Fiction: "Five Things That Never Happened in South Dakota"
Title: Five Things That Never Happened in South Dakota
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 1066
Pairing: None (Gen)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Author’s Note: The "Five Things" meme. "All Hell Breaks Loose."
***
1.
“You know where to find me,” Bobby said heavily, and walked out the door. He was halfway to the truck when he heard the shot, but did not stop walking. Everything he knew he’d need was in the truck bed: two sheets, rope, salt, accelerant, and enough wood to cremate two bodies.
This job had just gotten a whole hell of a lot harder.
2. .
He opened the door and just barely restrained his reaction.
“Hi, Bobby,” Dean said cheerily from the doorway, framed by dead trees and blackened geraniums.
Sam lunged at Bobby.
Dean smacked Sam’s outstretched arms. “No! Bad Sammy! Bad! Friend! Bobby friend!” He held a big red wet piece of raw liver under Sam’s nose until Sam seized it in his hands and tore into it with his teeth, snarling. “Sorry, Bobby. Gotta teach this kid his manners all over again. So! You say you’ve got something for us to look at?” He breezed past and into the house, grinning.
Sam glared down at Bobby, mouth bulging and dripping blood.
3. .
Sam’s stench hit him as he walked into the cabin, overpowering the smell of the food; he’d never eat fried chicken again. He’d hated to bring it up, afraid for Dean’s mindset.
But the other man had only turned round to face him and say quietly, “You’re right.”
Dean helped Bobby arrange the pyre, enshroud Sam and carry the corpse outside. The Latin he read out of the book was strong, unwavering as Bobby scattered the salt. He never hesitated when he struck the matches and dropped them into the kindling. He hardly blinked while watching his brother’s body turn to ashes. He helped Bobby dig a hole for the charred bones in a calm, businesslike manner. The Impala followed Bobby’s truck all the way back to the junkyard without incident, a gosling behind its imprinted parent.
Dean stayed at Singer Salvage buried in work, sweating over Bobby’s junkers by day and staying up till 3 a.m. reading stacks of books and studying the map of the railway devil’s-trap in Wyoming. Bobby left him to it, and considered it a small victory for the forces of light when he found the half-eaten sandwich in the kitchen trash one morning.
He was gladder than he thought he could feel that week when Ellen turned up, alive and bitter over her “luck,” to join the fight. She looked grim when told of Sam’s death, but wasn’t as stricken-looking as she might have been a year earlier. This grief he shared with Dean was theirs alone; Jo wouldn’t spend a second mourning the man who’d nearly raped her in his possessed state, and half the hunters he knew would throw a goddamn block party when they heard.
They didn’t reach the cemetery in time to stop Jake from opening the Hellgate and loosing hundreds of demons. But Dean got in two good shots - one disarming Jake and messing up his right hand just before a cadre of demons spirited away their leader to safety, and the other from the retrieved Colt, finally killing the yellow-eyed thing that had destroyed his family.
With the gate closed (and something that looked like John Winchester fleeing just as the doors slammed) Ellen left, headed for Illinois in one of Dean’s junkers to help Jo prepare for the coming war. And Bobby tried to feel guilty over the warm twinge in his chest when Dean said to him, “Let’s go home. We have work to do.”
4. .
Dean screamed.
Bobby jumped and dropped the bucket, and ran to the man’s side.
Sam was sitting up on the filthy mattress, blinking and looking around. The back of his shirt was still torn and blood-soaked, but the wound itself was gone as if it had never been.
He was dreaming. Dean was dreaming. They both were…
“Sammy?” Dean whispered.
Sam faced them both and smiled. Both took a step back.
“It’s all right, Dean,” Sam said. “Bobby. Azazel’s game needs a new dungeon-master, that’s all.” He looked away for a moment, seemingly lost in thought; pale green flickered in his eyes
“The. The guy who, who stabbed you,” Dean said, grasping for normalcy. “He got away.”
“No he didn’t.” Sam stood up. “He’s dead now. I have to go get the Colt back. And then I can open the door and change the rules. Azazel’s gonna piss himself.” He walked between Dean and Bobby without a second look. “I’m hungry. Care to join me?”
5. .
“Ten years,” Dean said. “It’s the same deal you give everyone else.”
The red-eyed soulbroker smiled. “Oh, but you’re not everyone else, sugar. Why would I want that gutter soul of yours?”
“Fine,” Dean said, and held up Sam’s laptop. His fingers moved rapidly and he hit Enter. “Well, lookee there.”
“What?” the demon said, not so much of a smile on the pretty woman’s face now. “What are you doing?”
Dean turned the screen around to show the demon the red and black dBay.inf webpage. “Man, they are just going nuts down there over this thing. 3,618 bidders so far, and they’ve got till midnight tonight. Winning bid right now is 50 years. Oops, my mistake, it’s now 65 years. Not bad for a ‘gutter soul,’ don’tcha think?”
“How did you find that site!” the demon shrieked.
Terms: Sam Winchester returned to life, and John Winchester freed from Hell. Due immediately on closing bid.
“Told you other demons would want it,” Dean said, and just a touch of smugness lit up the eyes that had been dark with despair. “Heading toward the 5,000-bidder mark, and…damn, now I only have 200 years left to live. If I close the bidding now instead of an hour from now.” He looked up and into the infuriated red eyes. “Oh. You can go. If I were you, I’d get a bid in now while you can still afford to snipe.”
With a shriek the demon exploded out of the girl’s mouth and was gone. “What happened?” gasped the haggard-looking woman.
“Nothing good,” Dean said, and closed the laptop with a grim smile at the thought of all the breathing room he’d just acquired. “I hate used-car salesmen.”
