AN: I hope you guys don't mind being kind of inundated with writing. It's been a whole lot of "hurry up and wait" around here, which means I'm bored, which means I write!
Happy Earth Day, and happy birthday to Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who seems to be getting sexier instead of older!
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Sam had seen the stars from many different places, but he could hardly remember seeing so many at a time. They stretched pretty much from horizon to horizon.
He and Dean were on their backs on a blanket on the roof of the trailer. They'd gone up in search of a breeze, and the clear night meant it cooled off fast. Between that and the cold beers, it was the most comfortable Sam had felt since they'd reached Texas.
Despite the pit in his stomach, Sam was enjoying the night. Dean was alternating between making dirty jokes and sitting in comfortable silence, and it was remarkably pleasant. The only downside was the fact that Desi was pouting inside the trailer, unable to come up there with them.
That and the way that, every time he really started to relax, Sam would remember the damning silence after Dad had said those words Sam isn't ready.
Sam curled his hands into fists and tried to focus on the night and the stars and the breeze. He was grateful to Dean for dragging him up there; his book had been doing a rotten job of holding his attention. Like Poe, Sam thought, "vainly I had sought to borrow/from my books surcease of sorrow."
Dean chose that moment to start talking again. "Okay, Catherine Zeta-Jones or Gwyneth Paltrow?"
Sam smiled in the dark and wondered, not for the first time, if Dean had some kind of Sam radar. He yawned. "Duh --"
He broke off when Dean suddenly grabbed his wrist and hissed, "Bigfoot." It was code for don't move or make noise. (Bigfoots were so good at hiding that people often walked within a few feet of the creatures and never saw them. If they were found, they would even hold their breath long enough that they appeared dead.)
Sam held his breath and listened for all he was worth. All he could hear was the buzz of the generator and the clunking of the air conditioner. Then, he heard the faintest sound of Desi growling. The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up. The dog had barely made a sound, even when she was so terribly hungry and thirsty, and he'd certainly never heard her growl before.
Dean let go of Sam's wrist, probably pulling his pistol. Sam wasn't carrying anything except a boot knife and a butterfly knife, but Dean had inexplicably brought up their longest rifle, stating that he wanted some peccary bacon. (Never mind that they both hated field dressing and had no materials for curing bacon. But Dean's whims didn't always make sense.)
Sam inched his hand toward the rifle that lay between them. There still weren't any sounds, or maybe Sam just couldn't hear them over the sound of his galloping heartbeat. But he didn't doubt Dean for a second.
Sam's left hand closed on the rifle barrel, then Dean tapped the back of his hand. He drew an arrow pointing toward the canyon side, to Sam's right. Sam clenched his fist and relaxed it to show he understood. Still barely breathing, Sam eased the rifle into his right hand, holding it against his chest. He flexed his left hand again to let Dean know he was ready for whatever Dean wanted him to do.
Out of the dark, a voice called out, "Alright boys, c'mon out. We got fifteen shotguns pointed your way, and trust me, they'll cut through the those walls like tissue paper. And my boss would prefer you not be full of holes, but we don't mind so much." It was a rumbling bass with a strong Texas twang. The speaker sounded completely at ease.
Fifteen? What the hell were they going to do with half a dozen rounds each?
Sam thought he might hyperventilate, but Dean squeezed his wrist again, grounding him. He began to tap again, this time clearly a message in Morse code. Sam forced his racing mind to focus. G L O R Y. It took Sam a second to get it.
Glory was the last movie they'd caught together, on a staticky TV in a motel somewhere in Oklahoma. In the climactic moment, regiment 54 is hopelessly outnumbered. Their leader, Colonel Shaw, calls to his men and starts a doomed charge. After the movie, Sam and Dean had laughed that it was no wonder that they had all died, since they were led by Ferris Bueller.
It didn't seem funny now. But Sam trusted Dean.
He formed his hand into a thumbs up to indicate his understanding. Dean squeezed his wrist once more in reassurance. Then he tapped once.
"I am not known for my patience," the voice called again. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get a fix on the guy's location. "Now you're probably hopin' that I'm lyin' about how many we are, but I ain't."
