Good Little Soldier- Chapter Four- Tattletale

Disclaimer: all characters and such belong to the amazing creators of the brilliant show that is Supernatural. And it is an honor to borrow them without permission and ruin their fictional lives. Sorry, Squirrel.

So… I had the chapter all planned out and I was going to write it last weekend, I swears, but then I GOT A TV SHOW! Our local channel is letting me host the Professional Fangirl on their channel (squeeeeeeee) so I had to film the first episode, and I kind of forgot about Dean and the werewolves. But here I am, only 6 days late, and it's got a good ending this time!

Btw, Dean's ankle's all better. It's like 9 or 10 weeks after chapter 2.

Thanks for all the faves!

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I fall face-first onto the forest floor, knife wrenching itself out of my hand and skidding just out of reach. This isn't really happening, is it? Getting attacked by three werewolves? Something grabs at my jacket, and I glance over my shoulder into a pair of yellow eyes. Werewolf, I remind myself as my mind starts reeling back to Kansas and the fire. Snapping myself back to the present, I start to crawl towards the knife. I'm halfway across when one of them grabs me, claws tearing into my shoulder right above the rips in my jacket. Pain detonates in my shoulder as claws dig through my skin, past the nine years of scars. Screaming, I yank myself free and sprint towards the knife.

And I make it almost three feet, too. New world record.

Adrenaline pours into my veins as they shove me to the ground again, all three piling on top of me like hyenas. Another set of claws rake through my shirt, and my stomach explodes. My foot collides with something and the weight on my gets a little lighter. Dimly noticing that it hurts like hell, I throw my shoulder back and grope around until my fingers find the knife. Somehow, even with my vision blurry from pain, the silver blade finds its way into the nearest werewolf. I roll away as it falls to the ground, landing with a gunshot-loud thud. The second one falls down next to her, and I get that it really was a gunshot.

Still too high on adrenaline to notice how much everything hurts, I jump to my feet and kill the last one. As it falls next to the others, I can't help wondering if that's how our family's going- one day some ghost or wendigo or something offing all three of us in an abandoned forest somewhere. Not Sam, I think.

Dad emerges from the trees like a shadow, gun still raised. I look around for another werewolf, but I'm the only one in the clearing.

I swear to god, Dean, one of these days I'm gonna shoot you and we'll both be better off.

Flinching, I take a few steps back, heels almost hitting the dead wolves. "Something pushed me," I explain, hoping it's a good enough excuse for screwing up the hunt.

"I pushed you," Dad says apathetically. "Needed to draw them out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Come on; we're leaving at noon. Found another job in Washington while you were flirting with that waiter at the diner."

The last of the adrenaline rush wears off, replaced by burning in my shoulder and stomach. Feeling even more pathetic than usual, I start after Dad. Maybe this time you won't use your own son as bait, I think venomously.

Dad turns around, eyes calm as thunderclouds, and takes a step towards me. "What… did… you… say?" he asks, voice menacingly low, like movie villains right before they start taking over cities and going on murder sprees.

Did I say that out loud? The adrenaline decides it needed an encore and comes flooding back. "Nothing, sir," I whisper, surprised at how even my voice is.

"Don't lie to me, Dean." He shoves me against the nearest tree. I scream as the bark comes into contact with my shoulder, setting it on fire again.

"I didn't say anything, sir," I say through gritted teeth.

The grip on my shirt tightens as he jerks me away from the tree, throwing me onto the forest floor. "Someone's. Gotta. Teach. You. How. To. Respect. Your. Elders," he grunts, each word accompanied by steel-toed boots hitting my already-painful stomach. I bite back another scream; it'll be worse if I do anything. At least you're not dead, I tell myself, tasting blood at the back of my throat. I'd laugh if I could actually breathe. Suddenly, Dad spins on his heel and stalks towards the main path. Unable to do anything more than lie there, I stare at the clouds and listen to the angry footsteps leaving. Maybe he'll finally do what he says he's going to and leave me here. That'd be nice.

"Get up. Worthless," he throws over his shoulder.

When did I get so used to being called things like that?

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"If you don't tell someone, I will." Looking Jimmy in the eyes is kind of scary, like he can see your soul. And I've got a pretty screwed-up soul.

"You're not going to have time to. We're leaving in ten minutes."

"Are you sure-"

"Look," I say, fighting off the tears filling up the bottom of my eyes. Why the hell am I crying? "If anything, your sister is just another reason I shouldn't tell anyone."

He glances back up from the register, surprised. "What?"

"She got killed 'cause you told, didn't she?"

"It… she didn't… no. It wasn't my fault." Now he's almost crying, too. God, this is turning into a soap opera.

"Carolyn… she was the reason I told my cousin. One night Dad got more pissed than usual and… she's still alive."

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "What?"

"Dean," barks Dad from the other side of the diner. "You gonna kiss him goodbye? We're leaving."

"Hospital," Jimmy mouths, and I nod, wincing as I raise my shoulder to wave goodbye.

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I don't know how I work up the courage to ask. "Could we stop at the hospital? Just for five minutes."

Dad turns fully around in his seat, glare baring into me. "Why?"

"Jimmy told me something about one of the patients. Sounds like the werewolves aren't all as dead as we thought," I reply, surprised at how easily the lie comes to mind. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I guess.

"Five minutes."

"Thanks, sir."

The hospital brings back way too many bad memories to sort through, so I walk up to the front desk in a dazed paranoia. It takes me a few minutes to realize the woman behind the desk is asking what I need.

"What room is Carolyn Novak in?" I mumble.

"109, sweetie," she says. I whisper my thanks and find the room relievingly fast.

The girl inside looks almost the same as the blue-eyed seven-year-old in the picture, just older. Seeing people in comas is always weird; it's like finding Snow White in the forest and not being able to save her.

She was the reason I told my cousin.

Whatever happened to her, it wasn't because Jimmy told anyone. Crap- that could be Sammy. I get there too late again, and he's as good as dead. I stand in the doorway for a few more minutes and I'm about to leave when it hits me; the girl looks exactly like Mom. Gasping, I take a few steps closer to her, awkwardly reaching towards her limp hand. It's cold; too cold for someone who's still alive.

I swear to god, Sammy, I think, trying to will the girl's eyes open. I'm not letting this happen to you.

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I said no Castiel. There was nothing about Castiel's vessel in the statement.

Just as a heads-up, the next few chapters are going to be less intense. I don't want to get to the good part too soon, you know? So there's not going to be as many dreams about killing Mary and almost dying and stuff.

Thanks for reviewing! All feedback is appreciated!