Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, but I do own me!
Warning: Contains scenes of blood, girly screams, and Dean going all macho. This story should not be read by anyone with self-esteem issues, no sense of humour, or who are overly-sensitive with irrational religious tendencies (if you want to go around preaching from the The Brother's Grim Fairy Tales and hug elves thats entirely your affair).
There are also no hidden evil messages or incantations contained within this text should you take it upon yourself to read it backwards, however by pouring a circle of rock salt around your computer you can formerly protect yourself from any curses, spells or would-be flashers that happen to drop by. With the above criteria in mind, in the event of having stumbled on to this story by mistake, please put down the crucifix, pick up the valium and go back to bed.
Characters: Sam, Dean, and yours truly.
And so without further ado, and with
lots of swearing, bickering and of course HurtSam/ProtectiveDean please allow me to introduce to you a Supernatural Fan Fiction.
Lambs to the Slaughter
(Or, fuck me that hurts!)
The boys take on a poltergeist, but Sam's hearing voices…well, voice. Things soon turn fugly, that is until Dean hears her too…..and the author realizes that even she has little control over the Supernatural.
There was a horrendous screeching noise and the chains and hooks started to swing. The atmosphere in the slaughter house had been tense the moment the brothers entered but now it felt as though the whole building was in a vice. It was almost hard to breathe with the sensations that were whirling about, as though there were a giant electric food blender chopping, mixing, silently shredding.
Whatever had once happened here hadn't been nice. Lives had come to an end in very unpleasant ways.
Given that it was a slaughter house and not a MacDonald's fast food outlet that was pretty surprising.
Dean thought of the research Sam had done, and the images floating through Dean's mind made him feel nauseous. The violent spirit of a disgruntled worker had torn a path of savage revenge through his former work colleagues, forcing the place to close up.
"Guess he didn't like the severance package," muttered Dean. If there was any severance pay of course. Reports seemed to suggest the guy had been fired for being a lazy bastard, but then spirits weren't exactly famous for their rationale.
A light breeze flowed through the aisles which slowly became stronger until it reached violent levels.
Dean stared up at the meat hooks. He'd first thought they were merely swinging in the paranormal wind, but now he noticed that they were moving with a purpose.
Shit!
"Sam!" He yelled, readying the sawn-off. Sam had recently been trying out a new and improved banishing spell he'd found amongst Bobby's extensive grimoire collection. He heard a distant shout and the pounding of running feet, then saw his younger brother skidding round the corner into the aisle. "Things are about to get real nasty in here. Tell me that damn spell is gonna work!"
"We won't know until we salt and burn him!" Sam called back. They had thought of going straight to the cemetery to do the job, but it seemed this spirit had added protection and wouldn't let the boys anywhere near his grave. So a banishment had to performed first at the site of his haunting.
Sam stared up at the swinging hooks in what to the untrained eye might have been disbelief.
"I don't believe it!" He muttered, proving once again just how much control over the actual storyline the author had.
The author in question, Skag Trendy, sighed in frustration. She decided it was time to have that talk with the youngest Winchester.
ST: Sam? Why do you persistently try to fuck up every line I give you? I mean, is this a personal thing or what?
Sam looked a little guilty at that. He looked around him, wondering not for the first time where the voice was coming from. All he knew was that he was the only one who could hear her. Oh, and one other thing. Dean was seriously considering having him locked away in a funny farm.
Sam spoke in a low voice. "Look ST, if you would just let Dean hear you then we could clear this whole thing up right now!"
ST: Oh yeah! I can just see that happening! Look mate, the only thing that would happen is that Dean would have you both committed to the looney bin if he knew. And what good would that do?
Sam spoke between gritted teeth. "At least he'd know I'm not insane!"
ST: You just keep tellin' yaself that, but you know full well what a load of bollocks that is. I can already see the men in white coats and the basket weavers on the horizon mate. By the way, you might wanna get in there…ya bruvver's about to be royally fucked by that poltergeist.
Sam, seeing what was about to happen, took off at a run, cursing the narrator of this story.