Dean tapped a second time.
"I know your Daddy raised you to fight, but I give you my word that if you surrender peaceable like, we won't hurt you."
He knew who they were. They were so screwed.
A shotgun shot rang out and Sam jumped, but it had apparently just been a warning shot, because Sam didn't hear it hit anything.
Dean tapped a third time.
Go time.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean was extraordinarily adaptable. He never completely let his guard down and reacted extremely quickly to even the biggest surprises. And even at only 20 years old, was rarely at a loss for what to do next.
He'd sensed something just minutes before the voice had called out from the dark -- from the canyon side, where it shouldn't be possible for anyone to come from.
And Dean wasn't sure what to do.
The one advantage they had was that their attackers thought they were inside the trailer, not on the roof. Of course, being up there meant 99% of the Winchester's arsenal was inaccessible to the brothers. They had a handgun, the rifle some instinct had made Dean grab, almost no ammunition, and a few blades.
Silently comforting the 16-year-old (who was doing an amazing job of staying silent and still -- bullshit was he not ready to hunt), Dean realized that they had a few advantages he hadn't thought about. Dean had brought the switch to all the spotlights up with him. And the jackass calling them had revealed that they wanted Sam and Dean alive.
They still were facing an unknown number of enemies with unknown weaponry and abilities, but Dean was damned if they'd surrender without a fight.
He thought this was the best way to protect Sam, but damn he wished he had more information. Or maybe a grenade launcher.
Dean had signaled his intent to fight to Sam the most succinct way he could think of, but he remembered Shaw going down in a hail of bullets and wished he'd chosen something different. Too late now. Tightening his grip on his gun, Dean gave the last signal.
Trusting Sam to back him, Dean screwed his eyes shut and flipped the switch. He was pivoting at the same time, so his head would face the direction the voice had come from.
Light flooded the area, and Dean quickly opened his eyes again. They watered, but he wasn't blinded like their opponents hopefully were.
Dean quickly shot the first blurry figure he saw, and a second later, the rifle barked and another went down. Dean shot a third, and the attackers seemed to recover from their surprise. There were four still standing. Now three. Good shooting, Sammy.
Dean's vision was clearing quickly, and he could make out that their opponents were all very tall, and holding long guns. But even as Dean shot another they didn't shoot back. Instead, they rushed toward the trailer faster than any human could have moved. And, oh, shit, those they'd shot were getting back up again.
The closest creature jumped impossibly high and twin shots knocked it out of the air. Dean grimaced at the waste of ammo and shot two more jumpers while Sam was reloading.
Then Sam gave a startled grunt and began to slide backwards. Dean grabbed for him, catching a glimpse of a big, malformed hand wrapped around his ankle. "De--" Sam gasped and disappeared over the edge.
Dean surged to his feet, but six and a half feet of ugly landed heavily next to him before he could see what had happened to Sam. It was a man, mostly. Under a tapered beard and thick sideburns, the face was vaguely bovine. No, caprine. The hand that grabbed Dean's gun had only three thick, wedge-shaped fingers and the thing's feet were freaking hooves the size of salad plates.
Dean relinquished the gun without a fight, since it was empty anyway. Goat face wasn't expecting that and took a half step backwards, which was all the space Dean needed to throw a left handed haymaker that knocked the creature down. A deep thud announced that another one had landed behind him.
With an outright growl at the attackers for keeping him from Sam, Dean ripped the shotgun away from his downed opponent. Below him, a familiar rifle boomed, and Dean smiled as he spun around, swinging the purloined gun like a club. He nearly took off the head of fugly number two, and sent him off the roof to the canyon side.
Yet another creature landed on the roof and Dean started to bring the shotgun around.
The monster at Dean's feet wrapped a hand around his calf and yanked. Dean kicked it in the face with his other foot, loosening its grip, but the damage had already been done, and he couldn't regain his balance. Dean's heel caught the lip of the roof and he fell backwards. He couldn't stop his fall, but he could do one thing. With great satisfaction, he unloaded the shotgun into the face of the goatman who'd just had the misfortune of coming into his sights.
