Rule 19: No Prank Wars During a Hunt

Fourteen-year old Sam Winchester sat in the backseat of the Impala, all but boring holes into the back of his brother's head as Dean rode shotgun beside their father.

The teen was still smarting after his brother's last practical joke in the latest series of the 'Winchester Prank Wars'. He knew he was being stupid for being angry with Dean but it had been a mean and immature joke.

The eighteen-year old, in his wisdom, had taken the last box of Oreos they had, licked all the icing from the middle of each cookie and replaced the filling with toothpaste. He then put all the cookies back into the box as though they hadn't been tampered with.

That very evening, when Sam returned to the motel room, and hungry, decided to have some Oreos, only to find that they had been defiled with toothpaste. Needless to say, the younger Winchester hadn't been impressed, calling Dean an idiot for doing something so stupid.

The older brother's response was to shrug and say, "It didn't kill you, did it?"

When the eldest Winchester found out about the prank, it was a little more serious. Sam couldn't help but smile as he recalled the lecture John had given Dean about acting like an adult and how his prank was a waste of food.

Now all Sam had to do was find a way to get back at his brother.

The fourteen-year old propped his chin on his hand and peered out the window of the Impala, daydreaming about what prank he would pull on his big brother next.

W

Sam took a bite of his turkey club sandwich and eyed the saltshaker sitting on the table in front of him.

Dean, sitting across from him, was already halfway through his cheeseburger, but his French fries were untouched.

Sam knew his brother was the kind of person who put everything on his fries- salt, pepper, ketchup, mayonnaise, vinegar- before he would even touch them.

So why were Dean's fries naked?

He probably knows exactly what I'll do if he gets up from the table, Sam told himself and was resigned to finding a different prank to pull on his brother.

John was sitting beside Dean, not even paying attention to what was going on around him, munching away on his burger with his nose stuck in a newspaper.

Irritated, Sam finished his sandwich and moved on to his salad, angry that his brother was foiling his plans for his prank.

W

Ice-cold water lapped up onto the pebbly beach, reaching out to Sam's boots.

The fourteen-year old gripped his knife tightly as he listened to his father's instructions, his brother at his side.

"This thing only comes up on land to hunt," John was saying, "And it only does that once every new moon so we can't mess this up or we'll have to wait another four weeks."

The younger Winchesters nodded; they had hunted werewolves before- creatures who only came out during the three days of the full moon- and were therefore well aware of the need to kill the monster quickly.

"This is a bit more dangerous," John continued, "You need to get close enough to the beast to stab its heart."

"It has to be the heart?" Dean asked and their father nodded, "That's what the lore says. The only way to kill a Dobhar-chú is to stab it through its heart."

Sam glanced at his brother. He didn't fancy the idea of getting close enough for the monster to kill him just so he could kill it.

"We have all night," John told them, "So take your time. But stay alert and watch out for each other."

The boys nodded; Dean stepping closer to his sibling.

"You have everything?" their father asked, and the boys raised their knives; Sam showing that he had the flashlight and Dean presenting the walkie-talkie.

John nodded, "Let me know as soon as you kill this thing and I will do the same if I find it."

"We will," Dean assured him and the brothers watched their father make his way down the edge of the beach, pebbles and seashells crunching beneath his boots.

"C'mon Sammy," the eighteen-year old said and the younger boy followed his brother as he headed in the opposite direction John had gone.

W

Sam squinted at his watch in the gloom and saw that forty minutes had passed since he and Dean had parted ways with their father.

In that time neither teen had spoken, ears and eyes straining for any sound or sight of their quarry to no avail.

The brothers had paused in their walk along the seashore, Dean sitting on a large piece of driftwood that had washed up on the shore.

"Maybe Dad was wrong and it's not a Dobhar-chú," Sam muttered quietly, "Maybe it was just a shark."

Illuminated by the beam his brother's flashlight, Dean shrugged, "You saw the bodies…"

"And they looked like a shark could have attacked them," Sam added.

"I don't know, are there really a lot of shark attacks in Washington?" Dean asked pointedly.

Sam sighed, "The only authentic shark attack was in the spring of 1989, and the surfer survived."

His brother nodded, "So it's probably not a shark. Dad knows what he's doing, Sam. He knows a monster when he sees what's left of the victim."

The fourteen-year old didn't reply but took a few steps away from his sibling, annoyed that they had not found the monster yet and impatient to get back at his brother for his dumb toothpaste-in-the-Oreos trick.

"Don't go too far away, Sammy!" Dean called from his seat on the piece of driftwood.

