I started writing this fic a while back for my friend on the prompt of Dean's first hunt. It has changed somewhat from the first incarnation and should only end up being about three chapters long. And I know I have other unfinished fics on the go, but I am a slave to the muse and can only go where she takes me – which is generally round and round in circles.

Anyhoo, this one's for you, Slicey McGore. And it's only two years late lol.


Greenteeth

By Supernoodle

17th November 2009

-o-

"You sure you want to do this, dude?" John Winchester said, peering over his shoulder to look at his oldest son as they made their way through the shadowy, jungle-like gardens of the derelict hotel. "You don't have to. You can change your mind."

It was a cold February night, white tendrils of moonlit mist rolled slowly around the overgrown lawns and their breath left a trail of little ghosts in the air as they walked. Dean looked up at his Dad and nodded, hefting the heavy duffle bag he was carrying onto his shoulder. "I'm good, Dad. I want to do this."

He was scared, but John had told him that it was okay to be scared, and Dean clutched the sawed-off shotgun tightly in his other hand and took a deep breath to steady himself. He'd once asked his Dad if he got scared when he was out on the job, half expecting his Dad to yell at him for being stupid, but to his surprise John had nodded and smiled at his son. Clasping him affectionately round the back of his neck and pulling him close, he said. "Of course I get scared, Dean. Man, the thing I've seen - the things you are going to see one day… Being a hunter is a scary ass job, but you gotta be brave, Dean. You've always just gotta try your hardest to be brave."

And Dean was trying. But now, as they trudged towards the old swimming pool with his adrenalin kicking in, there was a little part of him that wished he'd used his head and asked his Dad for a new pair of boots for his birthday this year instead.

-o-

It was three days after Dean's fourteenth birthday, and the midnight job was a belated birthday present of sorts. To go out hunting with his Dad was the only thing Dean had wanted, and John had simply gotten tired of the kid's constant harassment. John had come to realise that Dean could be a persistent little bugger when he put his mind to it. Not quite as bad as Sam, but enough for John to finally give in and agree.

He knew he had trained the kid well - trained both his kids well. Sam was only ten but knew his way around an assortment of weapons and could strip and reassemble a rifle almost as quickly as Dean could. He didn't show as much enthusiasm for the job as his big brother though. Dean wanted nothing more than to hunt with his Dad, and when John had finally given in and told Dean he could be his back-up for the hunt that night, Dean had literally almost jumped for joy, running off to pack their bag with ammo, salt and lighter fuel – along with a thermos of coffee, the first aid kit and the canteen of holy water, recently blessed by Pastor Jim. John couldn't help but smile, and almost broke out into a grin when Dean had asked him all seriousness if he should take the Glock or the Desert Eagle?

"You'll have the sawed-off, kiddo." John told the eager teenager, taking both weapons from the boy's hands, knowing that the recoil on the Desert Eagle would break his wrists.

Dean watched his Dad pocket the Eagle with wistful eyes. Man, he really wanted to shoot that gun.

"So where am I going while you too are off being all Rambo and Son?" Sam muttered from the corner of the motel room. "I don't want to stay here alone. I've done all my homework and there's no cable TV. It's boring here."

John frowned, that was the only flaw in the plan. Dean's job was looking after Sam while he hunted. A job the kid took as seriously as John took hunting. John never had to give Sam's safety a second though while his boys were home alone. Looking at his watch, John sighed. It was too late to drop Sam off anywhere and there was no way he was going to leave him alone. There was only one thing for it.

"Looks like you are coming along too, Sammy." John said, watching as his youngest Son's face broke into a grin and his eldest's fell at exactly the same time.

"Cool…" Sam yelled, jumping to his feet and flashing his brother a sly grin.

"Aww, Dad." Dean began, frowning. "He's only ten; he can't even fire the shotgun."

"Yes I can!" Sam replied, indignantly.

"Yeah, but not with one finger."

"Well, you can't do algebra, Dean."

"Bite me, Sammidge" Dean replied, letting out a sigh – a sound that was entirely too old for him to make.

"Enough!" John yelled and both boys stood still and uttered the words "Yes sir" in almost complete unison.