ST: (feeling affronted) I honestly have no idea why I bovver. I mean, I get no thanks. I try to write serious stuff but then some cocksucker of a ghost comes along and buggers the whole issue. And then all I get is abuse. I should've stayed a civil servant….
Sam sped down the aisle.
Dean had been doing his best to duck and avoid the swinging hooks, whilst firing rock salt at the apparition whenever it bothered to actually put in an appearance.
"Damnit! This has gotta be the most laid back ghost I've ever met!"
Unfortunately, as he took aim and fired, he didn't notice the hook that swung back and took an aim all of its own.
It moved down with a deadly force towards Dean's head.
Sam, heart racing when he saw it, increased his speed, slamming hard into Dean, shoving him out of the way.
Dean sprawled on to the floor groaning just as Sam took the full force of the hook into his right shoulder, and ended up pinned against the wall.
ST: (wincing) I didn't intend for that to happen. Promise!
Sam ignored the author, as the pain blossomed throughout his body. His torment didn't stop there, however, as the chain attached to the hook snapped taught, attempting to drag Sam across the wall.
He yelled loudly in pain, desperately trying to pull the hook free, but it wouldn't budge.
Dean got to his feet rather shakily and glanced up at his baby-brother. He gasped.
"Sammy!" Dean shot forward and tried to help Sam free himself of the hook.
The amount of blood was frightening. Dean struggled to release his brother.
"Sam? What the hell were you thinking!?"
Sam gasped in agony. "I…I…ahhhgoddd!" As the hook slid him a few more inches along the wall.
"Sammy!" Dean growled in anguish.
ST: Call me sick, but am I the only one that finds it a real turn on when Dean does that?
Sam, in spite of the pain, managed to roll his eyes in annoyance.
ST: Hey don't look at me! I can't help it if your bruvva's a horny bastard!
Sam kept silent at that, his expression a mix of pain and anger.
ST: (with a lecherous grin) Yeah, jealousy. I'd know that look anywhere. Don't worry babes; I still luv ya too!
And when this is over, may be you an me can…
"Oh please! Just shut the fuck up!"Sam yelled out, earning the same look from Dean that he got the last time ST had tormented him in front of his brother.
ST: (feeling quite hurt now) Tormented? Since when have I ever tormented you?
With a final wrench, accompanied by a loud painful sucking noise and equally loud girly scream from Sam, Dean got the hook free. Looking at Sam, his eyes narrowed suspiciously before he turned away to pick up his shot gun.
Sam whispered. "How about every time you write a fucking story about us? Huh? Everytime you put pen to paper, or put finger to keyboard, I end up getting fucked!" His voice had risen by now. "And I don't have a girly scream."
Dean swung round and stalked towards his brother, looking seriously worried now.
ST: Oh baby! My knees are going weak…….Sorry Sam. You were saying? Oh yeah. But it's what the readers and fans want mate! It's about the hurt, the anguish, the bruvverly moments. The hurt Sam and protective older bruvver Dean aspect. Come on! Work with me here mate! And yeah, that was a girly scream.
Sam was about to explode with another round of expletives when Dean suddenly halted his slide down the wall. Sam fell into his brother's arms with a groan that was half pain and half frustration.
"Sam? You ok? Talk to me!"
Sam was on the verge of slumping into unconsciousness when he suddenly sat up, his eyes hardening in determination.
"I'm not going to do it! I'm not!" Sam announced furiously. "I'm not going to do the whole unconscious, intubated thing just to satisfy your sick reader's minds!"
ST: I never said a word mate.
Dean looked hard into Sam's eyes. "Seriously dude. We have got to talk about this voice in your head, as soon as we get outta here."
"Dean…"
"Sam that's enough. Whatever…whoever this bitch is, just ignore her for now. Ok?"
ST: Bitch? Did he just call me a bitch? After the amount of times I've saved their fucking lives in these stories? I mean, at least I don't write bloody death fics!
Sam was about to grin at hearing that but thought better of it.
He struggled to his feet with Dean still helping him
"You ok man?" Dean was checking Sam's shoulder and winced when he saw the damage.
"Yeah." Sam replied shakily. "Let's just get this sonofabitch huh? Then we can go have a beer…"
ST: Yahay! Pub! I'm up for that! Whatabout a curry? Vindaloo! Vindaloo! Vindaloo Vindaloo Nah Nah!! There's an England match on sky tonight!
