is that you have got to kill something you don’t want to.

Ooh, yes. *Exactly*. That's a lovely little bit of 'backstory' - i like it muchly. The idea of sacrifice to make something stand *is* just...neat. In a horrific sort of way.

Good, good stuff!

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Yes, yes! It's just so fascinating, even though it's horrific!

Thank you so much for reading!

[tigriswolf]

Awesome.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Thank you!!!

[angharadd.livejournal.com]

Ruby! The making of the Colt! Squee!

There are holes in the world. Gates, leading elsewhere. Traps, sucking innocents in. Tears, letting things leak through. Not good things.
That's beautiful <3 Also, creepy as all hell.

Like a circle of stones that no archaeologist can figure out years later.
Loved how you weaved the historical facts in <3

wondering if Sam Winchester would be willing to pay the price too
OMG, that actually made me shudder.

That's one great story, thank you!

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading! (and yei on the stonehedge reference!)

[longhairedlady.livejournal.com]

And years later, it uses her blood, some of that sacrifice, to make the bullets fly again, wondering if Sam Winchester would be willing to pay the price too.

You are so, so clever. It makes perfect sense! I love the tone of this story, and the pacing, and lines like this:

In the darkness the hunter went, using the bullets wisely, allowing himself no grief, no love, just the fight for light.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

You are so, so clever. Don't encourage me, I'll start bragging. ;)

Thank you so much for reading!

[iamstealthyone.livejournal.com]

Nicely done. I like how you meshed the hunter and Colt’s lives together, that it went beyond just the mechanical action of making a weapon and included the emotions wrapped up in it. And then the reveal of the woman the hunter sacrificed was quite nifty. :)

Favorite lines:

There are holes in the world. Gates, leading elsewhere. Traps, sucking innocents in. Tears, letting things leak through.

Great description.

She’s wrapping her hands around his waist, face on his back, and the wind blows her blonde tresses to him. They smell of hay and lavender. They smell of her.

Lovely imagery here, and again, I really like the description.

The price for killing anything you want to kill…is that you have got to kill something you don’t want to.

Ouch. Such a high price to pay.

Until the day he dies, the wind carries her name.

I love this line. It’s so aching.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Yei! You liked it! Thahk you for reading!

[quellefromage.livejournal.com]

You are a clever lil widget, aren't you? Wonderful idea, wonderfully explored. Your brain rocks.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

You are a clever lil widget, aren't you? *manic grin* well, i don't mean to brag but... heh! Seriously, i'm happy you enjoyed this! My brain just throws all those weird ideas so i'm glad they come through!

Thank you!

[saberivojo.livejournal.com]

Lovely.

I love the cyclic feel of this. The connectivity and flow. It just seems to swirl from one segment to another, echoing the West and the wind.

Just lovely.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!!!!

[smilla02.livejournal.com]

Gosh this is such an awesome idea, brilliantly executed as usual. I really liked this line:
The price for killing anything you want to kill…is that you have got to kill something you don’t want to.

The implications of this seems so broader than the story you're telling. *shivers*

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Ah dude, you rockpaperscissor so hard!

That line was the thing that brought the whole fic together. (and that i loved best)

And yes, on a grander scheme, it DOES have implications (and how much do i love you for seeing it?)

[labseraph.livejournal.com]

I love your side notes; they often lead to interesting paths that one rarely traverses and gives your readers a tiny glimpse into that terrifying organ that is your brain.

Just FYI, the practice of making sacrifices when constructing bridges etc used to be rampant in Asia as well. It was believed that sacrificing a child to appease the 'guardian' of the land where the construction is will guarantee that the structure will hold with no untoward accidents.

I like the parallel you make here about sacrifices; especially in the pursuit of "the greater good". John and Dean sacrificed themselves for their version of the greater good, an excellent echo of how the Devil's Gate was constructed. And what an excellent back story to Ruby; this line "And the wind carried her name." just brings to mind poignantly of the Hendrix song.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Sidenotes are the norm for me. If i can actually remember where a story or idea stemmed from. :) I'm glad it's interesting and not yawn-inducing.

Also, I'm pretty sure that children were satisfied in middle ages or whatever Europe. They were buried under where the hearth would be so that they could become guardian spirits for the family. I guess some archetypes run very deep and are universal. *shivers*

Thank you for reading!

[unbreakableburr.livejournal.com]

This is heartbreaking and very dark. Well done.

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much!

ps HIIII DOCTOR! *looks at icon*

[unbreakableburr.livejournal.com]

You're welcome!
I do love me some Doctor!

[erinrua.livejournal.com]

Wow. Just ... wow. How the heck do you do that? I'd have never imagined a scenario like this. Chilling and compelling and shivery. Well done!
Cheers ~

Erin

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Ideas just fall into my lap (and when you drive a lot everyday, or you have got a dozen papers to correct, the mind seems to go on mandatory shutdown. And then come up with that stuff. :) )

[a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com]

Ohhh!! Oh darling how you can hurt me with such soft and wicked words!!

*hugs you*

[ultraviolet9a.livejournal.com]

Thanks for reading, sweetie. I'm happy you liked it.