darktrent182 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darktrent182) wrote2008-04-24 01:58 am
darktrent182) wrote2008-04-24 01:58 am
Entry tags:
FIC: Vignette - The First Confidant
TITLE: Vignette - The First Confidant
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me – the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
PAIRING: None for this part.
WORD COUNT: 1,273
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Hitchhiking?
SUMMARY: Harry doesn't know where he is, but help comes in an unexpected way.
PRAISE BE: A warm thank you goes out to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shiplizard and beachkid for their beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.
***
It was June of 1992, it was raining, and it didn't show any signs of stopping.
When you got into the Ozarks -- hell, anywhere close to a solid mountain range -- low rainclouds had a tendency to bump into the mountains and drop their payload until they were light enough to float upward into higher skies and drift away.
Unfortunately for me, I was in the Ozarks when it started raining, and it hadn't stopped since.
The thing about stationary clouds too is that they're not blown around when they're cutting loose, so it gets dark really quickly. I had no idea what road I was hiking alongside, or where exactly I was, but I knew that my shoes were slipping in the mud, it was cold, and I didn't have a coat. My luggage hadn't survived my travel around the world intact -- I was carrying a duffle bag that I'd gotten from a lady in Mexico City before I'd had to hike across the border back into the US, and the clothes in it were from a family in southern Texas who I'd helped out with a ghost infestation. I knew that I'd been traveling to the northeast, but other than knowing that I'd hit the foothills of a mountain range, I was only guessing I was in the Ozarks.
Drenched and shivering, I turned back to see a few pairs of headlights shining through the darkness. Lifting up a hand, I stuck out my thumb, and was promptly showered with a wave of water as some loud sportscar ran over a dip in the road.
"I hate you, too, jerk," I muttered to myself, and I was about to turn around again when another pair of headlights appeared, but started slowing down, pulling over to the shoulder and honking the horn.
I didn't need anymore incentive. I'd rather have been picked up by a child molester or a serial killer than keep shivering in the rain, risking getting run over by someone who didn't know how to drive. When I jogged to the pick-up, I noticed a few things. First, it was black, which stopped me from figuring out what kind of truck it was. Only the engine had given me an indication that it was a pick-up at all, since the newer model cars tend to whine a bit more. Second, it was old. From what I could see of the outline, there was some kind of rack on top of it, but the body looked different from the other trucks I'd seen on the road, both in the States and abroad. When I got alongside, I peered into the window.
In the driver's seat was a stocky man shorter than I was, in what I could only guess was a white T-shirt and blue denim overalls. He motioned to me with one arm, and I opened the door. When I squelched into the seat and closed the door after me, I saw that he was bald except for a full white beard.
"Car break down?" he grunted, his voice strong.
I shook my head, reaching over my shoulder to reach for the seatbelt, and then noticed there wasn't one. "Don't have a car."
He shot me a surprised frown. "You're a hitchhiker?"
I nodded. "I was headed for the nearest town, but I must've taken a wrong turn. Where are we?"
"Missouri."
Missouri, which wasn't more than a stone's throw to Illinois, and the Morningway Estate in Chicago. I hadn't realized I was so close to home. Besides taking a ship from Boston to Europe, I'd ended up avoiding this area. There was little wonder why. When I looked back at the man, I also realized that I'd missed a question. "Sorry?"
"I said, what's your name? Rain hasn't made you deaf, has it?"
I shook my head, shivering when some of it decided to make a point and trickle down my back. "Sorry. I'm Harry Dresden." I offered my hand.
He took it in his hand shook. Hard. For an old guy, he was nearly about to crush my fingers. I tried not to wince when he mercifully let go, but I couldn't cover my shock at the aura I sensed from him.
It was strong, really strong. I hadn't shaken a lot of wizards' hands, just my uncle's, but my spidey-senses were telling me this guy was a wizard.
"I'm sorry?" I said, trying to be polite, since the shock had made me miss his name. I really needed to brush up on covering my surprise better.
The old man, however, looked amused. "I said I'm Ebenezar McCoy."
I nodded. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," he replied, turning back to the road. Checking his rear view, he eased back into traffic, and started off again at a good clip despite the rain. "You wouldn't happen to know a Malcolm Dresden, would you?"
The name hit me in the chest hard. I was actually surprised by how much it hurt, even after all these years without him. "Yeah... he was my father."
Ebenezar nodded approvingly, though about what, I didn't know. "I thought you looked like him, especially the hairline."
