Fic: Choices, Pre-series
Title: Choices
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Character: Dean
Rating: G
Time frame: preseries
Pairing: none, gen
Disclaimer: Ownership of the Winchesters, or their world, belongings, or story does not belong to me - only this story.
Summary: A complication on a hunt causes a young Dean to understand something
Notes: I’m not sure how old Dean is in this story, but it’s probably between 12 and 14 ish… maybe, I don’t know, it doesn’t really matter, I suppose.
It was a little girl who made him realise he had a choice.
They had been expelling a poltergeist from her house, not realising she was still in there. He had been doing the usual things, carving runes onto doorways and sprinkling holy water when he had heard the whimper from above him. His father was in the basement so he had gone to check it out himself, moving silently up the stairs, gun a familiar presence in his hand.
From the landing there was no indication of the noise’s origin, every door was shut, exactly as the pair of hunters had left them as they were proceeding through the ritual. But he had heard something and that meant that there was something here. He considered calling for his father, but if the noise had been nothing then that would merely alert the poltergeist to their presence before they were ready, so he remained quiet, and prowled the corridor, cautiously opening door after door as he looked for the source.
He was just closing the door of the bathroom, when he heard it again, like someone screaming who could not get enough air. Flicking the safety off on his gun he walked over to the last door and pushed it open slowly.
She was pinned to the wall over the bed and the sheet was twisting up around her neck. Although she was a few feet above the bed her feet could not quite touch it and as they struggled feebly to gain some sort of leverage all they succeeded in doing was push her duvet to one side. As he walked into the door he made the mistake of looking at her eyes and saw the complete terror inside them, and all of a sudden this was no longer a normal job.
He had never been in this position before, only ever being taken on hunts where the ‘civilians’ would be out of the way, unable to be hurt, or cause problems. Awareness of the seriousness of the situation hit him in a way it had never done before. Always before he had considered hunting as something his family did, something which only had a known impact on his father and his friends, Caleb, Joshua and Pastor Jim. He knew they helped other people, but that had been a dim thought at the back of his mind along with the knowledge, instilled into him time after time, that other people - normal people - could not know what they did, would not believe what they did. He had seen himself behind the scenes: unnoticed, unknown. All the risk belonged to his father and his family, not to the other people who only saw the light of day, and he had acted accordingly.
Now there was something else to worry about, and he froze.
He watched as the sheet wound tighter and as she pleaded with him for some kind of help, looking at him as though he was her only chance, she did not know him but she wanted to believe he could help. There was a ‘clink’ from the opposite wall and he looked over to see a photograph of the girl and her family in a heavy silver frame be lifted from its hook and hover in midair.
Then three things happened instantaneously: the picture began to fly towards the girls head, evidently intended to smash her skull; the child screamed; and Dean Winchester made a choice.
Up until that moment hunting had been his father’s orders - protecting Sammy, avenging Mom and watching his father’s back. It was a way to gain his father’s approval, as well as an adrenaline rush. He knew it was serious, he knew he would die for his family, but other than immediate threats to his family or himself he had never considered placing himself in greater danger. His father was the hero, he stood on the sidelines, supporting, helping, but never giving himself over to the fight, always holding something back.
As he realised what was about to happen he realised something else: he could continue as he had been, following for the sake of following, supporting because that was what he was supposed to do, or he could do more…
As the photograph moved, Dean began to run, his brain switching off as he made the decision. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there, but he was going to get between that girl and whatever that monster was and he was going to stop it - somehow.
He leapt onto the bed and turned to face the projectile, his mind clicking back on and beginning to race, looking for an answer anywhere. He raised his gun and shot it, hoping to deflect its course, but only succeeded in knocking it away for a moment, long enough for him to grab a knife and cut the girl down before she screamed again and he turned around to see it coming back towards them, along with the lamp from beside the bed.
The gunshot had alerted his father though, and he heard shouts from downstairs and the rapid thudding of him running up the stairs, but he could tell that he was not going to get there before they were hit.
He pushed the girl down onto the bed and covered her, as best he could, with his own body, still too thin from his poor diet and lack of age. He could feel her shaking as she crouched in a small ball and feel tears of terror wetting the sleeve that was under her face.
The photo frame hit him across the back, corner first, but he bit back the pain, It was followed by what he thought was the lamp, and a series of other blows, which he could not identify. He kept his eyes shut tight as the barrage continued.
“Dean?” He heard his father shout as something hit the back of his head, hard, and after a moment of silence he fell unconscious.
-
He was not out for long, but when he came round he and the little girl were being deposited outside the front door by his father and his head was too fuzzy to ask for answers. He lay down in the grass of the front lawn and looked at the stars as they seemed to dance before his eyes.
