Haze Chapter 8
I am still utterly devastated from the first two episodes of Supernatural. I was so hoping John wouldn't die! Sam and Dean's pain -- okay, especially Dean's -- is just killing me. *sniff*
But here's chapter eight, where John is alive! Even if he isn't actually present. Things are really starting to roll. I’ve got everything mapped out and planned; all I need is to get it out of outline form :)
Title: Haze Chapter 8
Rating: PG-13 (violence, mild language -- I'm sticking to the curses you'd hear on TV)
Category: Gen
Characters: Teen Dean and Sam (ages 17 and 13)
Word Count: 2268
Spoilers: None
Summary: High school is a difficult place, especially when you're at the bottom of the social ladder. But there are worse things out there than jocks, pop quizzes and Dostoevsky. When students start dying, can Dean keep Sam safe?
Disclaimer: Dean owns me. I don't own Dean, Sam, or anything else involving Supernatural. The original characters, however, are mine.
Chapter 8
“Pastor Jim? It’s Dean. I was just, um, do you think our dad will be out soon? ‘Cause there’s something we could use his help on. So… thanks.”
He finished leaving the message just as his little brother exited Akio’s house with a wave over his shoulder and some words Dean couldn’t hear. He shoved the phone in his pocket as Sam slid into the passenger seat and dumped his backpack on the floorboards.
“So what did you find out? Did she explain about yesterday?” Sam asked as he buckled in.
Dean shook his head, his expression grim. He’d been on a lot of hunts, and a few of them had normal people involved in some way, but this . . . this one left him feeling ill. And that feeling must have shown on his face, because Sam sobered quickly. “What happened?”
“Jason Johnson’s dead,” he answered as he started the car, taking some comfort in the engine’s familiar rumble.
His brother’s already big eyes widened further, but he simply nodded and waited for more as Dean pulled out onto the street.
“It’s some kind of tradition; new guys on the team get taken out to farm country to party. They’ve gotta prove themselves or something.” The road took them by the golf course before he found the turn to take them toward town. “Mariah was there; she and some of the other cheerleaders went with the guys. But she couldn’t tell me exactly what happened - there was a fight because he wouldn’t take a stupid dare, and he got killed. They left him out there.”
Sam’s mouth gaped. “They killed him? On purpose?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno; she said it was an accident, but she didn’t see that part. It wasn’t just Randy and Wayne, though. Joel, Greg and Tom were there, and two other cheerleaders.”
“So JJ’s come back for revenge,” Sammy breathed. “It’s going to try to get her again. The others too. We have to stop it.”
Dean squeezed the steering wheel tight and shook his head. “We can’t hunt without dad, Sam. You know that.”
“She’ll die, Dean,” he proclaimed, leaning in to stare at his brother.
Those green eyes never strayed from the road, but the older Winchester did blink. Sam was right, and he knew it. He’d told Mariah how to keep safe, about salt and iron and his hunch about being around as many people as possible. But those rules wouldn’t keep her safe for long; she would disappear, just like Amy. And he couldn’t do a thing about it. “We have to wait.”
“Dad will understand.”
“No, he won’t, Sam.”
“They’re going to die!”
“And I’m not putting you in the line of fire!” Dean hit the brakes sharply at a stop sign, sending them both lurching forward in their seats. “Drop it, Sam, please. Just drop it.”
The silence lasted a block before the younger brother shifted in his seat and spoke. “Then we can get things ready, so dad can take care of it as soon as he gets back. Do you know where Jason’s body is?”
Sometimes Dean really wished his brother would shut up - but he had to admit he had a point. Preparing everything so John could waltz in and destroy the thing meant they could do something other than sitting on their hands.
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “They were at this farm they used to hang at. She told me where she thinks it is, what some of the buildings look like, but that’s about it. Most of those dirt roads don’t have names.”
“Then let’s find it. It’s only like four; we’ve got a lot of light left.”
The stoplight before them flicked to yellow; he brought the car to a stop and looked over at Sam. The kid was watching him expectantly, and when their gazes met he grinned encouragingly. Dean sighed in mock irritation, but to tell the truth he could have hugged Sam for giving him an option to act on.
Well, not hugged. It had to be more manly, not some scene from a Lifetime movie - maybe he’d let him try beer or something.
“It’s gonna take us a bit of time to get out there,” he said gruffly. “We’ll go tomorrow morning. Sunday’s a good time not to find a ghost.”
