Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes. This is purely non-profit FANfiction. I also do not own the quote of Irony at the end, THAT is property of George Saunders.
AN1: some wee!chesters coming your way. Dean is 16, Sam is 12-years old.
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Oblivious to Irony
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"Dean?"
~ "What's wrong, Sammy?"
"Are you awake?"
~ "…. No, I'm meditating… Now, what's wrong, Grumpy?"
"I think I heard something outside"
Dean instantly sat up, grabbed his sawed-off from the bed-side table and slowly edged closer to the window, staying clear of the light. He peered around the edge and checked outside without disturbing the block-out.
"You see anything?" Sam whispered, reaching over to his bottle of holy water on the stand.
The older Winchester waved his hand dismissively, but didn't move from his position. Even he checked everything before going to sleep... so there couldn't be anything out there that shouldn't be there... right?
"You think the banshee dad's hunting followed his trail here?" Sam asked, his voice already shaking from adrenaline.
Having spotted nothing out of the ordinary outside, Dean leaned back and smiled reassuringly, "Nah, besides, Dad already put sigils and salt lines around the cabin… so-" his sentence was cut off by the window next to him breaking and glass shattering everywhere.
Never mind.
Sam yelped and dived behind hid bed, scrambling to find the .45 his dad had given him.
Dean vaulted sideways and took cover behind the chair in the corner, training his sight to the window.
Remember dad's training. Remember dad's training!
The banshee jumped up to the window, sitting perched on the sill as she screeched.
The pitch in itself had both boys covering their ears in pain as they cowered.
"Shoot it, Dean!" Sam screamed, still blindly scrambling to find his own gun. His own heartbeat still in his ears.
Dean quickly lifted his shotgun up, praying his fingers would stop shaking long enough for him to pull the trigger. But, just as he had the sight locked-on, the banshee shrieked again and that had Dean reflexively pulling on the trigger.
Only problem is, aiming with shut eyes never allows one to see the target.
The gunshot ripped through the plaster right above the banshee, sending a barrage of dust and wood splinters through the air. The only thing the spray-shot seemed to miss was the one thing Dean had intended to hit.
"Shoot it again!" Sam yelled, his fingers finally finding his silver knife under his bed.
Dean cocked the shotgun, ready for a second shot. Click... nothing...
'Did you remember to load double rounds, Dean?' his Dad's voice comes floating through his brain.
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Shit.
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"RUN, SAM!" Dean screamed, diving into a somersault to avoid the banshee's claws.
"But-"
"JUST RUN!" Dean screamed again, grabbing Sam by the collar and dragging him to the bathroom.
Both of them crammed into the small room, slamming the door shut and quickly locked the door from the inside.
With their clothes still hanging to dry on the shower-racks and empty shaving cream bottles and toilet-paper holders crammed into the small waste basket... Dean couldn't help but silently wish he had cleaned the place when his dad told him to. Because, at the moment, he had to desperately rip the clothes and toss them over his head in order to get to the window... and all that –now dirty AGAIN- clothes meant ANOTHER Laundromat run for them. And Dean was sure that it'll come out of his pocket this time.
"What should we do?" Sam yelled, desperately looking around, as if the room itself will answer him.
"Cover your eyes!" Dean snapped, focusing again.
Sam quickly ducked his head into his t-shirt and threw Dean a thumbs-up.
Dean used the butt of his shotgun to break open the bathroom window, slamming it twice before the window finally gave way.
From outside the door, they would hear the creature still clawing at the wood. The only barrier between them and their proverbial death was already rattling in its hinges. And both boys knew, motel doors and walls are not exactly sturdy –or soundproof.
"Come on," Dean said, holding his hands ready to boost Sam up to the window.
Sam took a running start and vaulted up to the window, only to start fuming a second later, "You could've just opened the window instead of breaking it!" he fussed, trying to avoid the glass shards as best he could.
"Stop your bitching and move it!" Dean commanded, an embarrassed blush still managing to creep to his cheeks. He mentally noted to throw a towel or something over the shards next time... or to check it the window can open before breaking it.
As Sam tumbled out of the window, Dean quickly pulled himself up followed suit. But, just as both of them managed to scamper to a stand, the door inside the bathroom had burst open.
They took off running to the parking lot, not particularly caring which direction they were running- or the fact that they were both running in their boxers and tee's- just as long as they avoided being shredder-fodder.
"Hey!" they heard a voice yelling angrily in the distance.
Dean slowed down his run, trying to scan the surrounding area as quickly as possible... that voice sounded like...
"Sam, Dean!" John yelled again, finally emerging from the shrubs on the other side of the lot, "What are you doing out here? Didn't I tell you to stay in the room?"
"Dad! It's behind us!" Sam screamed, both of them running towards their father.
"... what?"
... as an answer, the sickening scream of the creature suddenly resounded behind the two boys. And that little incentive had them sprinting towards their dad. Even John had to be impressed by their pace.
Just as Sam reached John, John picked Sam up by the back of his waistband and tossed him into the bushes behind him. And, much to Dean's surprise, he was quickly forced to follow suit.
Two gunshots ripped through the awkward silence, echoing into the distance. The sound of something falling to the gravel of the lot.
Dean and Sam both strained to listen for any other sounds of movement, but nothing came until-
"You boys alright?"
Dean sighed in relief, grinning happily. Dad's totally like Batman.
But Sam just growled irritably, "No...".
Dean was about to knock some sense into his brother, that is, until he also realised that they were both tossed into the friggen three-leaved bush. Three leaves... let them be...
Well... Irony is just honesty with the volume cranked up...
John however, completely oblivious to their current predicament, simply walked over to them until he towered above their heads, "GOOD! Because both of you should be in bed sleeping!" he snapped angrily.
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Thanks for reading!
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