![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Memories We've Created
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lady_yashka
Artist:finnickodair
Crossover: Merlin
Word Count: 15,808
Characters/Pairings: Gen, past Arthur/Gwen
Warnings: Violence towards children, character death
Spoilers: Spoilers through series five of Merlin, AU season four of Supernatural
Summary: Centuries after his death, destiny calls Arthur Pendragon forth to fulfill his duty as the Once and Future King. But Arthur is also a Winchester now. Destiny won’t know what hit it.
Author’s Notes: I want to thankchosenfire28 for running this challenge. And to finnickodair, your artwork is awesome, and gorgeous. Thank you so much for picking my story. :)
Arthur couldn’t find his favorite jacket. He’d looked in his closet, under his bed, through the piles of clothes scattered around the room. He’d even looked in the laundry hamper in the bathroom, and through his dad’s closet as well.
It was as if the room had swallowed it, stealing it away from Arthur without his permission.
Frustration building he clomped down the stairs, hoping to find it in the front hall closet. His dad sometimes put it there if he left it lying around downstairs.
“Stop.”
Arthur paused mid-step and cursed. He had been sure his father was not home. Turning, he found his dad standing before the kitchen sink. He held a kitchen towel in his hands and was giving Arthur a look that demanded his immediate attention.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out?” Arthur replied, a hint of hope filling his words.
He widened his blue eyes and gave his dad his best innocent grin.
Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Chores done?” he asked, titling his head slightly.
“Dad, I’m going to be late.”
“What I’d tell you skipping your chores?” Dean waited, but Arthur stayed silent.
“Arthur John Winchester, answer me.”
Arthur’s shoulders slumped and an annoyed look spread across his face.
“But--”
“No.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the bloody car!”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because she’s a senile old bat?” Arthur sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Last week she was positive gremlins were eating the wiring.”
Arthur grinned at the snort that escaped from his dad. The gremlins had turned out to be field mice. They’d built a nest in the trunk.
“Mrs. Evey is lonely,” Dean said, giving his son a stern look. “And it won’t hurt you to go over there and check it out.”
Arthur’s shoulders slumped as his plans to spend the weekend traipsing through the woods hunting vanished.
“She tries to feed me those hideous cookies.”
Dean did laugh then. “You could always stay here and clean out the garage.”
Arthur’s face fell, and his good mood abandoning him. He turned, opened the hall closet and found his jacket. Just fucking great. Jerking it out, he pulled it on and moved towards the door.
“The car will take less time.”
He picked up his favorite machete, and holstered a gun. His lucky bow and a quiver of arrows were tucked into his duffle bag. Maybe if he finished in time, he could still go hunting.
“Oh, just go,” Dean said.
Arthur turned, eyes wide. “What?”
“I’ll take care of Mrs. Evey’s car, but you have to clean out the garage when you get back. Got it?”
A wide smile lit up Arthur’s face and he dashed forward to give his dad a hug.
“Thank you.”
“Call me when you get there,” Dean said.
Arthur gave him a carefree wave. “I’ll be home Sunday before sundown.”
He was out the door in a flash, sunlight briefly lighting up the entrance way in his wake.
He jogged down the driveway to his car, a beat up Chevy truck older than he was. His dad despised the thing, calling it an eyesore and a blight on humanity. Arthur loved it, and kept it running. He didn’t need anything bright and shiny, and the old vehicle was one he didn’t mind hauling dead animals in.
Arthur loved hunting. He loved the quiet, and the patience it took to stalk down his prey. This hunting, so different from what he and his Dad did, was all Arthur’s. His father could wait for hours, perfectly still when hunting some monster, but a deer, his dad usually left that up to Arthur. His father preferred machinery and Arthur loved the outdoors.
Climbing his favorite tree, Arthur settled the bow in place and waited. Deer loved this area, the bushes being full of leaves and berries. A rustling in the bushes had Arthur bringing the bow to ready. He kept his gaze focuses, and his breathing even. He pulled the bowstring back, ready to fire when the deer showed itself.
His name being called had him falling out of the tree. Between one blink and the next he was on his feet, weapons still in his hand. A familiar figure in a beige trench coat stood before him.
“Damn it, Uncle Cas,” Arthur said. He placed the bow back into his duffle bag. “I was in the middle of something.”
“I hadn’t realized Dean let you hunt by yourself.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Dad always lets me.”
He picked up his bag and started walking. He’d have to find a new spot now.
Castiel titled his head to the side. “But you don’t eat black dogs.”
Arthur’s confusion grew. “I wasn’t hunting a black dog.”
The confusion lifted from Castiel’s face. “You did not know the creature was in the area.”
