Halloween Reverse Micro Bang Fic: The Uncivil War
Title: The Uncivil War
Author: theymp
Pairing: none (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Warning/Spoilers: Mild cursing, brotherly bickering, and controversial reference to Sam's eye color. Also, everything I know about the American Civil War is from less than five minutes on Wikipedia ;)
Summary: Dean may not be sure if he actually hates Halloween, but he does know there's something strange going on at the site of a famous Civil War battle. But is it really worth missing a Dr. Sexy marathon?
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
Author Note: Inspired by just_ruth's image:
Dean hated Halloween.
Well, okay, that's a bit extreme. Maybe it'd be more accurate to say that Halloween hates me.
Dean's feelings towards the annual celebration of all things ghostly, ghastly, and just plain darn grisly were somewhat more apathetic. It was difficult to be enthusiastic about something that celebrated everything he'd spent his life trying to eradicate.
Candy's okay, though.
Sam shoved him on the shoulder and Dean realized that he'd completely zoned out. Jostling his brother back with a small, apologetic smile, he did his best to turn his attention back to the ranger giving the guided tour. The guy was dressed in what Dean could only assume was supposed to be zombie-chic confederate soldier.
"Of course they say the veil between worlds is thinnest at this time of year," said their guide, doing his best to suppress the smile that twisted up the corners of his mouth. "Those that believe in such things say that many of the ghosts in this country are due to the civil war and the Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park is the site of some of the fiercest and most bloody of those battles. Who knows, as twilight approaches, you may get to hear the sounds of war, or witness the eerie sight of the lost spirits of brave soldiers marching off to meet their doom."
Even Sam rolled his eyes at that and he'd built up an impressive immunity from his constant exposure to Dean's antics.
"What is it with this guy and the purple prose?" hissed Sam, rolling his eyes again (they were definitely getting quite the work out today). "Maybe he should switch careers to writing romance novels," he added with a nasty smirk.
Dean thought that seemed more than a little unfair, and particularly uppity, especially from someone who was basically nothing more than a college drop-out. In Dean's experience, most romances were actually quite well written, if sometimes a little formulaic, although he wisely decided to keep that comment to himself. The big galoot doesn't know what he's missing, he snorted to himself, while silently thanking the anonymity of the cover of his all too rarely used Kindle that he kept well hidden at the bottom of his duffle.
Another, less jocular, shove from Sammy, notified Dean that he'd been wool-gathering again.
"Will you please pay attention," said Sam in that prissy voice that always meant "if I've gotta put up with this whatever-it-is, I don't see why you shouldn't have to too".
"Yeah, yeah, big battle, yadda yadda, lotsa killing, yadda yadda, lots of soldiers freakin' buried where they fell," replied Dean, not bothering to hide his irritation. Although, he felt a stab of guilt at the look of disappointment his brother shot back at him. Dean fidgeted awkwardly; well, you don't need to be an actual soldier to have an appreciation for those who gave their lives to save others, but really...
"Oh come on," he added, trying to regain some face. "We could have found all this out at home in under five minutes and with only half an eye on Wikipedia."
Sam snorted and was apparently going for the three-for-two offer on eye rolling. "You're just pissed that you're missing the Doctor Sexy marathon they're running on cable."
"That is some quality medical drama," Dean protested. "No, really," he insisted. "I've picked up some invaluable medical tips from watching it, you should thank me."
Dean may have colored slightly in the face of Sam's obviously disbelief. There goes that damn eyebrow again. "Besides," he added, backtracking slightly. "I missed a whole bunch of episodes recently."
"I'll get you the box set for Christmas, how does that sound, 'Dr. Kildare'?" promised Sam.
"Make it the last two seasons and you've got yourself a deal," agreed Dean mollified, giving Sam the side-eye. This time it was his turn to snort as he muttered under his breath. "Dr. Kildare. Way to be down with the kids, dude."
Dean outwardly appeared to be paying attention to the guide again, although internally the rumbling of his stomach was directing his thinking more towards pie. Pumpkin pie, hmmm. Dean supposed this was another agreeable aspect to his least favorite seasonal holiday. Lost once more in salivating thought, his walking slowed until he was trailing at the rear of the group.
