AN: Okay, first Supernatural fic. No spoilers, mainly because I've only seen the first season. (Update: This was written in June 2007, and posted in March 2008. Yes, I know how much it sucks. Leave me alone. Rantage warning at end. BTW, this is OFFICIALLY my fic where I stole a Dementor (or other magical creature) from Harry Potter and stuck it somewhere else. Everyone's entitled to at least one.)
The door burst open with unnecessary flourish, banging against the wall loud enough to cause Sam to run from the room where he and Bobby were in the middle of a game of chess. His brother stood in the doorway, wearing a grin big enough to split his face, dried blood caking his face and looking in despite need of a shower, but overall looking victorious. The taller boy opened his arms and that was all the invitation Sam needed to run into his arms and hug his neck tightly, his grin almost matching his older brother's. "Dean!!" He yelled as the sixteen year old lifted him up into the air. At one hundred pounds, even, Sam was becoming a slight strain for Dean to lift, but he was far away from being too heavy to be picked up.
"Hey, Sammy! Miss me?"
Sam nodded and wiggled for his brother to put him down. Dean did so, but the smile on his face grew. Sam mock-glared. "I'm not a baby anymore, Dean!" His irritation, however, was gone in a blink, replaced by his enthusiasm. "Did you kill it?"
Dean ruffled his hair. "Of course I did. One little demon isn't about to stop me!"
Sam's eyes clouded with concern as his grin faltered and he gently touched a cut above his brother's eye, before trailing his hand down to a particularly nasty, deep cut on his cheek. "It hurt you." He said quietly.
Dean's smile didn't fade and he took Sam's hand in his own. "Yeah, I screwed up a little bit, but I'll be fine. Don't worry about it." He kissed the palm of Sam's hand before releasing it.
"Dean!" John called from the other room. He'd slipped by unnoticed while the boys welcomed each other and talked with Bobby in the other room. "Come in here and have Bobby take a look at you; he'll make sure it doesn't scar."
Dean offered Sam one last smile before messing up his hair even worse and going into the other room, leaving Sam alone in by the front door. It was customary for Dean and Sam to make a meal for their father when he returned home from a hunt, but Dean was getting taken care of, so Sam figured that he could make food for both of them. He started to head for the kitchen when he heard three loud thumps on the door.
When John was gone, the boys had been taught to never open the door, ever, and since Bobby had stayed with him this time, with both Dean and John gone, Bobby had been the one to answer the door when need be, allowing Sam to have pizza when his dad wasn't there for the first time ever. However, his father was home now, and Sam didn't think there was any danger, so he pulled the front door wide open.
And froze, felling his blood run cold as he looked at the figure outside it.
It was a tall figure, taller than both his father and his brother, dressed in black robes that covered its entire body, even its face. Black smoke seemed to leek out of it, and Sam felt as if the smoke was filling his lungs, stealing his breath. The figure raised one hand, the thick, dark robes falling open to reveal a single, bony finger with flesh rotting off in areas. The finger touched Sam's temple and traced down his face. When the finger reached his lips, the figure pulled it away and Sam found his voice.
"DEAN!!!" He screamed voice tight with panic. The figure – monster – roared as if startled, its voice a combination of a deep, coarse growl and a high, shrill shriek of a banshee. "DEAN!!!!!" He cried again, his voice raising an octave in terror.
Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed him and pulled him into a powerful, comforting, familiar embrace. It was Dean. Dean turned quickly, putting his body in between the demon and his little brother. Sam saw a flash of his father and Bobby, both pulling something out of their pockets, before Dean was pushing him to the back rooms – their bedrooms – and gunshots were reverberating through their small apartment. Dean pushed him past their father's and into the one they shared. Sam was led into a corner of the room and Dean grabbed the container of salt he kept on the bookshelf, circling Sam in it.
"Stay here, Sammy. Whatever you do, don't leave the circle. It'll protect you." Dean hissed. He grabbed the back of Sam's head, pulling him forward slightly and planting a harsh, slightly panicked kiss to his forehead. "I love you, Sammy. So, please, stay in the circle."
There was another loud cry, the same deep thunderous rumble mixed with nails on a chalkboard that sent chills down Sam's spine. It sounded close, at the end of the hall, maybe. It was coming for them. Sam gasped, but Dean stood at full height, grabbed the shotgun propped up against the wall near the door and stormed into the hallway in furry.
