It's quiet
Title: Boy King
Author: IndigoNight
Feedback: Yes please
Summary: A night, a silent street, an evil, and boy that isn't right.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters
Spoilers: Not really
Rating: PG
Warnings: None.
Beta: SailorGadget, thanks so much! Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Author's Note: So, in my late night musings, I wondered why Yellow-eyes didn't go after Dean, why he waited for Sam, and this popped out. Read, Review, Enjoy.
It's quiet. Not too quiet. Not an eerie, disturbing quiet. It's the simple, peaceful quiet of a suburban street in the depths of slumber.
In the driveway, the '67 Impala has a tiny oil leak that hasn't been noticed yet. It will leave a stain on the driveway that will remain there for the next five years, until the cement is torn up and replaced. In the kitchen, there are dirty dishes still in the sink that nobody felt like cleaning up yet, and the slowly going stale half of a cupcake that was demolished and smashed into the plastic of the high chair tray by tiny baby's fingers. The hall clock is ticking, slowly and steadily counting down the hours until dawn. The parents are sleeping soundly, oblivious in their room down the hall, arms wrapped around each other.
A shadow stands by the window in the nursery, silently. There's a mobile floating over the crib, footballs. It swings gently, sending flickers over the sleeping child's face in the glow of the moon shaped nightlight.
It watches the child as he stirs, pudgy fingers curled loosely around a soft blue blanket. It smiles to itself, thinking about all it has in store for this family, for this innocent baby boy.
Its hand hovers over the child, relishing in what it's about to do. Then it frowns; something is not right. Not wrong, per say, but not right, not yet. It withdraws its hand; this is not the child it wants. A setback, to be sure, but nothing to worry about. The child it wanted would come; it would claim him as its own, and together they would rule the night. Their time would come. All it needed was patience. It had time; it could, and would, wait.
And so it returns to the window, pausing to take one last look at the child that was not right, was not its. The boy slept on, unaware of what terrible fate he had so nearly, and unexplainably avoided, he slept on while the creature of the night bid farewell to that house.
For now.
It would be nine days, three months, and four years of waiting, but the time would come, and when it did, Evil would once more grace that house, bringing with it a halo of fire for its boy king.