Claimer: My story. My plot. My characters. Non-Profit... hope that's all that these things need.


Warning: Language. Violence. Sexual Content. Horror or Psychological Thriller. Ever seen the movie Seven... It's not quite as bad as that. Sex in other chapters.


What's Found When The World Is Left Behind

One:


It was the summer of '97 (middle of nowhere Texas). A five year old boy, head full of dark curls and bright hazel eyes filled with life, stood impatiently staring out at the open field. A man twice the boys height and size stood beside him, cap pulled low over his eyes, shotgun steadied on his shoulder, and gaze set in concentration. With the pull of his finger and a loud BANG the boy watched as a deer fell over off in the distance.

"Follow close to papa." The man commanded, his tone soft.

The boy did as he was told, his little hand holding tight to his papa's trousers. When they finally stopped walking, curious eyes stared at the deer, studying the way that strong bust rose and fell in no particular pattern. It was mesmerizing. His thoughts were only halted when something cool pressed into his hand and he looked at it knowingly.

"You know what to do now, don't you Dominic?"

The little boy nodded, face expressionless. He held his Colt .45, both of his tiny hands wrapping around the stock as he aimed, the barrel pointed at the bridge of the nose. He blinked once and then pulled the trigger –body shuddering slightly from the tremor of recoil. He watched as the bullet went clear through leaving not nearly as much mess as his father's shotgun.

"That's my boy!" The man said, tone prideful as he bent down to pick his child up.

Dominic flashed a toothy grin as his own chest swelled with pride. "Does this mean I can do combat today?"

The man nodded. "That's what I promised."

The boy's smile grew impossibly bigger because his father never broke a promise. Never. "And Tristan?"

"Glen said he'd bring him over and the two of you can work on combat together."

"What about Milo and Lidia?"

"They won't be home until the end of the week." The man grunted as he shifted his son onto his back and headed towards his house. "Now pick your poison: hand-to-hand or knife work?"

"Hand-to-hand papa. You know I'm good with my knives." He could hit the bullseye from 20 feet now and Dom was rather proud of himself on that account.

The man nodded again briefly before a smile touched his face. "You're better at all this shit than I was at your age."

Again, pride filled Dominic's tiny chest as he clung tighter to his father. "You're a good teacher and grandpa is too."

"Damn right."


There was something about the sound of flesh tearing apart that spurred Dom on. The breaking of bones was aesthetically pleasing to the ears. And to watch as blood dribbled from an orifice or newly created gash was an indescribable occurrence. But nothing compared to the look- the one that eyes so full of life took on when they knew (they just knew) that their fire was about to be snubbed out. It sparked his soul and pulsed adrenaline throughout his very core in a way that had him nearly convulsing with glee.

To kill… to hold that power and not fear the possibility of being consumed by death's unquenchable hunger in return was an incredible gift, this Dom knew.

"That's a gorgeous picture you've painted baby doll."

Dom smiled to himself as his gaze shifted around the room. He took a moment to admire his handy work and he'd have to agree that yes… he'd managed to create a mosaic of sorts. Not as though it was a hard thing to accomplish, not this time.

The woman who'd answered the door, who allowed him into her home, never stood a chance. Not by a long shot.

She'd been wooed by Dom's boyish smile that was only furthered by the way his dark hair messily framed his gorgeous face. And his manners as he'd stood at her door, drenched to the bone she'd thought as big puppy-dog hazel eyes had stared at her. So lost… and no more than fourteen, maybe fifteen she'd assumed. So she let him in and he'd made small talk.

Questions were tossed out there. A few about her large home. One or two that inquired if she'd be able to deliver him to police station because he couldn't walk there. He'd claimed that he'd been taken without his permission and he'd escaped the first chance he got, and she'd bought it. How could she not after staring at a face like his and becoming trapped in his doe-eyed gaze. She'd said she couldn't imagine if something akin to that happened to her son who was only a baby, eleven she'd said.

That was when Dom just knew he had to have her.

He was a sucker for mothers who held a firm love for their children. And this woman, Hilda she'd called herself, was his favorite type. A house mother with two children and a husband who worked a boring one to nine office job. The all-American family…

He took pride in making her chose between her babies. The eldest boy was the first to go (gutted like a meager fish in the market) and then the baby girl (a clean cut across her throat because she'd slightly reminded him of his own sister). But he took his time with her- with the mother. Enjoyed it as she'd screamed and cried over her loss. Enjoyed it more as she hollered calling for a Lord that wasn't to save her. And when he gave the finishing blow, he'd felt tickled at the fact that she'd at least tried.