"Oh, come on, keep up," warned Sam. He stopped, despite his own words, alarmed by the sudden tendrils of gently glowing, green mist that had moved in to surround them.
A sudden burst of adrenaline made Dean leap to his brother's side as the mist obscured all sight of everything around them. Both brothers had already reached for their respective weapons when the fog dispersed as quickly as it had come. The surrounding trees seemed much the same, but the dark seemed somehow darker.
"What do you reckon that was?" asked Sam, straining to peer into the gloom between the trees.
"I dunno, but let's face it, if it's a toss-up between being something that wants to kill us or something that wants to give us candy, I know which one I'm putting my money on!"
Sam huffed in mock irritation, but he couldn't help agreeing with his brother. It was enough to make him consider if they were somehow paying off some massive karmic debt from a really skeevy previous incarnation. "Yeah, it does make you wonder sometimes... What is it?"
Sam paused as Dean held up a hand for silence, while staring down at the ground and frowning as he tried to make out a distant sound.
"I thought I heard horses," murmured Dean, still straining to hear.
"Horses?" scoffed Sam
"Halt, right there!" came a sudden shout from the trees. Both Sam and Dean froze as they tried to determine the threat. They relaxed slightly as a figure dressed in an amazingly realistic-looking blue Union uniform stepped from the shadows, only for the tension to mount once more at the sight of the rifle whose aim wavered between Dean's head and Sam's chest.
"Whoa, there soldier," said Dean, putting on his most disarming smile. "Hey," he cried in alarm as the weapon was aimed more squarely at his face. "No need for that, we're all Yankees here together," he winked. "Great costume by the way, are you doing some kinda re-enactment?"
The Union soldier gaped at him in confusion. "W-what? Who are you with?"
Dean snorted again, "Well, it's not the Confederates, so settle down," he joked; although Sam noticed that the lines of what at first sight seemed like a relaxed, easy grin on his brother's face didn't quite reach Dean's eyes.
The soldier narrowed his own eyes in suspicion. "Really? 'Cause I'm thinking I'm hearing a faint Texas twang."
"Texas!? Sheesh, why do we always get that? Dude, we're from Lawrence, Kansas."
Sam laid a hand on Dean's shoulder pulling him back slightly from where he had got himself right into the soldier's personal space. "Sorry, we get that a lot. We travel around, see, and it's so easy just to pick up accents," explained Sam, laying it on a bit thick.
The soldier lowered his weapon. "Well, you don't look and sound like any northerners I've ever seen before, but I guess not southerners, neither. And I'm sorry... I heard what happened to your hometown... terrible..." The soldier backed up, seemingly mollified. "But that doesn't explain why you're out here."
Sam and Dean looked at each other slightly lost for words.
The soldier raised his weapon again, his suspicion once more aroused. His eyes widened as the glowing mist returned and swirled around him. "What witchery is this?" he cried as he gradually faded from view.
"Well, that was... strange," commented Sam.
"As ever the master of understatement there, Sammy."
"No, he was nothing like any spirit I've ever seen. He was just too..."
"Real?"
Sam shrugged. "I guess." He sighed with frustration. "And now we've lost the guided tour."
"Yeah, well, thank heavens for small mercies," muttered Dean. "Come on, let's get back to the car... Hang on... no... hang on..." he looked flustered, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring as he spun around on the spot. "She was right here!"
Sam did his best to console his brother. "These clearings all look the same in the dark; I'm sure this isn't where you parked the car." He tried to inject some sincerity into his voice, but deep down he knew this was probably the right place.
Dean started to hyperventilate. "You so much as scratch my Baby and I'll kill you, y'hear me?" he screamed into the darkness. The once-more-glowing mist surrounding them seemed to clear in response to Dean's histrionics.
"Oh. She's over there," said Dean, feeling slightly foolish now that he could see the Impala was just a short distance away as another bank of the strange mist cleared. He cleared his throat and when he next spoke it was at least a couple of registers deeper than his usual voice. "It's this damned fog; it too easy to get turned around."
