Itís Whatís For Dinner (Sin City/Texas Chainsaw Massacre III x-over)
Summary: Thereís always a period of adjustment when starting a new family
Rating: Adult
Warnings: Uh, thatís kind of obvious, isnít it? No sex, little bit of gore. Not betaed.
Spoilers: Slight for Elijah's portion of ĎSin Cityí

Tex hummed happily as he picked through the leafy matter in his hand. He closed the makeshift gate to the makeshift garden and headed back
to the little ramshackle cottage he was currently calling home.

They were currently calling home.

And that was what had put the spring in his step, the light in his eyes.
After all those years of being alone, Tex had finally found someone to share his life with. He had finally started his own 'family'.

Of course, they were still going through a slight adjustment period.

"Now," Tex banged through the screen door and into the small, yet homey kitchen, "any cook will tell you, the secret to making a good stew is in the herbs." He deposited his bounty by the sink and turned his attention to the other figures in the room. His mouth dropped and his eyes widened, then narrowed as he took in the shocking tableau.

"What in hellfire do you think you're doing, boy?!"

Kevin sat back on his haunches, a slightly guilty look on his face. He licked his lips to try and clean up some of the blood, but it was of little use. When Kevin was hungry, he could be a very messy eater.

Tex ran a hand over his eyes and wondered if this was what 'Mamma' had had to go through with Junior. He took in the despondent young man crouched on the floor, and the unconscious young man nailed to the

Dinner must have passed out while Kevin was chewing off his fingers.

"Goddammit, boy." Tex grabbed a towel and wetted it. "Wash your face."

Kevin stood and complied.

Shaking his head, Tex strolled over to the heavy, scarred chair to inspect the damage. "What did I tell you about doing shit like this?"

Kevin shrugged.

"Don't give me that. Only savages eat their food raw, Kevin. We ain't savages, you hear? We're civilized people. Civilized people cook things before they eat them."

Kevin nodded and tried to look chagrined.

Tex sighed. He could tell it would take a while to get through to this one. At least he had finally dissuaded the young one from trying to mount any heads on the wall. It just wasn't right to look up from the sofa and see last week's meatloaf staring down at you.

"All right." Tex couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. The boy was just so damn cute when he was pretending to be repentant. "Enough preaching for one night, let's get this thing up on
the counter and get it stripped."

Kevin smiled, his blue eyes lighting up with approval as he hurried to get Texís favorite apron.

Tex got his hammer and began to pry the nails out of poor Dinner's palms. "Now, as I was saying, the secret to making a good stew is in the herbs..."


Tex had found, as he had gotten older, that he quite enjoyed having someone to wake up to. It made the mornings a little less cold, the bed a little less large.

Of course, as he blearly opened his eyes and gazed upon the face lying next to him, he realized that all good things came with a price.

"Goddammit all to hell in a handbasket." Tex sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Kevin!"

The young mute practically skipped into the bedroom, his face alight.

Tex looked at the joyfull expression on Kevin's face and tried to turn his grimace into something resembling a smile. "Now, son, you know I love it when you do nice things for me. But, if you keep this up we're gonna run out of clean pillows."

Kevin's face crumpled.

"Hey, hey, don't be like that." Tex got out of bed, took the young man into his arms, and bestowed a kiss on his forehead. "I love the presents you give me, honest. But, how about, from now on, you leave them on the back porch? Near the hose. Hmmm?"

Kevin thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Good boy." Tex watched the young man smile, then scurry off to do God knew what. He walked around to Kevin's side of the bed and lifted the head off the pillow. Bits of gore dripped off the stump of the neck. "Looks like I'm doing laundry."