1. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Sam and Dean Winchester have dealt with more than their fair share of utter bullshit. With Sam starting high school, and Dean ready to give up on all that "higher education" crap, they'd really appreciate a break. Of course, with Dad around they know better than to whine and bemoan their current situation.
Just when things start to wind down - a lull in cases allowing for the small family to stay in one place for the remainder of the school year - a new threat arises that threatens the serenity the brothers have been enjoying thus far.
Will Dean and Sam power through like they always had, taking the backseat and letting their father take charge? Or will they be forced to work alone, dragged into positions of authority neither are prepared to shoulder?
Follow Sam and Dean as they Winchester their way through, one agonizing day, hour, minute, second at a time.
If there's one thing Dean's learned after all these years, it's that people are just plain crazy.
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and all it entails most certainly do NOT belong to me. Carry on.
Dean Winchester was nothing if not a strong individual. Stubborn as hell and not afraid to prove it, Dean had always been firm in his beliefs and unchangeable in his opinions, oftentimes resulting in heated debates with Sam, his (giant) little brother. Although, if there were one break from the routine, one thing they both agreed on wholeheartedly, no questions asked, it was the words Dean happened to mutter on the chilly November evening our nightmare begins.
"People are crazy."
Eighteen-year-old Dean Winchester slammed the trunk of his precious '67 Impala and immediately winced at the loud, angry sound. Murmuring automatic apologies under his breath, he sidled around the driver's side and slid into the seat just as another body flopped in through the passenger side.
"Can't argue with that."
Dean glanced over in time to catch Sam's disgruntled expression before it fell into exhaustion. At not-quite-fifteen, Sam was in his freshman year at the local high school, quickly (and alarmingly) approaching Dean's height, and actively participating in hunts - something Dean was grateful for, if not worried about, because Sam's sass-tastic attitude was a formidable weapon all on its own.
"You okay there, kiddo? Don't get too cranky on me now, I know it's past your nap time."
One withering bitch face later and the two Winchesters were back on the road.
As they drove, Sam reflected on the hunt they'd just finished up and Dean's oh-so-predictable response.
It wasn't one of their usual gigs, a restless spirit here or a few werewolves there. No, this case was distinctly Homo sapiens and incredibly unnerving, even by their standards.
Their dad had been a day's drive downstate, tailing a particularly nasty wendigo, when Sam and Dean stumbled - literally - into the middle of the case.
At this point Sam wondered if that had really been such a bad thing after all.
When the two of them had pulled up to the local library a few days earlier, the last thing they expected was to be ambushed in the psychology section.
Undeniably a strategic kidnapping location - it was a rather sad collection shoved towards the back, and who really wants to browse a shelf filled with faults and self-loathing? - Sam was still cursing himself for being caught off guard as he had. Dean, of course, had opted to wait back at the table, so Sam had nobody to blame but himself. And his kidnappers, but really, that one was a given.
Subdued by several large men, Sam had been unable to prevent the extraction of his cellphone from an outer pocket and the subsequent text to Dean to 'get over here and look at the lead I found'. This made it quite obvious to Sam that he and Dean had been targeted specifically, and of course did nothing else by way of information.
That was about when Dean rounded the corner and near-silent (still a library) hell broke loose.
Another thing Sam blamed himself for: their dual kidnapping. He knew without a doubt that if there had been no threat to his safety by the psycho-thugs, Dean never would've allowed himself to be restrained or forcibly taken.
Just his luck to land them in the middle of a case that was:
a) out of their jurisdiction as hunters
b) catered specifically to their weaknesses
and
c) completely unknown to them up until the actual kidnapping took place
Damn Winchester luck.
Sam heaved a sigh as he came back to the present. He had been unseeingly admiring the passing cornfields and herds of cattle when he became aware of what had awakened him from his musings.
...Until the sandman he comes...
Sam raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Dean, rocking out obliviously behind the wheel.
...Sleep with one eye open...Gripping your pillow tight...
"...is this 'Enter Sandman'?"
Dean continued to sing with the chorus. Loudly.
"Exit LIGHT! Enter NIIIIIGHT! Take my haaaaand, we're off to never-"
"DEAN!"
"-never-land! What, Sammy? Oh. Oh, yeah, little lullaby for Mr. Angst-ridden Barely Teen over there." He threw a smirk Sam's way that gained him a new level of eye-rolling sass.
"I think that's a new record, you almost got a full 360 that time."
"Yeah, sure."
