Downpour
Title: Downpour
Chapters: One-shot
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Word Count: 1, 180 (what the hell?)
Summary: The boys wait in the rain, stalking their prey...
Written for 15minuteficlets
----
The graveyard was dark, dank and damp, nowhere near the road, and thus, far from the streetlights that would grant them light in the cold February air. The walls surrounding the sanctuary for the dead were tall, and in all honesty, had been a bitch to climb even for the Winchesters. Their texture slick with overgrown plants, moss, and the general wet thanks to the on coming storm above.
But it was either the walls, or attempting to get over the gate. The gate, metal and wet, more slippery than the wall no doubt, and the same gate that was covered in incredibly sharp spikes at their tips, and as much as Dean loved a challenge, he’d prefer not to get skewered on this particular hunt, thank you very much.
Why all Supernatural beings, or beings of any kind, shady in their habits, always had to come out at night, Dean didn’t know, and made a mental note to ask one of them, before they were vanquished of course. Then again, they’d probably only stare, they did that a lot, as though they could see right through you when the irony was it was the other way around.
A boom of thunder, and a streak of light from the lightening illuminating the both of them, as they hid, quelled his tangent of thoughts, as he dared wander off in his boredom. He looked up still at the darkened sky, and thought to himself, foreboding, much? They’d been waiting for well over two hours, and he had already mentally berated himself for not realising how much more likely it was for the creature, ghost, they presumed, to be out at the witching hour of 3am.
Dean shuddered, huddling closer to himself, drawing in, looking for hidden warmth in the insides of his leather jacket, that he wished he’d left in the hotel room. Leather and rain didn’t really go. He looked over at Sam, who was scarily unfazed by the torrential downpour all around them.
“How much longer?” Dean asked, much like a whiny child, practically whimpering as he brought his hands out of his jacket pockets, away from the warmth, to brush the sopping bangs that were irritating him as they dripped droplets of more god damned rain onto his already drenched forehead. Not to mention the intimidation he felt at being underneath the large tree, that loomed enough to be a monster in its own right, with it's gnary branches, snaking through the air in the wind.
Sam turned to his brother, still smiling, irking Dean further. “Until he turns up.” He said simply, still smiling, though his own overly-long hair was getting longer by the second as the water weighed it down, plastering it to his face so much so that he could barely see without pulling the hair back every five minutes as they hid in the undergrowth of the graveyard.
“I hate you.” Dean said simply, breaking the silence that had descended between them, as they waited longer.
“You hate me?”
“Yes, I hate you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s pouring down with rain, Sam! Damn it, there’s lightning, why did we have to come out here tonight?”
“Firstly, I didn’t know it was going to rain-”
“I told you like four times Sam.”
“Secondly,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean, “this might be our only chance to see what’s going on.”
Dean harrumphed, somewhat aware of how right his brother was. Annoyingly enough. Though he didn’t stop grumbling.
Just as the feeling was beginning to escape his legs, bent as they were, awkward, but ready, Sam grabbed his arm, directing his attention to the front, and through the branches, Dean could see an old man, back bent, and movements slow as he walked back and forth between the graves, head looking around constantly, looking out for anyone who might be coming. Or anyone who might see him.
They crept out, shotguns at the ready, fingers steady and as they neared the man-
Dean was thrown through the air suddenly, landing with a harsh thud, far too away for Sam’s liking, and the fact that he wasn’t instantly running back to them, was scaring him more. He turned back to the caretaker, whose eyes were boring into him as he stood silently. The man hadn’t even turned to look at them, though he addressed Sam.
“So you’re the one who’s been coming here then.” He said, surprising Sam, who had intended to say pretty much the same himself.
“What?”
“The insensitive bastard that won’t leave these graves alone.”
“What? No, we’re here to stop it! Wait, you’re out here to stop this happening?”
“Of course I am.”
“Oh.”
This was awkward.
