I had to write a short story for Extension English at school, so I decided I'd kill two birds with one stone and do a SPN fanfic which I've been asked to do for a while now. It's quite short, though still over the limit for my assignment (whoops) and it is written in a way so people who don't watch Supernatural can still follow on. So that's why I outline a tiny bit of their history and what-not, nothing too technical. So anyways, hope you enjoy this little oneshot :)
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Sam breathed a sigh of relief as the three larger boys turned to face who had shouted down the corridor. Dean was running towards them, his angry face on its own enough to scare the bullies away. The boys, who had been leering down at Sam only moments before, now turned on their heels and sprinted away.
"We'll see ya on Monday Sam!" the leader called after him cockily. Sam just sunk to the floor, leaning against the lockers. He hated this school.
"Fuck off you will!" yelled Dean as he reached his little brother. Crouching down in front of Sam he immediately inspected the quickly swelling eye, cupping his chin with his hand. "You alright Sammy?"
Sam pulled his head out of Dean's grasp and looked away. "M'fine," he grumbled. Dean continued to study Sam, discovering for the first time the split lip and, after lifting the sleeves of his shirt, the light purple bruise on his right forearm. His eyes narrowed.
"How long has this been happening?" the younger boy continued to avoid his brother's gaze. "Sam," his low voice didn't leave room for anything but straight answers. "How long?"
"We've been here for two weeks, right?" said Sam after a moment longer of silent defiance.
"Dammit Sam," sighed Dean. He should have seen this coming. Moving around so much meant they were always the new kids. But while Dean had his devil may care attitude and his Dad's old leather jacket going for him, his dorky little brother could never quite make the right impression.
Dean offered his hand and Sam took it after only a moment's hesitation. Helping his little brother up, Dean grimaced. This wasn't the first time Sam had been bullied at school. But it was the first time Sam had tried to hide it, and that worried Dean.
School had finished a while ago and the hallways were empty, with all the students having rushed out to excitedly greet the weekend. Dean would have been amongst the first to leave if he hadn't been looking for Sam. The two stepped out the school entrance into the deserted student parking area and made a beeline for the shining black 1967 Chevrolet Impala John had given to Dean after buying a truck for himself. A silence weighed between the brothers until Dean was pulling out onto the road, Black Sabbath playing in the background. Usually he would be blasting his music, despite his brother's whining. But today was different. They needed to talk.
"You think Dad's almost done?" Sam asked quietly. Dean glanced over at him in the passenger seat, staring out the window with his shaggy brown hair successfully shadowing his expression.
"Yeah, you know Dad," said Dean with a grin, lightly shoving Sam before turning back to the road. "John Winchester's hard-core. He'll have the job done before the weekend's out." Sam just nodded and continued to stare out the window. His eerie silence was putting Dean on edge. He tried to suppress the anger bubbling at the bottom of his stomach; he wasn't quite successful. "I'm going to kill them you know," he muttered, causing Sam to finally turn and face him. "I'll make 'em pay for what they did."
Predictably, Sam was immediately defensive for the boys that had been terrorising him. "Come on Dean, there's no need." This just made Dean angrier. "They were just messing around. Leave them alone, please."
"You could easily kick all of their asses, you know that right?"
"Doesn't mean I want to."
Dean sighed as he turned into the parking of the motel where they had been staying. "I don't get why the nice, quiet kid is always the victim." They stepped out of the car and up to door number 12, Dean pulling out a motel key. "You practically make yourself the target Sam." Sam just rolled his eyes and walked into the musty room, tossing his bag onto the bed furthest from the door, the bed that was always and without question Sam's, not matter where they were staying. Always the bed furthest from a threat.
Dean went straight for the kitchen area on the hunt for anything edible. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked with his head in the fridge, suddenly uncertain.
"It's not like it was getting out of hand."