It was agony, waiting in the room alone. Sammy listened closely to the gunshots from Dean, John, and Bobby and the crashing and slamming of the demon wreaking havoc on their small, cheep apartment, trying to figure out who was winning and who was losing. He clasped his hands together and prayed, with all his might, though Dean would laugh at him if he saw it, that his brother would be okay in the end. There was nothing else he could do.
After an eternity that stretched on even longer for Sam, there was silence. Slowly, he stood up, wanting to see what had happened, but unwilling to leave the protective circle.
Suddenly, the door flew open and Dean flew through, crashing against the wall on the other side of the room, the loud bang of the body hitting the wall and sickening crack of ribs, or something more serious breaking drowned out Sam's terrified shriek. The demon stood in the doorway, making the blood drain from Sam's face and stealing the air from his lungs. But not even his fear of the demon could keep him away from his brother. He ran from the circle, vaulting over first his bed, and then Dean's to land in a crouch by his fallen brother and staring up at the demon, horrified.
Unexpectedly, Sam felt flooded by relief. An instant later, he knew why; this had all happened this morning. All he had to do was wake Dean up; Dean take the holy water out of his bedside table and splash it on the thing, paralyzing it, and then Bobby and his father would burst in, Bobby holding an ancient book and chanting in Latin, making it disappear. They'd be okay.
He grabbed his brother's shoulders and started shaking. "Dean! Dean!! Dean, wake up!!!"
The demon was getting closer, and closer. Sam shook harder, feeling tears well up in his eyes.
"DEAN!! DEAN, PLEASE!!!!"
This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Dean wasn't waking up.
"DEAN!!!!"
The thing was growing ever closer, and Sam leaped to his feet and jerked the drawer with the holy water open. But it stuck. It would open. He jerked it again, and again, tears streaming down his face, but he couldn't get it open. Giving up, he spun around, and was face to face with the demon. It's cold, rancid breath coated his face in paced bursts, and he could see its wrinkled, rotting, deformed face. Its eyes were hollow, and its nose was nothing more than a pair of symmetric holes in it's head. It's mouth was the worst, by far; it was exploding with teeth, four or five sets overlapping, covering, and hiding each other, all stained red with blood; his father's or Bobby's, or possibly both. Either way, it meant that no one was coming with a book and chanting Latin.
"DEAN!!!!!!!!!!!!" He bellowed one last time, desperate to awaken his brother. With a strong blow to his chest, the demon sent him sailing across the room. He bounce on him bed once, twice before he came to rest and sprung into sitting position just as the demon roared and opened it's mouth wide, revealing all it's teeth before it descended on it's prone, unconscious pray. Sam was unable to breath, much worse than he had felt ever before; he was unable to scream, or make any sound as the room was filled with sickening squelches from blood-soaked meat and snaps of bones being crushed and blood splattered the walls, floors, bed sheets, even the ceiling.
Sam was aware that he was getting sick; over the side of the bed and on to the floor while clutching his stomach, and that tears were flooding his face like twin waterfalls, completely out of his control. He realized that he was softly chanting 'No' in a horse, petrified voice, and that he should get back into the circle like his brother wanted, but there was a horrible, frightened numbness blooming from his chest and spreading through his limbs like a poison, paralyzing him and robbing him of his control of his body.
He could do nothing but sit, sobbing and reaching and helpless, as the demon finished with Dean and turned its sights on him. It flew at him at an incredible speed and the last thing he saw was its mouth, wide open, and showing off its teeth, still dripping with his brother's blood.
At three A.M. on the day Dean got back from his first hunting trip, Sam sprung up in his bed, distressed and soaked in his own sweat, snot, and tears, screaming at the top of his lungs, his cries ringing through the apartment. Dean had opted to sleep on the pullout couch that night, and their dad had let him as a reward for the good hunt, so he was alone in the dark room. He heard a thump, accompanied by a startled yelp and a curse. Seconds later, footsteps were coming down the hall and Dean was in his doorway. "Sammy." Dean sighed, walking in the room and sitting on the bed. Sam leaped at his brother, clinging to him. A girl stood in the doorway, watching them, clutching a short, white robe closed, covering her body. Long, curly blonde hair fell over her shoulder and her bright blue eyes met Sam's before he buried his head in his brother's shoulder, sobbing.
"Sorry, Zoe, but I think you should go. My brother had a nightmare, and he really needs me right now." His brother's voice rumbled through his chest, making Sam shiver at the feeling.
