Title: Save The Day
Author: fairytalemanipulator
Spoilers: None, really.
Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine and I don't feel like putting something clever as my disclaimer. Oh, and there's a bit of language in here—what you would expect from teenagers, basically.
Summary: When their father gets in over his head, it's up to a 17 year old Dean and 13 year old Sam to save him, if they can.
I love writing about them when they were younger. Reviews will be cherished with all my heart. -sunny smile-
This first chapter's a bit long, please don't get bored…please…
On with the tale.
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"Sam! Sam, I'm home!"
No response from Sam's room, and Dean proceeded to barrel down the hallway.
"Sammy!"
He popped open the door, only to find his worst nightmare. His adolescent brother was posing, barely clothed, in front of the slightly cracked full-length mirror hanging on the wall.
"DEAN!"
"Damn! Whoa!" Dean chuckled and grimaced at the same time, at the sight of his little brother flexing his 'muscles'. Sam's starkly pale and bony chest could light up a room with white luminosity.
"Can't you knock first?" Sam fumed, a blush forming over his defined cheekbones.
"Sammy, I was yelling my ass off the entire way down the hall!"
"Well, then…yell louder next time!" Sam huffed as he threw a shirt on over his lanky frame. Brushing past his older brother, he shot him a lasered stare that was dulled in intensity by the red cheeks still present upon the face of the humiliated Winchester.
"Dude, come on!" Dean snickered as he tailed his brother down the tiny hallway.
"It was hella funny!"
Sam didn't respond and entered the kitchen, pulling out the gallon of milk. He swigged it straight from the carton.
"So unsanitary, Sammy, Dad would kick your scrawny ass if he saw that," Dean grinned as he swiped the milk from his unsuspecting sibling, taking a gulp himself before replacing it in it's rightful place.
Sam plopped down on the couch in the living room, engulfing the house in a stony silence. He turned on the television to lessen the quiet.
"When's Dad coming back anyway?" Sam asked Dean, his back still facing his brother.
"Sometime this week,"
"I need him to sign a permission slip for a field trip next month,"
"Hey, I can do that!"
Sam grimaced, turning up the volume.
"Dean, I can just wait for dad,"
"Why? I can do his signature better than him,"
Sam sighed and slouched further. "I can just wait for dad, Dean,"
Dean chortled, sensing an opportunity. "Does this have anything to do with that pesky thing you have called a conscience?" He cracked. "I mean, whoo, forging a permission slip, that's right up there with insurance fraud and credit card scams, right?" Dean sniggered at his own joke as Sam flipped through one staticky channel after another.
"I want the t.v. Don't you have homework or something to do?" Dean questioned after a beat of silence. He flopped down on the couch beside his brother.
"Don't you?" Sam shot back angrily, tensing up.
"Geez, calm down. Seriously, what the hell's wrong with you today? PMS bothering you again?"
Sam seemed to want to say something. He opened his mouth, then with a glance at the teen sprawled beside him, shut it again.
"Sammy, come on. You know you can tell me anything," Dean said soberly, lifting his legs down from their previous position on the coffee table. "You know how I hate this shit, just tell me already so I can fix it,"
Sam stuttered out a partial statement. "Am I—"
"Are you what?"
"Am I too skinny?"
Dean shot a sidelong glance at Sam, who was clamping his lips together so tight that they were turning white. You would think it was an international disaster or something…Dean responded with a natural reaction to unusual statements.
"Huh?"
"I mean, do you think I need to lift weights or something?"
Dean's mouth hung open. Since when is he insecure? Oh yeah… since he turned thirteen.
"Where the fuck is this coming from? Dude, that's just weird,"
"Remember that girl that you said was really hot when you picked me up from school last week?"
"The little Indian chick? Hell yeah."
Dean was starting to space out, so Sam hastened with his tale.
"I heard her talking about me today…"
"Score, Sammy!"