-- end --
Author: gardnerhill
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 1066
Pairing: None (Gen)
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Author’s Note: The "Five Things" meme. "All Hell Breaks Loose."
***
1.
“You know where to find me,” Bobby said heavily, and walked out the door. He was halfway to the truck when he heard the shot, but did not stop walking. Everything he knew he’d need was in the truck bed: two sheets, rope, salt, accelerant, and enough wood to cremate two bodies.
This job had just gotten a whole hell of a lot harder.
2. .
He opened the door and just barely restrained his reaction.
“Hi, Bobby,” Dean said cheerily from the doorway, framed by dead trees and blackened geraniums.
Sam lunged at Bobby.
Dean smacked Sam’s outstretched arms. “No! Bad Sammy! Bad! Friend! Bobby friend!” He held a big red wet piece of raw liver under Sam’s nose until Sam seized it in his hands and tore into it with his teeth, snarling. “Sorry, Bobby. Gotta teach this kid his manners all over again. So! You say you’ve got something for us to look at?” He breezed past and into the house, grinning.
Sam glared down at Bobby, mouth bulging and dripping blood.
3. .
Sam’s stench hit him as he walked into the cabin, overpowering the smell of the food; he’d never eat fried chicken again. He’d hated to bring it up, afraid for Dean’s mindset.
But the other man had only turned round to face him and say quietly, “You’re right.”
Dean helped Bobby arrange the pyre, enshroud Sam and carry the corpse outside. The Latin he read out of the book was strong, unwavering as Bobby scattered the salt. He never hesitated when he struck the matches and dropped them into the kindling. He hardly blinked while watching his brother’s body turn to ashes. He helped Bobby dig a hole for the charred bones in a calm, businesslike manner. The Impala followed Bobby’s truck all the way back to the junkyard without incident, a gosling behind its imprinted parent.
Dean stayed at Singer Salvage buried in work, sweating over Bobby’s junkers by day and staying up till 3 a.m. reading stacks of books and studying the map of the railway devil’s-trap in Wyoming. Bobby left him to it, and considered it a small victory for the forces of light when he found the half-eaten sandwich in the kitchen trash one morning.
He was gladder than he thought he could feel that week when Ellen turned up, alive and bitter over her “luck,” to join the fight. She looked grim when told of Sam’s death, but wasn’t as stricken-looking as she might have been a year earlier. This grief he shared with Dean was theirs alone; Jo wouldn’t spend a second mourning the man who’d nearly raped her in his possessed state, and half the hunters he knew would throw a goddamn block party when they heard.
They didn’t reach the cemetery in time to stop Jake from opening the Hellgate and loosing hundreds of demons. But Dean got in two good shots - one disarming Jake and messing up his right hand just before a cadre of demons spirited away their leader to safety, and the other from the retrieved Colt, finally killing the yellow-eyed thing that had destroyed his family.
With the gate closed (and something that looked like John Winchester fleeing just as the doors slammed) Ellen left, headed for Illinois in one of Dean’s junkers to help Jo prepare for the coming war. And Bobby tried to feel guilty over the warm twinge in his chest when Dean said to him, “Let’s go home. We have work to do.”
4. .
Dean screamed.
Bobby jumped and dropped the bucket, and ran to the man’s side.
Sam was sitting up on the filthy mattress, blinking and looking around. The back of his shirt was still torn and blood-soaked, but the wound itself was gone as if it had never been.
He was dreaming. Dean was dreaming. They both were…
“Sammy?” Dean whispered.
Sam faced them both and smiled. Both took a step back.
“It’s all right, Dean,” Sam said. “Bobby. Azazel’s game needs a new dungeon-master, that’s all.” He looked away for a moment, seemingly lost in thought; pale green flickered in his eyes
“The. The guy who, who stabbed you,” Dean said, grasping for normalcy. “He got away.”
“No he didn’t.” Sam stood up. “He’s dead now. I have to go get the Colt back. And then I can open the door and change the rules. Azazel’s gonna piss himself.” He walked between Dean and Bobby without a second look. “I’m hungry. Care to join me?”
5. .
“Ten years,” Dean said. “It’s the same deal you give everyone else.”
The red-eyed soulbroker smiled. “Oh, but you’re not everyone else, sugar. Why would I want that gutter soul of yours?”
“Fine,” Dean said, and held up Sam’s laptop. His fingers moved rapidly and he hit Enter. “Well, lookee there.”
“What?” the demon said, not so much of a smile on the pretty woman’s face now. “What are you doing?”
Dean turned the screen around to show the demon the red and black dBay.inf webpage. “Man, they are just going nuts down there over this thing. 3,618 bidders so far, and they’ve got till midnight tonight. Winning bid right now is 50 years. Oops, my mistake, it’s now 65 years. Not bad for a ‘gutter soul,’ don’tcha think?”
“How did you find that site!” the demon shrieked.
Terms: Sam Winchester returned to life, and John Winchester freed from Hell. Due immediately on closing bid.
“Told you other demons would want it,” Dean said, and just a touch of smugness lit up the eyes that had been dark with despair. “Heading toward the 5,000-bidder mark, and…damn, now I only have 200 years left to live. If I close the bidding now instead of an hour from now.” He looked up and into the infuriated red eyes. “Oh. You can go. If I were you, I’d get a bid in now while you can still afford to snipe.”
With a shriek the demon exploded out of the girl’s mouth and was gone. “What happened?” gasped the haggard-looking woman.
“Nothing good,” Dean said, and closed the laptop with a grim smile at the thought of all the breathing room he’d just acquired. “I hate used-car salesmen.”
-- end --