Sam nodded and looked out the window as the light turned green. “You think they’ll be okay ‘til dad gets home? I mean, I don’t like them and they probably should be in jail, but they didn’t deserve this.”
Dean could only shake his head. Someone had been attacked every day; he knew the pattern wasn’t going to stop until JJ had his revenge on everyone who’d been present that night - and maybe he was on that list now too, for protecting Mariah. Ghosts saw in black and white when it came to things like that.
What really sucked - well, other than being forced to sit on the bench while people were dying - was that he couldn’t even warn them about what was coming. Those three jocks were as likely to kiss him as listen to him, and Brandi would just think he was insane.
“This frickin’ sucks,” he muttered as he started to turn onto their road. Then his eyes widened. “You have got to be kidding me!”
He wrenched the Impala straight, driving through the intersection instead of taking the right.
“What? What’s wrong?” Sam demanded, looking around wildly.
“That was Ms. Martin’s car in front of our house. Guess she’s sick of waiting for dad to call her.”
The thirteen-year-old twisted in his seat to look back, but they were already past the intersection. “Think she saw us?”
“Dunno. But we’re gonna drive a while, I think. Hell, like you said, we’ve still got daylight left.”
Sam grinned. “And we’ve got lighter fluid and salt in the back.”
“We’re not hunting,” Dean said sternly, though he couldn’t help it when his mouth turned up just a little at the corners. “Now you keep an eye out for a blue VW Golf; I want to know if she follows us. And get the map out.”
Sam had always been a good navigator, and it didn’t take him long to find a spot on the map that fit Mariah’s vague directions. His search, though, gave Dean time enough to wonder if the history teacher would be calling Social Services on them before Pastor Jim sprung their dad. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to make a quick escape to a new town - but John had always been in charge when it happened. Dean really didn’t want to have to make that decision for them. He couldn’t legally check Sam out of school anyway, which meant no records and a lot of trouble down the line.
An hour and a Blue Öyster Cult tape later they were out in the farmlands. Dean was busy looking for the combination of a tumble-down barn and open silo. Sam was alternating between the search and the map as he navigated them down gravel and dirt back roads, only rarely driving out onto paved roads that weren’t what Mariah had described.
Another hour and an Iron Maiden tape later they were both getting bored. There were a lot of farms out here, and most of them were still in business. An abandoned field with just a barn and a silo but no house was not the easiest thing to find.
“Turn left in half a mile,” Sam said tiredly.
“How far to wherever you’re taking us?” he asked, checking the gas gauge.
“Not far, like less than a mile or so.”
“Mmm, okay. This is our last stop. We need gas, I need food, and I think we both need a break.” He glanced up at the overcast sky. “Anyway, it’ll be dark soon.”
“Yeh, I’m hungry,” Sam yawned as he folded the map. “Didn’t think it would take this long.”
“That’s hunting for you - lots of boring searching and waiting, then a fight for your life. You’ve just got to learn patience.” He turned onto the one-lane dirt road, guiding the Impala between two fields. The one on the left was crammed with lush green stalks of corn growing twice the height of the Impala. The other field was a mess of mud and wild grass standing as high as their windows. “Dad probably would’ve figured out some way to narrow this down, though . . . ”
He trailed off speculatively as he spotted two structures ahead: one squat and rectangular, the other tall and round.
“That’s it,” Sam breathed. “It’s got to be. Dirt road, abandoned field, barn, silo - it all fits.”
“You might be right.” Dean squinted down the road as he drove a little faster, the Impala bouncing over the rough terrain. By the time they reached the end of the dead-end road Sam was expressing certainty and he was almost ready to agree. The details were right, even to the barely noticeable blackened square of ground where a farmhouse probably once stood. There were details he wanted to confirm before saying this was the place, though.
“I’m gonna check this out,” he said, putting the Impala into park and shutting the engine off. “Get that iron rod from the back and stay right here, got it?”
Sam shook his head, his windblown hair becoming even more of a mess as he put a hand on the door handle. “I’ll watch your back.”
“Watch my back from the car,” Dean ordered tersely, getting out and shooting his brother a stay put glare. Sam rolled his eyes but did as he was told, unbuckling so he could stretch into the back to get the fence post. He was used to staying behind.
