Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Out of the Mouths of Babes ❯ You're a What, Now? ( Chapter 2 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Chapter 2
 
The voice was soft and clear and somehow reminiscent of silver bells, its accent not any accent found in the world at all, but John Winchester didn't seem to notice any of that.
 
“An elf?”
 
His voice seemed like thunder, and Ryuji winced. He really wished John would get past that part. He kept his voice pleasant, however—humans sometimes needed reiteration a great many times, not because they were in some way mentally deficient, but because sometimes they just simply did not want to know what they needed to know. Dealing with them required patience.
 
“Yes. I'm an elf. We do exist outside of your…fairy tales.” Try as he might, he couldn't fully banish his obvious distaste for those wild theories.
 
“An elf…” John muttered, his eyes looking a little wild. “And how old are you?”
 
“How old do you think I am?” Ryuji replied.
 
“…I don't want to answer that.”
 
But Dean had been studying the boy—man? Was it even appropriate to call him anything human?—very carefully, and now he pronounced firmly. “Ten. Same as me.”
 
Ryuji was surprised, and he wasn't yet schooled enough in the ways of his people to hide it. “Yes. That's…exactly right. How did you know?”
 
Dean only shrugged, but Sam piped up with a grin. “Oh, Dean knows everything!”
 
“Sammy,” Dean muttered, embarrassed, but obviously pleased. “I do not.”
 
“Do too.”
 
“Okay, can we please get back to the subject now?” John asked impatiently.
 
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Dad,” Dean said quickly.
 
Sam hugged Rollo tighter and fell silent.
 
“Thank you,” John said dryly. “So…Ryuji…you really are ten? You're not this centuries-old guy pretending to be ten?”
 
“No,” Ryuji said patiently. “My people age normally through adolescence. Only then does the process slow down.”
 
“But…the way you talk…and…and…” John groped aimlessly for his meaning, and apparently failed.
 
“The way I talk is only civilized. Maybe that's why it seems strange to humans.”
 
“Right,” John said, not even bothering to bristle. “You're ten. Okay, so…an elf. You're an elf. There is an elf sitting in my motel room and I'm talking to him. I guess I could get used to that. Maybe. Where are you from, anyway?”
 
Ryuji gritted his teeth and reminded himself that there was time to get through all this before he addressed the important things. He was helpless at the moment, anyway.
 
“The name wouldn't translate, and I told you its location you would be…unsettled. But I can tell you that if you ever crossed our borders, you would find yourself in…a paradise. Our home is a place of unparalleled beauty, of birds and music and green things. I guarantee, if you ever went there it would be your last journey, because you wouldn't ever want to leave.”

“Well, if it's so nice, then how come you're here?” John asked shrewdly.
 
Ryuji looked at him for a long moment and then said, “Because I have to be.”
 
And then—finally—John began to come around to the point.
 
“And…you said you know about us? About what we do?”
 
“More than that. I know exactly what you're trying to find—what you want to take revenge on. I know something of it—and I'll tell you what I know, if you like.”
 
John studied him, then nodded once.
 
“Fine. Dean, take Sam to the park.”
 
“But—”
 
“No!” Sam protested. “I wanna stay here!”
 
Now, Dean,” John said implacably, in that voice that warned of the ultimatum of absolute obedience or never-ending grounding.
 
When they were alone at last—it had taken a while and a lot of effort from Dean to convince Sam to adhere to The Voice—John turned to Ryuji and spoke abruptly.
 
“All right. Tell me.”