"Sam, you will be staying in the car. And don't even think about arguing about this, okay. You will not win."

"Yes, sir." Sam repeated, looking down at his socks.

Then John turned to Dean, whose pale, serious face, unlike his little brother's, showed no hint of emotion. "Now, have we got everything packed?"

"Yes, Sir!" Dean replied, a tiny hint of a smile reappearing across his lips. For a moment there, he thought he was going to be relegated to the Impala with Sam and he was just about ready to strangle his annoying little brother if that had happened. All he wanted to do was hunt with his Dad. All he wanted to do was show John that he could do it, could be a first-class hunter. He wanted to show John that he could be good at something too.

-o-

The old hotel was about forty minute's drive away from the small apartment where the Winchesters were staying for the next school term. The job had come to John from Bobby Singer, who would have taken the gig himself, but he was having a little trouble of his own with a Chupacabra down in Texas, as he told John down the phone. It seemed to be a straightforward restless spirit, a woman had been deliberately drowned in the pool in the seventies, murdered by her jealous ex-husband who had then shot himself in the head in the gardener's shed. A few years later, a three year old kid accidently drowned when he wandered off from his parents, then a couple of years after that, a twelve year old girl was found drowned early one morning - which was the straw that broke the camel's back and the hotel closed down soon after. Ten years later and property developers interested in knocking down the hotel and building a plot of holiday apartments, reported something weird going on at the site. A day later, one of the contractors, a nineteen year old by the name of Matt Cullen, had been found face down in the shallow end of the half-drained pool. Enter John Winchester. The job was a simple one. Hit the hotel, search for anything the spirit might be attached to and then torch it. Dean's job was having John's back.

"So what are we looking for then, Dad?" Dean asked his father, following him closely through the gardens. The ground was wet and spongy beneath their feet and the air smelled damp, like mildew and stagnant pond water and Dean could almost feel the presence of something malevolent watching them from the shadows, something slimy and wretched and he couldn't help the shiver of revulsion that ran up his spine.

"I'm not sure yet, Kiddo." John replied. He'd explained to Dean that the spirit was likely to be attached to something personal of the dead woman's, but the hotel was pretty much just a decaying shell now after years of being empty – whatever it was, it seemed more likely that it would be out in the grounds somewhere. Possibly even in or around the pool house next to where she died. He had briefed Dean on what he was likely to happen on the car journey to the job and Dean had listened intently, taking it all in and nodding gravely as if John was handing down the secrets of life the universe and everything. What John didn't realise was that is exactly what he was doing.

To a fourteen-year-old Dean, John was life, the universe and everything, and to be bestowed with such secret knowledge by such a godlike figure as his Father was something Dean had been looking forwards to for a very long time. He was glad that Sam had fallen asleep under a blanket across the big back seat of the car – this precious knowledge was now his and his alone.

"So we're gonna head up to the pool house first, hopefully find whatever the spirit is attached to, and burn it. Okay, Dean?"

"Yessir." Dean replied gamely, trying to ignore the crawl in his skin the closer they got. There was definitely something off about the whole place, but his dad didn't seem to notice – or if he did, he wasn't letting on. Instead, John carried on through the overgrown trees and hedges until they finally came to a derelict glass-sided building. Most of the panes of glass were smashed or missing completely, some dangled dangerously from rotting wooden frames and the whole skeletal structure looked ready to fall down around whoever was stupid enough to attempt to go inside.

John stopped, waving his own shotgun towards the building. "That'll be the pool house then."

Dean stopped beside his Dad, putting the duffle down beside him, his shoulder burning from the weight, and looked nervously from the ruined building to his Dad. "We're not going in there, are we?"

John nodded. "Come on; let's head round by the pool. Might look a bit sturdier from the front." And Dean followed his Dad round what was left of the path until they reached a broken patio beside the swimming pool where the young construction worker had been found dead. There was yellow caution tape all around the perimeter and also across what was left of the pool house door, but John pulled out a knife and slit through it, leaving it fluttering the cold breeze that was blowing through the gardens and Dean shivered, despite his warm shirt and heavy denim jacket.

