[Challenge] In Need of Protection (Dean, Sam; Supernatural)
Title: In Need of Protection
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/s: Dean, Sam (and John)
Notes: My first Supernatural fic! ^^; Based on an experience my sister and I recently had in some hospital ruins in Corregidor Island, on a family trip. No, it's not really as scary as this one, and I wish I could be as cool as Dean, but unfortunately, no. That’s why this is called a semi-autobiographical fic, after all.
…I don’t think I’ve ever written anything with so many swear words in it before.
Dean never had to think about protecting his brother; it was a natural thing, instinctive. He had always been confident that he could protect Sam from anything. (And when a Winchester says ‘anything’, his father once said, he means anything.) But it was not until much later, on the day his father finally took Sam with them to a hunt, that he realized that though that fact remained true, there was one thing he had not counted on: that he wouldn’t always know when Sam needed protecting.
Sam was ten then, far too young for any normal child to be exposed to such things, but as Dean argued so many times, they were not a normal family, never could be. He was naturally protective of his brother, but he was not worried. The thing they were hunting was basically harmless, the ghost of a nurse haunting an abandoned hospital somewhere off the west coast, which was preventing the construction of a new one at the site. They only had to perform a minor exorcism on it, nothing life-threatening.
Besides, Dean went on his first hunt with his father long before he turned ten (while that night Sam was sleeping peacefully in a good bed and protected by one of Dad’s friends, he thought wistfully and maybe with more than a little trace of bitterness), and got through that night with nothing more than a minor concussion and a small cut on his back, which did not even leave a scar. Dean never did scar easily.
Sam would be fine, Dean knew. Sam was actually better at target shooting and memorizing rituals than he let on. He only refused to learn these things out of defiance to their father, but in the face of danger, Dean was sure he would know what to do. And even if he did not, Dean would protect him, if anything happens. Would, and could protect him.
Which was why when they arrived at the hospital ruins and Sam refused to get out of their Dad’s car, Dean could not help but be annoyed. Their father had already walked on ahead to scout the ruins, instructing Dean to lock up the car and hurry on after him. If they did not move soon, he would be lost to their sight; John Winchester never stopped for anything; not even his sons. Dean gave Sam a little shove, but his brother refused to budge.
“Sammy,” he huffed, “get out of the fucking car, for God’s sake.”
“I will not,” Sam said, puffing his cheeks out, making them look even chubbier. “And watch your language. I’m telling Dad.”
“If he listens to you, twerp,” Dean retorted. “I bet he’d be too angry to speak to you when he comes back.”
Sam pursed his lips.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said. He wondered if trying a wheedling tone on his brother would work, but he decided against it, for Sam was no longer a child. “This is your first hunt.”
“No it isn’t, obviously,” Sam said. “Because I’m not going.”
“And what are you going to do, stay here in Dad’s car?” Dean felt like boxing his brother’s ears. Sam could just be so damned difficult sometimes. “It's much more scary out here, if you ask me-”
“I didn’t.”
“Well you should,” Dean snapped. “It would do you much good. Then Dad would like you better-”
“Didn’t do you much good by listening to yourself, did you?”
“Shut up,” Dean growled. “What do you know? You’re just a little brat.”
“I am,” Sam said, sinking back further into the car seat. “That’s why I’m not going.”
Dean let out a long breath, and wondered: when the hell did Sam learn to speak to him like that? Like he was the older brother. Damn it, even he was beginning not to know his own brother anymore, and he hated that. Abandoning all attempts at diplomacy altogether, he grabbed his brother’s wrist and hauled him bodily out of the car. Sam cried out, more out of surprise than pain.
“Let go!” Sam said. “You don’t understand-”
“I understand you more than anyone,” Dean growled. “Now stop being such a shithead and come with me. And don’t give me that crap about swearing, because I’m already fourteen and I have to deal with demons all the time and on top of it all I have to deal with a kid like you so I have the goddamned right!”
Shocked into a sulky sort of silence, Sam allowed himself to be dragged by his brother. Dean thrust a flashlight at him, while he equipped himself with another flashlight and a shotgun, loaded with salt. Still without saying anything, he pulled Sam over to the entrance to old hospital, where his father was waiting, distractedly looking about his surroundings every now and then.