Dean, oblivious the author's voice, replied "Just try a more manly yell next time dude. That was so girly!"
Sam, shooting his brother an annoyed glance, just about managed to ignore the author as his brother eased him away from the wall.
A loud clanking noise erupted followed by a whirring, and the boys glanced across to the other side of the room. The meat grinder had started up of its own accord.
ST: (panicking) That wasn't me!
Sam's mouth scrunched up as he was about to announce something sarcastic. But Dean was snatched away from him onto the floor, causing Sam to fall back again.
As he looked down, Dean saw the heavy chain wrapped around his leg from thigh to ankle. It was dragging him towards the grinder.
"Shit! Sam?" He flailed at the floor, as Sam yanked himself away from the wall, leaving a large patch of blood.
Every time he tried to yank himself free the chain increased its pressure causing Dean to cry out in pain. The grinder loomed ahead. He was so close to the damn thing he could feel the vibrations through the floor.
Sam raced forward as best he could, desperate to save his brother.
"Dean! Hold on man!"
He almost got there too.
But he was impeded by another chain, this time snaking itself around his neck, yanking him to his knees just shy of the emergency power-off button for the grinder. The chain carried on thickly coiling round his neck until nothing but heavy metal links could be seen between his chest and his chin.
Terrible strangled gasps came from Sam as he fought for air.
"Sammy!" Dean shouted frantically, now more fearful for his sibling than for himself.
ST: (really panicking now) Sam? This isn't me! I had nothing to do with this. Just try to switch off that grinder and I'll get Dean to do the rest.
Sam, struggling to breathe, reached out his hand as far as he could. He couldn't talk and every movement he made seemed to anger the entity that held him prisoner, causing the chain to tighten. Each time he jerked, trying to get free, unable to get air into his lungs, Dean was dragged closer to the machine's jaws.
"Sam, you can do it. Just one more inch." Dean's eye's widened as Sam managed to get his hand closer to the shut-off switch.
Suddenly, Sam knew he was there. He slapped his hand over the button and the machine shut down with a loud clank.
ST: (heaving a sigh of relief) Thank fuck for that….Sam? Sammy!!
"Sammy!" Yelled out Dean as he freed himself from the chain.
Sam was growing weaker with each movement. The chain wouldn't set him free. He'd been choking, but now the chain was so tight around his neck that no sound came out, not even a gasp for help. Not even an attempt to breathe managed to come through. He was clawing at the links to get free but not even coming close.
His eyes were almost bulging out of his sockets.
ST: (worriedly) I'm gonna get sued I fucking know it! Kripke is gonna bend me over the directors desk for this….
Dean had already limped his way over to where Sam knelt awkwardly on the floor, hanging by the chain, and was desperately trying to pull the chain away from his brother's throat. But it was too thick and heavy, and every time he pulled the chain got tighter. Much more and Sam's neck was going to snap like a twig.
"Sam! Don't give up on me bro!"
ST: Ok. Didn't see that one coming. This was supposed to be a happy ending. Ok, a few deep breaths and now fucking think Skag! Think! And now I'm fucking talking to myself. Oh Brilliant! So this is how Sam feels….Stop it! Think!
Dean was frantic now. Sam's struggles to live were getting weaker and there was nothing Dean could do. He stared deep into Dean's eyes, pleading with him to get him free.
Dean was watching his brother dying in front of him, watching Sam's eyes glaze over as the light, and the essence that was Sam, faded.
His grasping hands fell from his neck, his eyes still open, but no one was home.
"Nooooo!!!" Dean leapt up and slammed a foot into the side of the grinder. Tears were rolling down his face as he stared at his brother's limp form, hanging by the chain.
"Sammy…." He whispered, and tried again to get his brother free, but the ghost wouldn't let Sam go.
ST: (sadly) I never meant for this to happen. Hang on a mo! Is that a light bulb I feel going on in my head? Dean? Can you hear me mate?
Dean looked around puzzled. "What the f….?"
