Childhood’s End, 11/11
Title: Childhood’s End, 11/11
Author: reading_is_in
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Pre-series, casefic
Rating: PG-13
Warning: teenagers in bad situations, violence, horror
Summary. Sam (14) and Dean (18) go undercover at a children's home to investigate what appears to be a revenant.
Dad called. Dean explained to him what had happened, that he and Sam were both safe. Dad said,
“Good work son. I’ll be there within eighteen hours, alright?” He sounded distracted.
“Yes sir,” Dean said. He thought Dad ought to say something more about the fact that a woman had died.
Something crashed in the background. The connection crackled.
“Got to go. Call you when I’m close.” And the line went dead.
“Bummer,” said Ella to Dean, with evident disappointment: “Getting moved the day before Christmas and all. I didn’t think anyone was working.”
“Yeah, well it turns out we got this…aunt and uncle,” Dean fabricated, “That we didn’t know about. They just found out about us, and now they want us for Christmas and everything.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“Not really,” said Ella, and for a second, looked younger than her sixteen years.
“But uh, you could come back,” Leroy coughed. “I mean if anything else - if you want to. Or whatever.”
Ella gave him a strange look. Dean smothered a laugh.
Melinda’s return was of course the primary topic of conversation at the Home. After they’d burned Wertheimer, Sam, Dean and Lori had decided that the simplest thing was to say she turned up on her own, wandered through the gates, and wouldn’t say anything about where she’d been that they could make sense of. When the sun rose, Peter’s basement had been gone again, the wall panel vanished as though it had never been.
“I don’t know how I can thank you,” Lori shook her head, as they waited in the foyer. Dad had called again to say he was an hour out, and Sam and Dean had packed up their belongings.
“No need,” Dean said. “It’s what we do.”
Melinda was sitting next to Lori, hands folded neatly in her lap. She’d been bathed, her hair combed out, and dressed in pink jeans and a white blouse. She stared flatly at the wall.
“Melinda,” Lori put her hand on her daughter’s arm: “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”
“Thank you,” Melinda mimicked her mother’s tone, and shot Dean a sideways glance from under her eye-lashes. Dean shifted uncomfortably.
Dad was sporting a bruise on his left cheek and a good few days’ worth of stubble. His eyes were red as though he’d been drinking or driving all night. The belligerent look came over Sam’s face, and Dean braced himself for the fireworks, but then Sam appeared to change his mind, and got into the backseat without comment.
“All good?” Dad asked casually.
“Yes sir,” said Dean.
“You did good,” he said. “You too, Sammy. Maybe we’ll get you a semi-automatic for next time, huh?”
Dean couldn’t help a momentary flash of jealousy - he’d been sixteen before Dad had bestowed that privilege - but on the other hand, the better Sammy could protect himself on their next hunt, the happier Dean would be. He didn’t think he’d ever get the image out his mind of the ghost’s hand passing through Sammy’s chest, how Sam’s eyes had widened in shock and pain, the color draining out of him as he crumpled.
“Hey, how about that?” he said with forced cheer, meeting Sam’s gaze in the rearview.
“Yeah,” said Sam quietly after a pause. “Cool.”
Dad continued to drive in silence.
They had nowhere pressing to be, so they holed up at a motel/service station - surprisingly well-patronised for the time of year - and Dad went straight to the bedroom to sleep off whatever he’d been doing. Sam and Dean crashed in front of the obligatory showing of Miracle on 34th Street, and Dean started saying the lines before the characters and changing them to stupid things to amuse himself. Sam didn’t crack a smile.
“Hey, what are you so bummed out about?” Dean punched him in the shoulder. “We ganked the ghosts and saved the girl. Score all ‘round.”
“I guess so,” Sam said.
“You know Dad would’ve…” Dean gestured around himself awkwardly, indicating he supposed their general lack of a Christmas. “If he’d had time…”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m a little old to be waiting on Santa, Dean.”
“So? What’s the problem?”
“It’s just…is it me, or did Melinda seem not all that ecstatic to be rescued?”
“Well, duh, she was probably traumatized. Being held in a basement by a ghost and his mother for sixth months would mess anybody up, leave alone…well, you know.”
“I hope she makes some friends,” Sam said, with his eyes on the TV.
“She probably will. She’ll be a celebrity. You know what kids are like, they think going missing is badass.”
“Yeah.”
Pause.
“And Lori has her kid back. Winchesters 1, cops 0.”
A hint of a smile played at the corner of Sam’s mouth.
“You and me,” said Dean with a sudden sure feeling. “We’re gonna be an awesome team, Sammy. You’re getting older. Dad can leave us to do more hunting together now. The Winchester brothers. Between you with your geek brain and me with my badass skills, evil sons of bitches aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.” Needing to express a rush of affection, he grabbed Sam in a wrestle-hold and messed his hair up. Sam squirmed free and punched him lightly, but he couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him.
“You’re such a freak,” Sam said without irritation, drawing himself away a little and turning his face to the screen.
The End.
A/N: Well, that's all from me for now folks. I have a Big Bang to work on w/ the aid of my awesome and brave beta, zara-zee, but possibly my next endeavour will be some podfic, depending on how research goes. Thanks for the comments and PMs on this, it means a lot. I have absolutely no idea how this turned into a Christmas tale. Probably due to the canonical date of Dean's birthday.