Sam flinched as Dean stood up straight and turned on him. Sam was small and lanky for his age, whereas Dean had grown tall and strong over the past few years. Sam had often envied his older brother for that. If he could just be a bit more intimidating, maybe he wouldn't be picked on. Dean was certainly proving that - boy did he look intimidating right now. "Out of hand?" Dean hissed. "I think it got out of hand a while ago! Like maybe when they started throwing punches!" Sam ducked his head, letting his hair once again curtain his eyes. Dean bent down slightly so he was at eye level and put both hands on Sam's shoulders. "Listen to me, Sammy. I get that you can take a bit of crap talk from them, and maybe you can ignore it if they get the others laughing at you." Sam looked up at his brother, surprised at the seriousness displayed all over his face. Any time Dean was serious was a day to mark in the calendar. "But they hurt you, and it ends. You hear me? Someone hits you, you hit back. Just like Dad taught us." Sam looked grimly sceptical. "Then tell me, so I can hit them too. Just in case your shot doesn't leave a big enough bruise." Yep, seriousness gone. Sam allowed a small smile and nodded. Dean scrutinised him for a moment before nodding back.
"Alright, chick-flick moment over. What's on TV?" Dean immediately turned to the static buzz of the TV, satisfied he'd gotten the point across. Sam just once again rolled his eyes and pulled homework out of his bag, laying it out neatly on his bed. Dean looked over to see him already working hard at a maths assignment. "I mean it, Sam. We'll be kicking up the dust by the time Monday rolls around."
And they were. Sunday morning Dean was checking out of the motel and John was calling the principle to say he'd be retracting his sons from the school. He was too impatient to wait for Monday to call the school so he found the principle's home number. Said principle wasn't too happy about being woken at six am on a Sunday, though he sounded more cheerful when he found out Dean would no longer be around. Dean was always a nightmare for the teachers. Confident about going into the family business, he wasn't much interested in a government approved education. John just wished he didn't have to start so many problems. The amount of times he'd gotten a call from a disgruntled teacher, or the outraged parent of some senior student bimbo, had a way of getting on his nerves. After hanging up John looked over to his sons, both leaning on the Impala. Dean was teasing Sam about something and ruffling his hair, much to the younger Winchester's disgust.
"We're heading out!" he called out to them. "Stay close behind me, Dean."
"Don't I always?" came the reply as John stepped up into his truck.
They were on the road for three days heading towards a large town, bigger than the last one, just near Ontario. Freak accidents at one of the local park playgrounds had been reported for a few months now, always causing some injury or another at the same time of the week, Friday around 5pm. A few of the incidents had been fatal, and all the victims had been between 13 and 18. John was confident it was an unhappy ghost.
That was the fun of the Winchester family. Moving from town to town, state to state, on the hunt for the kind of dark creatures going bump in the night that most of civilisation laughed at from the safety of their lounge rooms when watching a bad movie. If the family business was described to a stranger, John would be locked in a mental ward and his kids given intense therapy for most likely the remainder of their dark lives. For Sam and Dean, it was completely normal to leave their new school within a week to investigate a werewolf sighting or a spirit with a serious grudge.
Sam rested his head against the cool glass of the passenger-seat window, the familiar lull of the Impala's low rumbling along the freeway keeping him relaxed. He watched the monochromatic scene whizz by, tree after tree, field after field, contemplating the type of lifestyle he had grown up in.
Ghosts aren't too bad, thought Sam half-heartedly. At least I know how to deal with them. Can't exactly exorcise a bully…
Eventually Dean pulled into a rather run-down motel near the edge of town (much the same as the last one, and the one before that), their father already parked and asking for a room. Dean parked next to John's large shining truck and looked over to his little brother, still looking forlornly out the window. He'd been quiet for the whole trip, sulking ever since Dean had chased off those meat heads at the last school.
"Don't worry Sammy," said Dean with a grin, attracting his attention. "This is a fresh start."