“So who’s the one-”
“Sam.” A voice croaked from behind, and Sam instantly tensed as he span around, and his breath hitches in his throat. Dean was in a choke hold, feet scrambling for ground as the air became harder and harder to hold on to. Sam glared at the burly figure holding his brother. The grave-digger, who wasn’t a grave digger at all. Nothing of importance had been taken from the graves, nothing worth any money, or anything that could be re-sold, in fact, despite the one-missing bone from each and every grave; there was nothing amiss, save for a faint trail of burn marks on the outer side of the coffin, where inhuman fingers had pried them open, one by one.
“Let him go.” Sam said coldly, and the thing, the burly monster only laughed
“Why? What are you going to do about it?”
“End you.”
“His life is in my hands...”
“The only who’s dying tonight, is you.”
“Oh really? And who’s going to kill me? You?” He snorted, tightening his hold on Dean, who grunted and choked in response, eyes searching for Sam’s through the haze the rain was leaving behind.
He cocked the gun, and the grip tightened again on Dean’s neck, black spots turning into giant blobs...
“Yeah, me.”
Bang.
The rock salt cartridge exploded sending tiny pellets into his form, making him crash to the floor, falling. The mere sounds of the shot reverberated around in the night sky, through more rumbling, as Dean fell to the ground, millimetres away from his attacker who was now staggering backwards on his haunches, before up and leaving, running to the trees, jumping over fences, and away into the night.
They’d get him next time, they doubted he was going anywhere, and they had already ruled out the possibilities of the bones being used for ritual purposes, right now they had to get away from the cowering old man, having hidden behind a grave at the first shot, and away for Dean's respiratory sake.
“Dean! Are you okay?” Sam cried, rushing over to where his brother had curled in on himself against the battering rain, as a lightning bolt made itself known above, crackling across the sky.
“Still hate you.” Dean muttered, shivering, and clutching his bruising neck as he let Sam hoist him up, and they exited the gloomy graveyard as quickly as possible. “Sure you do.” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes, opening the passenger door’s side, and ignoring Dean’s protests at Sam driving, and the state the inside of the car’s interior would be in when they finally got out.
----
Word was 'gloomy'
Chapters: One-shot
Rating: PG-13, Gen
Word Count: 1, 180 (what the hell?)
Summary: The boys wait in the rain, stalking their prey...
Written for 15minuteficlets
----
The graveyard was dark, dank and damp, nowhere near the road, and thus, far from the streetlights that would grant them light in the cold February air. The walls surrounding the sanctuary for the dead were tall, and in all honesty, had been a bitch to climb even for the Winchesters. Their texture slick with overgrown plants, moss, and the general wet thanks to the on coming storm above.
But it was either the walls, or attempting to get over the gate. The gate, metal and wet, more slippery than the wall no doubt, and the same gate that was covered in incredibly sharp spikes at their tips, and as much as Dean loved a challenge, he’d prefer not to get skewered on this particular hunt, thank you very much.
Why all Supernatural beings, or beings of any kind, shady in their habits, always had to come out at night, Dean didn’t know, and made a mental note to ask one of them, before they were vanquished of course. Then again, they’d probably only stare, they did that a lot, as though they could see right through you when the irony was it was the other way around.
A boom of thunder, and a streak of light from the lightening illuminating the both of them, as they hid, quelled his tangent of thoughts, as he dared wander off in his boredom. He looked up still at the darkened sky, and thought to himself, foreboding, much? They’d been waiting for well over two hours, and he had already mentally berated himself for not realising how much more likely it was for the creature, ghost, they presumed, to be out at the witching hour of 3am.
Dean shuddered, huddling closer to himself, drawing in, looking for hidden warmth in the insides of his leather jacket, that he wished he’d left in the hotel room. Leather and rain didn’t really go. He looked over at Sam, who was scarily unfazed by the torrential downpour all around them.
“How much longer?” Dean asked, much like a whiny child, practically whimpering as he brought his hands out of his jacket pockets, away from the warmth, to brush the sopping bangs that were irritating him as they dripped droplets of more god damned rain onto his already drenched forehead. Not to mention the intimidation he felt at being underneath the large tree, that loomed enough to be a monster in its own right, with it's gnary branches, snaking through the air in the wind.