Dean tossed the cell phone into the passenger seat, wishing he had a nice length of iron to protect him as he started forward. They were cutting it close. He figured they had about half an hour before sunset - the shadows around him were already stretching and darkening. If this really was the place and JJ didn’t want him here, he was in trouble. He’d be in even more trouble if John found out what he was doing.
Just the thought of their dad’s reaction sent him straight to the trunk. He wasn’t here to hunt, but going out unarmed was sheer stupidity. A handful of rock salt thrown through a ghost would buy him time to retreat. Dean shoved a lighter and matches into one pocket, a small squeeze bottle of lighter fluid in another, then grabbed the box of salt. He took a moment to scan the rest of the supplies in the trunk, but spotted nothing useful - it didn’t matter than they’d had to take all the guns and knives out because they weren’t any help against ghosts.
I’m going to have to figure out a way around that, he decided as he closed the trunk. At least he was armed in some small way if JJ put in a twilight appearance. And if the ghost followed its apparent pattern, he was the only one in danger here, not Sam.
Soon enough he spotted empty beer cans and bottles scattered around the barn walls. It was a good sign. Jogging quickly over to the silo, he immediately found the detail Mariah had given him: spray-painted initials marking just how high up the rickety structure each jock had dared to climb. The highest mark was near the top, and Dean found himself shaking his head in sympathy with JJ.
“Yeh man, I agree. Climbing that is really stupid.”
It was easy enough to see the scene. It was ritual - football jocks came out here, they all got drunk, and then the new guy had to climb the wall. Simple, except the silo was rotting. Dean doubted some of the wood would hold Sammy’s weight, much less a 190-pound football player. Even drunk, JJ had been smart enough to refuse.
“Except you’ve got to do stupid things to be a man.” Dean shook his head in disgust. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the other guys started flinging names, or that Jason got angry enough to throw a punch. He knew first hand the anger that would have followed, the gang mentality that would have led to five-on-one slaughter. Shadows lengthening around him, Dean turned away and walked back to the Impala.
“This is the place, Sammy,” he called as he got near. “We just tell dad and...”
His attention was grabbed by a plume of dust on the dirt road, its origins hidden by the tall corn. It materialized all-too-soon into an unwelcomely familiar yellow GM truck.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned as he saw three familiar - and angry - faces behind the windshield.
(End Chapter 8)
But here's chapter eight, where John is alive! Even if he isn't actually present. Things are really starting to roll. I’ve got everything mapped out and planned; all I need is to get it out of outline form :)
Title: Haze Chapter 8
Rating: PG-13 (violence, mild language -- I'm sticking to the curses you'd hear on TV)
Category: Gen
Characters: Teen Dean and Sam (ages 17 and 13)
Word Count: 2268
Spoilers: None
Summary: High school is a difficult place, especially when you're at the bottom of the social ladder. But there are worse things out there than jocks, pop quizzes and Dostoevsky. When students start dying, can Dean keep Sam safe?
Disclaimer: Dean owns me. I don't own Dean, Sam, or anything else involving Supernatural. The original characters, however, are mine.
Chapter 8
“Pastor Jim? It’s Dean. I was just, um, do you think our dad will be out soon? ‘Cause there’s something we could use his help on. So… thanks.”
He finished leaving the message just as his little brother exited Akio’s house with a wave over his shoulder and some words Dean couldn’t hear. He shoved the phone in his pocket as Sam slid into the passenger seat and dumped his backpack on the floorboards.
“So what did you find out? Did she explain about yesterday?” Sam asked as he buckled in.
Dean shook his head, his expression grim. He’d been on a lot of hunts, and a few of them had normal people involved in some way, but this . . . this one left him feeling ill. And that feeling must have shown on his face, because Sam sobered quickly. “What happened?”
“Jason Johnson’s dead,” he answered as he started the car, taking some comfort in the engine’s familiar rumble.
His brother’s already big eyes widened further, but he simply nodded and waited for more as Dean pulled out onto the street.
“It’s some kind of tradition; new guys on the team get taken out to farm country to party. They’ve gotta prove themselves or something.” The road took them by the golf course before he found the turn to take them toward town. “Mariah was there; she and some of the other cheerleaders went with the guys. But she couldn’t tell me exactly what happened - there was a fight because he wouldn’t take a stupid dare, and he got killed. They left him out there.”
