Fic: Shell Game (Supernatural)
I've been demanding prompts from people the last few days. No Promises, No Demands was fluffnutter 's; this one's from hawk_dancing.
Title: Shell Game
Author: thefrogg
Beta: fluffnutter
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.
Lungs burning from smoke and heat, eyes stinging with grief and rage and ash, John ran out the front door, desperate to get to his sons.
The dark figure kneeling over Dean's prone form, Sam bundled in his blankets on the grass beside them, almost made John sigh in relief -- one of the neighbors, come to help. Then, he turned, yellow eyes flickering brilliantly, glowing in reflection of the flames in the window.
"Get away from them!" John roared, long strides closing the distance. They went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling over on the grass. The stranger tossed John aside, sending him skidding across the damp lawn, and was gone. "Damnit."
Sam whimpered.
"Dean?" John pushed himself to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes with a dew-slick hand, before scooping Sam up in one arm, and Dean in the other; the open door glowed with the spreading fire.
Neighbors were pouring out of their houses by the time John made it to the sedan parked across the street and sat down on the hood.
"Dad?" Dean's voice was weak, hoarse, but not from smoke. "He...he made me..." He gulped, wrapping his arms around John and clinging tight.
"It's going to be okay, son." John refused to let himself consider anything else; he'd make it okay, through sheer force of will if nothing else.
"He killed Mom."
"Yes," John whispered miserably, tears closing his throat. "I'm sorry." Hair tickled his lips as he pressed a kiss to Dean's head.
Trembling with the beginning of shock, Dean leaned closer to John and took Sam back, sharing a look of pained protectiveness. Dean broke it, licking his lips and grimacing in distaste before cooing gently to Sam, cradling his brother to his chest.
~~~the end~~~
Title: Shell Game
Author: thefrogg
Beta: fluffnutter
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Damnit.
Lungs burning from smoke and heat, eyes stinging with grief and rage and ash, John ran out the front door, desperate to get to his sons.
The dark figure kneeling over Dean's prone form, Sam bundled in his blankets on the grass beside them, almost made John sigh in relief -- one of the neighbors, come to help. Then, he turned, yellow eyes flickering brilliantly, glowing in reflection of the flames in the window.
"Get away from them!" John roared, long strides closing the distance. They went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling over on the grass. The stranger tossed John aside, sending him skidding across the damp lawn, and was gone. "Damnit."
Sam whimpered.
"Dean?" John pushed himself to his feet, scrubbing at his eyes with a dew-slick hand, before scooping Sam up in one arm, and Dean in the other; the open door glowed with the spreading fire.
Neighbors were pouring out of their houses by the time John made it to the sedan parked across the street and sat down on the hood.
"Dad?" Dean's voice was weak, hoarse, but not from smoke. "He...he made me..." He gulped, wrapping his arms around John and clinging tight.
"It's going to be okay, son." John refused to let himself consider anything else; he'd make it okay, through sheer force of will if nothing else.
"He killed Mom."
"Yes," John whispered miserably, tears closing his throat. "I'm sorry." Hair tickled his lips as he pressed a kiss to Dean's head.
Trembling with the beginning of shock, Dean leaned closer to John and took Sam back, sharing a look of pained protectiveness. Dean broke it, licking his lips and grimacing in distaste before cooing gently to Sam, cradling his brother to his chest.
~~~the end~~~