FIC: Action Needs An Audience (Complete)
Title: Action Needs An Audience
Author: chrissie0707
Word Count: 1,200
Genre: H/C
Spoilers: "Born Under A Bad Sign" missing scene
Notes/Summary: Takes place between Bobby knocking out possessed!Sam and Dean smacking him back into consciousness.
Dean comes in hot, pushing this particular stolen embarrassment on wheels to her limit, at such a speed he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to stop their momentum before imbedding the car and thus himself in Bobby’s living room wall. He stands on the brakes and brings her to a halt with a metallic screech and the tires kick up gravel as the backend swings around, misses the porch railing by inches.
He jams the gearshift into park, shivering despite his heavy jacket. Even with the heater running full blast the entire way from Duluth he can’t shake the chill in his bones, from blood loss and being submerged in freezing water, but he’s riding the magical power of fear for his little brother with a side helping of adrenaline. He throws open the car door, heaves himself to his feet and rushes toward the house. The Impala is nowhere to be seen but he hasn’t been able to connect to any of Bobby’s landlines, and he doesn’t believe in coincidence.
Gun firmly in hand, because while it might not be practical he can’t shake training and instinct, Dean tackles the steps in a single leap. The jarring impact of his boot connecting with the hardwood sends shockwaves through his exhausted body and he can feel his rapid heartbeat in the hole in his shoulder. Whatever’s in Sam had taken aim pretty quickly but it had taken aim. The bullet wasn’t supposed to kill him, the lake was.
He draws his leg back and connects with an expertly placed kick that splinters the front door away from the jam with a crack and makes his way deliberately and cautiously into the quiet house, leading with the pistol in his right hand. “Bobby?”
He only makes it a couple of steps before the man in question appears wide-eyed in the hallway, looking pained but not in pain, gripping a rifle with just as much intention as Dean holds his own gun. “Ain’t you ever heard of knocking?”
Dean’s shoulders sag with relief as he lowers his gun arm. “It’s not Sam, Bobby.”
“You don’t say.” He lifts the gun and steps forward, motions with his head for Dean to drop his weapon.
Dean clicks on the safety and raises his hands, letting his pistol hang loosely and harmlessly from his fingers. He swallows. “S’me, Bobby.”
Bobby’s not so easily convinced, backs him steadily into the kitchen with the nose of the rifle.
Dean shoots a worried glance around the house, concerned that he hasn’t yet seen or heard his brother. “Where’s Sam? Did he…”
“Nah, he didn’t get the chance.”
Bobby’s a friend, but he’s a hunter, and Dean finds himself suddenly and surprisingly unsure of the lengths he’d go to defend himself. “S’he okay?”
“He’s fine.” Bobby nods to an open beer on the table. “Why don’t you just have a drink, Dean? Then we’ll see what kind of talk we’re gonna have here.” Still with the gun trained on him.
“What…“ Then it clicks, and Dean can’t fault the guy being suspicious, does him one better and moves slowly to remove the flask of holy water from his inside pocket, takes a healthy swig. He’s sure the relief from taking the pressure off of his ravaged shoulder is playing out on his face, so he covers with a raise of his eyebrows. “Satisfied?”
Bobby’s face doesn’t change expressions, and he certainly doesn’t move to lower the rifle. “That’s cute, but I didn’t bottle that.”
Dean rolls his eyes, picks up the beer and drains half of the bottle in a long swallow. “Ah,” he says dramatically, returning the drink carefully to the table. He knows if he were on the other end of that rifle he certainly wouldn’t appreciate any sudden movements.
Bobby finally lowers the gun, points her safely at the floor and lifts an apologetic shoulder. “Can’t be too careful.” He shakes his head. “You boys run into trouble like change in the street.”
“Where is he?” Dean asks again. “Did he - “ He can’t even put a voice to that horrible thought.
Whoever this demon is, it’s getting its jollies off maiming before killing, as his throbbing shoulder can attest to.
Bobby shakes his head. “Like I said, he didn’t get the chance. No doubt had it on the agenda, though. Tried to call you after I got him secured, but the son of a bitch cut the phone lines.” He jerks his head toward the study. “I’ve got ‘im nice and cozy in the VIP section.”