Sam’s mouth gaped. “They killed him? On purpose?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. “I dunno; she said it was an accident, but she didn’t see that part. It wasn’t just Randy and Wayne, though. Joel, Greg and Tom were there, and two other cheerleaders.”
“So JJ’s come back for revenge,” Sammy breathed. “It’s going to try to get her again. The others too. We have to stop it.”
Dean squeezed the steering wheel tight and shook his head. “We can’t hunt without dad, Sam. You know that.”
“She’ll die, Dean,” he proclaimed, leaning in to stare at his brother.
Those green eyes never strayed from the road, but the older Winchester did blink. Sam was right, and he knew it. He’d told Mariah how to keep safe, about salt and iron and his hunch about being around as many people as possible. But those rules wouldn’t keep her safe for long; she would disappear, just like Amy. And he couldn’t do a thing about it. “We have to wait.”
“Dad will understand.”
“No, he won’t, Sam.”
“They’re going to die!”
“And I’m not putting you in the line of fire!” Dean hit the brakes sharply at a stop sign, sending them both lurching forward in their seats. “Drop it, Sam, please. Just drop it.”
The silence lasted a block before the younger brother shifted in his seat and spoke. “Then we can get things ready, so dad can take care of it as soon as he gets back. Do you know where Jason’s body is?”
Sometimes Dean really wished his brother would shut up - but he had to admit he had a point. Preparing everything so John could waltz in and destroy the thing meant they could do something other than sitting on their hands.
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “They were at this farm they used to hang at. She told me where she thinks it is, what some of the buildings look like, but that’s about it. Most of those dirt roads don’t have names.”
“Then let’s find it. It’s only like four; we’ve got a lot of light left.”
The stoplight before them flicked to yellow; he brought the car to a stop and looked over at Sam. The kid was watching him expectantly, and when their gazes met he grinned encouragingly. Dean sighed in mock irritation, but to tell the truth he could have hugged Sam for giving him an option to act on.
Well, not hugged. It had to be more manly, not some scene from a Lifetime movie - maybe he’d let him try beer or something.
“It’s gonna take us a bit of time to get out there,” he said gruffly. “We’ll go tomorrow morning. Sunday’s a good time not to find a ghost.”
Sam nodded and looked out the window as the light turned green. “You think they’ll be okay ‘til dad gets home? I mean, I don’t like them and they probably should be in jail, but they didn’t deserve this.”
Dean could only shake his head. Someone had been attacked every day; he knew the pattern wasn’t going to stop until JJ had his revenge on everyone who’d been present that night - and maybe he was on that list now too, for protecting Mariah. Ghosts saw in black and white when it came to things like that.
What really sucked - well, other than being forced to sit on the bench while people were dying - was that he couldn’t even warn them about what was coming. Those three jocks were as likely to kiss him as listen to him, and Brandi would just think he was insane.
“This frickin’ sucks,” he muttered as he started to turn onto their road. Then his eyes widened. “You have got to be kidding me!”
He wrenched the Impala straight, driving through the intersection instead of taking the right.
“What? What’s wrong?” Sam demanded, looking around wildly.
“That was Ms. Martin’s car in front of our house. Guess she’s sick of waiting for dad to call her.”
The thirteen-year-old twisted in his seat to look back, but they were already past the intersection. “Think she saw us?”
“Dunno. But we’re gonna drive a while, I think. Hell, like you said, we’ve still got daylight left.”
Sam grinned. “And we’ve got lighter fluid and salt in the back.”
“We’re not hunting,” Dean said sternly, though he couldn’t help it when his mouth turned up just a little at the corners. “Now you keep an eye out for a blue VW Golf; I want to know if she follows us. And get the map out.”
Sam had always been a good navigator, and it didn’t take him long to find a spot on the map that fit Mariah’s vague directions. His search, though, gave Dean time enough to wonder if the history teacher would be calling Social Services on them before Pastor Jim sprung their dad. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to make a quick escape to a new town - but John had always been in charge when it happened. Dean really didn’t want to have to make that decision for them. He couldn’t legally check Sam out of school anyway, which meant no records and a lot of trouble down the line.
An hour and a Blue Öyster Cult tape later they were out in the farmlands. Dean was busy looking for the combination of a tumble-down barn and open silo. Sam was alternating between the search and the map as he navigated them down gravel and dirt back roads, only rarely driving out onto paved roads that weren’t what Mariah had described.