The younger boy shrugged and continued wandering away, swinging the flashlight in wide arcs, illuminating the rocky beach ahead. He wouldn't get too far away from his sibling; there was still a Dobhar-chú around.

Swinging the flashlight to the right, the beam revealed a large clump of Coastal Panic Grass about six feet high and an idea suddenly came to the teen. It was a harmless idea but it would certainly get Dean back for his own practical joke.

Turning off the flashlight, Sam ducked into the clump of grass, crouching down so that he couldn't easily be seen and cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting out for his sibling.

"DEAN! DEAN! HELP!"

Within seconds Sam heard the pounding of footfalls against the stony beach and smirked.

"Sammy? Sam? Where are you?" Dean called out, his tone frightened.

"HERE!" Sam cried and grabbed a handful of grass, shaking it, "THE MONST-"

Grasses parting violently, Dean peered down at his sibling, chest heaving with panic. The eighteen-year old blinked and raised a hand to shield his eyes as his sibling turned the flashlight back on and shone it in his face.

"Where- Where is it?" Dean stammered, frowning.

Sam grinned from ear to ear, "Gottcha."

A look of realization dawned on the older boy's face and Dean scowled, "You idiot! That's not funny."

"It was a bit," Sam argued, standing up and wiping sand from the seat of his jeans.

"No, it wasn't," Dean snapped and grabbed the flashlight from his sibling, shining it directly in Sam's face.

"I really thought you were in trouble," he continued.

"Than I guess I win this round," Sam replied smugly.

Dean shoved past him, "No way. That's wasn't funny. Don't you know what happened to the kid who cried wolf?"

"Dean," Sam called as his brother stomped through the patch of grass and continued on his way, "Dean! Come back, I can't see anything without the flashlight!"

The eighteen-year old didn't return to his sibling. Sam sighed and started making his way through the panic grass, stepping carefully to avoid tripping over hidden obstacles.

A low growl from behind the teen made Sam stop in his tracks.

"Dean?" he called out quietly.

SPN

Sam thought he was so funny, thought he was being smart. Well, Dean didn't see the humor in his little prank. He'd actually thought his brother had been hurt. That was not a laughing matter in the least.

Sure, his prank with the Oreo cookies may have been stupid and immature but at least it wasn't dangerous.

Dean couldn't help but fume at his sibling's joke. He started off through the grass without waiting for his brother, knowing that Sam would rush after him in a minute or two.

Sam knew better than to joke around while they were actively hunting a monster; pranks were fine as long as they didn't interfere with their job.

The eighteen-year old was quite a ways down the beach before he realized his brother hadn't caught up to him.

"Sammy?" Dean called and turned around, shining the flashlight down along the beach, seeing no sign of his sibling.

"D'N!" a cry cut through the quiet night, making the teen jump.

Dean's first instinct was to run towards the sound but then he stopped.

"I don't believe it," he muttered out loud.

He's trying it again, he thought; I'm going to kill him. This is so not funny.

A second scream rang out, shriller than the first, cutting off abruptly.

Sighing, Dean began walking towards the grasses where Sam was hiding, still continuing to play around.

"I'm going to deck you, Sam," Dean warned, "When I get over there! I told you to stop it!"

"D'n!"

This cry was weaker, quieter and full of pain. Dean knew Sam could act but he wasn't that good. His brother really was hurt.

"Sam?" he cried and began running towards the spot where he had left his sibling, "Sammy!"

Pebbles slid out from beneath Dean's boots, nearly causing him to fall several times before he reached the grass. Shoving the long grasses aside, the beam of the flashlight jerking from side to side as the eighteen-year old began to panic.

Dean's heart leaped into his throat as the light illuminated a pool of dark red liquid splashed against the stones mere inches away from his shoes.

"SAM!" he bellowed and received a weak cry in response coming from the direction of the water's edge.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted and trampled the grass as he charged towards the edge of the ocean, heart pounding fearfully. As soon as he was clear of the grass, Dean could clearly see a trail of dark red liquid smeared across the stones and shells that coated the beach, the bloody line stopping abruptly just where the water lapped at the shore.

A crumpled figure lay facedown against the ground while a creature the size of a German Shepard with the head of a hound with floppy pennant ears, the body and legs of an otter and the tail of a beaver, dipped its snout down to take a bite of its prey.

With no thought for his own safety, Dean ran forward, knife in hand, and brought the blade down into the side of the Dobhar-chú's exposed throat. Blood as cold as the ocean water lapping at the stones squirted across the teen's hand and the monster snapped at the hunter.

