for layne67 and pheebs1
Title: protector of the fools
Dedication: layne67for her birthday
Prompt: Sam/Dean, third person POV, maybe Sam's old college friend perhaps? And the friend sensing that there's something between them but he/she couldn't quite pin it for what it is?
Notes: this doesn’t exactly follow the prompt. hope you like it nonetheless!
Bethany didn’t make it a habit to sneak out of the house after curfew, but Mom and Dave were yelling loud enough to wake the dead, so she made an exception.
They didn’t even notice when she crept by the den, just kept screaming about bills and college-which was still over two years away, so made no sense-and some woman named Monica.
Oh. Bethany paused. Dave cheated on Mom? Bastard.
Anyway. She made it out of the house without getting caught and headed east, to the graveyard. Only Janna knew about her habit of wandering around cemeteries, and Janna was in Austin with her dad for the week.
It was after midnight and the streets were quiet. Bethany cut through a few yards; only Buddy, the Newman’s Rottweiler was out and he woofed softly at her, thumping his tail on the ground. She smiled at him and kept going.
Only a single, rusty chain held the gate shut. She climbed over the fence. This particular graveyard, Shady Grove, hadn’t been used in decades. It was quiet, peaceful.
Janna didn’t really understand this habit of hers, wandering around in-between tombstones with the words long since faded away into shadows. Bethany found it soothing, seeing that everything would end.
Dad’s grave is in Alabama. Bethany’d never been there, but she really wanted to go. The instant she turned eighteen, she was running and never looking back.
She walked around the cemetery for a few minutes, just soaking up peace. She buried all her problems with ease, since there really weren’t that many, and sank against one of the tombstones, leaning back into the cool marble.
Bethany didn’t mean to fall asleep and she startled awake when someone cursed just on the other side of the headstone.
“Damnit, dude, watch what you’re doin’!”
Bethany jerked, gasping. Someone was rustling just out of sight. Multiple someones. Multiple male someones.
Oh, shit.
She held her breath, sinking down even further.
“Dean, you walked into me!” a second voice said. “And quiet down.”
“You quiet down,” the first voice shot back.
So, just two someones.
A heavy sigh reverberated through the night; despite her predicament, Bethany had to bite her lip so she wouldn’t giggle.
“Your wit astounds me, Dean.”
“Shut up, Sam.”
Bethany listened as the two dropped stuff and then-were they digging up the grave? What the hell for?
All of sudden, everything got quiet. Bethany had to take a breath, so she did it as silently as possible.
When the large hand grabbed her arm and pulled, she screamed. Almost instantly, another hand covered her mouth.
“Whoa, whoa,” the first voice, Dean, said, turning her around without removing either hand. “Just calm down, alright? We won’t hurt you.”
She looked at them, trying to follow his instructions. They both were big, so big. She couldn’t see much beyond that in the moonlight.
“I’ll let go if you don’t scream,” Dean said. She nodded.
Slowly, he lifted his hands off her. She stood still, heart racing, promising God and Mom that she’d never leave the house after dark again if she made it home unhurt tonight.
“What the hell are you doing in a graveyard at night?” Dean asked.
That startled her enough to respond, “What are you?”
Sam, even larger than Dean, holy hell, snorted. Then he said soothingly, “We’re not doing any harm.”
She nodded, fear and shock turning to the stupid bravery that had her jumping out of a two-story window on a dare in third grade. “Right, digging up graves for kicks is harmless.”
“You should just go home, forget you ever saw us,” Dean suggested, and it sounded anything but.
Big as they were, they hadn’t made any threatening moves yet. She got the feeling they wouldn’t. Not quite harmless, but not dangerous, either.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Dean groaned. “Look, kid, just go home, alright?”
Mom told her once that she inherited her stubbornness from her father. “No. Not until you explain.”
In the dark, Bethany watched their silhouettes turn to each other. After a few moments, they turned back to her.
“There’s a vengeful spirit with bones in this grave,” Sam said confidently. “We burn the bones and pour salt over the fire, the spirit will be destroyed.”
She scoffed. “The truth.”
“That is the truth, sweetheart,” Dean replied. “Been a lot of strange deaths in this town, all centered at the Town Hall. You’ve noticed, right?”
