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Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: Er. None here, really.
Disclaimer: Erk. Not mine.
Notes: Ficlet for elefwin in return for picspam, and to cheer up hippediva. Somewhat inspired by a scene in Gangs of New York. Crossover of From Hell and The Ninth Gate.
Summary: Dean and Fred have gotten themselves into quite the pickle.
***
Dean plasters himself as best he can to Abberline's back, trying to stay in the middle of the cage. But his head is an aching spin, and his wrists are bound, and the cage swings shoulder-high above the ground. Still low enough for onlookers to snatch at their clothing, stroke lewdly along a limb, should they lose their balance. "How long have we been here?"
"Hours, I think. I don't know." Wincing, Fred pulls in his hurt ankle an instant before a man, swarthy and needle-nosed, would have grabbed it. "Is this about the book?"
"Damned if I'd know." Then Dean lets out a small groan and closes his eyes. "Yes, all right. He did come to me about it. But he took it with him when he went."
A grimed, grin-smeared face suddenly looms up-someone's gotten onto a friend's shoulder-and they're too frozen with terror to react. "Damn pretty, they are. Hey, Bill, y'want the-"
Ever so softly, the man's eyes widen and he topples, no sound coming until his body hits the ground with a resounding crash. His friend is summarily dispatched as well, and then dark deep eyes are watching them from the other side of the bars.
***