Dean just barely moved his hand free of the monster's jaws and stabbed the creature again, this time in its chest.

The Dobhar-chú squealed in agony and backed away, the blade sliding from its chest with a wet squelch and sighed, collapsing beside the injured boy.

Dean waited for a moment, eyes wide as the monster's body dissolved into foam that was quickly swept away by the lapping ocean waves, before turning his attention to his sibling.

"Sam? Sammy?" the eighteen-year old rolled his brother over onto his back and peered into the boy's face.

Sam's skin was pale and streaked with blood; his eyes were closed.

"Sammy!" Dean snapped and he shook his brother's shoulder, "Wake up! C'mon man!"

A crackle from the walkie-talkie in Dean's pocket startling him and he grabbed it with one hand, the other gripping his sibling's shoulder tightly.

"Dad… I killed the monster but… Sammy's hurt bad…"

Dean barely heard John's response, which included some colourful language, and continued his attempts to wake his sibling.

"Sammy, Sam," he urged, putting the walkie-talkie back in his pocket and using the flashlight to illuminate his sibling and show their father where they were.

"C'mon man," Dean muttered, "This isn't funny. This is lame."

Sam made no response. His eyes remained closed and his face remained as pale as before.

"You win, okay?" Dean told him, "You win the prank wars. You're the champion. Now wake up."

"Damn it," the teen swore and laid the flashlight on the ground, pointed towards his sibling so that his hands were free as he began checking his brother's injuries.

The right leg of Sam's jeans were torn to shreds and coated in blood, the skin beneath in tatters. Dean moved his gaze upwards and opened his sibling's jacket to find it too, slick with blood. Sam's chest and belly had been clawed cruelly by the Dobhar-chú but the lacerations did not look deep enough to have done any permanent damage. Carefully pulling his brother's jacket off, Dean grimaced as he held his sibling's left arm carefully, the skin and flesh beneath gashed by the monster's teeth.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured as he formed his sibling's jacket into a ball and pressed it against his arm, which seemed to have taken the worst damage.

"DEAN!" the eighteen-year old heard his father shout and he raised his flashlight to show the elder Winchester where they were.

Within seconds John was at Dean's side, peering concerned at his youngest son's face.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Dean told him, "The Dobhar-chú just snuck up on us, surprised me and grabbed Sammy. Started dragging him to the water."

John didn't even nod. His mouth had formed a thin, grim line and his dark eyes were moist.

"We have to get him to a hospital."

The father stood and held his hands out but Dean shook his head. His fourteen-year old brother was small for his age and Dean could carry him. Cradling his unconscious sibling like an infant, the eighteen-year old followed John to the edge of the beach where the Impala sat waiting.

SPN

Sam Winchester lay uncomfortably in the backseat of the Impala.

He had woken up hours after being admitted to a local hospital and having his wounds taken care of. He had over forty stitches in his leg and nearly a hundred in his arm, plus surgery to repair torn ligaments in both limbs. The cuts on his chest had been cleaned and bandaged but thankfully had not required stitches as well.

He had been quiet ever since waking up, feeling like an idiot for tricking Dean. If he hadn't been so stupid, he might not be in such a state at this moment.

"Hey Sammy, you awake?" Dean turned around in the front passenger seat as they stopped to fill up on gas, John leaving his sons in the vehicle.

"Yeah," the teen muttered.

"How are you feeling?"

"Awful," Sam replied, "Not that I don't deserve to."

"Sam-" his brother began but the younger sibling interrupted.

"No, I was being stupid," he told Dean, "I could have died. I could have avoided this if I hadn't been thinking about your prank with the Oreos."

He could see his brother's mouth moving, as though Dean wanted to say something but he didn't.

"Let's make a truce then," Dean suggested, holding his hand out, pinkie finger out, "No pranks during hunts."

Sam reached out with his uninjured arm and hooked his pinkie finger around his brother's.

"No pranks during hunts," he grimaced.

Dean nodded, serious, but then he grinned, "But any other time is free game. You better watch out. When you're better…"

The eighteen-year old laughed maniacally and the younger boy groaned, closing his eyes in exasperation.

Author's Note:

Prompt comes from a combination of ideas by CarverEdlundtheLast and AnitaRez.

The monster the Winchesters are hunting is a real mythical creature from Irish folklore. The Dobhar-chú has been sighted as long ago as the 17th century and as recently as the year 2003.

Thanks to StyxxsOmega, elliereynolds777, mckydstarlight, Aziza Maye, and jensensgirl3 for reviewing.

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