ST: Dean! Go to the tool cupboard! There's a bolt cutter in there! You can cut your bruvver free. Don't waste anymore time, I'll explain later. Go go go!
Dean, somehow feeling that there might be hope, raced across the room to a door that, amazingly, read "Tool Cupboard." Later he might stop to wonder why he hadn't noticed it before.
Kicking open the door violently…
ST: There go my shaky knees again…God he's so masterful!
….he looked around him in confusion for a moment when he heard that voice again, and then grabbed the bolt cutters that were resting against the opposite wall. He raced back to his brother.
ST: I'm really going to have to curb my tongue now that he knows I'm around!
"Sam!" He angled the bolt cutters around the links above Sam's head and used all his considerable strength to slam the teeth together. Metal ground against metal and the links were gradually tearing apart. It seemed to take ages before the chain showed any more sign of giving, then suddenly Sam was free.
Dean caught him before he hit the floor. Unwrapping the chain from around Sam's neck, he felt for a pulse which….
ST: Ok Skag, be nice, at least for a little while.
….came through, but only just.
But Sam wasn't breathing.
Dean nearly panicked. He looked around him.
"Ok. I don't know who the fuck you are or why this is happening, but please just help me get my brother breathing again."
Tilting Sam's head back, he took a deep breath, pinched off Sam's nose, and lowered his mouth to his brother's. Exhaling deeply into Sam's lungs several times he met resistance. Sam's chest wasn't rising like it should. He hoped and prayed the air was getting where it was needed. But judging by the state of Sam's throat it was unlikely. In fact, his windpipe looked badly crushed.
Dean wasn't about to give up on his little brother.
ST: That's right keep going! Some air is getting through. Just keep trying. Oh bollocks! Sam needs medical attention. He's really gonna kick my arse for this…..Ok. Leave it with me.
Dean carried on trying to help Sam to breathe. After a few moments he heard sirens, as emergency vehicles pulled up out side. It occurred to him that he hadn't called for help yet, and there was no one else that could've done. Sam and Dean were on their own and no one knew where they were.
EMTs burst through the door, and headed towards the brothers.
One of the technicians spoke directly to Dean, pulling him out of the way, as the others took over Sam's care.
"Sir, we received a call that a prank had gone wrong and someone was hurt. Can you tell me exactly what happened?"
Dean, feeling justifiably stunned, looked up at the guy, not knowing what to say.
ST: I just came in here looking for my bruvver and found him like this. I think some local students he met up with…..
"I…I just came in here looking for my brother and found him like this." Dean heard the voice and went along with the script. "I think some local students he met up with last night dared him to come in here." He saw the look on the EMT's face. "He likes ghost stories, and when he heard about this abandoned slaughter house, he couldn't resist coming here." Dean gave a worried smile. "He's always been a geek for that stuff."
ST: Look whose talking wanker!
Dean frowned at that. Then he looked over to his brother.
One of the EMTs had cut a hole in Sam's throat and threaded a tube down it. Dean leapt to his feet, freaking out.
"What the hell…?"
The EMT spoke up. "Your brother's windpipe was crushed. He can't breathe without help, so a tracheotomy was the only way to go." He smiled sympathetically at Dean. "What's your brother's name sir?"
Dean was distracted watching his little brother being tended to. Tube in his throat, heart monitor, IV bag,……and no sign of Sam regaining consciousness. Shock was on the verge of setting in. How had this got so bad?
ST: I'm sorry mate. Like you, I thought this would be another salt and burn, with a few brotherly moments at the end about your Dad, Jess, how Sam might go dark side - which in my country means becoming a politician, so you've no worries there. Sam's too damned honest for that - I really didn't think it would turn out this way.
"Sir?"
ST: Ok. You need a bit of narrative help again here mate. His name is…..Sam Tyler.
"His name? Sam. Sam Tyler."
ST: Thank god for Life On Mars. I love that show!
The EMT smiled again. "Ok Mr Tyler. We're gonna need room to help Sam in the ambulance. Can you follow on behind?..."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Some hours later, Dean stalked the waiting room. Up and down, round in circles. Anyone watching him would see a man with way too much on his mind. His leg hurt from where the chain had pulled at it, but it was just strained muscle. The paramedics had already checked it out.