Author: reading_is_in
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Pre-series, casefic
Rating: PG-13
Warning: teenagers in bad situations, violence, horror
Summary. Sam (14) and Dean (18) go undercover at a children's home to investigate what appears to be a revenant.
Dad called. Dean explained to him what had happened, that he and Sam were both safe. Dad said,
“Good work son. I’ll be there within eighteen hours, alright?” He sounded distracted.
“Yes sir,” Dean said. He thought Dad ought to say something more about the fact that a woman had died.
Something crashed in the background. The connection crackled.
“Got to go. Call you when I’m close.” And the line went dead.
“Bummer,” said Ella to Dean, with evident disappointment: “Getting moved the day before Christmas and all. I didn’t think anyone was working.”
“Yeah, well it turns out we got this…aunt and uncle,” Dean fabricated, “That we didn’t know about. They just found out about us, and now they want us for Christmas and everything.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“Not really,” said Ella, and for a second, looked younger than her sixteen years.
“But uh, you could come back,” Leroy coughed. “I mean if anything else - if you want to. Or whatever.”
Ella gave him a strange look. Dean smothered a laugh.
Melinda’s return was of course the primary topic of conversation at the Home. After they’d burned Wertheimer, Sam, Dean and Lori had decided that the simplest thing was to say she turned up on her own, wandered through the gates, and wouldn’t say anything about where she’d been that they could make sense of. When the sun rose, Peter’s basement had been gone again, the wall panel vanished as though it had never been.
“I don’t know how I can thank you,” Lori shook her head, as they waited in the foyer. Dad had called again to say he was an hour out, and Sam and Dean had packed up their belongings.
“No need,” Dean said. “It’s what we do.”
Melinda was sitting next to Lori, hands folded neatly in her lap. She’d been bathed, her hair combed out, and dressed in pink jeans and a white blouse. She stared flatly at the wall.
“Melinda,” Lori put her hand on her daughter’s arm: “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”
“Thank you,” Melinda mimicked her mother’s tone, and shot Dean a sideways glance from under her eye-lashes. Dean shifted uncomfortably.
Dad was sporting a bruise on his left cheek and a good few days’ worth of stubble. His eyes were red as though he’d been drinking or driving all night. The belligerent look came over Sam’s face, and Dean braced himself for the fireworks, but then Sam appeared to change his mind, and got into the backseat without comment.
“All good?” Dad asked casually.
“Yes sir,” said Dean.
“You did good,” he said. “You too, Sammy. Maybe we’ll get you a semi-automatic for next time, huh?”
Dean couldn’t help a momentary flash of jealousy - he’d been sixteen before Dad had bestowed that privilege - but on the other hand, the better Sammy could protect himself on their next hunt, the happier Dean would be. He didn’t think he’d ever get the image out his mind of the ghost’s hand passing through Sammy’s chest, how Sam’s eyes had widened in shock and pain, the color draining out of him as he crumpled.
“Hey, how about that?” he said with forced cheer, meeting Sam’s gaze in the rearview.
“Yeah,” said Sam quietly after a pause. “Cool.”
Dad continued to drive in silence.
They had nowhere pressing to be, so they holed up at a motel/service station - surprisingly well-patronised for the time of year - and Dad went straight to the bedroom to sleep off whatever he’d been doing. Sam and Dean crashed in front of the obligatory showing of Miracle on 34th Street, and Dean started saying the lines before the characters and changing them to stupid things to amuse himself. Sam didn’t crack a smile.
“Hey, what are you so bummed out about?” Dean punched him in the shoulder. “We ganked the ghosts and saved the girl. Score all ‘round.”
“I guess so,” Sam said.
“You know Dad would’ve…” Dean gestured around himself awkwardly, indicating he supposed their general lack of a Christmas. “If he’d had time…”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m a little old to be waiting on Santa, Dean.”
“So? What’s the problem?”
“It’s just…is it me, or did Melinda seem not all that ecstatic to be rescued?”
“Well, duh, she was probably traumatized. Being held in a basement by a ghost and his mother for sixth months would mess anybody up, leave alone…well, you know.”
“I hope she makes some friends,” Sam said, with his eyes on the TV.
“She probably will. She’ll be a celebrity. You know what kids are like, they think going missing is badass.”
“Yeah.”
Pause.
“And Lori has her kid back. Winchesters 1, cops 0.”
A hint of a smile played at the corner of Sam’s mouth.
“You and me,” said Dean with a sudden sure feeling. “We’re gonna be an awesome team, Sammy. You’re getting older. Dad can leave us to do more hunting together now. The Winchester brothers. Between you with your geek brain and me with my badass skills, evil sons of bitches aren’t gonna know what hit ‘em.” Needing to express a rush of affection, he grabbed Sam in a wrestle-hold and messed his hair up. Sam squirmed free and punched him lightly, but he couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him.
“You’re such a freak,” Sam said without irritation, drawing himself away a little and turning his face to the screen.
The End.
A/N: Well, that's all from me for now folks. I have a Big Bang to work on w/ the aid of my awesome and brave beta, zara-zee, but possibly my next endeavour will be some podfic, depending on how research goes. Thanks for the comments and PMs on this, it means a lot. I have absolutely no idea how this turned into a Christmas tale. Probably due to the canonical date of Dean's birthday.