Dean landed hard on his back, the wind well and truly knocked out of him. In addition, the back of his head had smacked the ground hard enough to make his eyes cross. He could only lie there, stunned, for a long moment, trying to suck in air.
Dean rolled his head to the side and saw that he'd nearly landed on a monster missing half its face. But it was the tableau just beyond it that captured his attention. Two of the creatures were holding a wildly struggling Sam suspended by his biceps. A third moved in and inserted a needle into the juncture of Sam's neck and shoulder with surprisingly dextrous hands.
Dean screamed at his body to move. Still struggling to pull in air, he rolled onto his side, vision sliding in and out of focus. A blow he never saw coming knocked Dean back onto his back. The shotgun was ripped from his hands.
The last things Dean saw were Sam going limp...and the butt of the shotgun flying toward his face.
* * *
AN: Well, it took me four chapters to stick you with a cliffie! You're welcome?
References, like usual. The Poe quote is from The Raven. The 1989 movie Glory tells the story of the 54th regiment, an all black regiment in the American Civil War that fought with great bravery. Colonel Shaw, who led them, is played by Matthew Broderick, who also starred in the oddball high school comedy Ferris Beuller's Day Off. And I'm totally dating myself with these references!
printandpolish: So much YES to everything you said. John can drive me crazy, too, but I have a lot of sympathy for him, too. Thanks for putting my feelings into words so well!
sfaulkenberry: No story without conflict, right? And sorry, no spoilers about who's after the boys or why, though knowing you, you'll probably guess! And your last two sentences are awesome -- they're going up on my whiteboard next week!
JaniceC678: I'm always so happy to see your name! Your comments are always thoughtful, kind, detailed, and helpful. As for your warning, I will take it under advisement! *g* Trust me?
I'm glad you find the portrayal of all the Winchesters realistic. I love what you said about the gift of dog food being as emo as John gets. And of course what Sam heard (and didn't hear) will come back to bite everyone in the ass. :-)
Timelady66: So, how is your writing going? Cuz that's one rich plot bunny you just threw out there! (hint, hint)
BruisedBloodyBroken: LOLOL I Macgyver'd the shit out of a fan two nights ago, and it's still working (knock on wood). BTW, random fact, I was in high school before I learned that schnell isn't an English word because my grandma used it all the time.
Jenjoremy: I have a square peg too! I wouldn't change him, though, because he's also extraordinarily kind and intelligent. I'm glad you appreciate the soapbox.
I don't really mean to throw out words like that...I swear it just happens, but I'm glad it doesn't bother you. :-) And I think John buying the dog food was my favorite moment in that chapter. I'm really just a big, mushy marshmallow and I love the sweet moments.
MaddyWinchester2000: I'm glad for every comment and certainly don't expect anyone to comment on every chapter. I can totally imagine Dean watching I Love Lucy! And it was so fun to write about Desi...promise we'll see more of her.
muffinroo: I can't even imagine that high of a temperature! It doesn't even hit 90 very often around here. I love what you said about "bro man praise." I'm glad that you liked the scene-setting...I often worry that I spend too much time on getting into the action. I'm relieved that you liked the overhearing and angst!
Scealai: Aw, I'm sorry it made you sad. I loved writing Desi and how happy she made Sam. I imagined the trailer like the one my grandparents used to own. It was permanently parked next to a lake and had a generator that they ran for electricity and their water pump. They had a small well and a contained cistern that they had to pump out once a year. It wasn't a permanent home or anything, but I'm guessing this tin can could have a similar system? Maybe? This trailer was ancient, but I'm sure it was still a heck of a lot nicer than what the boys were stuck with!
Colby's girl: Isn't it, though? And sorry about the nasty trailer. Accommodations are not going to get better...
Lena: Sorry that work is so busy! Especially during your birthweek. I'm glad you saw your story. :-) Scealai didn't want anything cold, so we switched to the desert. Heat means fewer clothes, absolutely! LOL I loved writing about Desi. And I'm so so so happy the little one shot made you laugh. ((((HUGS))))
WasteJamie: Thank you! I'm glad you're reading. And your timing is good -- here's your update!