"Yeah, just like every other week," replied Sam, but he managed a small smile of his own. Accepting the attempt at humour as progress, Dean nodded and stepped confidently out of the car. The small family was soon settling into their new room; if you could call dumping a bag by the bed and pinning newspaper articles on the wall 'settling in'. With barely a word they fell into the usual routine of pulling out old books, the latest newspapers and in young Sam's case, a battered old laptop, and delving into their research. It wasn't enough to know where an angry spirit was after all. They needed to know why it was there, what happened to it when it was a living human and most importantly, where the body was buried. A hefty sprinkling of salt on the bones, a generous drizzle of lighter fluid and a well-lit match was all that was needed to force the spirit to move on; a simple 'salt n burn', as the underground hunter community liked to refer to it as.
It took the majority of the night to find the information they needed and by early dawn, as the sun was pulling itself up over the horizon, the Winchesters were just crawling into their respective beds. As there were only two in the room, Dean took the couch, regardless of Sam's guilty protests. It had been a long night and neither could be bothered to argue much. Despite the old mattresses full of dust mites and springs sticking out of them, the motel room was soon full of quiet snoring.
Sam was the last one to fall asleep, as usual. He lay awake, looking up at the peeling ceiling and contemplating the rather caustic situation. They'd figured out who the angry spirit was. A fourteen year old boy had been beaten to death at one of the local parks early last year. Apparently he'd been picked on at school a lot, and the whole situation had started a massive anti-bullying campaign. It was at that same park teenagers were being attacked now. Sam couldn't help but feel conflicted about this case. Vengeful spirits weren't known for being rational beings, but Sam could still understand why this one was lashing out. He shivered. He was beginning to understand ghosts more than people; that scared him. Unsurprisingly, he didn't sleep as well as the other men.
It was early afternoon when Dean was woken by his father's gruff voice.
"Come on Dean, we have work to do." No nonsense John as always.
By the time they made it to the park it was 4pm and it was crawling with mothers watching their young ones warily, along with teenagers from a nearby high school leaning on the slide and hogging the swings. The moment they exited the classic car, disapproving and suspicious looks were turned their way.
"Woah, what'd we do?" asked Dean, taken aback.
John grimaced. "Crap. I didn't even think of this. It's kind of frowned upon for grown men to hang out at a playground." Dean smacked his forehead. Of course this would bring attention to them. "Ok, new plan," announced John to his sons. "Sam stays and keeps an eye on things here. We go to the graveyard and find the body to burn." Sam nodded determinedly. Dean was less accepting.
"Umm, why are we leaving Sam alone with an angry ghost that hates teenagers?"
"I won't be alone," interjected Sam. He was excited that he was being trusted on his own, not that he would ever admit it.
"You know what I mean," growled Dean. "I don't think any of those mothers will be able to protect you from a crazy spirit."
"Well that's because I'm supposed to protect them."
John cut in on his sons arguing. "We don't have a choice Dean. We can't stay here while there're so many people, but this is the prime time for the ghost to attack. We need eyes on the place."
Dean glared from his father to his brother before his tense body sagged with a resigned sigh. "Fine. We'll be done in no time, right Dad?" John nodded.
"Be careful, son," he ordered before re-entering the Impala. Dean rested a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Don't hold back this time, alright?"
Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's concern. "I know, Dean." Dean nodded and joined John in the car. Sam turned as they drove away, heading towards the busy playground. He hovered near the edge, trying not to look too out of place.
It was there he hovered for an hour. The sun dipped down behind the distant hills and people began leaving until only a handful of teenagers were left, hanging out at a picnic table. Sam looked on slightly disgusted as one of them surreptitiously pulled out a cigarette, the others cooing at the sight. It was another moment before one of the boys looked over and caught Sam watching them.
"What're you looking at twerp?" he yelled out.
Sam didn't even have a chance to think of a response. Suddenly the boy was thrown back off the bench, landing awkwardly on the grass with a startled cry. His friends stared, wide eyed.
"What the hell was that?" asked a girl with blonde hair.
"Damn," muttered Sam, already running towards them. "Get out of here!" he yelled. The group looked at him as if he'd grown two heads.
"What'd you do, you twerp?" asked the boy that had been knocked over, standing up unsteadily.