Another hour and an Iron Maiden tape later they were both getting bored. There were a lot of farms out here, and most of them were still in business. An abandoned field with just a barn and a silo but no house was not the easiest thing to find.
“Turn left in half a mile,” Sam said tiredly.
“How far to wherever you’re taking us?” he asked, checking the gas gauge.
“Not far, like less than a mile or so.”
“Mmm, okay. This is our last stop. We need gas, I need food, and I think we both need a break.” He glanced up at the overcast sky. “Anyway, it’ll be dark soon.”
“Yeh, I’m hungry,” Sam yawned as he folded the map. “Didn’t think it would take this long.”
“That’s hunting for you - lots of boring searching and waiting, then a fight for your life. You’ve just got to learn patience.” He turned onto the one-lane dirt road, guiding the Impala between two fields. The one on the left was crammed with lush green stalks of corn growing twice the height of the Impala. The other field was a mess of mud and wild grass standing as high as their windows. “Dad probably would’ve figured out some way to narrow this down, though . . . ”
He trailed off speculatively as he spotted two structures ahead: one squat and rectangular, the other tall and round.
“That’s it,” Sam breathed. “It’s got to be. Dirt road, abandoned field, barn, silo - it all fits.”
“You might be right.” Dean squinted down the road as he drove a little faster, the Impala bouncing over the rough terrain. By the time they reached the end of the dead-end road Sam was expressing certainty and he was almost ready to agree. The details were right, even to the barely noticeable blackened square of ground where a farmhouse probably once stood. There were details he wanted to confirm before saying this was the place, though.
“I’m gonna check this out,” he said, putting the Impala into park and shutting the engine off. “Get that iron rod from the back and stay right here, got it?”
Sam shook his head, his windblown hair becoming even more of a mess as he put a hand on the door handle. “I’ll watch your back.”
“Watch my back from the car,” Dean ordered tersely, getting out and shooting his brother a stay put glare. Sam rolled his eyes but did as he was told, unbuckling so he could stretch into the back to get the fence post. He was used to staying behind.
Dean tossed the cell phone into the passenger seat, wishing he had a nice length of iron to protect him as he started forward. They were cutting it close. He figured they had about half an hour before sunset - the shadows around him were already stretching and darkening. If this really was the place and JJ didn’t want him here, he was in trouble. He’d be in even more trouble if John found out what he was doing.
Just the thought of their dad’s reaction sent him straight to the trunk. He wasn’t here to hunt, but going out unarmed was sheer stupidity. A handful of rock salt thrown through a ghost would buy him time to retreat. Dean shoved a lighter and matches into one pocket, a small squeeze bottle of lighter fluid in another, then grabbed the box of salt. He took a moment to scan the rest of the supplies in the trunk, but spotted nothing useful - it didn’t matter than they’d had to take all the guns and knives out because they weren’t any help against ghosts.
I’m going to have to figure out a way around that, he decided as he closed the trunk. At least he was armed in some small way if JJ put in a twilight appearance. And if the ghost followed its apparent pattern, he was the only one in danger here, not Sam.
Soon enough he spotted empty beer cans and bottles scattered around the barn walls. It was a good sign. Jogging quickly over to the silo, he immediately found the detail Mariah had given him: spray-painted initials marking just how high up the rickety structure each jock had dared to climb. The highest mark was near the top, and Dean found himself shaking his head in sympathy with JJ.
“Yeh man, I agree. Climbing that is really stupid.”
It was easy enough to see the scene. It was ritual - football jocks came out here, they all got drunk, and then the new guy had to climb the wall. Simple, except the silo was rotting. Dean doubted some of the wood would hold Sammy’s weight, much less a 190-pound football player. Even drunk, JJ had been smart enough to refuse.
“Except you’ve got to do stupid things to be a man.” Dean shook his head in disgust. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that the other guys started flinging names, or that Jason got angry enough to throw a punch. He knew first hand the anger that would have followed, the gang mentality that would have led to five-on-one slaughter. Shadows lengthening around him, Dean turned away and walked back to the Impala.
“This is the place, Sammy,” he called as he got near. “We just tell dad and...”
His attention was grabbed by a plume of dust on the dirt road, its origins hidden by the tall corn. It materialized all-too-soon into an unwelcomely familiar yellow GM truck.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned as he saw three familiar - and angry - faces behind the windshield.
(End Chapter 8)