Which, yeah, she had. That’s why she and Janna hadn’t ever snuck in there during meetings, even when Carlos Mancia came for a show.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll just stay here and watch then.”
“No,” they responded at the same time.
She crossed her arms. “Unless you physically force me, I’m not leaving. And if you do that, I’ll scream. Bet that’d put a crimp in your ghost-busting plans.”
“Please go home,” Dean groaned. “Kid, this isn’t a joke. It’s dangerous.”
Bethany raised an eyebrow. “I can wait.”
Sam sighed. “Dean, let’s just get back to it.”
They made her hold the flashlight. If it drifted over to them instead of the ground a few times so she could see what they looked like, neither of them mentioned it.
Old, but not too old. Late twenties, early thirties, maybe. Damn fine, too. Even with her as an audience, they bickered like one of those old couples on ancient TV shows. They seemed to forget she was there, moving around each other with long-practiced ease.
She wondered if Mom and Dad had been like that, before the accident. If maybe one day she could have that.
It was over quickly, Dean dropping a lit match onto the gasoline-soaked corpse. “Ya’ll do this a lot?” she asked, watching it burn.
Sam chuckled. Dean said, “Yeah.”
Sunlight was softly beginning to glow in the east. She studied them; they really were damn fine. “If I asked nicely, would ya’ll kiss?”
They shared a look, then Dean shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. We don’t do shows.”
“Want us to walk you home?” Sam asked as Dean packed up their kit.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” she answered. “I can handle that.”
“Just…” Dean paused. “Don’t go out at night anymore. It’s not safe.”
She stared up at him, then moved her gaze to Sam. Not harmless, but not dangerous, either. The next people she met might not be like that. It really would be best to stay in from now on… plus, there was her promise to Mom and God.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Dean scoffed. “’course you will.”
She didn’t say goodbye, and she bet they followed her home. Instead of freaking her, that made her feel safe.
Mom and Dave greeted her at the door, angry and relieved. She listened to their rant and finally shook them off to go call Janna.
Title: the truth is out there
Dedication: pheebs1for her birthday
Prompts: Dean Forester's loyalty, Andy, Henriksen
“Got a newbie for you, Vic,” Andy Gallagher called, leading a tall kid into Henriksen’s office.
“I’ve told you not to call me that, Gallagher,” Victor said without looking up.
“Trust me,” Gallagher said, laughter in his voice. “You wanna meet this one.”
Rolling his eyes, Victor raised his head.
He couldn’t think of a thing to say except, “Holy fuck.”
Victor couldn’t stop staring at him. The new kid-Dean Forester-looked almost exactly like Sam fucking Winchester. Not quite as tall or broad, nowhere near as intimidating, but enough to pass for a twin.
Forester fidgeted under the scrutiny, keeping his gaze anywhere but on Victor. Gallagher didn’t stop smirking.
“He gets to be our third wheel for awhile,” Gallagher explained. “New to the field and all.”
Victor nodded. “Got a voice, kid?” he asked.
Forester flicked his gaze up. “Yes.” He sounded petulant, like he didn’t want to be there.
Victor raised an eyebrow. Gallagher grinned.
Gallagher was the best partner Victor ever had. Victor never did quite figure out just how Gallagher joined the department, but it didn’t seem like too big a deal.
Forester was alright; not the best agent, but not the worst Victor’d ever been partnered with. According to all the records, he wasn’t related to the Winchesters.
That was the kind of coincidence that had Victor considering maybe Dean Winchester wasn’t quite wrong about not killing all those women in St. Louis. He tried to steer clear of those kinds of thoughts whenever possible.
“So,” Victor asked the second week, stuck in a boring-as-all-hell stake-out. “How’d you get into this job?”
Forester shrugged. “Construction didn’t work out.”
Victor considered that for a moment. Better than his own story, no doubt about it.
Driving back to the office in the morning, Victor asked, “So, who was it?”
“Who was who?” Forester asked in return. “Man, you don’t make any sense.”
Victor rolled his eyes. Boy was a smartass, of course. First Gallagher, now Forester-sometimes, Victor really missed Reid. “Who was it that chased you to the Bureau?”