And Sam returned to his blind viewings.
Dean for the life of him just could not understand what the hell those sons-a-bitches had been thinking. It was bothering Sammy, too, he could tell. There was a difference between Sam's 'teenage brooding' stare and his 'pissed-at-dad' stare, and Dean knew this one was most definitely a 'deep, troubled thinking' stare.
He'd tried to lighten the mood with a little Metallica - because really, who doesn't like a little "Sandman" every once in a while? - but that had obviously crashed and burned.
Not that he'd expected anything otherwise.
That just led to his own private inquiry, and the endless road provided a perfect sort of monotony to plaster his thoughts over.
After the embarrassment at the library (seriously though, what the hell?), two of the psychopaths manhandled Sam and Dean back to the Impala and forced them - hog tied, no less - into the back. Already furious at their rough treatment of Sam - his Sammy - Dean was about ready to blow a gasket when Neurotic Number One got behind the wheel, and he was willing to bet he started foaming at the mouth when Neurotic Number Two squeezed into the passenger seat and rested his mud-and-who-knows-what-else-encrusted boots on the dash.
Nobody, not even Sam with his freakishly long, hard to maneuver giraffe legs, disrespected his baby like that and got away with all of their limbs still intact. Or attached.
After a much needed punch to the shoulder by Sam, Dean regained enough awareness to realize Neurotic Numbers Three, Four, and Five had climbed into an old rust bucket of a pickup and were leading the bastards driving the Impala out of the parking lot and toward the highway.
An endless supply of cows, corn, and crippling boredom later, and the boys found themselves being carried into an abandoned farmhouse like sacks of flour. Or salt, in their case.
Thrown unceremoniously onto the floor, Dean prepared himself for a fight even as he struggled to position himself protectively in front of Sam.
He was almost offended - and by the affronted look on Sam's face, he was too - when they were dutifully ignored.
Dean had the ridiculous urge to call out to them - yell, demand answers, insult them and their mothers - but a quick (and lethal) look from Sam made the words die in his throat. Maybe in this instance he could afford to 'watch and learn'.
What they did learn, after a day or so of infuriating obedience, was:
1. Neurotic Number One, who had committed the sacrilegious act of commandeering the Impala, was named 'Gus'
2. Neurotic Number Two, whose appendages now had an expiration date, was named 'Cliff' and seemed to be in charge of the idiots
3. Neurotic Numbers Three, Four, and Five were called 'Red', 'Tuck', and 'Harley' respectively
4. They didn't seem to care a whole lot about the two of them, which made no sense whatsoever
5. They kept ranting about someone they referred to as 'that cowardly bastard', who seemed to be their main target
6. The lot of them were most likely Hunters, even though they obviously sucked at their job
None of this was comforting to Dean (except maybe the 'appendages with expiration dates' part), and he couldn't help but wonder who this 'cowardly bastard' was and whether he should thank him for so thoroughly pissing off the psycho crew.
Sometime on the second day, Dean remembered waking to Sam's gangly, tangled limbs in his field of vision, only to be roughly hauled to his feet a moment after they came into focus. He had been questioned for hours, during which Sam also woke and arranged his face into some sort of bitchy fury that had not changed throughout the interrogation. The only question asked, repeated over and over and over, was 'where is your father?'
At some point that had morphed into 'where is that bastard?', which answered some of Sam and Dean's questions, but ultimately ended up just creating more.
When that was over, the two had been left to their own, limited, devices. Which, of course, was Mistake Number One.
Red and Harley were in the process of petitioning Cliff to get dinner before anything else was done, while Gus and Tuck thought they should use one of the boys' cellphones to use them as leverage towards John. It was easy to see which would win out, but the idiots never got the chance, seeing as Dean and Sam had quite easily cut through their bonds and snuck out the back - with the phones, leaving them within reach was Mistake Number Two - before they had made up their minds.
A mad dash to the Impala, slamming doors, and the beauty of squealing tires later, and nothing was left of the Winchester brothers but the scent of burning rubber and near-tangible derision.
Leaving the keys in the ignition, of course, was Final Mistake Number Three.
Dean had alternated between furious curses involving Cliff's upcoming demise and earnest apologies to his baby for her violation by Gus and Cliff both.
Meanwhile, Sam phoned the police to report 'suspicious activity' down by the old farmhouse and spoke to the officers in between shooting strange looks at Dean and fidgeting with his chafed wrists.
They both knew that this was far from over.