"You knew my father?" I asked, turning to look at him. Considering how dark it was, it was hard to see his face, but what little I could see was watching the road, his eyes occasionally flicking up to check the rear view mirror.
He nodded. "I only met him briefly when your parents were married. I knew your mother better than your father." He slid a sidelong glance at me. "But then, you probably guessed that, didn't you?"
I shrugged. "I didn't know her that well."
"Died when you were still little, if I remember correctly," he added. "Damn shame. She was a good woman."
If his memory had ever slipped, I got the impression it was only because he wanted to conveniently forget a few details, and not because of absent-mindedness. "How did you know her?"
"Taught her some of what she knew, before she wanted to strike off on her own."
I blinked and stared at him for a few minutes. He kept driving, but after a while, shot a glance my way.
"Cat got your tongue, Hoss?" he asked blithely.
I frowned. "'Hoss'?"
Ebenezar shrugged. "It's as good a name as any."
I blinked, and then shrugged. "Works for me."
He nodded, and then took an exit ramp off the highway.
"Um, Ebenezar? Weren't we supposed to stay on that interstate?" I asked, glancing at him curiously.
"If we were headed for St. Louis, sure," he replied.
"And we're not?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nope."
"Uh, then where are we headed?" I asked, finding myself even more curious.
"Hog Hollow," he replied. In the darkness, I could see a trace of a smile.
I frowned, unfamiliar with the name. "Where?"
He grunted, shifting in his seat before switching lanes. "I've got a farm out there. No electricity, but the fire should help dry off your clothes, and I've got some stew left over that you can have."
I blinked. "You don't have to..."
"No, I don't." He glanced at me, raising a thick white eyebrow. "But maybe you look like a sorry, drowned rat, and you need more meat on your bones."
I smiled, feeling a droplet of water drip off the tip of my nose. "Okay, sir."
I looked out the window, and watched the rain patter against the window as Ebenezar McCoy drove me to the farm that became my home, my sanctuary, for the next six months.
END
To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.
This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Lover.
This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Return
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me – the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
PAIRING: None for this part.
WORD COUNT: 1,273
RATING: PG
WARNINGS: Hitchhiking?
SUMMARY: Harry doesn't know where he is, but help comes in an unexpected way.
PRAISE BE: A warm thank you goes out to
shiplizard and beachkid for their beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.
***
It was June of 1992, it was raining, and it didn't show any signs of stopping.
When you got into the Ozarks -- hell, anywhere close to a solid mountain range -- low rainclouds had a tendency to bump into the mountains and drop their payload until they were light enough to float upward into higher skies and drift away.
Unfortunately for me, I was in the Ozarks when it started raining, and it hadn't stopped since.
The thing about stationary clouds too is that they're not blown around when they're cutting loose, so it gets dark really quickly. I had no idea what road I was hiking alongside, or where exactly I was, but I knew that my shoes were slipping in the mud, it was cold, and I didn't have a coat. My luggage hadn't survived my travel around the world intact -- I was carrying a duffle bag that I'd gotten from a lady in Mexico City before I'd had to hike across the border back into the US, and the clothes in it were from a family in southern Texas who I'd helped out with a ghost infestation. I knew that I'd been traveling to the northeast, but other than knowing that I'd hit the foothills of a mountain range, I was only guessing I was in the Ozarks.
Drenched and shivering, I turned back to see a few pairs of headlights shining through the darkness. Lifting up a hand, I stuck out my thumb, and was promptly showered with a wave of water as some loud sportscar ran over a dip in the road.
"I hate you, too, jerk," I muttered to myself, and I was about to turn around again when another pair of headlights appeared, but started slowing down, pulling over to the shoulder and honking the horn.
I didn't need anymore incentive. I'd rather have been picked up by a child molester or a serial killer than keep shivering in the rain, risking getting run over by someone who didn't know how to drive. When I jogged to the pick-up, I noticed a few things. First, it was black, which stopped me from figuring out what kind of truck it was. Only the engine had given me an indication that it was a pick-up at all, since the newer model cars tend to whine a bit more. Second, it was old. From what I could see of the outline, there was some kind of rack on top of it, but the body looked different from the other trucks I'd seen on the road, both in the States and abroad. When I got alongside, I peered into the window.
In the driver's seat was a stocky man shorter than I was, in what I could only guess was a white T-shirt and blue denim overalls. He motioned to me with one arm, and I opened the door. When I squelched into the seat and closed the door after me, I saw that he was bald except for a full white beard.