Sam wisely kept any comment to himself and hung back to give his brother an intimate moment with his car. Seriously, it's almost as bad as walking in on him with a woman, thought Sam. Almost, he mentally added with a wince. The sound of the trunk closing caught his attention and he looked around to find that Dean had adjusted himself and retrieved a large sack of salt and a duffle stuffed to bursting point with weapons.
Dean waved an angry finger in Sam's direction. "We've got some ghostly sonsovbitches to put to rest - I don't care whose side they're on. No more research, let's do this!" With that he stalked off back the way they had come into the depths of the forest.
Sam gulped and followed at a distance, unwilling to make himself the target of his brother's wrath. He knew from grim experience that when Dean got this riled up it was impossible to get through to him and often safer and simpler just to let his temper run its course. Despite this he still nearly ran into Dean's back when his brother came to a sudden and unexpected stop.
He was about to ask when he heard the answer for himself. "Horses?"
Dean nodded as he opened the sack and started spreading a large trail of salt around the perimeter of the clearing. "If the soldier we saw earlier was a scout, then I'm guessing that what he'd do first would be to call in the cavalry."
He looked at the finished circle with satisfaction. "Let's see their ghostly asses cross that!"
As if on cue, the greenish, glowing mist seemed to swirl and gather around them.
"That's them, General! Those are the green-eyed witches who tried to lead me astray!" cried the soldier from earlier, as he stepped out from the fog.
"Witches?" spluttered Dean in outrage.
"Green-eyed?" echoed Sam, disagreeably.
"Charge!" cried the General.
"Come and get it," drawled Dean, bringing his salt-round loaded shotgun up to bear.
"Er, Dean..." said Sam, with a growing sense of unease at the distinctly non-spirit sight and sound of the charging horses.
Dean fired just before the approaching army reached the salt-line. Having once been hit from a distance by a salt-round himself, he knew how it could sting but didn't do much more than really piss him off. His surprise at the soldiers' similar reaction was followed by an equal disconcertion that they failed to disappear, but this was nothing compared to the dismay he felt as they crossed the salt line without even noticing it.
Sam grabbed his dumbstruck brother and dragged him away from their rapidly-gaining attackers. "It didn't work!" he screamed. "Run!"
The brothers ran for all they were worth, the sound of horse hoofs echoing all around them, while musket fire whizzed past their ears. Nearing exhaustion, his lungs burning and his side aching from a stich, Dean spun around, determined that he'd rather go down fighting than stabbed in the back by some kind of time-travelling soldier.
"Ah, our missing people," said the guide, his relieved smile gradually fading. "You look like you've seen a ghost! Are you two all right?" he added with obvious concern.
Dean and Sam looked around, blinking in confusion, mouths gulping like landed fish struggling to breathe as they tried to find the words to explain their predicament. Other than the last wisps of mist, the clearing was empty of anyone other than their earlier tour party.
"Soldiers?" squeaked Dean, as Sam nodded his emphatic agreement.
The guide smiled at the brothers as though they were a pair of very young, somewhat challenged children. "Maybe you did see a ghost! After all, I did say the veil between worlds is thin at this time of year, didn't I?" The guide considered their muddy, flustered appearance for a moment and laughed. "Although considering that the battlefield is said to be haunted by a strange, unearthly half-man with long hair called 'old green eyes', you might be the ones doing the actual scaring!"
Sam and Dean shared a shaken, wide-eyed look, but remained silent until the tour had finished and they'd returned to the car; fortunately with no further sign of the mysterious green fog.
Once safely seated, Sam turned to his brother. "Could that be it? Did we somehow travel in time so we were the origin of the ghost stories people have reported?"
Dean held up a weary hand to silence Sam's excitement. "You know what? I don't care. We're never talking about this again. You know what else? I've had it with Halloween. Next year? I don't even care if it's the freakin' end of the world. I'm buying my own goddamn chocolate, switching the lights off, pretending there's no one home, and watching TV in my PJs."
Dean slammed the door shut (hard enough to make a point, but gentle enough that it wouldn't hurt Baby) and drove away as fast as he could. He reckoned he could make some distance from Chickamauga before the witching hour came around.
Yes, I really do hate Halloween, he thought.