When the father came home, Dom had let Tristan take him.

It was only fair.

"You've done a fine job, baby doll." Amongst the blood and torn flesh that littered the room was a simmering passion that steadily grew as Tristan circled Dom, his eyes focused on the scene that his lover had created.

This wasn't new. He enjoyed inspecting Dom's handy work and as he did so, his expression would shift. Tristan's lips would quirk into the barest of smiles, his light eyes soft and fond as they would stare down at a boy dyed in a browning red. And when Dom would smile back, Tristan's world would implode as desire filled him to the brim because Dom was his angel. His world. His life. His everything. And Tristan would give his soul to the first bidder if it meant seeing that happy little expression erupt on Dom's face after a fresh kill.

But there were better, other nuances of emotion that Tristan did adore seeing painted across Dom's beautiful face. Thinking about it made blood rush southbound and caused his own flesh to prickle expectantly.

"She squealed Tris." A flighty sigh fell from rosy lips as Dom's gaze quickly swept over the room before returning to meet darkened blue irises. "She squealed like a fucking pig when I gutted the little boy. You should've seen her. She was thrashing and hollering but she couldn't break out of those knots…" Bliss lit his face as he recalled hers.

Tristan watched in agonized lust because he wanted to take Dom right where he sat, blood-stained and all. But it could wait. At least until they were tucked safely in the confines of their hotel room. Walking alongside death was one thing but tempting fate was another entirely.

"Mhmm… I bet she did." He held out a hand and pulled Dom to his feet when he grasped it. Instead of releasing him, he ended up pulling him closer, chest to chest and faces separated by mere inches.

Dom's pink lips pulled into a smirk as he stared up at Tristan, his hand tangling in the fabric of the boy's worn Black Sabbath t-shirt. "When we get back, we'll celebrate."

"Always." Tristan muttered, his lips pressing gingerly to the corner of Dom's mouth. "You deserve it."


Mid July, 1997. The heat had the roads swollen and green grass browning. A boy sat beneath a willow tree, gaze hard and trained on the small house off in the distance. That lone stare held the hardships of someone who'd experienced great pains… it had no business sullying the smooth contours of the nine year olds' face. But it was there, ingrained in the depths of those ice-blue irises –frozen to be forever remembered. A small hand pushed thick sandy-blond bangs to the side, gaze still focused on the house even as a man stepped away from the door frame, face set in an angry snarl as he walked towards the tree.

The boy clenched his teeth and braced himself for the swift kick that was coming to his side. He slid a bit in the grass, his forearm snagging on a rock. He felt the blood, warm and wet as it slowly rolled down his arm.

"Get the fuck up."

The boy stood and resisted the urge to grab his side. It'd do nothing to ebb away his pain.

"Didn't you fucking hear me when I called you?"

Teeth nipped and tugged at the inside of his cheek as the boy resisted the urge to hurl a scathing remark at his father. Instead, he swallowed his pride and held his head high, gaze cast towards the ground lest he gave away his inner thoughts. His eyes held no secrets. "Sorry sir."

The man nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Damn right you are. Had me yelling for you… You need to be aware of your fucking surroundings Tristan. Keep pulling this head in the clouds shit and you'll get yourself killed."

Tristan bit back his frown and maintained his blank mask with great difficulty. "Sorry sir."

"It's alright." The man ran a hand through his messy brown hair and stared at his truck. "Vic and Dom are waiting on us so get in the truck."

At the mention of Vic and Dom, Tristan's day brightened. If there was anything that he enjoyed, or could at least say that he enjoyed, it was being around that particular family. Better yet, it was being around Dom. The little boy was like an angel with his big smile and caring nature… he was a real sweet heart. Looked just like a baby doll but packed one hell of a punch… yeah, Tristan enjoyed being around Dom who was so full of life and love.

Dom was the brother he didn't have but always wanted.

"What are we doing today, sir?" They spent a better part of their time at Vic's house, which Tristan enjoyed.