"NO, Dean. She was—I mean, she…she was telling her friends how I looked—how I looked like a…a grasshopper and…"
Dean smothered a laugh with the back of his hand. He could tell by Sam's hurt look that this girl's comment had actually affected the little guy.
"Since when do you care what other people think of you?"
Sam didn't answer. He was too busy boring a hole into the television set with his fixed gaze.
"You're thirteen, Sammy. It's not the end of the world, you know. Eventually, you know, you'll look like your big brother here—" Dean paused to flex his bicep, "—because manliness runs in our genes, dude,"
Sam snorted in assent, rolling his eyes.
"Seriously, Sam, don't worry about some little girl talking shit. It's not worth your mighty brain capacity to brood over it,"
Sam pondered this for a moment, before getting over it and moving on. For some reason, Dean's 'words of wisdom' never failed to cheer him up. After a few moments of staring comfortably at the t.v., Sam grew restless and yearned for a friendly fight.
"You know, I'm taller than you," There was a smile on his lips as he gauged his older brother's reaction to this comment. As far as he could tell, he got no reaction but a quirk of an eyebrow.
"Maybe someday, Sammy, maybe someday," Dean grinned and stood up. Without warning, he pounced on Sam, and within seconds both boys were wrestling on the ground. In between yelps and "Cry Uncle!"s, Dean heard the phone ring. Triumphantly, he pinned his brother and leapt to his feet. Heading into the kitchen, he picked up the cordless.
"Hello?" Dean panted. He heard static on the line, then a vaguely familiar crackle.
"Dad? Dad, is that you?" Dean was instantly alert. Their father didn't usually call until around ten at night to check on his sons.
Sam had managed to untangle his various limbs and now stood, hair plastered to his forehead in perspiration. He knew immediately that something was wrong; he could feel it.
Dean heard his father trying to keep his voice calm on the line.
"Werewolv…Dean—they're all…I just….don't…"
"Dad! Dad, I can't hear you!" Dean's voice raised along with his level of worry. "Where are you?"
"Don't come…Wisconsin…won't be back for—"
"What? What do you mean?"
"Too dangero—don't come looking for…I can…care of mysel…"
The line was slowly fading.
"Son—don't worr…might be awhile…"
"Dad! Are you hurt?" Dean held his breath, not knowing if John would tell him the truth, knowing the worry it would cause.
"I can…can't call…won't be able…make sure Sam—"
And then the line went dead.
"Dad? Dad! You there?" Dean turned around, phone dangling, forgotten, in his hand. He faced Sam, who had turned a pasty shade of white.
"What happened? To Dad?"
"I don't know…I think—" Dean paused to take a breath, "—I think he's hurt,"
He stared at the phone, willing John to call back.
"Whaddya mean?" Sam stuttered. He sank into the couch once more. Dean replaced the phone in the cradle, ignoring the beeping noise it emitted.
"I don't know," Dean said again, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. Suddenly, he was in charge. Dean couldn't believe that just a few minutes ago, they had been carelessly wrestling on the ground. And now…shit! What the hell am I supposed to do? He looked over at Sam, and forced himself to calmly put his hands back into his pockets.
"Dad's never called us for no reason before, it's weird, for sure. I think…"
"He was saying goodbye? Forever?"
Quickly, Dean stepped to his brother's side.
"Sammy, no. He's not leaving us,"
"Is he going to die?" Sam's eyes were wide. He looks like a child, Dean thought. Then a wave of pity washed over him. He still is.
"Sam! No. He's not. He said he could handle it, I trust him—" All of these lies were told with bated breath. Dean hoped that Sam wouldn't pick up on the negative energy he was sure he was exuding in all directions. While he was comforting his brother, Dean's mind was running rapidly through possibilities that would help his father's actions and words make sense.
"Dean, he always says he can handle it! He could be missing a limb and he wouldn't let us know because he doesn't want us to worry!" Sam cried, his emotions evident in his voice.