Another long sigh of relief, but with it goes some of the adrenaline, and Dean is suddenly feeling good and ready to fall on his face. “He okay?”
“Better’n you, I suspect.” Bobby scrutinizes him with squinted eyes. “What’d he do to you? You look like death warmed over, kid.”
“I’m good.” Dean leans to get a clear view into the other room, has to plant a hand on the tabletop to keep from taking a header all the way to the floor.
Sam is tied to a chair directly under the Key of Solomon, the same chair and the same spot where they restrained Meg what seems like a lifetime ago. His head hangs heavily, hair covering his face and chin nearly brushing his chest. He doesn’t look like a demon, he looks like Sammy, and it puts Dean’s heart in a vice to see him like this.
He straightens, turns back to his old friend. “Bobby, I…” He swallows the apology, knows Bobby doesn’t need it. “I should have realized sooner. The way he was acting…”
Bobby reaches out a hand to his shoulder, gives him an affectionate squeeze that has Dean gritting his teeth around the scream that threatens to escape him. He can’t hold back a yelp as he pulls roughly away, turns his back to the other hunter.
Bobby’s eyebrows come together, concerned and businesslike. “What is it?”
Dean shakes his head, draws his left arm close to his body and moves to Sam. A fire erupts in his shoulder joint, a warm, wet feeling that pulses with every beat of his heart. GOD, he wants to sleep for a week, but first things first: he’s got to get this bitch out of his brother. He surveys the room, notices the stainless steel bucket on the floor - holy water - and the thick leather-bound book laid out front and center on the desk. He squints at the Latin print. “Is that an exorcism?”
Bobby has followed him into the room, nods solemnly.
“You were gonna do it without me?”
“I sure wasn’t gonna let the damn thing stay in him.” His eyes soften, taking in Dean’s panicked features. “Don’t worry, it’s safe. Sam won’t feel a thing.”
Dean nods, swallows thickly. “Yeah.”
“I was just gettin’ ready to start when you can bustin’ in.” He picks up the book, gives Dean a sideways glance and tops it off with a small smile. “You know, even the demon knocked.”
His attempt at lightheartedness wildly misses the mark. Dean squares up in front of Sam, tucks his injured arm into his side. “Let’s just get him back.”
Author: chrissie0707
Word Count: 1,200
Genre: H/C
Spoilers: "Born Under A Bad Sign" missing scene
Notes/Summary: Takes place between Bobby knocking out possessed!Sam and Dean smacking him back into consciousness.
Dean comes in hot, pushing this particular stolen embarrassment on wheels to her limit, at such a speed he’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to stop their momentum before imbedding the car and thus himself in Bobby’s living room wall. He stands on the brakes and brings her to a halt with a metallic screech and the tires kick up gravel as the backend swings around, misses the porch railing by inches.
He jams the gearshift into park, shivering despite his heavy jacket. Even with the heater running full blast the entire way from Duluth he can’t shake the chill in his bones, from blood loss and being submerged in freezing water, but he’s riding the magical power of fear for his little brother with a side helping of adrenaline. He throws open the car door, heaves himself to his feet and rushes toward the house. The Impala is nowhere to be seen but he hasn’t been able to connect to any of Bobby’s landlines, and he doesn’t believe in coincidence.
Gun firmly in hand, because while it might not be practical he can’t shake training and instinct, Dean tackles the steps in a single leap. The jarring impact of his boot connecting with the hardwood sends shockwaves through his exhausted body and he can feel his rapid heartbeat in the hole in his shoulder. Whatever’s in Sam had taken aim pretty quickly but it had taken aim. The bullet wasn’t supposed to kill him, the lake was.
He draws his leg back and connects with an expertly placed kick that splinters the front door away from the jam with a crack and makes his way deliberately and cautiously into the quiet house, leading with the pistol in his right hand. “Bobby?”
He only makes it a couple of steps before the man in question appears wide-eyed in the hallway, looking pained but not in pain, gripping a rifle with just as much intention as Dean holds his own gun. “Ain’t you ever heard of knocking?”
Dean’s shoulders sag with relief as he lowers his gun arm. “It’s not Sam, Bobby.”
“You don’t say.” He lifts the gun and steps forward, motions with his head for Dean to drop his weapon.
Dean clicks on the safety and raises his hands, letting his pistol hang loosely and harmlessly from his fingers. He swallows. “S’me, Bobby.”
