Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and WB. I'm just borrowing the characters to play with for a while!
A short Supernatural story. Set mid-season somewhere. Enjoy.
STORM
by Eryn Grant
"Keep up geek boy," Dean teased as he shrugged his pack higher onto his shoulder. He shone the flashlight in front of him illuminating a path for them through the dense undergrowth. They were heading towards the back of a cemetery through a mass of trees that separated the older graves from the more modern newer graves.
"Bite me," Sam shot back irritated. It unsettled him as he heard it again, the low rumble in the distance. He stumbled slightly knocking into Dean.
"What's the matter with you?" Dean turned on him aiming the flashlight into Sam's eyes. "Are you sick?"
"No," Sam shaded his eyes from the light. Dean narrowed his eyes searching Sam's face for any trace of a lie. "Quit it," Sam snapped pushing at Dean's hand. "Let's get this over with and get back to the motel," he pushed past Dean struggling through the overgrown grass. He ducked narrowly missing an overhanging branch. "You coming or what?" Sam called over his shoulder irritation still plain in his voice.
Dean rolled his eyes. He stared at Sam's retreating back for a moment before sighing wishing that Sam wasn't nearly as good as him at hiding what was troubling him. "I hate little brothers," he thought to himself as he followed Sam.
Sam could hear Dean behind him and it made him feel safe. "Stop it," he chastised himself silently. "It can't hurt you." He heard the rumble again in the distance. He picked up his pace hoping to get the burning and salting done quickly so they could get back to their room. So he could hide under the blankets.
"Hey," Dean caught up with him. "What's the hurry? The bones aint going nowhere."
"I know," Sam snapped still irritated at his brother.
"Hey," Dean said. "I'm just saying," he put his hands up in surrender.
Sam looked at his brother and could just make out the concern on his face. He immediately felt guilty for snapping. "I'm just tired. OK?"
Dean stared at him for a moment. Sam stared back willing Dean not to push the matter. "OK," Dean gave up defeated. "Let's burn them bones. And get back to the motel." He gave his brother a grin. "Last one to the grave is a girl." Dean turned and sprinted towards the older graves they could now see at the back of the cemetery.
Sam watched for a moment as Dean flicked his flashlight over the graves searching. Hunched over Dean searched the darkness looking for the right one, the one of the man who had been haunting and terrifying a local family because they lived in the house he had murdered his family in. He moved amongst the jumbled grave stones studying each one before moving to the next. Sam shook his head and began his own search in the opposite direction. He peered at each stone. "Come on. Come on," he chanted to himself. "Please be here." The wind was starting to get up and he shivered. It was coming and nothing would stop it.
"Hey Sam," Dean shouted. "Over here."
"Great," Sam thought relieved as he hurried to join his brother.
"Sammy's a girl," Dean grinned at him as he dropped his pack on the ground. He lay his flashlight to one side. Bending down he grabbed the two shovels from the top of the pack.
"You're the girl," Sam countered. "I can never get you outta the shower."
"Well at least I shower," Dean raised his eyebrows still grinning as he tossed a shovel to Sam. "Get digging." Sam mumbled a series of curses under his breath as he drove his shovel into the ground.
An hour later.
Dean leaned on the side of the half dug up grave panting. He watched Sam for a moment. He frowned. Sam was almost frantically digging tossing the dirt up in the air. Most of it was coming back down into the grave. Every now and again he stopped and looked up at the sky then went back to digging totally oblivious to his older brother watching him. Dean frowned again looking up at the sky himself. He couldn't see anything. The wind had gotten stronger in the last half hour and the dark sky had taken on a weird and eerie light colour.
Then it hit him. He had heard the rumbles in the distance but had ignored them. A storm was coming and Sam hated storms. Had done ever since he had been caught in one when he was six. Sam had been playing at a friend's house and Dean had gone to meet him half way and had found him cowering under some bushes terrified as the thunder and lightning crashed around them. It had taken him half an hour to coax a crying Sam out from the bushes. Sam had grabbed his hand and never let go as they ran home. They had dried themselves off, put on their pajamas and snuggled in Dean's bed with Dean reading one of Sam's books to him by flashlight to try and keep his mind off the storm outside. Sam had fallen asleep cuddled up to his brother. And every time a storm came, Sam had appeared at his bedroom door with a book under his arm. He never said anything. And Dean had always lifted up the blankets. Sam never needed a second invitation. He ran to the bed climbing in and curling himself up tight against his brother waiting for Dean to begin the story.