Forester paused, looking down at his hands. “A pretty girl with dark hair.”
Victor nodded. “Me, too.”
Forester was with them when the lucky break came and he freaked right out when face to face with the Winchesters.
Dean just stared, then chuckled.
Sam just stared.
The Winchesters broke out of custody within two days. Gallagher called in his vacation time. Forester was transferred to another division.
Victor puttered around the office, waiting for something to happen.
The phone rang. “Henriksen.”
“Hey, Vic,” Gallagher said. “Listen, you know how Dean Winchester is nucking futs?”
“Gallagher?” Victor glanced around the office. “Where you been?”
“Victor.” Gallagher’s voice was serious, echoey. “Dean Winchester is not insane. We need your help, you and Dean Forester.”
Victor called Forester. The kid came running.
Dean Winchester had almost been cut in half. Forester stared, fascinated. Sam’s eyes tracked him, from where he sat on the bed, holding Dean, often going back to his brother.
“He needs a hospital!” Victor said.
“No,” Gallagher corrected. “He needs a fucking miracle.”
Forester licked his lips, stepping closer. He looked so young, compared to Sam.
Victor turned back to Gallagher. “Why are we here?”
“There’s things, Vic,” Gallagher told him. “Things out in the dark. They’re evil and nasty, and exist only to cause good people pain.” Gallagher’s eyes were completely sincere. “Dean and Sam fight those things. Those things fight back.”
Victor glanced over. Dean was pale, gray, barely breathing. Sam was desperate and angry, covered in his brother’s blood. Forester was right beside the bed, fingers curled into loose fists.
“Did it hurt?” he whispered.
As far as Victor could tell, no one answered. Sam looked up at the kid with disbelieving eyes, but didn’t say a thing. And Dean sure as hell wasn’t coherent enough.
But Forester nodded. Reached forward, over Sam, lightly placed a hand on Dean’s bare skin.
Sam snarled. Only word for it. Gallagher said softly, “Let him, Sam. Trust me.”
Victor was completely lost, a feeling he truly despised. “Gallagher,” he growled.
Gallagher didn’t even spare him a glance, just kept watching the kid and the Winchesters. “Calm down, Vic,” he said, voice going echoey again.
For some reason, Victor did, turning his gaze to the bed and the dying man on it.
Except, Dean looked better. His skin wasn’t as pale, the horrific gash across his torso smaller, less bloody and gaping. “What the hell?” Victor whispered.
Sam’s eyes were wide, going from his brother to his look alike and back.
“I am just that good,” Gallagher said.
“Andy…” Sam’s voice was filled with wonder.
“Sam,” Gallagher said. “Meet Dean Forester.”
By sundown, Dean’s stomach was no longer torn open. He hadn’t woken up, but his breathing was easier, his skin regaining color and warmth. Sam kept smoothing his hair, murmuring, and Victor had to look away from the intimacy of it.
“Gallagher,” he asked. “What the fuck is going on?”
Forester was curled up on the second bed, passed out. Victor’d had to help him the few feet to it, eased him down.
“Some people, Vic,” Gallagher told him, “have abilities. Telekinesis. Telepathy.Premonitions. Stuff like that.” Gallagher didn’t meet his eyes.
“Abilities,” Victor repeated.
“Thank you,” Sam said softly; they both looked over.
“I should arrest you,” Victor stated. “Again.”
Sam calmly met his eyes. “You couldn’t keep us.”
Victor sighed. “I know.”
By dawn, both Forester and Dean were up and about. Forester bounced back after the night’s sleep, the eager newbie Fed. Dean was moving slower, carefully. His gaze kept shooting from Victor to Forester to Sam.
“Andy,” he asked. “What’s going on?”
“You live in a soap-opera, man,” Gallagher answered.
That was another thing bugging Victor about the whole thing: his partner knew the fugitives, clearly.
“Gallagher,” he said. “We need to get back to the office and do our best to forget this incident.”
Gallagher shook his head. “Sorry, Vic. I retired.”
Dean snickered and then hissed in pain.
Victor returned to Washington alone. He sat at his desk and tried to think of calm water, rainfall, anything calming.
Now he’d have to train up a new partner.
Damn it.