Zoe nodded. "I understand. I've got a bunch of little brothers at home." She turned, but paused. "Hey, Dean, call me, okay?" She winked coyly at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder.
Dean nodded, but he was rubbing Sam's back and staring at the boy. Zoe smiled smugly and strutted down the hall.
A second later, John was leaning against the door, rubbing his face, exhausted. "Dean, 's he okay?" Dean nodded, tensing slightly as Sam sobbed.
"Yeah. I've got him, Dad. Go back to bed."
"Alright." John turned to go, but paused at the door. "Dean, who was that girl I saw in the hallway?
"Nobody, Sir; she was leaving. It won't happen again." John nodded and left the room. Dean rubbed Sam's back for a few minutes until the hiccupping sobs slowed. He picked up his younger brother and carried him into the living room, laying them both down on the pull out bed, Sam's head resting against his chest.
Sam clung to him and fisted his hands in his shirt while Dean sighed and rubbed his back. "You should've driven Zoe home." Sam finally managed, despite the hiccup half way through. "You know what's out there; what if something gets her?"
"Zoe's a smart girl; she'll take a cab. Plus, she's only a couple miles away. She'll be fine."
"Why did you ask her to leave?"
Dean chuckled. "Little brothers or no, I doubt that she would've felt comfortable with you getting in the bed with us, Sammy."
Sam smacked his chest lightly. "You make it sound dirty. Besides, you could've left me in my own bed."
Dean shook his head. "No way, Sammy. You're my baby brother. No girl is ever more important than you, understand?"
Sammy nodded. "Are you going to call her tomorrow?"
"Nope."
"When are you going to call her, then?"
"I'm not. Ever."
"Why not? She's pretty, and she likes you."
"She's just not my type." Dean answered, chuckling.
Sam's brow crinkled in confusion. "What's your type, then?"
"Personally, I like brown hair and green eyes. And, they have to be cute." Dean said, smiling.
Sam was even more confused by the answer. "But all your girlfriends have blonde hair and blue eyes."
Dean shrugged. "Luck of the drawl, I guess."
"I always thought that you liked them because they reminded you of Mom." Sam said in a whisper.
Dean thought for a moment. "Maybe. But I like brown hair and green eyes better."
They were silent for a moment before Sam spoke again. "Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"You died."
Dean propped himself up on his elbows and stared at his little brother. "What?"
"In my dream." Sam clarified. "The demon that followed you home killed you. I tried to wake you up, but I couldn't." Sam's voice was tight and tears streamed down his face, despite Dean pulling him closer. "Dad and Bobby never came, and that thing walked over to you, and I could see its teeth. It threw me across the room and I couldn't help you, and I saw it, and there was so much blood."
"Shhh…" Dean said. "It's all right. That thing's gone, and it can't hurt you, or me, or anyone else." Sam sobbed and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist, burring his face in his side. Dean rubbed his back and ran his fingers though Sam's hair. "It's all right, Sammy. Nothings going to hurt you, or me." He said, rubbing Sam's back and talking softly until the boy cried himself to sleep.
Dean was awake still awake long after Sam had managed to fall asleep. He continued to run his hands through Sam's hair, remembering that their mother used to do that when he had nightmares. Of course, his nightmares had been about the boogieman and the monster under the bed. He hadn't ever dreamed of a demon.
"I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry."
He didn't fall asleep for a long time.
-End-
In March 2008:
Voice Off Camera: This is so bad it hurts to look at straight.
Silent: I know. This is my first Supernatural fic, so I blame the OOC-ness on that…
VOC: So, why are you posting it?
Silent: Because I feel like it, okay?
VOC: …Right. Because you always do things just for the hell of it. And don't even get me started about how you snatched a Dementor from Harry Potter and called it a demon. /snort/ Nice use of the nightmare. I bet nobody saw that one coming. HA! And your title is crap. That's the cherry on this craptastic sundae…
Silent: You are a voice in my head. Sarcasm doesn't suit you. /Groan/ Leave me alone about the Dementor thing. You have no idea how long I obsessed over that. And I know the title is crap, but it's the best I've got.
VOC: Well, considering you wrote this in June and are just now saying 'F--- All' and posting it, I'd say you wasted six to nine months worrying about it.
Silent: Stop being condescending; you don't even have a body.
VOC: Big talk for someone who had to look up how to spell 'condescending'.
Silent: Shut up, and go die. Review, please!! I know this proves that I fail at life, but still… Please, and thank you.