"Car break down?" he grunted, his voice strong.
I shook my head, reaching over my shoulder to reach for the seatbelt, and then noticed there wasn't one. "Don't have a car."
He shot me a surprised frown. "You're a hitchhiker?"
I nodded. "I was headed for the nearest town, but I must've taken a wrong turn. Where are we?"
"Missouri."
Missouri, which wasn't more than a stone's throw to Illinois, and the Morningway Estate in Chicago. I hadn't realized I was so close to home. Besides taking a ship from Boston to Europe, I'd ended up avoiding this area. There was little wonder why. When I looked back at the man, I also realized that I'd missed a question. "Sorry?"
"I said, what's your name? Rain hasn't made you deaf, has it?"
I shook my head, shivering when some of it decided to make a point and trickle down my back. "Sorry. I'm Harry Dresden." I offered my hand.
He took it in his hand shook. Hard. For an old guy, he was nearly about to crush my fingers. I tried not to wince when he mercifully let go, but I couldn't cover my shock at the aura I sensed from him.
It was strong, really strong. I hadn't shaken a lot of wizards' hands, just my uncle's, but my spidey-senses were telling me this guy was a wizard.
"I'm sorry?" I said, trying to be polite, since the shock had made me miss his name. I really needed to brush up on covering my surprise better.
The old man, however, looked amused. "I said I'm Ebenezar McCoy."
I nodded. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise," he replied, turning back to the road. Checking his rear view, he eased back into traffic, and started off again at a good clip despite the rain. "You wouldn't happen to know a Malcolm Dresden, would you?"
The name hit me in the chest hard. I was actually surprised by how much it hurt, even after all these years without him. "Yeah... he was my father."
Ebenezar nodded approvingly, though about what, I didn't know. "I thought you looked like him, especially the hairline."
"You knew my father?" I asked, turning to look at him. Considering how dark it was, it was hard to see his face, but what little I could see was watching the road, his eyes occasionally flicking up to check the rear view mirror.
He nodded. "I only met him briefly when your parents were married. I knew your mother better than your father." He slid a sidelong glance at me. "But then, you probably guessed that, didn't you?"
I shrugged. "I didn't know her that well."
"Died when you were still little, if I remember correctly," he added. "Damn shame. She was a good woman."
If his memory had ever slipped, I got the impression it was only because he wanted to conveniently forget a few details, and not because of absent-mindedness. "How did you know her?"
"Taught her some of what she knew, before she wanted to strike off on her own."
I blinked and stared at him for a few minutes. He kept driving, but after a while, shot a glance my way.
"Cat got your tongue, Hoss?" he asked blithely.
I frowned. "'Hoss'?"
Ebenezar shrugged. "It's as good a name as any."
I blinked, and then shrugged. "Works for me."
He nodded, and then took an exit ramp off the highway.
"Um, Ebenezar? Weren't we supposed to stay on that interstate?" I asked, glancing at him curiously.
"If we were headed for St. Louis, sure," he replied.
"And we're not?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nope."
"Uh, then where are we headed?" I asked, finding myself even more curious.
"Hog Hollow," he replied. In the darkness, I could see a trace of a smile.
I frowned, unfamiliar with the name. "Where?"
He grunted, shifting in his seat before switching lanes. "I've got a farm out there. No electricity, but the fire should help dry off your clothes, and I've got some stew left over that you can have."
I blinked. "You don't have to..."
"No, I don't." He glanced at me, raising a thick white eyebrow. "But maybe you look like a sorry, drowned rat, and you need more meat on your bones."
I smiled, feeling a droplet of water drip off the tip of my nose. "Okay, sir."
I looked out the window, and watched the rain patter against the window as Ebenezar McCoy drove me to the farm that became my home, my sanctuary, for the next six months.
END
To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.
This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Lover.
This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Return
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But I'm glad that the series is still keeping your interest. :D
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Also, I like your McCoy.
Can't wait until the next one.
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Glad you liked! :D
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When Murphy meets Ebenezar in Blood Rites, it's absolutely hilarious to see her stop, stare at Harry, and then immediately stop sniping at Ebenezar.
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That is an awesome moment. *grins* I should go back and reread it... Alas that I do not have my books at work with me!
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Have you read the books at all?
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Though I plan on doing so in the very near future!
The awesomeness of the TV show and your fic has me hooked!
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