"It wasn't me," Sam panted as he finally reached them. "It was - " He was interrupted by the boy once again being thrown back by an invisible force, this time knocking one of the others down in the process. Screams erupted around Sam as they began to run away. The two boys that had been knocked to the ground stumbled back, looking at Sam with wide eyes. Sam couldn't help but be slightly amused, despite the situation. He looked back at them, raising an eyebrow cockily.
"Let's get out of here!" yelled the first boy and they ran to catch up to their friends who had already made it to the road. "Weirdo!" he called over his shoulder. Sam just shook his head and turned back to the now deserted playground. He'd been called worse.
There was an eerie silence as Sam waited for the ghost's next attack. Slowly he pulled out the gun from the back of his jeans, full of salt bullets. Thank god spirits have such an easy weakness thought Sam. There was always enough salt to use, even if it meant the difficult task of getting it into bullet casings. Normal bullets would be useless.
Sam shivered as the temperature continued to drop. The spirit was close. He turned slowly, trying to watch as much of the playground at once as he could.
Finally the ghost made its move. Sam felt himself fly back and crash into the deserted table. He grunted, seeing stars, and slowly rose to his feet. There it was: the spirit had finally shown itself.
It was a young boy in bloody tattered clothing, his numerous bruises clearly visible despite the pallor of his skin. He looked more sad then angry. The young Winchester quickly raised his gun but the boy dissipated quickly. Suddenly the gun, Sam's one line of defence, was thrown out of his hands, far away into the ever growing darkness. Sam was again thrown into the air, this time landing by the slide. He turned just in time to see loose rocks shooting in his direction. He dodged narrowly, ducking behind the slide. A rain of rocks, some as big as Sam's fist, showered on top of the slide where Sam hid.
Come on Dean, Sam thought desperately, burn the bones already! Suddenly he was dragged out from under the slide by his feet. Sam felt himself be picked up by cold hands around his neck. A grip of ice wrapped around his throat and Sam writhed in mid-air, watching the ghost once again become visible. Pure hatred was now distorting its features. Sam kicked his feet and brought his hands up to his throat, trying to break free. The world began to go blurry as his air supply was cruelly cut off. Spots danced around the edges of his vision and Sam began to grow faint.
Please… Dean…
Suddenly the frozen grasp turned hot and Sam was released, falling clumsily to the ground. He looked up at the ghost, rubbing his bruised neck, and watched as the apparition lit up in flames. The boy screamed silently as unnatural flames consumed him, dissolving his ghostly figure until there was nothing left but a few ashes that flew away in the evening breeze. His dad and brother must have found the bones and burned them. Not a moment too soon.
Sam was resting at the picnic table when Dean and John pulled up. They both got out and rushed over to Sam, Dean immediately checking for injuries.
"How'd it go son? Did he appear at all?" asked John.
Dean answered before Sam could. "Dammit, it got you," he snarled, finding the bruises on Sam's neck.
"Yeah, but I'm ok," replied Sam wearily. "You guys salt and burned him just in time." He smiled tiredly, not wanting to worry them and have Dean go all 'Mother Hen' on his ass.
Both men eyed him warily, Dean quickly looking him over for other damage. "Are you sure you're alright?" asked John. Sam nodded and stood up, proud that he stayed steady on his feet.
"I'd love to get out of here though," he said. John nodded approvingly and the three of them began heading back to the car. John walked in front, Dean and Sam side by side behind him.
"I knew you could handle it Sam," said Dean proudly.
Sam snorted, remembering Dean's anxiety earlier. "Of course I could. I've got to say though; teenagers don't seem as bad now." He looked up at his big brother and smiled confidently. "Bring on the bullies anytime."
P.S if any of the readers of my other fics are reading this, I apologise sooooo much for not updating in so long and promise I will get back to them soon. my excellently thought up excuses will be found in my new chapters, when I finally upload them. I do hope you can forgive me xoxo
P.P.S I have created a Facebook page, as I'm always needing to tell my readers something, usually an excuse as to why I'm late with my updates. Ahem. So, if you want to keep up to date with my happenings as a writer, here's the link to my page
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