Bobby’s not so easily convinced, backs him steadily into the kitchen with the nose of the rifle.
Dean shoots a worried glance around the house, concerned that he hasn’t yet seen or heard his brother. “Where’s Sam? Did he…”
“Nah, he didn’t get the chance.”
Bobby’s a friend, but he’s a hunter, and Dean finds himself suddenly and surprisingly unsure of the lengths he’d go to defend himself. “S’he okay?”
“He’s fine.” Bobby nods to an open beer on the table. “Why don’t you just have a drink, Dean? Then we’ll see what kind of talk we’re gonna have here.” Still with the gun trained on him.
“What…“ Then it clicks, and Dean can’t fault the guy being suspicious, does him one better and moves slowly to remove the flask of holy water from his inside pocket, takes a healthy swig. He’s sure the relief from taking the pressure off of his ravaged shoulder is playing out on his face, so he covers with a raise of his eyebrows. “Satisfied?”
Bobby’s face doesn’t change expressions, and he certainly doesn’t move to lower the rifle. “That’s cute, but I didn’t bottle that.”
Dean rolls his eyes, picks up the beer and drains half of the bottle in a long swallow. “Ah,” he says dramatically, returning the drink carefully to the table. He knows if he were on the other end of that rifle he certainly wouldn’t appreciate any sudden movements.
Bobby finally lowers the gun, points her safely at the floor and lifts an apologetic shoulder. “Can’t be too careful.” He shakes his head. “You boys run into trouble like change in the street.”
“Where is he?” Dean asks again. “Did he - “ He can’t even put a voice to that horrible thought.
Whoever this demon is, it’s getting its jollies off maiming before killing, as his throbbing shoulder can attest to.
Bobby shakes his head. “Like I said, he didn’t get the chance. No doubt had it on the agenda, though. Tried to call you after I got him secured, but the son of a bitch cut the phone lines.” He jerks his head toward the study. “I’ve got ‘im nice and cozy in the VIP section.”
Another long sigh of relief, but with it goes some of the adrenaline, and Dean is suddenly feeling good and ready to fall on his face. “He okay?”
“Better’n you, I suspect.” Bobby scrutinizes him with squinted eyes. “What’d he do to you? You look like death warmed over, kid.”
“I’m good.” Dean leans to get a clear view into the other room, has to plant a hand on the tabletop to keep from taking a header all the way to the floor.
Sam is tied to a chair directly under the Key of Solomon, the same chair and the same spot where they restrained Meg what seems like a lifetime ago. His head hangs heavily, hair covering his face and chin nearly brushing his chest. He doesn’t look like a demon, he looks like Sammy, and it puts Dean’s heart in a vice to see him like this.
He straightens, turns back to his old friend. “Bobby, I…” He swallows the apology, knows Bobby doesn’t need it. “I should have realized sooner. The way he was acting…”
Bobby reaches out a hand to his shoulder, gives him an affectionate squeeze that has Dean gritting his teeth around the scream that threatens to escape him. He can’t hold back a yelp as he pulls roughly away, turns his back to the other hunter.
Bobby’s eyebrows come together, concerned and businesslike. “What is it?”
Dean shakes his head, draws his left arm close to his body and moves to Sam. A fire erupts in his shoulder joint, a warm, wet feeling that pulses with every beat of his heart. GOD, he wants to sleep for a week, but first things first: he’s got to get this bitch out of his brother. He surveys the room, notices the stainless steel bucket on the floor - holy water - and the thick leather-bound book laid out front and center on the desk. He squints at the Latin print. “Is that an exorcism?”
Bobby has followed him into the room, nods solemnly.
“You were gonna do it without me?”
“I sure wasn’t gonna let the damn thing stay in him.” His eyes soften, taking in Dean’s panicked features. “Don’t worry, it’s safe. Sam won’t feel a thing.”
Dean nods, swallows thickly. “Yeah.”
“I was just gettin’ ready to start when you can bustin’ in.” He picks up the book, gives Dean a sideways glance and tops it off with a small smile. “You know, even the demon knocked.”
His attempt at lightheartedness wildly misses the mark. Dean squares up in front of Sam, tucks his injured arm into his side. “Let’s just get him back.”