“The ghost usually appears by the stairway,” their father said. “Come on.” He was carrying an old camera in his hand, the type that was equipped with a large flashbulb, and he hung it around Dean’s neck before walking forward.
Sam froze in the doorway, and planted his feet firmly on the cream-colored slabs of rock that were what remained of the once-white tiles that lined the floor of the hospital. Dean called Sam a number of names in his head, and dragged him inside.
Inside was more ruin, as Dean bleakly expected. He turned on his flashlight and glared at Sam to tell him to do the same. Thus illuminated, they looked up, and saw glimpses of old piping that ran through the second floor of the hospital, now a rusted red-orange in color, through several cracks in the ceiling. The stairway their father indicated was no better: several of the concrete steps were already a greenish-gray with mold and mildew, and most of it had crumbled down into the ground below.
“Ready yourself,” their father said. “You remember that the ghost appears only in photographs, right? That’s because bright flashes of light forces it to reveal itself.” He tapped his finger at the flashbulb, and Dean nodded reverently even though he had figured the thing out a long time ago, while Sam uttered a sound that was a cross between a snort and a whimper. Dean’s head snapped towards his brother, and saw Sam wiping an arm over his face. He was about to mutter an irate “Would it kill you to show Dad just a little respect?”, when he realized that his brother was actually wiping tears from his eyes.
Sam…crying. Oh shit, he thought, maybe I should never have let Sammy come with us, after all.
But their father was talking again, motioning them to come forward. “When I give the signal, snap a picture of the staircase,” their father said to Dean. He then turned to Sam, who was now noticeably quivering. Their father looked bemused for a moment, then went on. “And the moment you see the ghost, Sam, recite the ritual I told you about. Say it exactly like I told you. Understood, boys?”
“Yes, Dad,” Dean said, but he was the only one who spoke.
And Dean brought the camera to the level of his eyes. He pressed the button on the right, and was momentarily blinded. But for a moment, he could actually see another figure through the white light that filled his vision: a woman clothed entirely in white, with a nurse’s cap on her head, looking entirely normal, like the nurse that had taken care of him during that time he was badly injured after a hunt with his father-except for the fact that this woman did not have a face.
Dean bit back a startled cry, and turned it to a barked command to his brother instead. “Sammy, now!”
But Sam did not recite the ritual. Instead, he grabbed Dean's shotgun, and shot at their father.
Startled, Dean dropped the camera to stare at Sam, but his brother had dropped down to the ground with the force of the recoil of the shotgun, and was now being dragged off by an invisible force towards a small archway to their left, right where their father had been standing, before he ducked down to avoid the shot Sam fired. Dean realized that Sam wasn’t shooting at their father, but only near him, at something only Sam could see…
“Sammy!” Dean shouted before he grabbed his gun. He only had a second to check on his father, whose hair was white with salt and whose face was white with shock, but as his father only nodded at him urgently to go on, he ran after his brother.
He found Sam struggling after something in the next room, which appeared to Dean as only a blur of darkness. Dean did not stop to think; he aimed at the dark blur and fired, without even flinching at the recoil.
The thing gave a sharp cry that grated on Dean’s ears like how he imagined nails scratching on a blackboard would sound like, and it swept past him in a rush of wind that both scalded and froze him at the same time. He saw their father run up to it try to shoot it again, but it was gone before he could do so.
Dean leaned over to look at his brother, who seemed shaken, but unharmed. “Thanks,” Sam said to Dean, his voice no more than a whisper. “I owe you one.”
“Not just one, idiot,” Dean said. “Or do you possibly not know how to count, too?” Despite himself, he let out a sigh of relief, and had to muster every bit of his self-restraint not to throw his arms around his brother (because that would be so terribly sentimental and silly and he would not let Sam get that satisfaction, damn it).
“Did you see it before we got here, Sam?” their father said, walking over to his sons. For a moment Dean did not know what he was talking about, but when Sam nodded, he understood, and his heart sank.
“You saw that thing, then?” His grip on his gun tightened, and he said, “Why didn’t you tell me, then?”
“I couldn’t,” Sam said. “I was…” His voice trailed off, and he did not say anything more.