(;,;)
Author: theymp
Pairing: none (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Warning/Spoilers: Mild cursing, brotherly bickering, and controversial reference to Sam's eye color. Also, everything I know about the American Civil War is from less than five minutes on Wikipedia ;)
Summary: Dean may not be sure if he actually hates Halloween, but he does know there's something strange going on at the site of a famous Civil War battle. But is it really worth missing a Dr. Sexy marathon?
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.
Author Note: Inspired by just_ruth's image:
Dean hated Halloween.
Well, okay, that's a bit extreme. Maybe it'd be more accurate to say that Halloween hates me.
Dean's feelings towards the annual celebration of all things ghostly, ghastly, and just plain darn grisly were somewhat more apathetic. It was difficult to be enthusiastic about something that celebrated everything he'd spent his life trying to eradicate.
Candy's okay, though.
Sam shoved him on the shoulder and Dean realized that he'd completely zoned out. Jostling his brother back with a small, apologetic smile, he did his best to turn his attention back to the ranger giving the guided tour. The guy was dressed in what Dean could only assume was supposed to be zombie-chic confederate soldier.
"Of course they say the veil between worlds is thinnest at this time of year," said their guide, doing his best to suppress the smile that twisted up the corners of his mouth. "Those that believe in such things say that many of the ghosts in this country are due to the civil war and the Chickamauga and Chattanooga National Military Park is the site of some of the fiercest and most bloody of those battles. Who knows, as twilight approaches, you may get to hear the sounds of war, or witness the eerie sight of the lost spirits of brave soldiers marching off to meet their doom."
Even Sam rolled his eyes at that and he'd built up an impressive immunity from his constant exposure to Dean's antics.
"What is it with this guy and the purple prose?" hissed Sam, rolling his eyes again (they were definitely getting quite the work out today). "Maybe he should switch careers to writing romance novels," he added with a nasty smirk.
Dean thought that seemed more than a little unfair, and particularly uppity, especially from someone who was basically nothing more than a college drop-out. In Dean's experience, most romances were actually quite well written, if sometimes a little formulaic, although he wisely decided to keep that comment to himself. The big galoot doesn't know what he's missing, he snorted to himself, while silently thanking the anonymity of the cover of his all too rarely used Kindle that he kept well hidden at the bottom of his duffle.
Another, less jocular, shove from Sammy, notified Dean that he'd been wool-gathering again.
"Will you please pay attention," said Sam in that prissy voice that always meant "if I've gotta put up with this whatever-it-is, I don't see why you shouldn't have to too".
"Yeah, yeah, big battle, yadda yadda, lotsa killing, yadda yadda, lots of soldiers freakin' buried where they fell," replied Dean, not bothering to hide his irritation. Although, he felt a stab of guilt at the look of disappointment his brother shot back at him. Dean fidgeted awkwardly; well, you don't need to be an actual soldier to have an appreciation for those who gave their lives to save others, but really...
"Oh come on," he added, trying to regain some face. "We could have found all this out at home in under five minutes and with only half an eye on Wikipedia."
Sam snorted and was apparently going for the three-for-two offer on eye rolling. "You're just pissed that you're missing the Doctor Sexy marathon they're running on cable."
"That is some quality medical drama," Dean protested. "No, really," he insisted. "I've picked up some invaluable medical tips from watching it, you should thank me."
Dean may have colored slightly in the face of Sam's obviously disbelief. There goes that damn eyebrow again. "Besides," he added, backtracking slightly. "I missed a whole bunch of episodes recently."
"I'll get you the box set for Christmas, how does that sound, 'Dr. Kildare'?" promised Sam.
"Make it the last two seasons and you've got yourself a deal," agreed Dean mollified, giving Sam the side-eye. This time it was his turn to snort as he muttered under his breath. "Dr. Kildare. Way to be down with the kids, dude."
Dean outwardly appeared to be paying attention to the guide again, although internally the rumbling of his stomach was directing his thinking more towards pie. Pumpkin pie, hmmm. Dean supposed this was another agreeable aspect to his least favorite seasonal holiday. Lost once more in salivating thought, his walking slowed until he was trailing at the rear of the group.
