Hello!
I'm back from my vacation and I worked hard. This is what comes out when you drive too much car. See fields of corn, summer, fog-banks... well...
It's a little more Sam - hurt/comfort this time. But Dean will have his moments too.
It's also sort of a kudo to Jared for playing the bad-Sam soooo great in "BUBAS". I loved him that moment.
As you know, I don't own them... never will... don't ask for money, just plain enjoyment ;) - here we go now!
Harvest
Dean stood bent over, with flushed cheeks panting heavily. He hated this hillbilly-outback. The sun beat down on him, making him dizzy, tired, hot and cold at the same time. He was mighty pissed.
Shaking his head, to clear his vision, he turned around. His brother couldn't be any better.
"I tell you Sam, next time you tell me something about an easy hunt, piece of cake, yadda, yadda, I'll not listen…" he hold up his index-finger, "… I'll not listen and just throttle you!" He blinked, as suddenly the ever present sun – at least for the last two hours – vanished. It took a moment for his frizzled brain to register what was going on. He choked and started to laugh hysterically. "Oh COME ON! You can't be serious! Fog-bank? Didn't we go through all clichés yet?" he spread his arms, his whole demeanour showing off his defiance. "Sam, I'm so gonna kill you!" Dean threatened, grabbing his gun; he put the safety off, shouting angry: "You think you're such a cool spirit? Doing all this oh-so-scary ghostly thingy? You know, letting me sizzle in the sun, and now fog? You really gotta be kidding be. Show up, and I'll redeem you from your pathetic Casper-Show!"
The fog had reached him now, enveloping him, cooling down his too hot skin, shivers stating to wrack his frame, letting him feel vulnerable and that lead to more irritation.
All he could hear were the soft sounds of corn, which moved in the slight breeze. He couldn't make out anything in the thick fog, his gun-arm raised, hold steady by his other hand he continued, slowly now, alert.
Something behind him rustled the corn. He turned around in one swift movement, but couldn't see anything. His shivers grew heavier, and his free hand, the one supporting his gun-arm went up through his hair and over his face. They had to get outta here. He didn't like it one bit.
At that moment, the whole field around him started to come alive. He dropped, covering his head, closed his eyes… and in that very second a scream drifted over to him. He shot up, putting the gun back in the waistband of his jeans, forgetting the danger, the spirit, the hunt – everything!
He knew this voice; dread filled the back of his throat with bile. Again the scream sounded over to him, and he started to make a dash for it. Help him! Help him! I'm coming!
"SAMMMYYYYY!"
TBC...
Well? What do you think? Worth to work on it? Stupid idea?
Lee