He was about to close his eyes and fall asleep when he felt a small hand grasp his gently.
“Sammy?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred, “Are… you ‘lrigh’?” There was no response and he began to move his head, stopped short by a wave of nausea. He groaned under his breath, not allowing himself the luxury of pain if his brother was here.
As he tried to block out the pain from his head and his back a face loomed into view above him - not his baby brother, a younger face, more hair, tear tracks running down the cheeks.
“Who…?” he asked, unable to string a thought together in his mind. There had been something important, he knew, but every time he got close to remembering what it was it slipped away from him.
“You’re hurt” the girl told him and he felt her squeeze his hand gently, He tried to shake his head, but remembered the last time he had moved and remained still. His eyes strayed to her neck, which was rubbed red with friction burns and he opened his mouth.
“You… ‘kay?” he asked her, still looking at the fierce red marks around her neck. She nodded seriously, and he was reminded of Sammy when they had told him to keep the door locked. He smiled at the memory, closing his eyes for a second, before remembering his father.
“Dad?” he asked, hoping she would know what he meant, considering his vocabulary seemed to be currently limited to monosyllabic sentences. She just looked at him blankly, and he tried to explain. “My… Dad… where…?” he broke off as she pointed over his head, to the house. He struggled to get up, trying to ignore the pain and nausea that caused. “Have to… help.”
The girl bit her lip as she watched him for a moment, before she pulled insistently on his hand.
“No!” She commanded imperiously, with far more conviction than a child her age should have. “Stay!” He felt a little like a dog, as she ordered him around, but he continued in his attempt to sit up, avoiding looking at her face because she looked as though she was going to burst into tears.
His hand slipped on the damp grass and he fell back down, letting out a hiss of pain. There were footsteps and he saw his companion look up at something. He put his hand down again and tried to lever himself up. This time, as he fell, hands caught him and he turned slightly to see his father watching him with a mixture of fear and anger. He felt himself be hoisted up into his father’s arms and he struggled ineffectually against it. He was not a child anymore… he was a…hero.
That was it, the thing he had been trying to remember! He was a hero. He smiled sleepily as he gave up his squirming. Listening to the stream of nonsense words his father was reciting into his ear, keeping him awake, he relaxed.
-
A little girl made him realise that he had a choice… to hunt to save, or to live to hunt, but after he made that choice he discovered that, to him at least, it had never really been there in the first place.
Author: Mariana O'Connor
Character: Dean
Rating: G
Time frame: preseries
Pairing: none, gen
Disclaimer: Ownership of the Winchesters, or their world, belongings, or story does not belong to me - only this story.
Summary: A complication on a hunt causes a young Dean to understand something
Notes: I’m not sure how old Dean is in this story, but it’s probably between 12 and 14 ish… maybe, I don’t know, it doesn’t really matter, I suppose.
It was a little girl who made him realise he had a choice.
They had been expelling a poltergeist from her house, not realising she was still in there. He had been doing the usual things, carving runes onto doorways and sprinkling holy water when he had heard the whimper from above him. His father was in the basement so he had gone to check it out himself, moving silently up the stairs, gun a familiar presence in his hand.
From the landing there was no indication of the noise’s origin, every door was shut, exactly as the pair of hunters had left them as they were proceeding through the ritual. But he had heard something and that meant that there was something here. He considered calling for his father, but if the noise had been nothing then that would merely alert the poltergeist to their presence before they were ready, so he remained quiet, and prowled the corridor, cautiously opening door after door as he looked for the source.
He was just closing the door of the bathroom, when he heard it again, like someone screaming who could not get enough air. Flicking the safety off on his gun he walked over to the last door and pushed it open slowly.
She was pinned to the wall over the bed and the sheet was twisting up around her neck. Although she was a few feet above the bed her feet could not quite touch it and as they struggled feebly to gain some sort of leverage all they succeeded in doing was push her duvet to one side. As he walked into the door he made the mistake of looking at her eyes and saw the complete terror inside them, and all of a sudden this was no longer a normal job.
He had never been in this position before, only ever being taken on hunts where the ‘civilians’ would be out of the way, unable to be hurt, or cause problems. Awareness of the seriousness of the situation hit him in a way it had never done before. Always before he had considered hunting as something his family did, something which only had a known impact on his father and his friends, Caleb, Joshua and Pastor Jim. He knew they helped other people, but that had been a dim thought at the back of his mind along with the knowledge, instilled into him time after time, that other people - normal people - could not know what they did, would not believe what they did. He had seen himself behind the scenes: unnoticed, unknown. All the risk belonged to his father and his family, not to the other people who only saw the light of day, and he had acted accordingly.
Now there was something else to worry about, and he froze.