Dean stared at him. You were too proud? he finished for his brother silently. Or too scared? “When did you first see it?” he asked instead.
“Before we got out of the car,” Sam said. “I saw it reflected on the glass of my window, but it disappeared a second later. Then I saw it again, sillhouetted against the entrance to the ruins.”
“You should have told me, Sammy,” Dean said, most upset. He turned to his father. “What is it, Dad? What did it want with Sam?”
But there was a strange expression on their father’s face. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. Dean could not read what his father was thinking. Their father only shook his head, and took Sam by the hand, firmly but gently. “Don’t worry about it anymore. Let’s go home.”
Dean wanted to ask again, but held his tongue, and only followed his father and brother out of the room, and out of the hospital. He only thought it prudent to ask, “But what about the ghost?” when they reached the car, to which their father only said, “I’ll go back there later.”
“For now,” their father added, “it’s important to get Sam home.”
Dean was quiet throughout the car ride, maintaining a bewildered, injured sort of silence. Their father dropped them off at the motel they were staying in, and as usual, ordered Dean to lock all doors and open to no one but him.
“And watch over Sam, all right?” he said. “Be safe, Dean.”
Dean only nodded, and did as he was told. He had not spoken to Sam during the trip back to the motel, and to his surprise, Sam broke the silence this time.
“So I pretty much botched my first hunt, huh?”
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. He shrugged. “But it doesn’t really count, I guess.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dean,” Sam said, looking so serious and years older than he really was, that Dean had to laugh, doubling over on the floor. Sam pouted at that, and turned away from him in disgust.
“But next time,” Dean said, “tell me when I need to protect you, all right?”
“I would have thought you’d know these things,” Sam retorted.
“I’m not like you,” Dean said. And he added, with a grin, “You know, sensitive. Like a girl.”
Sam made a face at him, and Dean laughed harder.
“All right,” Sam said later, and Dean was satisfied at that. He had to, because he realized that like his father, he did not know his brother completely either. But that did not mean he couldn’t be there for him, or Sam for him. Most of the time anyway. It was just that way, with brothers. And they would only have each other, in the end.
And good grief, 2, 165 words in under four hours. I'm sleepy.
Fandom: Supernatural
Character/s: Dean, Sam (and John)
Notes: My first Supernatural fic! ^^; Based on an experience my sister and I recently had in some hospital ruins in Corregidor Island, on a family trip. No, it's not really as scary as this one, and I wish I could be as cool as Dean, but unfortunately, no. That’s why this is called a semi-autobiographical fic, after all.
…I don’t think I’ve ever written anything with so many swear words in it before.
Dean never had to think about protecting his brother; it was a natural thing, instinctive. He had always been confident that he could protect Sam from anything. (And when a Winchester says ‘anything’, his father once said, he means anything.) But it was not until much later, on the day his father finally took Sam with them to a hunt, that he realized that though that fact remained true, there was one thing he had not counted on: that he wouldn’t always know when Sam needed protecting.
Sam was ten then, far too young for any normal child to be exposed to such things, but as Dean argued so many times, they were not a normal family, never could be. He was naturally protective of his brother, but he was not worried. The thing they were hunting was basically harmless, the ghost of a nurse haunting an abandoned hospital somewhere off the west coast, which was preventing the construction of a new one at the site. They only had to perform a minor exorcism on it, nothing life-threatening.
Besides, Dean went on his first hunt with his father long before he turned ten (while that night Sam was sleeping peacefully in a good bed and protected by one of Dad’s friends, he thought wistfully and maybe with more than a little trace of bitterness), and got through that night with nothing more than a minor concussion and a small cut on his back, which did not even leave a scar. Dean never did scar easily.
Sam would be fine, Dean knew. Sam was actually better at target shooting and memorizing rituals than he let on. He only refused to learn these things out of defiance to their father, but in the face of danger, Dean was sure he would know what to do. And even if he did not, Dean would protect him, if anything happens. Would, and could protect him.
Which was why when they arrived at the hospital ruins and Sam refused to get out of their Dad’s car, Dean could not help but be annoyed. Their father had already walked on ahead to scout the ruins, instructing Dean to lock up the car and hurry on after him. If they did not move soon, he would be lost to their sight; John Winchester never stopped for anything; not even his sons. Dean gave Sam a little shove, but his brother refused to budge.