Dean couldn't help smiling at the memory. He squinted at Sam trying to see the six year old in the young man digging frantically. Dean grinned to himself knowing that the little boy who was frightened of storms was still there hiding deep in his tall lanky brother. "Hey," Dean punched his brother's arm. "I got this. Why don't you head back. Grab a shower. And order us some pizza. All this digging is making me hungry."
"No," Sam said stubbornly. "We can do it faster together." With a quick look to the sky, he turned back to his frenzied digging.
Dean laughed. "Not with you looking at the sky every two seconds," he said. "And anyway," he grinned. "Your freaky body is taking up all the space."
"Dean," Sam said loudly. "Talking is not digging."
"Well I'm sorry Mr I will dig the grave out in the fastest time ever," Dean couldn't help teasing.
"Dean," Sam wheeled on his brother. "Dig." Behind the anger Dean could see a hint of panic in his brother's eyes. "Please," Sam begged. He knew he was being irrational but he couldn't help himself. The storm was coming. Sam thrust his shovel down again. It hit something solid and he couldn't help sighing with relief.
"See," Dean said evenly. "We're almost done. I can finish up here. And you get us pizza."
"But," Sam bit at his lower lip.
"No buts," Dean turned his back on Sam as he began scraping the rest of the dirt of the top of the coffin. "I'll be half an hour." He turned back to Sam. "Now get your ass back to the motel."
Sam hesitated. Dean grabbed the shovel from Sam's hand throwing it out of the grave. "Out now Sammy," he yelled. "Or do I have to pick your skinny ass up and throw you out?"
"You sound like Dad," Sam yelled back childishly.
"Well you're acting like a little kid," Dean retorted.
"Am not," Sam muttered.
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "Whatever," he said.
"Jerk," Sam mumbled glaring at his brother but he couldn't help the feeling of relief that flowed through his body. He jumped out of the grave retrieving his shovel and pack. He started to jog back towards the trees.
"And I want ham and pineapple on my pizza," Dean shouted to Sam before turning back to smashing the top of the coffin with his shovel.
Sam stared out of the window at the torrential rain. The motel they had picked was a short distance from the cemetery and he had gotten back in record time just before the rain started. He had showered, changed and ordered pizza for them. He had even ordered some extra fries for Dean. The pizza and the fries lay abandoned on the table cold and Sam was waiting impatiently for Dean to return.
Sam peered down at his watch. Dean had been over an hour and he was getting worried. The wind rattled the frames and Sam jumped back frightened as the lightning lit up the sky bathing their room in a bright blueish light. The storm was overhead. He sat down on the bed with his hands over his ears trying to blot out the deafening sound as the thunder crashed overhead. "Dean," he whispered. "Where the hell are you?"
Sam felt stupid and guilty for leaving Dean behind at the grave but he had never been able to control or conquer his fear of storms. He knew it was irrational knew it was stupid but he just couldn't help himself. Storms freaked him out. Dean had always been there when he was a child, comforting, when a storm came and later Jessica had been the one to calm him during the storms. Jessica was gone but Dean was still here still comforting him and still protecting him. And here he was clean, dry and warm when Dean was out in the storm dirty from grave digging and probably soaked to the skin.
Sam cautiously moved back to the window and peered out. It was still raining, the thunder crashed overhead and lightning illuminated the night sky. He looked down to his watch again. An hour and a half. "This is ridiculous," Sam thought to himself cursing his fear. He could face down ghosts and demons but he was too afraid to go out in a storm. Mind made up, Sam grabbed his jacket and his flashlight and opened the door.
A loud crash of thunder startled Sam and he hugged the wall as though his life depended upon it. His mouth was dry, his heart was pounding and he could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck. He wanted to move but his legs wouldn't co-operate. Closing his eyes Sam attempted to calm himself by trying to remember the stories that Dean had read to him as a child. Another clap of thunder made him jump. "Samuel Winchester," he scolded himself. "You can do this. Just keep calm," Sam chanted to himself as he risked opening his eyes. He cautiously looked up to the sky. "It's now or never," he said to himself firmly as he pushed himself away from the wall. Sam started to hum metallica as he headed towards the cemetery.