Between one blink and the next, they were standing in his driveway.
Even his truck was sitting in its usual spot.
“The hell?”
“A situation has come up,” Castiel said. “Your father needs you home.”
“And the black dog?”
“I took care of it,” Castiel said, then with a flutter of wings he was gone, leaving Arthur standing next to his truck.
“Of course,” Arthur said.
He gathered up his things and headed into the house. His dad and Uncle Sam were gathered around the kitchen table.
“So, what’s so important you had to get Uncle Cas to come and get me?”
“Charlie called,” Dean said. “There’s a haunting not far from here. A bunch of kids have gone missing after spending sometime in the local haunted house.”
Arthur grinned. He liked Charlie. She’d taught him to hack, and had given him the ‘talk’ much to his dad’s dismay. It had consisted of being told to always use a condom, and that no always meant no. The memory of his dad’s reaction was one he cherished.
“How is Charlie?” Arthur asked. He couldn’t help it. She’d been his first crush after all.
Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s fine,” he said. “She said to remind you to check your email.”
“Awesome,” Arthur said. He went and settled his gear in the front hall closet. “So, what do you need me to do?”
“Go through everything and make sure it’s all in order,” Dean said, turning back to the pile of newspapers before him. “And clean the guns. We don’t want any misfires during a hunt.”
Arthur nodded and got to work. Pulling out the dust cloths and gun oil, Arthur sat down at the coffee table, weapons bag at his right. He fell into a rhythm after that, taking the guns apart and cleaning each piece before putting them back together. He even checked the salt rounds before going to make more.
His dad interrupted him when the sun was down, citing dinner.
“Come on,” Dean said. “It’s getting late and we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Arthur packed their gear away and placed it next to the front door.
Dinner consisted of takeout eaten straight from the cartons. No one wanted to have to bother with dishes on top of everything else.
That night though found Arthur back downstairs, a box of electrical parts next to him. The light above the stove provided all the illumination he needed as he tightened a screw on the EMF meter he was working on.
He didn’t mind the tedious labor. He liked helping his dad out. The work was soothing, and each new design he got to work made the sleepless nights worth it. He sat aside the device he was tinkering with and reached for his coffee. It wasn’t where he’d left it, and he turned, looking to see if he’d knocked the cup over without noticing again. His dad was seated to his left, coffee cup in hand and a worried look on his face. Busted.
“Hey,” Arthur said as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
“How’s the design coming?” Dean asked.
He fumbled with it, keeping his eyes down. He didn’t want to face the knowing look in his dad’s eyes.
“It’s going,” Arthur said. “Give me a few more hours and I should be able to get it to work.”
Dean nodded and stood, taking the cup into the kitchen.
“Should be daylight in a few hours.”
Arthur sighed. “Dad…”
“I know,” Dean said as he came and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He gave it a quick squeeze before turning back and heading towards his room. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
He’d had the dreams as long as he could remember. Visions filled with swords and knights, and castles. There was even magic and dragons.
When he’d been younger he used to act out his dreams, claiming to be a knight. He’d made his dad call him Sir Arthur for a month after one particularly vivid dream.
Now, the dreams held death, and pain. A vast landscape filled with dead bodies and the tortured face of a dark haired man with blue eyes.
“Dad,” Arthur turned in his seat.
His dad came back over and sat down. He didn’t say anything, just sat, looking at Arthur with an expression of understanding.
“How do you handle it?” Arthur asked, voice cracking.
He knew his dad had plenty of sleepless nights. He’d found the Supernatural books when he’d been fourteen. He’d thought some enterprising hunter had dreamt them up at first, and had read half the series before realizing they were about his family.
His dad laughed. “I didn’t.” He gave Arthur a sympathetic look. “I drank too much, and ignored the problem. You, however, gave me every reason to straighten myself out.”
Arthur lowered his head again.
“Wanna tell me what it was about?”
Arthur took a deep breath and met his father’s gaze. Tears filled his eyes, but he fought to keep them from falling.
“I’m with someone,” Arthur said. “We’re in the woods, and everything hurts. The other person is crying, and I ask them not to change, to always be themselves.” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. “It felt so real.”
His dad’s hand on his arm broke the dam he’d been holding up.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Arthur.”
He looked up at the harsh sound of his dad’s voice. The grip on his arm tightened, and he could see his dad swallow a few times, his eyes bright with tears before he spoke.
“There’s isn’t a damn thing wrong with you,” Dean said. “Don’t ever think that.”
Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Come on,” Dean said as he took the tools and began putting them away. “I think it’s time we both got some sleep.”