The longer they were away from home, the less he had to be around his father and stepmother. Aside from the occasional drunken beating (which his father called a test of his skills), Tristan didn't mind his dad. His stepmother was another story entirely. Vic's house was like a safe haven and it breathed life into everyone who set foot in it. Tristan was no exception.

"Combat… hand-to-hand I assume. Might be there all day an' all night." The man shrugged as he climbed into the driver's seat. "If we have time, I can ask Henry to work with you on your knife skills, he's a pro."

Grandpa Henry knew his way around a knife and Tristan was mesmerized every time he watched the man work. He could hit a target's bullseye from 300 feet away- dead center, and he was pushing seventy.


Several pairs of eyes watched as thin hips swayed methodically, pale fingers stretched towards the ceiling before curling into a ball but those hands maintained their position poised above the boy's head. He was mesmerizing to watch as he moved, dark gaze half-lidded and mind miles away. There was something exotic about his black hair and thin structure that captured the eyes of everyone nearby and forced them to watch –hypnotized.

And he was flat out gorgeous, unlike any beauty the locals had seen traipsing around town before. Something straight out of Hollywood if any of them had to guess because it was all that their small town minds could drudge up. So they watched him, their minds slipping into the same trance that he'd been ensnared in by the music.

One brave soul moved forward, hands reaching, finger hooking on a belt loop and tugging casually enough to guide the slender boy in one direction as opposed to another. He followed, allowed himself to be pulled flank against whatever warm body had managed to sidle up to him from behind. He allowed his hips to be moved by strong hands, swayed by the rhythm and haunting melody wafting around the room.

Tristan glanced at Dom from his seat at the bar, ice blue eyes momentarily taking in the scene before returning to his drink.

The bartender leaned next to him, her eyes fixed on the scene but her question directed at him. "You ever seen anything like that- like that guy on out there?"

Tristan shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. "Don't think I have." He slid from the barstool and melded into the shadows.

When he reached the back exit, he locked the door then broke the handle. When he stopped at the entrance, he stood there for a moment, hard gaze locking onto Dom. The younger boy allowed a wistful smile to slip onto his face, Tristan's cue to slip out for a minute.

Dom's lips quirked as he turned, hip brushing an undeniably engorged erection before he was facing his dance partner. The man was all smiles and hard lines- had a face sodden with age that didn't quite belong. He leaned in, mouth poised just below a large lobe. "You like me?"

Thin lips stretched into a lofty smile as the man nodded.

"That's a shame." Were the soft words murmured against that ear before thin hands grasped thick shoulders and Dom's knee came up, lightening fast and with wicked precision.

The man crumpled to the ground, eyes tearing and face pained. Everyone else looked on, stunned by the abrupt change in atmosphere and stuck in place. It felt like eons before anyone moved or breathed a word but a pained "Fuck!" successfully shattered the silence.

"What the hell'd you do that for?"

"He's hurt, someone help 'em up."

"Look here you little whore…" A man steeped forward, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar. "What you just did was unnecessary." A slight shake and Dom brought his palm up, the base of his wrist crushing into an unsuspecting nose and bone shattering beneath the force.

Again, the room was quite. Stunned.

Dom shut his eyes, smile lighting his deceptive angelic face as he bent, hand reaching inside of his boot. Hazel eyes blinked open as he stood, gun held tight in his hand and before anyone could utter a word, he fired. Quick and precise, seventeen rounds were emptied into seventeen unsuspecting people. He grinned as horror contorted the remaining nine faces before they attempted to flee.

But there Tristan stood at the front door, shot gun poised and waiting before he fired one round that ripped away at two bodies. He fired again- another two people went down. Five people paused, cowering in anguish. One scrambled towards the bar, ducking.

Hooded eyes studied the small group of four trapped in the middle of the wide room- they were like chicklets perched in a nest. "Aww, buck up honey. It's not your fault that you're going to die today." Dom moved closer, hand reaching towards the shaking woman as the man beside her wretched onto the floor. "But you will be blamed for his death… so how should I do it? Pick A or B." He waited patiently, hand massaging her quivering shoulder as she cried.

"I don't- I can't- please?"

A frown marred his perfect face before he deftly reached into his back pocket, one clip dropping to the floor and the other being quickly loaded. "Wrong answer." He shot her between the brow and her body fell, slightly convulsing beside a petrified woman. "Tris." Dom sing-songed, voice pitchy and high.

