Heard 'Round the World: Part 2 of ?
Disclaimer: I don't even own a car. How would you expect me to own something as awesome as this?
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Let it be said that Dean Winchester cared for his little brother deeply.
Which was the only reason Sam wasn't currently pushing up the daisies, going to meet his maker, kicking the bucket and whatever other euphemisms John Cleese could come up with. If Dean had to hear one more prod about the dream he'd had last night, it really wouldn't be fair to hold him accountable for his retaliating actions. True, most of the time Sam was pushing for canonization, but there were other instances – such as now – when he could try the patience of even the most even-tempered of saints. Here Dean was, trying to concentrate on reading current news articles, and all Sam could think of was his brother's half-assed imitation of Haley Joel the night before. It was just a freak dream, brought on by stress and lack of sleep, nothing for his brother to worry his college boy head over.
College boy, as would be expected, had a different view on the subject. Being the psychic freak was Sam's job, goddamnit, and he would be damned if his protector had to go through the same pain he experienced before almost every hunt now.
"Would you just fucking tell me what you dreamed about?" Dean took several deep breaths, imagining John Winchester's face if he found out that Dean had murdered his own brother
"Sam, if you don't stop playing psychologist, I'll rip your tongue out." That wasn't too harsh, was it? Judging by Sam's sigh it had done the trick, though Dean felt bad about channeling his father when Sam so keenly hated that side of the Winchester patriarch.
"So, what have you found?" Sam asked, and Dean was able to detect a disappointed tone that accentuated his feelings of regret at throwing his brother's good intentions back into his puppy-dog face. But even the thought o f revisiting the nightmare sent a shiver down his spine. The fact that a dream, horrible as it may be, could reduce him to screams seriously dented his bad boy facade and that was something he could not let Sammy see. Dean had once been Sam's hero, someone who'd stood on a pedestal above Superman, above Power Rangers, and even above their father, and Dean took his role with a seriousness usually reserved for the pool tables or thinking up witty comebacks. This was why he had sent John away in Chicago and why he would do it again in a heartbeat – not only did they make John weak, but his presence weakened the brothers as well. If their dad had stayed away, remained AWOL like he'd had no problem doing the last seven months, Dean would have remained on guard like Sam had been telling him outside the hotel room; Dean wouldn't have had to watch Sam get ripped away from their father after almost reconciling; he wouldn't have had to bandage his bloody and bruised baby brother after finally stopping when the Impala ran out of fuel. But Sam could never know his fear or weakness, because weakness caused death and heroes don't let their charges die.
"Dean, did you hear me?" Sam's impatient voice rocketed him back to the present and green eyes looked up lazily to meet hazel, a smirk pulling at his lips.
"As promised, one fun-filled jaunt has our name written all over it," the older brother replied to his young grasshopper. For some reason, the young grasshopper did not look amused.
"Care to give any details, or are we gonna do this blindfolded – shoot first, ask questions later, just like you love?"
"The only think I love blindfolds with is women, Sammy-boy." The retching sound he received in response did a lot to bolster his mood. "Ok, here we go." He turned the laptop toward his brother, motioning for him to read the article. Sam leaned forward so as to decipher the tiny print.
The Camden Comet
2004 Horror Revisited
'They were shots heard 'round the world, harsh blasts that set the scene for this decade's 'Columbine'. One April 16, 2004, River View High School was turned into a war zone by seven armed students who took over the school, killing thirty-five children and wounding fifteen, including six teachers before the day was done. Now, this terrible tragedy seems to be being reenacted by curious teenager looking for a scare. Since many of the surviving student body and staff refused to set foot in the building where the massacre took place, River View High was closed and a new school was erected. However, the condemnation of the building has not ceased the flow of teenagers through its doors. The stories of the high school's haunting have made it a popular place for practical jokes, and sadly, it seems that one of them has gone too far.
Recently, several bodies have been found inside of the school after citizens in nearby houses reported hearing gunshots coming from the property. The cause of death of all four bodies found so far is determined to be lethal bullet wounds.
"This is a sick joke being playing by malicious (explicative)," says Miranda Glaze, who was one of the last group to flee the building before the S.W.A.T team went in. She and the other four who escaped with her – Evan Sambini, Recarlo Thompson, Neal Richards, Olivia Carter, and Christopher Farrow – all attend the new high school, Camden High, and are in their senior year. Glaze was hit in the leg by a bullet when trying to escape.
"I can't believe that someone would be so callous as to try and recreate that day," comment Sambini and Thompson. They were injured in the side and shoulder respectively during their sprint to safety.'
Sam looked up from the article, doubt coloring his features.
"I'm not sure, Dean. This really does sound like a horrible practical joke." Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother's lack of confidence.
"Come on now. Teens dying in the same way over thirty did two years ago? Man, the kids today aren't that cruel; they would know better. I bet before this article, the shooting still wasn't really talked about – too fresh and all that." Sam copied Dean's move and rolled his eyes, this time at his older sibling's lack of tact when dealing with anything pertaining to the vast realm of emotions. Wendigos and werewolves were not a problem, but show Dean someone who needed comforting (ruling out the attractive young female, obviously) and he ran away screaming like a girl.
"'Too fresh and all that'? I'm never taking you to a funeral, that's for certain."
"Oh come on, I behaved when we went to that wake for that chick's dad – the one who killed his wife."
"Jesus, Dean! The guy was murdered by Bloody Mary, and for all we know, it could've been an accident. The bitch didn't necessarily see shades of gray."
"See, now you got us off topic. How did you ever pass those college courses? Are we going or what?"
"You seem to have a distracting affect on me, and fine. We'll go, but for the record, I'm pretty sure it's a bunch of idiot kids –"
"Who have a penchant for murder?"
"Who started a deadly joke and are now too scared to stop, so the blame the ghosts haunting the building."
Dean was already up and moving around, gathering his scattered belongings and tossing them by his suitcase. Sam moved around him and the two methodically cleaned up the motel room as they had so many times before at so many different locations. In fifteen minutes, the Impala was greedily eating pavement and putting the roadside dump in its rearview mirror as it sped towards Camden, North Carolina.
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A/N: I will say now that this story deals with issues that many people may find touchy. It does have many parallels to the Columbine shooting several years ago, so if weapons in schools and such bothers you, I would suggest you not read this story.
