This is Not Going to Be My Life
Sam kept nodding off. The tense silence was warm and the repetitive motion of the car as they drove up and down the same stretch of dark highway was lulling the eleven-year-old to sleep. Dean kept surreptitiously kicking him to keep him awake, which Sam kinda appreciated, 'cause Dad would kick his ass if he caught Sam sleeping on the job, but, well, Dean didn't have to do it so hard. As if in response, Dean tried to nail him in the shins. Sam dodged at the last moment, softening the blow and sending Dean a glare that said clearly, I wasn't sleeping, you jerk.
Dean's answering smirk portrayed his usual cockiness. "Just checking, bitch," he teased beneath his breath.
"Keep your eyes on the road," John ordered testily.
"Yes, sir," they chorused and Sam blinked hard, trying to rouse himself from his stupor to obey.
"Look alive, kiddo," John said firmly, looking through the rearview mirror at Sam. Sam caught the recrimination beneath the gentleness. "This is important."
"I know," he snapped, bristling under the implication.
"Sam," John and Dean admonished together.
Sam shrugged unhappily but buckled on the pressure. "Yes, sir," he quickly amended, glaring daggers at Dean for the betrayal. Dean rolled his eyes and the lot of them went back to staring through the dark glass.
Suddenly Sam got a glimpse of something. He blinked twice, seeing it clearly before it blinked out again. "Dad!" he called softly, trying to shake himself out of the trance of it.
"Yeah?" John said, slowing immediately.
"There! I saw it. Uh... 4 o'clock."
"Okay, good work." John pulled over to the side of the road, turning off the headlights and turning off the engine. The four men suited up in silence, grabbing shotguns and flashlights.
Sam was still blinking to clear his head. He started to wonder if he would be able to resist the lure of this thing.
"Stay behind me," John ordered, catching Sam's eye specifically. Sam nodded thickly and fell in behind Dean. Pastor Jim took up the rear.
The plan was to lure the wisp to the trap they had set up that afternoon. They were the main spirit attractions, so they needed to be cautious. Witching hour descended on the dark forest, filling the shadows with phantoms. Sam shivered involuntarily, catching a glimpse of something nasty which hissed from the dank underbush.
Sam's felt like his head was a foot beneath the water. He kept tripping over branches and roots. All he could see was the pulse of the green light, drawing him. He was trying to resist the lure, but it there was strong current pulling him toward the creature. The more he fought it, the clumsier he became, until a particularly blundering step earned a hissing warning for Dean.
John whirled to see Sam fall to his knees and in moments was at his side, grabbing him roughly in concern. When Sam's eyes remained unfocused, John shook him roughly, close to panic. "Snap out of it, Sam!" He hissed in panic, raising his hand to slap the boy.
"Dad!" Dean protested.
"John!" Jim barked at the same time, moving forward quickly to stop him. "For God's sake," he said roughly, putting himself between the eleven-year-old and his distraught parent. Pulling a small vial of holy oil from his pocket, Jim anointed Sam's head, murmuring a benediction. Sam gasped as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over his shoulder and looked up at the pastor in confusion.
"There you are, back with us," Jim said comfortingly.
Sam's eyes strayed to his father and he was met with a dark, unreadable expression. He wasn't able to hold the older man's gaze and quickly looked down at the ground, trying to regain some composure. He was tired, like he had been running for miles, and his exhaustion brought him close to tears, which he swallowed manfully.
John ran a hand through his damp hair nervously, wondering if they had waded in too deep too fast. Now the company looked to him for instruction and he knew he had to think clearly. He couldn't screw this up. It shook him to see Sam like that, more than he liked to admit, but he knew he couldn't give in to that right at the moment.
"It's stronger than I thought," he said shortly, "everyone be careful," before turning again towards the coordinates they had previously set.
Trouble was, now they had to draw the thing towards them, which increased their risk of falling under its spell.
The small clearing, had been transformed by the night shadows into a dark, sinister space which took Sammy's breath away. The sigils he had drawn earlier where infused with a faint glimmer, glinting in absolute darkness.
"Everyone stay back," John ordered, moving towards the middle of the clearing. Jim and the brothers fanned out to cover him while John began the summoning spell. The normal creak and hoot of the night was replaced with eerie silence and a heavy wind which rocked the trees.
Sam swallowed, his throat was dry. He knew it was coming, heard its voice whispering curses as it flitted through the trees. It was resisting the spell, hissing in rage as it tried to avoid the lure. Sam fought the urge to shoot wildly into the brush. Heart in his throat, strained to see into the darkness.
The wind rose further and suddenly a fierce crack of green lighting hit one of the trees that bore the sigil, breaking the ring. Sam saw it then, glowing with an infernal light and flickering like a TV with bad reception. It turned and looked at Sam with eyes filled with hell fire and shook like a leaf, nearly buckling at the knees.
"SHOOT IT!" he heard his father scream, though every sound was strangely muted. He tried though, he really tried.
The wisp flicked again, moving further away this time and Sam struggled in the quicksand of its spell to follow it, raising the shotgun which felt heavy in his arms.
Dean's shot rang out as the wisp immediately entered the clearing, going straight for John at the center.
Like most spirits, the Wisp was only semi-corporeal. Half Dean's round hit the body, which evaporated into rancid green smoke, causing the creature to scream in pain and anger. The thing quickly resolidified, flickering again in the haze.
Sam felt a pressure on his chest, the order to shoot echoing in his head. He raised his shotgun and pulled the trigger.
"Sammy wait! No, don't!" Dean said desperately, but he reached his brother's side too late. "You idiot," he growled with more animosity than he had ever directed at Sam before.
Sam broke into a sweat as he saw his father go down with groan, iron buckshot decorating his side and chest.
"Dad!" He screamed in horror. What have I done?
Sam had shot through the Wisp, hitting his father almost square in the side. Blood was seeping from the wounds. Sam took an involuntary step forward, only to be roughly grabbed by his brother.
"Stay back!" Dean hissed, eyes glancing around in panic.
In the blink of an eye, the creature was back, going straight for John. Sam watched in horror as his father screamed wordlessly, writhing on the ground.