Sam noticed Dean's distraction and couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. He'd only been trying to lighten the mood and, again, Sam had blown off the attempt.
He just couldn't shake loose the feeling that Dad was in danger. Well, more so than usual.
After escaping from the lunatics, the two of them had driven straight back to the motel they'd been surviving out of for the past month or so and started packing. Although it was nearly impossible to contact him at the best of times, Dean had tried to call Dad and ended up leaving a brief message. All he really needed to know was that they were driving down to meet him and go from there.
Which, of course, brings him to the present.
Leaving. Again.
Dean may be one authority figure away from dropping out of school, but Sam really cared about his education. Not only did he have a thirst for knowledge, but he genuinely enjoyed learning and he was remarkably intelligent. The ability to go through school and come out successful was a privilege to Sam, and the sole reason he hated their nomad wannabe lifestyle. Having to constantly catch up was beginning to drag on his conscience and fray his nerves, not to mention the metaphorical weight piled on his young shoulders.
Sometimes he felt like Atlas, burdened with the weight of his world and the knowledge that he alone is responsible for keeping it together. Never allowed to relieve himself of the weight unless one is willing to take it from him. But it works both ways, and that is the curse that Sam feels he bears. He may be offered a reprieve, but he would never allow another to take the burden, knowing what it feels like to shoulder so much, so he grins and bears it.
Sometimes he felt like Sisyphus, doomed to labor up a hill of increasing steepness with an ever growing sphere of burdens, forever failing to reach the top and relish in the sensation of triumph or the satisfaction of success.
Researching for hunts was never enough for Sam. He needed to put his knowledge to greater use, and he couldn't do that if he didn't get a proper education. Granted, an almost-fifteen-year-old usually didn't have to worry about such things, but the little column on the attendance sheet proclaiming him Sam Winchester spoke volumes to those in the know.
The hours passing all blurred together in Sam's mind until his only sense of time came from Dean periodically switching out tapes. Metallica was replaced by Led Zeppelin was replaced by AC/DC and so on and so forth until the sun peeked over the horizon and they had to stop for gas.
The small gas station came equipped with a disease-ridden pay phone and a newspaper selection covering all the surrounding counties, and Sam didn't hesitate to purchase a copy of today's paper from the town they'd just escaped when he saw the headline.
He ran back to Dean, daring to let a small bit of hope escape its permanent lockdown in the recesses of his soul, and held up the newspaper, front page directed outward, towards his brother.
LOCAL GANG BEHIND BARS
Locals Cliff Jameson, Gus Howard, Reginald 'Red' Bundy, Tuck Miller, and Harley Donovan were arrested last night on account of breaking and entering at an abandoned farmhouse, property of local farmer Joe Hamilton. The small gang, the alleged leader of which is Cliff Jameson, was charged with possession of firearms without license and are currently being held on suspicion of credit and identity fraud. Sentencing is expected to be extended at the conclusion of the investigation and [cont. pg. 6]
Dean, not trusting his first read through, scanned the article twice more before looking up into Sam's eyes. He cracked a genuine smile and gestured for Sam to get back in the car. Almost giddy with excitement and pride, Sam happily obliged and even consented to sing along with Dean as they meandered along this last stretch of road.
Without those thugs on their heels, maybe, just maybe, they could stay in this new town a while...
Of course, Dad was like Dean, stubborn to death and, Sam sometimes thought, even beyond that.
This was going to be an interesting reunion.
Dean was happy to see Sam so relaxed, especially after such a crazy-ass hunt. Which, it turns out, wasn't a hunt in the first place.
Dad should be done taking care of that wendigo by the time they rolled into town, and there have been no calls for help from fellow hunters or strangers alike. And without those goons on their tail...
Maybe, just maybe, Dad would let them settle down for a while...
Dean chanced a glance over at his brother, singing along to "Bohemian Rhapsody" like any other something-teen-year-old, and began to formulate a battle plan.
...for Sammy.
OPERATION HEY JUDE
Target: John Winchester
Objective: convince Target to remain in one place long enough for Sasquatch to finish freshman year
Expected Results: some time spent the way Mom would have wanted us to live
This was going to be one hell of a reunion.
"Hey Dean?"
"Yeah Sammy?"
"..."
"What? C'mon, spit it out."
"...you sing like a girl. Like, a drunk bartender on karaoke night..."
"Yeah? Well, you...look...like a drunk bartender...girl...Bitch."
"Jerk."