“Sammy,” he huffed, “get out of the fucking car, for God’s sake.”
“I will not,” Sam said, puffing his cheeks out, making them look even chubbier. “And watch your language. I’m telling Dad.”
“If he listens to you, twerp,” Dean retorted. “I bet he’d be too angry to speak to you when he comes back.”
Sam pursed his lips.
“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said. He wondered if trying a wheedling tone on his brother would work, but he decided against it, for Sam was no longer a child. “This is your first hunt.”
“No it isn’t, obviously,” Sam said. “Because I’m not going.”
“And what are you going to do, stay here in Dad’s car?” Dean felt like boxing his brother’s ears. Sam could just be so damned difficult sometimes. “It's much more scary out here, if you ask me-”
“I didn’t.”
“Well you should,” Dean snapped. “It would do you much good. Then Dad would like you better-”
“Didn’t do you much good by listening to yourself, did you?”
“Shut up,” Dean growled. “What do you know? You’re just a little brat.”
“I am,” Sam said, sinking back further into the car seat. “That’s why I’m not going.”
Dean let out a long breath, and wondered: when the hell did Sam learn to speak to him like that? Like he was the older brother. Damn it, even he was beginning not to know his own brother anymore, and he hated that. Abandoning all attempts at diplomacy altogether, he grabbed his brother’s wrist and hauled him bodily out of the car. Sam cried out, more out of surprise than pain.
“Let go!” Sam said. “You don’t understand-”
“I understand you more than anyone,” Dean growled. “Now stop being such a shithead and come with me. And don’t give me that crap about swearing, because I’m already fourteen and I have to deal with demons all the time and on top of it all I have to deal with a kid like you so I have the goddamned right!”
Shocked into a sulky sort of silence, Sam allowed himself to be dragged by his brother. Dean thrust a flashlight at him, while he equipped himself with another flashlight and a shotgun, loaded with salt. Still without saying anything, he pulled Sam over to the entrance to old hospital, where his father was waiting, distractedly looking about his surroundings every now and then.
“The ghost usually appears by the stairway,” their father said. “Come on.” He was carrying an old camera in his hand, the type that was equipped with a large flashbulb, and he hung it around Dean’s neck before walking forward.
Sam froze in the doorway, and planted his feet firmly on the cream-colored slabs of rock that were what remained of the once-white tiles that lined the floor of the hospital. Dean called Sam a number of names in his head, and dragged him inside.
Inside was more ruin, as Dean bleakly expected. He turned on his flashlight and glared at Sam to tell him to do the same. Thus illuminated, they looked up, and saw glimpses of old piping that ran through the second floor of the hospital, now a rusted red-orange in color, through several cracks in the ceiling. The stairway their father indicated was no better: several of the concrete steps were already a greenish-gray with mold and mildew, and most of it had crumbled down into the ground below.
“Ready yourself,” their father said. “You remember that the ghost appears only in photographs, right? That’s because bright flashes of light forces it to reveal itself.” He tapped his finger at the flashbulb, and Dean nodded reverently even though he had figured the thing out a long time ago, while Sam uttered a sound that was a cross between a snort and a whimper. Dean’s head snapped towards his brother, and saw Sam wiping an arm over his face. He was about to mutter an irate “Would it kill you to show Dad just a little respect?”, when he realized that his brother was actually wiping tears from his eyes.
Sam…crying. Oh shit, he thought, maybe I should never have let Sammy come with us, after all.
But their father was talking again, motioning them to come forward. “When I give the signal, snap a picture of the staircase,” their father said to Dean. He then turned to Sam, who was now noticeably quivering. Their father looked bemused for a moment, then went on. “And the moment you see the ghost, Sam, recite the ritual I told you about. Say it exactly like I told you. Understood, boys?”
“Yes, Dad,” Dean said, but he was the only one who spoke.
And Dean brought the camera to the level of his eyes. He pressed the button on the right, and was momentarily blinded. But for a moment, he could actually see another figure through the white light that filled his vision: a woman clothed entirely in white, with a nurse’s cap on her head, looking entirely normal, like the nurse that had taken care of him during that time he was badly injured after a hunt with his father-except for the fact that this woman did not have a face.
