FIC: Two Sons (Supernatural) PG-13
Two Sons
A Supernatural story
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: Something keeps saving Dean's life, and Sam can't figure out what.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and those nice folks. No profit has been made from this fic, and the only benefit to me is personal satisfaction and the creative process. I hope you enjoy.
Genre: Gen, oneshot, SAS (sorta angsty Sammy)
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Words: 970
Spoilers: Spoilerific for the aired episodes of season two of SPN.
Note: My first straight Supernatural fic. This idea popped into my head after rewatching "In My Time Of Dying", and after listening to Blue Oyster Cult all freaking night.
~~~~~~
It started in Winchester.
Sam hated Winchester, Virginia, because the place made Dean snicker every time he spotted their family name on another street sign. All it did was make Sam nervous, seeing his dead father's name on every surface.
Sam also hated Winchester because Civil War ghosts were a bitch to burn out. There were so many of them, and all full of rage after one-and-a-half centuries in the ground. They grew creative in their old age, and it almost got Dean killed.
It should have got Dean killed. They'd fucked up something fierce, and the job went right to hell. Dean landed on his back and the haunted axe was speeding towards his head, too fast for Sam to do anything but scream his brother's name.
Then the axe landed where Dean wasn't, an inch left of his head, and Dean was up on his feet and firing rock salt at the apparition. It vanished, screaming in frustrated rage.
"Whoo! We showed that son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, high on adrenaline and life.
Sam couldn't move. His brother should be dead. That axe should have split Dean's skull right open.
"Come on, Sammy, let's go burn us some bones!" Dean was out the door and Sam was left staring at the axe. Something had saved Dean and Sam didn't know what it was.
He hated not knowing what it was.
~~~
The second time it happened, Sam had been smacked upside the head with a lamp, so he wasn't too sure what he was seeing. But he was convinced that the poltergeist had been slamming that desk down on Dean, had been an inch from crushing Dean into paste, when suddenly the room moved. Dean didn't move; Sam didn't move. The room and everything in it was suddenly fucking three feet to the left, and the desk slammed harmlessly into the floor.
It couldn't be anything in that house. It couldn't be coincidence. And as much as he'd like to believe it, believe that it was him who saved Dean's life, it wasn't anything Sam did.
~~~
The third time, it wasn't even supernatural. On the sixth-month anniversary of Dad's death, Dean had gone to a dingy bar, drank half a bottle of whisky and picked a fight with the meanest bastard in the place. Things went predictably downhill, and the punch was headed toward Dean's jaw, fuelled by two hundred pounds of muscles and alcohol-fuelled meanness. The punch should have landed and broken Dean's jaw. What actually happened was that the asshole's fist was suddenly an inch to the left and missed Dean altogether.
The bouncer threw Sam and Dean out of the bar. Confused, Sam was left trying to simultaneously figure out what had happened and keep Dean vertical for the short walk back to the motel.
If it had happened once, he could chalk up to distraction on his part. Twice, to coincidence. But the third time, out of their normal supernatural surroundings?
Dean was singing Don't Fear the Reaper when he stumbled against his bed in the room. Refusing to think about his brother's song choice, Sam pushed Dean onto the mattress, then pulled off his boots and set the wastebasket by the head of the bed before Dean even passed out.
He should have gone to his own bed. He usually did after Dean went on a bender, but tonight, he sat on the edge of Dean's mattress and stared at his brother's shadowed face.
Sam had never forgotten those last hours in the hospital. Dean waking up, the doctor saying that Dean must have some kind of angel looking out for him.
Dad sending Sam out for a cup of coffee.
Dad dead on the floor.
Sam buried his head in his hands, listening to Dean's raspy breathing. He didn't want to think these things. He wanted to be angry at the idea that Dean had someone looking out for him.
He didn't want to think his Dad was trapped here, keeping Dean from getting killed at every turn.
Dean muttered something in his drunken sleep. Sam shushed his brother, pushing Dean's too-short hair back from his forehead. Out of nowhere, Sam remembered when Dean had done the same thing to him, that time when he'd had the measles and Dean had taken care of him because Dad had been on a hunt.
Sam had always had Dean to protect him. No one had ever been around to look out for Dean, not after Mom died. When they were children, Dad was always hunting, too obsessed to realize that he had two sons, not just Sam.
Then Dean had almost been taken by a Reaper, and Dad died for no apparent medical reason. Now crazy thing were happening to keep Dean safe, things Sam couldn't explain or understand.
~~~
If Dean ever noticed it, he never said a word. His guardian angel kept up the work, saving Dean's skinny ass whenever he went into suicidally dangerous situations with no hope of survival. Yet he always walked out without a scratch.
Sam could have tried to find out the truth. A Ouija board, a psychic, something to figure out what was keeping his reckless older brother alive.
But when Sam looked at Dean's face, shadowed under the weight of what they did, he knew that what was happening wasn't for him to know. It was between Dean and whatever force held him back from death.
Only in the darkest of nights could Sam admit to himself that Dad might be trying to rectify some of what he'd done to Dean as a child.
Try as he might, Sam couldn't get angry at the thought that Dad was looking out for Dean.
In fact, all Sam could think was, It's about fucking time.
--fin