Dean sprang out of the grave. Looking up at the sky he decided he would have to work fast if he was to burn the bones before the rain started. He scrabbled around in his pack finding the salt and lighter fluid. He looked down at the broken skeleton as he first sprinkled the salt and then a generous amount of lighter fluid all over the bones. "No more scaring the shit outta people for you," he said as he lit a rag and tossed it into the grave.
The wood of the coffin started to crackle with the heat and Dean stared down as the flames engulfed the grave turning the bones to black ash. Flames and smoke rose into the sky and he stepped back imagining that he could hear the ghost screaming in frustration as it melted away to nothing. Dean gave a satisfied grin. "Pizza is a calling," he sung to himself as he gathered up his equipment. He hoped that Sam had ordered the pizza as he was starving. He took a quick look around before he headed towards the trees. Half way to the trees, the rain started and Dean started to run. The thunder and lightning started to crash above him. He was soaked to the skin before he reached the shelter of the trees.
Dean liked storms and couldn't really understand Sam's fear of them. Many a night during a storm he had stood outside alone letting the rain beat down on his face looking up to the sky marvelling at the show Mother Nature was giving him for free. Dean couldn't really explain, even to himself, why he loved storms. He never felt alone in a storm and it reminded him that there was beauty in the world as well as the darkness he fought every day of his life. But tonight, Dean didn't stop he wanted to get back to the motel to make sure Sam was all right.
A flash of lightning illuminated the sky. Dean heard a cracking sound and looked up. He stumbled catching his foot in a tangle of wet undergrowth. A large branch hurtled towards him and Dean put his hand and arm up in an effort to protect himself. He cried out as the branch hit him hard knocking him to the wet ground.
His foot was still tangled in the undergrowth and he fell awkwardly. Pain lanced through his ankle as it twisted. Dean's last thought before the darkness enveloped him was how much Sammy hated storms.
Sam raced through the trees pushing at stray bushes that got in his way and ducking overhanging branches. He was soaking wet and frightened. His mouth was dry and his breath came in sharp short gasps as he desperately tried to ignore the storm raging above him. Sam pushed his wet hair out of his eyes as he slipped and stumbled through the wet undergrowth. "Dean," he shouted as he ran towards the open grave. Sam looked around. He peered over the edge of the grave. The flames had gone out and all that was left of the bones was black ash. Relieved that Dean wasn't lying in the grave Sam looked around again. The grave site had been tidied and Dean and his pack were missing. "Dean," Sam yelled again. "I swear if you got me out here for nothing I'm gonna kill you."
He shone his flashlight around. Sam started to jog back towards the trees flicking the light up and down and side to side trying to find his brother. "Dean," he called again. "Quit fooling around," he yelled loudly trying to make himself heard over a volley of thunder. Sam could hear his heart beat loud in his ears and could feel the rising panic. "Dean. You know how much I...," he started to say when his light shone on a green lump in front of him - Dean's pack. Dampening down his rising panic Sam ran forward. To the left of the pack he could just make out his brother laying still under a large branch. Putting his flashlight to one side, he knelt down heaving the branch off Dean tossing it to one side. He rolled Dean onto his back. Dean's eyes were closed and his face was bloody from a large gash down the side of his head. Sam quickly checked for other injuries but couldn't see any obvious signs. Sam gently shook Dean. "Come on. Time to wake up," he pleaded as he shook Dean again.
"Sammy," Dean mumbled his eyes still closed. "Quit shaking me."
"Well open your eyes then," Sam ordered with a relieved smirk.
"Did I ever tell you that I hate little brothers," Dean forced his eyes open. He tried to focus on Sam. His head hurt and he could feel a painful throbbing in his ankle. He squinted at Sam. "God, there's two of you," he closed his eyes again. "Kill me now."
"Don't tempt me," Sam retorted. Dean opened his eyes and managed to glare at his brother. "How many fingers?" Sam held up three fingers in front of Dean's face.