"Oh, come on, keep up," warned Sam. He stopped, despite his own words, alarmed by the sudden tendrils of gently glowing, green mist that had moved in to surround them.
A sudden burst of adrenaline made Dean leap to his brother's side as the mist obscured all sight of everything around them. Both brothers had already reached for their respective weapons when the fog dispersed as quickly as it had come. The surrounding trees seemed much the same, but the dark seemed somehow darker.
"What do you reckon that was?" asked Sam, straining to peer into the gloom between the trees.
"I dunno, but let's face it, if it's a toss-up between being something that wants to kill us or something that wants to give us candy, I know which one I'm putting my money on!"
Sam huffed in mock irritation, but he couldn't help agreeing with his brother. It was enough to make him consider if they were somehow paying off some massive karmic debt from a really skeevy previous incarnation. "Yeah, it does make you wonder sometimes... What is it?"
Sam paused as Dean held up a hand for silence, while staring down at the ground and frowning as he tried to make out a distant sound.
"I thought I heard horses," murmured Dean, still straining to hear.
"Horses?" scoffed Sam
"Halt, right there!" came a sudden shout from the trees. Both Sam and Dean froze as they tried to determine the threat. They relaxed slightly as a figure dressed in an amazingly realistic-looking blue Union uniform stepped from the shadows, only for the tension to mount once more at the sight of the rifle whose aim wavered between Dean's head and Sam's chest.
"Whoa, there soldier," said Dean, putting on his most disarming smile. "Hey," he cried in alarm as the weapon was aimed more squarely at his face. "No need for that, we're all Yankees here together," he winked. "Great costume by the way, are you doing some kinda re-enactment?"
The Union soldier gaped at him in confusion. "W-what? Who are you with?"
Dean snorted again, "Well, it's not the Confederates, so settle down," he joked; although Sam noticed that the lines of what at first sight seemed like a relaxed, easy grin on his brother's face didn't quite reach Dean's eyes.
The soldier narrowed his own eyes in suspicion. "Really? 'Cause I'm thinking I'm hearing a faint Texas twang."
"Texas!? Sheesh, why do we always get that? Dude, we're from Lawrence, Kansas."
Sam laid a hand on Dean's shoulder pulling him back slightly from where he had got himself right into the soldier's personal space. "Sorry, we get that a lot. We travel around, see, and it's so easy just to pick up accents," explained Sam, laying it on a bit thick.
The soldier lowered his weapon. "Well, you don't look and sound like any northerners I've ever seen before, but I guess not southerners, neither. And I'm sorry... I heard what happened to your hometown... terrible..." The soldier backed up, seemingly mollified. "But that doesn't explain why you're out here."
Sam and Dean looked at each other slightly lost for words.
The soldier raised his weapon again, his suspicion once more aroused. His eyes widened as the glowing mist returned and swirled around him. "What witchery is this?" he cried as he gradually faded from view.
"Well, that was... strange," commented Sam.
"As ever the master of understatement there, Sammy."
"No, he was nothing like any spirit I've ever seen. He was just too..."
"Real?"
Sam shrugged. "I guess." He sighed with frustration. "And now we've lost the guided tour."
"Yeah, well, thank heavens for small mercies," muttered Dean. "Come on, let's get back to the car... Hang on... no... hang on..." he looked flustered, his eyes widening and his nostrils flaring as he spun around on the spot. "She was right here!"
Sam did his best to console his brother. "These clearings all look the same in the dark; I'm sure this isn't where you parked the car." He tried to inject some sincerity into his voice, but deep down he knew this was probably the right place.
Dean started to hyperventilate. "You so much as scratch my Baby and I'll kill you, y'hear me?" he screamed into the darkness. The once-more-glowing mist surrounding them seemed to clear in response to Dean's histrionics.
"Oh. She's over there," said Dean, feeling slightly foolish now that he could see the Impala was just a short distance away as another bank of the strange mist cleared. He cleared his throat and when he next spoke it was at least a couple of registers deeper than his usual voice. "It's this damned fog; it too easy to get turned around."