He watched as the sheet wound tighter and as she pleaded with him for some kind of help, looking at him as though he was her only chance, she did not know him but she wanted to believe he could help. There was a ‘clink’ from the opposite wall and he looked over to see a photograph of the girl and her family in a heavy silver frame be lifted from its hook and hover in midair.
Then three things happened instantaneously: the picture began to fly towards the girls head, evidently intended to smash her skull; the child screamed; and Dean Winchester made a choice.
Up until that moment hunting had been his father’s orders - protecting Sammy, avenging Mom and watching his father’s back. It was a way to gain his father’s approval, as well as an adrenaline rush. He knew it was serious, he knew he would die for his family, but other than immediate threats to his family or himself he had never considered placing himself in greater danger. His father was the hero, he stood on the sidelines, supporting, helping, but never giving himself over to the fight, always holding something back.
As he realised what was about to happen he realised something else: he could continue as he had been, following for the sake of following, supporting because that was what he was supposed to do, or he could do more…
As the photograph moved, Dean began to run, his brain switching off as he made the decision. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there, but he was going to get between that girl and whatever that monster was and he was going to stop it - somehow.
He leapt onto the bed and turned to face the projectile, his mind clicking back on and beginning to race, looking for an answer anywhere. He raised his gun and shot it, hoping to deflect its course, but only succeeded in knocking it away for a moment, long enough for him to grab a knife and cut the girl down before she screamed again and he turned around to see it coming back towards them, along with the lamp from beside the bed.
The gunshot had alerted his father though, and he heard shouts from downstairs and the rapid thudding of him running up the stairs, but he could tell that he was not going to get there before they were hit.
He pushed the girl down onto the bed and covered her, as best he could, with his own body, still too thin from his poor diet and lack of age. He could feel her shaking as she crouched in a small ball and feel tears of terror wetting the sleeve that was under her face.
The photo frame hit him across the back, corner first, but he bit back the pain, It was followed by what he thought was the lamp, and a series of other blows, which he could not identify. He kept his eyes shut tight as the barrage continued.
“Dean?” He heard his father shout as something hit the back of his head, hard, and after a moment of silence he fell unconscious.
-
He was not out for long, but when he came round he and the little girl were being deposited outside the front door by his father and his head was too fuzzy to ask for answers. He lay down in the grass of the front lawn and looked at the stars as they seemed to dance before his eyes.
He was about to close his eyes and fall asleep when he felt a small hand grasp his gently.
“Sammy?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred, “Are… you ‘lrigh’?” There was no response and he began to move his head, stopped short by a wave of nausea. He groaned under his breath, not allowing himself the luxury of pain if his brother was here.
As he tried to block out the pain from his head and his back a face loomed into view above him - not his baby brother, a younger face, more hair, tear tracks running down the cheeks.
“Who…?” he asked, unable to string a thought together in his mind. There had been something important, he knew, but every time he got close to remembering what it was it slipped away from him.
“You’re hurt” the girl told him and he felt her squeeze his hand gently, He tried to shake his head, but remembered the last time he had moved and remained still. His eyes strayed to her neck, which was rubbed red with friction burns and he opened his mouth.
“You… ‘kay?” he asked her, still looking at the fierce red marks around her neck. She nodded seriously, and he was reminded of Sammy when they had told him to keep the door locked. He smiled at the memory, closing his eyes for a second, before remembering his father.
“Dad?” he asked, hoping she would know what he meant, considering his vocabulary seemed to be currently limited to monosyllabic sentences. She just looked at him blankly, and he tried to explain. “My… Dad… where…?” he broke off as she pointed over his head, to the house. He struggled to get up, trying to ignore the pain and nausea that caused. “Have to… help.”
The girl bit her lip as she watched him for a moment, before she pulled insistently on his hand.
“No!” She commanded imperiously, with far more conviction than a child her age should have. “Stay!” He felt a little like a dog, as she ordered him around, but he continued in his attempt to sit up, avoiding looking at her face because she looked as though she was going to burst into tears.
His hand slipped on the damp grass and he fell back down, letting out a hiss of pain. There were footsteps and he saw his companion look up at something. He put his hand down again and tried to lever himself up. This time, as he fell, hands caught him and he turned slightly to see his father watching him with a mixture of fear and anger. He felt himself be hoisted up into his father’s arms and he struggled ineffectually against it. He was not a child anymore… he was a…hero.
That was it, the thing he had been trying to remember! He was a hero. He smiled sleepily as he gave up his squirming. Listening to the stream of nonsense words his father was reciting into his ear, keeping him awake, he relaxed.
-
A little girl made him realise that he had a choice… to hunt to save, or to live to hunt, but after he made that choice he discovered that, to him at least, it had never really been there in the first place.