"You okay, Kiddo?" John asked again. "You look like you've seen a ghost already."

Dean nodded, but he wasn't so sure. Everything about the place was screaming bad vibes at him, and it wasn't just the heebie-jeebies brought on by the fact that he was hunting his first spirit – something was watching them, watching him. He could hear something hissing like cicadas but it felt like whispered words inside his head. Something was calling him and he turned to face the pool.

"Dean?" John called, looking round to see Dean take a few faltering step towards the edge of the pool. There was something in there – whatever they were looking for was in the pool, Dean could feel it as strongly as he could feel his Dad's presence behind him, and he took another step closer, clutching the salt loaded shotgun tightly to his chest.

"Dean!" John yelled. "Get away from the edge."

Dean ignored John's command and took another step forwards. The paving was badly damaged, weeds poking through almost every crack and the dark, slimy algae made the slabs slippery underfoot. Below he could see the water, black and stinking of decay, full of garden debris and other assorted crap that it had accumulated through the years and Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. Suddenly something moved, a shape broke through the surface, and Dean saw a glimpse of something green and scaly before he leapt back almost into John's arms.

"Sonovabitch" He gasped, looking up as his dad pulled him firmly away from the edge. "Did you see it?"

John nodded, his dark eyes hardening as he peered at the pool, switching to full-on hunter mode. It made Dean kind of nervous to see his dad's demeanour change like that, his whole body tensing, ready for combat, becoming somehow bigger than his already towering size. Pulling a huge silver knife from his pocket he thrust it into Dean's hand, taking the sawed off from him and he pushed him roughly back towards the ruined pool house. "Stay there! Do not move from that spot, Dean. You hear me?"

Dean opened his mouth to argue, and then thought better of it. There were not many times that Dean actually realised it was better to keep his mouth shut, but this was definitely one of them. Standing in silence, he gripped the knife tightly in his fist and watched his dad pull weapons from the duffel. He could still hear the hissing – it was getting louder by the minute, and now he could pick out definite words – something was singing, wet and garbled, rasping like a toad and without realising what he was doing, he had begun walking towards the pool once more.

"Goddammit Dean." John yelled, shoving Dean back so hard the he fell on his ass. "Stay the hell away!" But his anger wasn't directed at his son so much as whatever was lurking in the murky depths of the pool, and he gave Dean a regretful glance, before turning back to face their prey.

"What is it, Dad?" Dean gasped, elbowing himself up and trying not to cry. He wasn't hurt, not really, and he was used to his dad yelling, but everything felt so wrong - like his innards were writhing around inside him like a net full of fish, and that awful, croaking singing, pulling him back to the pool, calling him to throw himself in, to sleep under the water with her forever. "Make her shut up!" He cried, clasping his hands over his ears.

"That's what we came here for, Dean. I'm gonna shut the bitch up forever." John replied. In one hand, he held a huge silver hook, and in the other, his k-bar knife and he turned round to look at his son once more. "Whatever happens, Dean, you stay away from this pool. It's a Jenny Greenteeth, a nasty bitch of a mermaid, and she drowns kids. So whatever you do, you stay away from the water, you hear me?"

Dean nodded vehemently, quickly wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. Despite wanting nothing more than to get up and run back to the safety of the car, back to Sam, he still felt that terrible pulling inside him and it took everything he had to stay where he was. Suddenly, there was a burbling screech and Dean clutched his hands to ears again as the noise stabbed into his head like an ice-cold needle, and the Jenny reared up out of the pool and grabbed his dad by the ankle.

John yelped in surprise, dropping the silver hook as his leg was pulled out from under him, and Dean leapt to his feet, making a valiant attempt to grab him but he wasn't quick enough. His feet skidding on the slippery paving as he leapt for John's outstretched hand, and a second later, the Jenny had dragged John over the edge and with a huge splash, they both disappeared.

"Dad?" Dean yelled, scrambling over and peering into the stagnant water below. The only sound now was the frogs croaking in the shadows and his heart pounding in his ears. "Hold on, Dad! I'm coming!"

And grabbing the silver hook in one hand and the knife in the other, Dean ran to the end and dropped into the empty shallow-end of the pool.