Dean bit back a startled cry, and turned it to a barked command to his brother instead. “Sammy, now!”
But Sam did not recite the ritual. Instead, he grabbed Dean's shotgun, and shot at their father.
Startled, Dean dropped the camera to stare at Sam, but his brother had dropped down to the ground with the force of the recoil of the shotgun, and was now being dragged off by an invisible force towards a small archway to their left, right where their father had been standing, before he ducked down to avoid the shot Sam fired. Dean realized that Sam wasn’t shooting at their father, but only near him, at something only Sam could see…
“Sammy!” Dean shouted before he grabbed his gun. He only had a second to check on his father, whose hair was white with salt and whose face was white with shock, but as his father only nodded at him urgently to go on, he ran after his brother.
He found Sam struggling after something in the next room, which appeared to Dean as only a blur of darkness. Dean did not stop to think; he aimed at the dark blur and fired, without even flinching at the recoil.
The thing gave a sharp cry that grated on Dean’s ears like how he imagined nails scratching on a blackboard would sound like, and it swept past him in a rush of wind that both scalded and froze him at the same time. He saw their father run up to it try to shoot it again, but it was gone before he could do so.
Dean leaned over to look at his brother, who seemed shaken, but unharmed. “Thanks,” Sam said to Dean, his voice no more than a whisper. “I owe you one.”
“Not just one, idiot,” Dean said. “Or do you possibly not know how to count, too?” Despite himself, he let out a sigh of relief, and had to muster every bit of his self-restraint not to throw his arms around his brother (because that would be so terribly sentimental and silly and he would not let Sam get that satisfaction, damn it).
“Did you see it before we got here, Sam?” their father said, walking over to his sons. For a moment Dean did not know what he was talking about, but when Sam nodded, he understood, and his heart sank.
“You saw that thing, then?” His grip on his gun tightened, and he said, “Why didn’t you tell me, then?”
“I couldn’t,” Sam said. “I was…” His voice trailed off, and he did not say anything more.
Dean stared at him. You were too proud? he finished for his brother silently. Or too scared? “When did you first see it?” he asked instead.
“Before we got out of the car,” Sam said. “I saw it reflected on the glass of my window, but it disappeared a second later. Then I saw it again, sillhouetted against the entrance to the ruins.”
“You should have told me, Sammy,” Dean said, most upset. He turned to his father. “What is it, Dad? What did it want with Sam?”
But there was a strange expression on their father’s face. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. Dean could not read what his father was thinking. Their father only shook his head, and took Sam by the hand, firmly but gently. “Don’t worry about it anymore. Let’s go home.”
Dean wanted to ask again, but held his tongue, and only followed his father and brother out of the room, and out of the hospital. He only thought it prudent to ask, “But what about the ghost?” when they reached the car, to which their father only said, “I’ll go back there later.”
“For now,” their father added, “it’s important to get Sam home.”
Dean was quiet throughout the car ride, maintaining a bewildered, injured sort of silence. Their father dropped them off at the motel they were staying in, and as usual, ordered Dean to lock all doors and open to no one but him.
“And watch over Sam, all right?” he said. “Be safe, Dean.”
Dean only nodded, and did as he was told. He had not spoken to Sam during the trip back to the motel, and to his surprise, Sam broke the silence this time.
“So I pretty much botched my first hunt, huh?”
“Yeah,” Dean muttered. He shrugged. “But it doesn’t really count, I guess.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Dean,” Sam said, looking so serious and years older than he really was, that Dean had to laugh, doubling over on the floor. Sam pouted at that, and turned away from him in disgust.
“But next time,” Dean said, “tell me when I need to protect you, all right?”
“I would have thought you’d know these things,” Sam retorted.
“I’m not like you,” Dean said. And he added, with a grin, “You know, sensitive. Like a girl.”
Sam made a face at him, and Dean laughed harder.
“All right,” Sam said later, and Dean was satisfied at that. He had to, because he realized that like his father, he did not know his brother completely either. But that did not mean he couldn’t be there for him, or Sam for him. Most of the time anyway. It was just that way, with brothers. And they would only have each other, in the end.
And good grief, 2, 165 words in under four hours. I'm sleepy.