ST: Ohhh he's doing that stalking thing again. With that sexy worried, almost angry look on his face girls! Oh shit. I forgot he can hear me now.
Dean stopped his pacing and looked around him angrily.
"Just who in hell are you?" He hissed, trying to keep his voice down. The last he needed was to be carted away to a psychiatric ward.
ST: (sighing) I'm the author of this story. The name's Skag Trendy.
"Author huh? Well you're sure doin' a bang up job entertaining the masses! Hope it was worth it!" Was the angry retort from the older Winchester brother.
ST: Yeah I know. Things got a bit outta control. That spook was a right bastard eh?
"And what kind of a stupid name is Skag Trendy huh?" Dean continued his rant.
ST: It's just a pen name. I had trouble coming up with one, and then I happened to be listening to this song by The View one night..….look it's not important, ok? Let's just stick to what's relevant here.
Dean stared hard at the wall in front of him, a twitch developing under his left eye.
In a low, calm voice, that seemed all the more menacing for it he continued. "Is that what your readers find so entertaining? I'm nearly sliced and diced and Sam is choked half to death?"
ST: 'fraid so mate. That's just the way it is. If it's any consolation, I really didn't know it would go this far. Ya see? Authors usually have absolute control on how their stories progress, but this time something went badly wrong.
Dean appeared thoughtful. "Sam started hearing you around the first time he started using the new banishing spell."
ST: (pausing for a moment) That could be it then. That may be why he could hear me. The only reason why you can hear me now is because I choose to let you. Whereas he was the one who uttered the bloody spell.
"Thanks oh mighty one!" Dean retorted sarcastically. "So, Will Shakespeare, how do we reverse it?"
ST: How should I bloody well know ya cheeky git? I know nothing about the occult. I just make this shit up as I go along. You're supposed to be the bloody expert. Anyway, this can wait 'til later. The Doctor's on his way to talk to you about Sam. Good luck mate. Sam'll be ok, I promise.
Before Dean would respond with another snarky comment the double doors to the OR swung open to reveal the large bulk of a man dressed in scrubs.
"Mr Tyler! I'm Dr McLaughlin." The beefy Scotsman called out. After shaking his hand so firmly he nearly pulled Dean's arm off, the Doctor guided Dean over to a quiet office and invited him to sit down. Closing the door behind him, Dr McLaughlin sat behind the desk and leaned forward in his seat with an ominous creaking noise.
"I may as well make this quick so you can go see your brother." He shuffled a few papers to one side.
Dean stared at him, appreciating this approach. He wasn't use to Doctors being so up front, and from where he was sitting the Doc had a lot up front. His enormous stomach for one thing.
ST: (sniggering) Now now Dean, play nicely…
"I've managed to patch up the wound to Sam's shoulder, though that was no easy job let me tell you. He's gonna need to rest it for quite some time."
He cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable at the action. It was almost a pun, given what was coming next. "His throat, however is a different matter. We don't know if he'll ever regain the use of his voice. The bruising is quite extensive so it's difficult to tell what the future holds in that respect, not to mention the tracheotomy to help him breathe which will complicate matters. Having said that, nothings set in stone. He'll be on the ventilator for a while until the swelling recedes, but barring any further complications, he'll live."
Dean blinked at that last blunt statement.
"But h-he was without oxygen for so long. Will there be any brain damage?"
"Well, although I can't make any guarantees ya ken? There seems little indication of that so far. But we won't know for sure until he wakes up, and that part is really up to Sam." The Doctor smiled a little.
Dean broke into a shaky smile.
ST: See? I told ya I wouldn't let you boys down eh?
Dr McLaughlin rose to his feet. "You'll be wanting to see your brother." He led the way to Sam's room. "Let him hear your voice Mr Tyler. It all helps…."
Dean moved slowly into Sam's room, treading softly. He felt suddenly nervous.
"Hey, ST? No smart ass comments ok?" He whispered once the door had closed behind him. "I don't want you freakin' him out when he wakes up."
ST: (also whispering) Lips are sealed mate!
Dean nodded and sat down in the chair beside Sam's bed.
He sighed heavily.