Sam wisely kept any comment to himself and hung back to give his brother an intimate moment with his car. Seriously, it's almost as bad as walking in on him with a woman, thought Sam. Almost, he mentally added with a wince. The sound of the trunk closing caught his attention and he looked around to find that Dean had adjusted himself and retrieved a large sack of salt and a duffle stuffed to bursting point with weapons.
Dean waved an angry finger in Sam's direction. "We've got some ghostly sonsovbitches to put to rest - I don't care whose side they're on. No more research, let's do this!" With that he stalked off back the way they had come into the depths of the forest.
Sam gulped and followed at a distance, unwilling to make himself the target of his brother's wrath. He knew from grim experience that when Dean got this riled up it was impossible to get through to him and often safer and simpler just to let his temper run its course. Despite this he still nearly ran into Dean's back when his brother came to a sudden and unexpected stop.
He was about to ask when he heard the answer for himself. "Horses?"
Dean nodded as he opened the sack and started spreading a large trail of salt around the perimeter of the clearing. "If the soldier we saw earlier was a scout, then I'm guessing that what he'd do first would be to call in the cavalry."
He looked at the finished circle with satisfaction. "Let's see their ghostly asses cross that!"
As if on cue, the greenish, glowing mist seemed to swirl and gather around them.
"That's them, General! Those are the green-eyed witches who tried to lead me astray!" cried the soldier from earlier, as he stepped out from the fog.
"Witches?" spluttered Dean in outrage.
"Green-eyed?" echoed Sam, disagreeably.
"Charge!" cried the General.
"Come and get it," drawled Dean, bringing his salt-round loaded shotgun up to bear.
"Er, Dean..." said Sam, with a growing sense of unease at the distinctly non-spirit sight and sound of the charging horses.
Dean fired just before the approaching army reached the salt-line. Having once been hit from a distance by a salt-round himself, he knew how it could sting but didn't do much more than really piss him off. His surprise at the soldiers' similar reaction was followed by an equal disconcertion that they failed to disappear, but this was nothing compared to the dismay he felt as they crossed the salt line without even noticing it.
Sam grabbed his dumbstruck brother and dragged him away from their rapidly-gaining attackers. "It didn't work!" he screamed. "Run!"
The brothers ran for all they were worth, the sound of horse hoofs echoing all around them, while musket fire whizzed past their ears. Nearing exhaustion, his lungs burning and his side aching from a stich, Dean spun around, determined that he'd rather go down fighting than stabbed in the back by some kind of time-travelling soldier.
"Ah, our missing people," said the guide, his relieved smile gradually fading. "You look like you've seen a ghost! Are you two all right?" he added with obvious concern.
Dean and Sam looked around, blinking in confusion, mouths gulping like landed fish struggling to breathe as they tried to find the words to explain their predicament. Other than the last wisps of mist, the clearing was empty of anyone other than their earlier tour party.
"Soldiers?" squeaked Dean, as Sam nodded his emphatic agreement.
The guide smiled at the brothers as though they were a pair of very young, somewhat challenged children. "Maybe you did see a ghost! After all, I did say the veil between worlds is thin at this time of year, didn't I?" The guide considered their muddy, flustered appearance for a moment and laughed. "Although considering that the battlefield is said to be haunted by a strange, unearthly half-man with long hair called 'old green eyes', you might be the ones doing the actual scaring!"
Sam and Dean shared a shaken, wide-eyed look, but remained silent until the tour had finished and they'd returned to the car; fortunately with no further sign of the mysterious green fog.
Once safely seated, Sam turned to his brother. "Could that be it? Did we somehow travel in time so we were the origin of the ghost stories people have reported?"
Dean held up a weary hand to silence Sam's excitement. "You know what? I don't care. We're never talking about this again. You know what else? I've had it with Halloween. Next year? I don't even care if it's the freakin' end of the world. I'm buying my own goddamn chocolate, switching the lights off, pretending there's no one home, and watching TV in my PJs."
Dean slammed the door shut (hard enough to make a point, but gentle enough that it wouldn't hurt Baby) and drove away as fast as he could. He reckoned he could make some distance from Chickamauga before the witching hour came around.
Yes, I really do hate Halloween, he thought.
(;,;)