Dean blinked trying to focus on Sam fingers. "Three," he mumbled as his double vision began to fade.
Sam smiled at him. "Let's get you up," Sam hauled Dean into a sitting position leaning him against the trunk of the tree. Sam noticed that Dean bit at his lip as he was pulled into a sitting position.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Sam asked as he pulled Dean's pack closer.
"No," Dean answered too quickly.
"Dean," Sam threatened. Dean scowled at him. Sam sighed in exasperation as he scrabbled around in the pack for a clean cloth. He pressed it to the cut on Dean's head.
"Ouch" Dean squirmed under the pressure. "That hurts."
"Baby," Sam grinned.
Dean swatted Sam's hand away holding the cloth himself. "Anyway what you doing out in the storm?" Dean asked. "You hate storms. I thought you'd be hiding under the blankets by now."
"Looking for you idiot," Sam snapped. "And I know I hate storms." A loud crash of thunder made Sam start and he looked up to the sky panic on his face. His heart started to race again and he looked back towards Dean not able to hide his terror. "Dean," he couldn't help mouthing as he flinched and ducked his head against another loud volley of thunder roaring through the sky.
"Hey," Dean grabbed Sam's hand. He could feel his brother trembling. He hated what he called chick flick moments but he decided that this was an emergency. Dean smiled to himself not quite able to believe that Sam had braved the storm to come and find him. It made him feel warm inside. It made him feel loved. "It's OK. I'm here," he soothed. "The storm can't hurt you. Nothing can. Not on my watch. OK?"
Sam clasped at Dean's hand just as he had done when he was a child. He stared at Dean trying to draw strength from his brother and his calming words. He felt the panic slowly ebbing away. "OK," he took a deep breath as he let go of Dean's hand. Dean gave Sam a small smile. He shivered suddenly feeling cold and wet.
Sam noticed. "Hey man," he said. "You're freezing."
"Laying in the rain can do that to a person," Dean said sarcastically.
Sam ignored the comment. "We better get you back to the motel before you catch cold."
"You're soaked too," Dean protested.
"Then we'd both better get back before we both catch cold," Sam replied irritated.
Dean let out an un-Dean like giggle. "Yeah," he lay his head back against the tree trunk suddenly tired. "Demon hunters with the sniffles can sure be a bitch."
Sam shook his head but gave a small laugh. "Can you get up?"
Dean considered the question for a moment. "Right ankle hurts," he admitted grimacing in pain. "Twisted it as the demon branch tried to brain me."
"Is it broken?" Sam asked alarmed looking down to Dean's ankle.
"No," Dean reassured. "Just sprained. Nothing an ice pack and a bandage won't cure."
"OK," Sam got to his feet shrugging Dean's pack onto his shoulder as he offered Dean his hand. "I'll help you." Dean grabbed hold and Sam pulled him carefully to his feet. Dean felt dizzy and he swayed slightly. Sam tightened his grip steadying Dean. "You OK?" he asked concerned.
"Just peachy," Dean muttered. He bit his lip as he put weight on his injured ankle sending a jolt of pain up his leg. He took a deep breath against the pain. "Let's go," he hopped forward.
"Lean on me," Sam instructed as he put his arm around Dean's back to take his weight. He was surprised when Dean complied without any argument.
The two brothers started to make their way out of the trees Dean leaning heavily on Sam hopping on one foot trying to keep his weight off the other. "Sammy," Dean looked sideways at his brother. "Did you get me ham and pineapple on my pizza?"
Sam rolled his eyes at Dean. "And extra fries."
"Cool," Dean replied. "I take it all back. Little brothers are OK."
Sam gave a small laugh. He looked nervously up at the sky. The storm seemed to be dying down advancing across the skies onto the next county. Dean caught the movement. "It's OK Sammy," he nudged Sam in the side.
"I know," Sam nodded. He tightened his grip on his brother. He felt safe, safe with Dean. "You used to read me stories," Sam remembered. "When I was scared as a kid."
"I am not reading you a story," Dean protested firmly.
"I liked Peter Pan the best," Sam smiled as he recalled Dean using different voices for different characters as he read the story.
"Yeah you would," Dean grinned. "But hey... that Tinkerbell. Wow, she was hot."
"Dean," Sam protested.
END