Leaning over and brushing a few loose strands of hair off his brother's face, he smiled. Never mind that Sam might not be able to speak again; that didn't matter so long as he was alive. And if he ever thought differently then he only needed the mental Polaroid in his mind of Sam's eyes when he couldn't breathe, when Dean couldn't get him free in time. He only needed to remember that he almost lost his one and only safety net in this world.
He looked down at his brother. Sam was so pale and still as he lay there, the sound of the ventilator the only noise in the room as his chest rose and fell. The tracheal tube at his throat looked horrendously uncomfortable, but it was keeping him alive for now
Grasping Sam's hand in his, whilst continuing to stroke his hair, Dean whispered to him.
"Sam? Time to wake up ok?"
Sam clearly objected to that idea.
Dean wondered how Sam would cope if he couldn't speak. He longed to hear his brother laugh and joke with him but Sam's cheeky grin would suffice for Dean. It would be a different matter entirely for Sam.
"We'll deal with it bro. Together, we'll learn to adapt." Dean sniffed a little, "just try to wake up for me."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Sam could hear someone talking to him and he knew who it was. He didn't want to wake up because he was afraid of what he might find. His memories were sketchy, and what he did retain he didn't like. But he found that he did want to wake up for the person talking to him.
Sam made a choice, for better or worse. Here goes nothing…
Dean had been talking to Sam about everything and nothing for about twelve hours straight, and exhaustion was really starting to kick in. He refused to sleep even for a little while, because he knew Sam would be scared when he woke up unable to speak or call for help.
Then he felt Sam squeeze his hand. Dean sat up straight, unwilling to believe it in case he'd imagined it. But there it went again, and this time the hand that he held squeezed for longer. Suddenly Dean no longer felt so tired.
Sam was letting him know he was ready to come back.
"Sammy it's ok. No need to be scared, I gotcha kiddo."
A small smile worked its way onto Sam's face as he realized he was almost home.
"That's it little bro. Come on back."
Dean held his breath as his brother's eyelids fluttered….and then opened. Breathing out with the relief of seeing Sam's soft grey-green eyes again, he smiled down at him.
Sam blinked a few times until his vision cleared to reveal Dean staring down at him, his face a mixture of happiness and concern. That was strange because he was convinced Dean was gonna pissed at him for some reason.
"Welcome back Sammy."
Sam opened his mouth and tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Dean could see confusion colouring his brother's face at first, but this was swiftly followed by frustration and fear.
Sam started to struggle, raising his hands to his throat, touching the tracheal tube and trying to rip it out.
"Hey hey! It's alright Sam, just calm down, it's there to help you." Dean had grabbed both Sam's hands gently in his own and pinned them to the bed. He whispered "It's ok little bro. You won't be able to speak for a while." A sudden thought occurred to him. "ST? You still around?"
ST: (rolling her eyes) Yeah mate. It's sort of the part of the deal, you know, when you're the one writing the bloody story to start with?
"Ok smart ass!" Dean huffed. "Now do something useful. Be Sam's voice for him."
ST: (thought for a moment) I suppose I do owe you one. Agreed.
"How dya feel Sammy?"
Sam/ST: Tired Dean. Don't remember what happened. Saw you dragged to the grinder.
"Yeah, I was about to become part of the worlds first human spaghetti bolognese."
Sam/ST: (smirking) Not the first. Remember that Italian place in San Francisco?
Dean grimaced. "Ah. Yeah I do. Thanks. Was kinda hoping to forget that one."
Sam/ST: So what happened next?
"Well, the chains did an Anaconda on ya little bro. You just about managed to shut off the grinder before……" Dean stopped and closed his eyes. He hated remembering as it was, but having to describe it to Sam of all people…
Sam was watching him carefully.
"You nearly died Sam." Dean nearly choked. Sam's hand squeezed his older brother's hand in comfort. Dean re-opened tired and bloodshot eyes to his.
Sam/ST: (sensing Dean's anguish) it's ok Dean.
"No. It's not Sam." He tried to look away but Sam deserved better than that. "Your windpipe was badly damaged. The paramedics had to cut a hole in your throat so you could breathe." He stared his little brother in the eyes. "You might not be able to speak again."