Beautiful.

Tristan nodded before walking over to the bar, not too close but close enough. "Stand up, both of you."

There was a bit of muttering but then a man stood, the bartender tucked behind him as he pointed his shotgun in Tristan's direction. His gaze held but an ounce of fear as it swept between the two boys and three living people situated between them. "Let them go or I shoot him."

Dom's gaze didn't stray from the petite woman sobbing into her own shirt. "Shoot him." He shrugged.

Tristan smiled.

The bartender cocked his shotgun, steadied it. "I will fucking kill him."

"Sure is taking you long… or do you not know how to do it?" He cocked his own gun. "It's easy." And before the bartender could utter another word, Dom's gun was pressed to the petite woman's head. He pulled the trigger and the bullet eased through one side of her skull and fully blew out the other.

In that moment of sheer surprise, another trigger pulled and two people fell. The loud clank of a shotgun hitting the floor resounded throughout the room. "Sorry baby doll." There were two less people for Dom's game and it was a pity.

Dom would whine and complain about it later, Tristan was sure.

Thin shoulders shrugged and hazel, nearly gold, irises shifted in the direction of the bathroom for a brief second. Almost as if his eyes had never moved. "There are four hiding in the women's bathroom. One of them is the sheriff and he's armed. It's only a Colt. Might have a knife in his boot." Dom was positive that he had a knife in his boot.

A few long strides across the room and Tristan was outside of the bathrooms. He walked into the men's room and left the door open, one eye always trained on Dom from years of practice. There was a hole in the wall beside the mirror, a fairly large hole on his side. Small and barely noticeable on the other but Tristan could see into the other bathroom from his vantage point. Two women- sisters from the look of things. A man leaning impatiently against a stall, eyes casting towards the door from time to time. The sheriff stood in the middle of the room, his fingers wrapped around the stock of his colt in a tight grip.

Tristan banged on the wall and watched as the women whimpered, the man near the stall jumped, and the Sheriff turned quickly, gun pointed at the mirror. "I want you all to come out of the bathroom or else I'll have to shoot and I have a shotgun." He saw as the sheriff cursed his luck and shook his head. "Now, I don't exactly want to shoot you but I will if you don't come out in, say, five seconds."

The silence that followed after that felt as though it stretched on for far too long and just when Tristan started to doubt that they would leave their sanctuary they began to move, the sheriff taking lead as he held onto the gun he'd tucked in the back of his pants. Tristan moved to the mouth of the men's bathroom, shotgun perched to fire, and as soon as the other door opened, he pulled the trigger. The bystanders watched in muted awe and horror as a head was torn clean off of the body in a splatter of vivid reds and nauseating pink that painted the wooden wall and the shifty man behind what was left of the sheriff.

When the body fell to the floor, several screams pierced the air. Tristan knelt to pick up the Colt before pulling a knife from the man's boot. His gaze drifted toward the three people still loitering by the bathroom door. "Well now, how about you walk on over to where everyone else is."

The girls cried as they moved towards the middle of the chaos that was once the dance floor. The man followed close by, his face resigned to his fate.

Dom smiled, his hips moving slightly in tune with the music still enveloping the room. "Now we'll try this again." He cocked his 9mm and deftly caught the knife that Tristan threw his way. "You in the pink, I want you to choose how your sister will die. Pick A or B. And you won't feel guilty for long because you'll be going right after her."

Tristan leaned against the bar, his eyes trained on a gorgeous bloodstained face and the gleeful tilt of pink lips. When Dom shot a sobbing girl between the brow, his tongue darting out to swipe at the blood trickling down his cheek, Tristan knew that he'd be rewarded tonight.


TBC


A/N: Well... This was an idea that just popped up after reading one too many serial killer stories and then taking three months to re-watch all of Supernatural and then reading one too many Supernatural fanfics... yea. What can I say besides I'm still a bit surprised at the way this story is turning out.

It should be noted that Dom is 19 and Tristan is 22 whenever I don't go out of my way to say the year or their ages.

Also, I want to thank seventhswan for even inspiring me to post this story. I'm always worried about these things but she never fails to encourage me so I humbly thank her.

With that said, I hope everyone enjoyed and will possibly be curious enough to come back for more.


If you dug it, drop me a line. Thanks for reading.