Title: I would I were at rest
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Warnings: implied incest; AU
Pairings: implied het incest
Rating: PG13
Wordcount: 575
Point of view: third
Notes: for ultraviolet9a on the occasion of her birth. Prompt given was showdown between Bela and Ruby
The Colt is cold in her hands; it knows she's a thief, unworthy to hold a king of hunters' weapon.
She has always been unworthy, too prideful to bow, too foolhardy to stay gone, too angry to let go.
She is her mother's daughter, after all. And her father's whore.
o0o
She sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the Colt. She holds it away from her body, barrel pointed to the floor.
A part of her wants to end this. She grips the gun that can kill anything in her sweaty, small hands. One light squeeze is all it would take. So simple. So quick.
The Colt points at the floor, with only two bullets in it. She doesn't move.
o0o
She hears the news, unsurprised. Of course the Winchesters escaped death again. Dying does not become them; no Reaper will take them, not yet.
The Colt gleams, glints, whispers a siren-song.
But she is strong. She must do this, must at least try. Despite all her failures, all her short-comings, she has earned that much. Father groomed her for this one purpose, his sweet little girl, his vengeance finally honed. Where he failed so many times, squandered so many chances—she will succeed.
There are two bullets.
o0o
"Clever girl," the demon says, host's blonde hair swinging. She looks nothing like Mother did… but then, Mother was only ever a host.
Father used to tell her, so often, she had her mother's eyes. It was one of a dozen reasons he saw nothing wrong with what he did.
"When Sam told me you'd stolen the Colt," the demon says, "I knew."
Her hand is tight on the gun, the deus ex machina, the last fail-safe. Her heart gallops in her chest, like the horses Father never let her ride. Tears prick in her eyes; she blinks, forcing them back.
This must be done.
"Give me the Colt, darling Annabelle," the demon says. "This is not how you want it to end."
o0o
Father told her the story: demon possessing his wife, conceiving the Chosen One, giving him knowledge. But the Chosen One was born female, meaning the child was not chosen, after all.
Her whole life was tied up in Father's vengeance for his disappointment. All she knows is the task given her, the task she must complete for absolution for her crime of being born female.
Samuel Winchester is what she should have been, and she hates him for it.
o0o
The demon steps closer. This host really looks nothing like Mother—too blonde, too wholesome. Mother was razor-edged.
Her hand is sweating around the gun.
"Daughter," the demon says. She doesn't even know the real name. "The Colt."
"Why didn't you kill me?" she asks. "When you knew I wasn't—"
The demon smiles with its host's mouth. "Because you still had your uses, Annabelle."
"I loathe you," she hisses, finger tightening on the trigger.
There are two bullets.
"I know," the demon purrs, reaching out a stolen hand to touch the Colt.
She jerks back, shifting the Colt minutely, squeezing the trigger.
The host's expression of shock is beautiful; electricity sparks on the stolen skin.
There is one bullet; the Colt burns in her hand.
o0o
She gets Dean's voicemail, leaves a message.
Hey, Dean? I believe I have something of yours. If you want it back… Icy Pines Lodge, in Pierre. I suggest you arrive before the policemen.
o0o
There are no bullets left.