Sam stared at him as he let the news sink in. Even after a short while he wasn't sure he really believed it.
Sam/ST: No no no. That's not right…..(started to get agitated)…..that can't be true!
Tears of anger began to fall down Sam's face, gradually dampening the pillow. His breath hitched and the machines monitoring him started to beep alarmingly.
"Sam! Please! You've gotta relax man ok? Just take it easy. The doctor told me we won't know for certain until the swelling goes down. Oh Christ, I shouldn't have told you yet….you weren't ready to hear this…" Dean couldn't talk anymore. He just stared at Sam as he fought against the tube. Stroking his hair again, trying to soothe him, Dean tried again. "Dude, we'll get through this, ok? You're not alone. I'm here." He leaned over and placed a small kiss on his panicking brother's head. "I'll always be here."
Sam/ST: I don't know what to do Dean! What do I do?!"
Dean smiled as his own tears tumbled down his face. "You stay with me and you get better. Ok? Promise me? I'll help you through this. We'll find a way."
ST: And I'll be here as long as you need me.
Sam managed to calm down a little and smiled shakily up at his brother, his eyes still conveying how worried and confused he was feeling.
"Things'll be different Sam, you'll see."
ST: (softly affectionate) They better bleedin' had do mate! I got other stories to write without haven't to act as your sodding translator all the fucking time!
Dean grinned. "You're all heart ST."
ST: Don't I know it love!
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
It was a long haul. Sam's rehabilitation had been hard and at times painful. He constantly got frustrated when he couldn't even manage a croak.
But as time wore on, he got there. Dean knew he would. He never gave up on his little brother, because Sam refused to give up on him.
ST was there all hours of the day and night in case the brothers needed her to translate, and apart from the usual friendly bickering she never complained once. She really wasn't in a position to; after all she was the one that had got them into this mess in the first place.
Several months past and Sam could almost speak normally. In fact, apart from the occasional hitch in his voice, ST wouldn't have guessed anything had happened.
The day finally came when Dean declared that it was time to go on their first hunt. Sam was relieved; he'd been chomping at the bit for weeks, and he was now about to see some action. Sam longed for things to get back to normal.
ST decided a declaration of her own was needed.
ST: Time I left you boys to it eh?
Sam and Dean knew she was right, but they had to reluctantly admit they were going to miss her.
Sam picked up the fast-track banishing spell and smiled a little sadly. "I guess so ST. Take care of yourself ok?"
"And stay outta trouble!" Dean added, though there was a tinge of affection to his tone.
ST: Me? Stay outta trouble? Hah! Like that's gonna fucking happen. (seriously) It's been fun, though. I've gotta be getting back.
Dean thought for a moment "Back where exactly? Where do you fan fiction authors go?"
ST: (smirking) Down the pub usually mate.
The boys laughed at that.
"That figures!"
ST: Well, take it away Sam! Oh and Dean? I would strongly suggest that you stay away from meat grinders in future. I mean, you can still do the business without legs, but having kids would be nigh on fucking impossible without the family jewels eh? Hurhurhur…..
Shaking their heads in amusement as Sam read out the ritual, they could still hear her dirty laughter as she faded out of their lives.
Well, not totally out. ST was determined to make life as challenging for them as possible.
Because, as fond of them as she was, when it got right down to it, she was a self-confessed bitch.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
On the road again….
"Dude! Could please turn that music down a little? I swear there're folks in Australia right now with their fingers in their ears!" Sam complained.
"Ah pipe down Sammy. Ya know, I think I preferred you when you couldn't talk?"
"Come on! Just turn it down a little."
"Hey! My car, my stereo, my music, and my chosen volume. Suck it up."
"Asshole."
"Pansy."
"Jerk"
"Bitch."
Off they went, back to that slaughter house to show one lazy-assed poltergeist the true meaning of revenge.
And this time they were prepared.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Please note that, apart from the Winchesters, no animals were harmed in the making of this story but the collie next door is living on borrowed time, I can assure you!
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
That was something a little bit different that I was curious to try out.
Hope you enjoyed that and please let me know what you think.
Regards,
ST.xxx.