Sam turned to his brother, still smiling, irking Dean further. “Until he turns up.” He said simply, still smiling, though his own overly-long hair was getting longer by the second as the water weighed it down, plastering it to his face so much so that he could barely see without pulling the hair back every five minutes as they hid in the undergrowth of the graveyard.
“I hate you.” Dean said simply, breaking the silence that had descended between them, as they waited longer.
“You hate me?”
“Yes, I hate you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s pouring down with rain, Sam! Damn it, there’s lightning, why did we have to come out here tonight?”
“Firstly, I didn’t know it was going to rain-”
“I told you like four times Sam.”
“Secondly,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean, “this might be our only chance to see what’s going on.”
Dean harrumphed, somewhat aware of how right his brother was. Annoyingly enough. Though he didn’t stop grumbling.
Just as the feeling was beginning to escape his legs, bent as they were, awkward, but ready, Sam grabbed his arm, directing his attention to the front, and through the branches, Dean could see an old man, back bent, and movements slow as he walked back and forth between the graves, head looking around constantly, looking out for anyone who might be coming. Or anyone who might see him.
They crept out, shotguns at the ready, fingers steady and as they neared the man-
Dean was thrown through the air suddenly, landing with a harsh thud, far too away for Sam’s liking, and the fact that he wasn’t instantly running back to them, was scaring him more. He turned back to the caretaker, whose eyes were boring into him as he stood silently. The man hadn’t even turned to look at them, though he addressed Sam.
“So you’re the one who’s been coming here then.” He said, surprising Sam, who had intended to say pretty much the same himself.
“What?”
“The insensitive bastard that won’t leave these graves alone.”
“What? No, we’re here to stop it! Wait, you’re out here to stop this happening?”
“Of course I am.”
“Oh.”
This was awkward.
“So who’s the one-”
“Sam.” A voice croaked from behind, and Sam instantly tensed as he span around, and his breath hitches in his throat. Dean was in a choke hold, feet scrambling for ground as the air became harder and harder to hold on to. Sam glared at the burly figure holding his brother. The grave-digger, who wasn’t a grave digger at all. Nothing of importance had been taken from the graves, nothing worth any money, or anything that could be re-sold, in fact, despite the one-missing bone from each and every grave; there was nothing amiss, save for a faint trail of burn marks on the outer side of the coffin, where inhuman fingers had pried them open, one by one.
“Let him go.” Sam said coldly, and the thing, the burly monster only laughed
“Why? What are you going to do about it?”
“End you.”
“His life is in my hands...”
“The only who’s dying tonight, is you.”
“Oh really? And who’s going to kill me? You?” He snorted, tightening his hold on Dean, who grunted and choked in response, eyes searching for Sam’s through the haze the rain was leaving behind.
He cocked the gun, and the grip tightened again on Dean’s neck, black spots turning into giant blobs...
“Yeah, me.”
Bang.
The rock salt cartridge exploded sending tiny pellets into his form, making him crash to the floor, falling. The mere sounds of the shot reverberated around in the night sky, through more rumbling, as Dean fell to the ground, millimetres away from his attacker who was now staggering backwards on his haunches, before up and leaving, running to the trees, jumping over fences, and away into the night.
They’d get him next time, they doubted he was going anywhere, and they had already ruled out the possibilities of the bones being used for ritual purposes, right now they had to get away from the cowering old man, having hidden behind a grave at the first shot, and away for Dean's respiratory sake.
“Dean! Are you okay?” Sam cried, rushing over to where his brother had curled in on himself against the battering rain, as a lightning bolt made itself known above, crackling across the sky.
“Still hate you.” Dean muttered, shivering, and clutching his bruising neck as he let Sam hoist him up, and they exited the gloomy graveyard as quickly as possible. “Sure you do.” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes, opening the passenger door’s side, and ignoring Dean’s protests at Sam driving, and the state the inside of the car’s interior would be in when they finally got out.
----
Word was 'gloomy'