Dean knew the truth in this statement, but he couldn't bring himself to think that over three hundred miles away, their father was in trouble and was just calling to tell them…tell us what? Those weren't exactly last words…
Dean's mind raced. But in the John Winchester way, they kind of were... 'take care of Sammy'? 'I won't be back for a while'? What the hell?
Then the lightbulb flickered over his head. He called so we wouldn't worry. He was telling us not to come after him…Dean felt nauseated at his thoughts, because it's too dangerous.
"If he didn't want us there, Sammy, you know something's up," Dean spoke his thoughts out loud, wincing as he realized what he said.
There was no answer for a second, then Sam lifted his head to reveal fierce, determined eyes. "What's his job?"
"Werewolves…" Dean stated distantly. "Hey, Sammy, today's Wednesday, right?"
"Yeah- oh, I get it,"
"Yeah. If we leave now, we'll be there before midnight. It's only six now, so…"
"So we can find dad, get rid of the werewolves,"
"And be back before Monday," Sam and Dean save the day, Dean thought darkly. He was already moving towards the phone to try and call John's cellphone again. He would leave a message—he had a feeling their father wouldn't pick up. He had said to the boys, Only call me if there's an emergency.
"Oh, wait," Sam's voice came out of the fog of Dean's mind. "I have a math test tomorrow,"
Dean turned in a fury, focusing his eyes on his brother as Sam instantly realized the error of his words.
"Dean, no, I didn't mean…"
"Our FATHER is in trouble up in fucking WisCONsin, and you tell me you have a MATH TEST you're worried about missing? Good to know you have your priorities straight, bro. Remind me never to call you in I'm in a motherfucking jam!"
Sam recoiled, feeling his brother's words sear his bones. And in an instant, he was raging mad. He took the opposite view in order to fight with his brother out of a sense of injustice.
"We don't even know if he's in trouble!"
"Ten minutes ago, you were freaking out because—"
"Dean, we're teenagers with guns! Going on a botched up rescue mission for someone who can take care of themself—" Sam was actually starting to believe the statements coming out of his mouth. He still felt anger at the last argument he had with his father, and let it all go in a flurry of words that he knew were cruel. He's our DAD, his inner voice berated. He's all we have left in the world.
"If he's not in danger, this would be an entire waste of time!" Sam felt like taking the words back before they came out. I've gone too far. Dean held up a hand at this.
"Sam. I'm going. That someone happens to be my father. Don't come if you don't want to study for that math test of yours,"
Sam felt immensely awful, and opened his mouth to apologize.
"Dean, I…"
Dean sighed, and lowered his hand, looking at his brother with something like acceptance in his eyes. "Sammy, I know him. And he wouldn't call at six in the evening for no reason. He sounded like he was in trouble, and I'm not taking a chance, okay?"
Dean disappeared into his room and shut the door. Sam knew he would be packed and ready in minutes, and hastened to make things right. Tentatively, he knocked on the door.
"Dean?"
No answer.
"Dean, I'm not letting you go alone. I didn't mean to say all that—I don't know why I did, I'm sorry. Besides, werewolves are dangerous, I've read about them,"
The door opened in Sam's startled face. Dean shoved a duffle bag at him.
"Don't shit your pants, don't get in the way, don't get yourself killed," With that powerful message, Dean started back into his room.
"Oh, and if you're coming, pack up your shit and grab the guns," he threw casually over his shoulder.
Dean leaned his back against his dresser and sighed once Sam had run off. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand. Unbelievable. He couldn't believe how much things changed with one phone call. It had seemed so long ago. Now, it was up to Dean and the always-reluctant Sam to find out what was going on.
It's up to us to save Dad. Because at this point, Dean had no hesitance in saying that their father needed them. He had analyzed their conversation inside his head until he thought he knew what Freud felt like. Dean could feel that something was wrong.