Chapter Three
Author:
lady_yashkaArtist:
finnickodairCrossover: Merlin
Word Count: 15,808
Characters/Pairings: Gen, past Arthur/Gwen
Warnings: Violence towards children, character death
Spoilers: Spoilers through series five of Merlin, AU season four of Supernatural
Summary: Centuries after his death, destiny calls Arthur Pendragon forth to fulfill his duty as the Once and Future King. But Arthur is also a Winchester now. Destiny won’t know what hit it.
Author’s Notes: I want to thank
chosenfire28 for running this challenge. And to finnickodair, your artwork is awesome, and gorgeous. Thank you so much for picking my story. :)Arthur couldn’t find his favorite jacket. He’d looked in his closet, under his bed, through the piles of clothes scattered around the room. He’d even looked in the laundry hamper in the bathroom, and through his dad’s closet as well.
It was as if the room had swallowed it, stealing it away from Arthur without his permission.
Frustration building he clomped down the stairs, hoping to find it in the front hall closet. His dad sometimes put it there if he left it lying around downstairs.
“Stop.”
Arthur paused mid-step and cursed. He had been sure his father was not home. Turning, he found his dad standing before the kitchen sink. He held a kitchen towel in his hands and was giving Arthur a look that demanded his immediate attention.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out?” Arthur replied, a hint of hope filling his words.
He widened his blue eyes and gave his dad his best innocent grin.
Dean raised an eyebrow.
“Chores done?” he asked, titling his head slightly.
“Dad, I’m going to be late.”
“What I’d tell you skipping your chores?” Dean waited, but Arthur stayed silent.
“Arthur John Winchester, answer me.”
Arthur’s shoulders slumped and an annoyed look spread across his face.
“But--”
“No.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the bloody car!”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because she’s a senile old bat?” Arthur sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Last week she was positive gremlins were eating the wiring.”
Arthur grinned at the snort that escaped from his dad. The gremlins had turned out to be field mice. They’d built a nest in the trunk.
“Mrs. Evey is lonely,” Dean said, giving his son a stern look. “And it won’t hurt you to go over there and check it out.”
Arthur’s shoulders slumped as his plans to spend the weekend traipsing through the woods hunting vanished.
“She tries to feed me those hideous cookies.”
Dean did laugh then. “You could always stay here and clean out the garage.”
Arthur’s face fell, and his good mood abandoning him. He turned, opened the hall closet and found his jacket. Just fucking great. Jerking it out, he pulled it on and moved towards the door.
“The car will take less time.”
He picked up his favorite machete, and holstered a gun. His lucky bow and a quiver of arrows were tucked into his duffle bag. Maybe if he finished in time, he could still go hunting.
“Oh, just go,” Dean said.
Arthur turned, eyes wide. “What?”
“I’ll take care of Mrs. Evey’s car, but you have to clean out the garage when you get back. Got it?”
A wide smile lit up Arthur’s face and he dashed forward to give his dad a hug.
“Thank you.”
“Call me when you get there,” Dean said.
Arthur gave him a carefree wave. “I’ll be home Sunday before sundown.”
He was out the door in a flash, sunlight briefly lighting up the entrance way in his wake.
He jogged down the driveway to his car, a beat up Chevy truck older than he was. His dad despised the thing, calling it an eyesore and a blight on humanity. Arthur loved it, and kept it running. He didn’t need anything bright and shiny, and the old vehicle was one he didn’t mind hauling dead animals in.
Arthur loved hunting. He loved the quiet, and the patience it took to stalk down his prey. This hunting, so different from what he and his Dad did, was all Arthur’s. His father could wait for hours, perfectly still when hunting some monster, but a deer, his dad usually left that up to Arthur. His father preferred machinery and Arthur loved the outdoors.
Climbing his favorite tree, Arthur settled the bow in place and waited. Deer loved this area, the bushes being full of leaves and berries. A rustling in the bushes had Arthur bringing the bow to ready. He kept his gaze focuses, and his breathing even. He pulled the bowstring back, ready to fire when the deer showed itself.
His name being called had him falling out of the tree. Between one blink and the next he was on his feet, weapons still in his hand. A familiar figure in a beige trench coat stood before him.
“Damn it, Uncle Cas,” Arthur said. He placed the bow back into his duffle bag. “I was in the middle of something.”
“I hadn’t realized Dean let you hunt by yourself.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Dad always lets me.”
He picked up his bag and started walking. He’d have to find a new spot now.
Castiel titled his head to the side. “But you don’t eat black dogs.”
Arthur’s confusion grew. “I wasn’t hunting a black dog.”
The confusion lifted from Castiel’s face. “You did not know the creature was in the area.”
Between one blink and the next, they were standing in his driveway.
Even his truck was sitting in its usual spot.
“The hell?”
“A situation has come up,” Castiel said. “Your father needs you home.”
“And the black dog?”
“I took care of it,” Castiel said, then with a flutter of wings he was gone, leaving Arthur standing next to his truck.
“Of course,” Arthur said.
He gathered up his things and headed into the house. His dad and Uncle Sam were gathered around the kitchen table.
“So, what’s so important you had to get Uncle Cas to come and get me?”
“Charlie called,” Dean said. “There’s a haunting not far from here. A bunch of kids have gone missing after spending sometime in the local haunted house.”
Arthur grinned. He liked Charlie. She’d taught him to hack, and had given him the ‘talk’ much to his dad’s dismay. It had consisted of being told to always use a condom, and that no always meant no. The memory of his dad’s reaction was one he cherished.
“How is Charlie?” Arthur asked. He couldn’t help it. She’d been his first crush after all.
Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s fine,” he said. “She said to remind you to check your email.”
“Awesome,” Arthur said. He went and settled his gear in the front hall closet. “So, what do you need me to do?”
“Go through everything and make sure it’s all in order,” Dean said, turning back to the pile of newspapers before him. “And clean the guns. We don’t want any misfires during a hunt.”
Arthur nodded and got to work. Pulling out the dust cloths and gun oil, Arthur sat down at the coffee table, weapons bag at his right. He fell into a rhythm after that, taking the guns apart and cleaning each piece before putting them back together. He even checked the salt rounds before going to make more.
His dad interrupted him when the sun was down, citing dinner.
“Come on,” Dean said. “It’s getting late and we’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Arthur packed their gear away and placed it next to the front door.
Dinner consisted of takeout eaten straight from the cartons. No one wanted to have to bother with dishes on top of everything else.
That night though found Arthur back downstairs, a box of electrical parts next to him. The light above the stove provided all the illumination he needed as he tightened a screw on the EMF meter he was working on.
He didn’t mind the tedious labor. He liked helping his dad out. The work was soothing, and each new design he got to work made the sleepless nights worth it. He sat aside the device he was tinkering with and reached for his coffee. It wasn’t where he’d left it, and he turned, looking to see if he’d knocked the cup over without noticing again. His dad was seated to his left, coffee cup in hand and a worried look on his face. Busted.
“Hey,” Arthur said as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
“How’s the design coming?” Dean asked.
He fumbled with it, keeping his eyes down. He didn’t want to face the knowing look in his dad’s eyes.
“It’s going,” Arthur said. “Give me a few more hours and I should be able to get it to work.”
Dean nodded and stood, taking the cup into the kitchen.
“Should be daylight in a few hours.”
Arthur sighed. “Dad…”
“I know,” Dean said as he came and placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He gave it a quick squeeze before turning back and heading towards his room. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
He’d had the dreams as long as he could remember. Visions filled with swords and knights, and castles. There was even magic and dragons.
When he’d been younger he used to act out his dreams, claiming to be a knight. He’d made his dad call him Sir Arthur for a month after one particularly vivid dream.
Now, the dreams held death, and pain. A vast landscape filled with dead bodies and the tortured face of a dark haired man with blue eyes.
“Dad,” Arthur turned in his seat.
His dad came back over and sat down. He didn’t say anything, just sat, looking at Arthur with an expression of understanding.
“How do you handle it?” Arthur asked, voice cracking.
He knew his dad had plenty of sleepless nights. He’d found the Supernatural books when he’d been fourteen. He’d thought some enterprising hunter had dreamt them up at first, and had read half the series before realizing they were about his family.
His dad laughed. “I didn’t.” He gave Arthur a sympathetic look. “I drank too much, and ignored the problem. You, however, gave me every reason to straighten myself out.”
Arthur lowered his head again.
“Wanna tell me what it was about?”
Arthur took a deep breath and met his father’s gaze. Tears filled his eyes, but he fought to keep them from falling.
“I’m with someone,” Arthur said. “We’re in the woods, and everything hurts. The other person is crying, and I ask them not to change, to always be themselves.” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair. “It felt so real.”
His dad’s hand on his arm broke the dam he’d been holding up.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Arthur.”
He looked up at the harsh sound of his dad’s voice. The grip on his arm tightened, and he could see his dad swallow a few times, his eyes bright with tears before he spoke.
“There’s isn’t a damn thing wrong with you,” Dean said. “Don’t ever think that.”
Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“Come on,” Dean said as he took the tools and began putting them away. “I think it’s time we both got some sleep.”
Chapter Three