Always trust your instincts, John's voice whispered into Dean's ear.
Sam entered the room, the duffel overflowing with clothes, gauze, ointment, and other necessities that the boy had just tossed into the bag. Dean eyed his brother carefully, watching as Sam shot him a sheepish grin.
"Are you coming or not?"
Dean shook his head in disbelief. My brother and his PMS.
"Did you get the weapons yet?"
"I put them in a bag…I have the silver bullets, rock salt, real bullets, the .44, the .99, our Winchesters, some other shotguns and rifles, a can of kerosene—"
Sam rattled off his list and Dean mentally checked them off.
"You know that the only thing that can kill a werewolf is a silver bullet, right?"
"Duh," was Sam's snotty reply. "But I thought we should take the other stuff, too. Because, you know. Supernatural stuff is attracted to us,"
True, Dean thought. He zipped up his duffel, and as an afterthought, headed over to the bed and reached under the pillow. Dean extracted a large, sharp hunting knife and tucked it into the front pocket of his bag.
Sam's eyes were as wide as saucers.
"You sleep with that under your pillow?"
"What did you expect, Sam? A dollar that the tooth fairy left for me?" Dean actually got a smile out of Sam on that one. He muttered curses under his breathe as he moved the heavy duffel onto his shoulder.
"Do you know where I left the keys?"
"Did Dad take the truck?"
"No, genius child, he took the Impala, which is why I've been driving it to school this week,"
"Oh. Right."
"That reminds me," Dean snapped his fingers, turning in a wide, pointless circle. "We have to report ourselves absent for the rest of the week,"
"Dean…" Sam was reluctant to get into another argument with his brother.
"Sam, seriously! First the permission slip, and now you won't even ditch? What happened to your Winchester logic here, dude?"
Sam sighed, and Dean began to lose his patience.
"Okay, Sammy, gimme the phone," Dean motioned at his cellphone lying on the dresser across the room. Sam took a step towards it before stopping.
"What are you gonna do with it?" He asked warily, eyeing the device as one would check out a bomb.
"Chuck it at your head, smartass, what do people usually do with phones?"
Dean caught the phone as it sailed through the air, and dialed his school's attendance office number, which he suspiciously knew by heart. He left a voice message saying that the Winchesters had all contracted a contagious illness, and would have to miss school for the rest of the week to benefit public health. He then made Sam get his middle school's number, and left the same message for his younger brother's attendance secretary.
"All done," Dean stuck the phone into the pocket of his jeans. "Load up the car,"
Sam huffed and grabbed Dean's bag as well as his own. "Your keys are on the coffee table," he called from the living room on his way out of the house.
"Thanks," Dean mumbled, more to himself. For a moment, he rested on the edge of his bed. As he lay back, his arms over his head, he thought of the challenges ahead. He had hunted alone before, or hunted with John, or hunted with all three of them together—but he had never felt so responsible for Sam before. He had never felt so vulnerable before, knowing that their father wasn't around to bail Sammy out if he got in too deep. Now it's Dad who's in too deep. This felt strange…Sam and Dean out to rescue the legendary John Winchester from a pack of werewolves, which they knew next to nothing about. And he would have to watch out for Sam, as well.
He had never felt more burdened. Can I watch Sam, help slash save Dad, and fight off a pack of werewolves at the same time? Dean didn't want to involve Sam too much in this one – werewolves were a trickly lot to mess with, and one slip-up could mean evisceration by sharp claws.
Good thing Sammy reads a lot. Dean smiled faintly. At least Sam knew the book version of killing a werewolf.
Dean had only faced werewolves once before, and that was with John. Sam had stayed at home with a babysitter- he had only been eight years old.
Dean was broken out of his thoughts by his little brother's shout.
"Dean! Come on! Let's go!"
Yeah. Dean thought, rising steadily to his feet. Let's go.
TBC…
REVIEW! CH 2 up shortly...
