Title: Confessions
Author: ShaedowCat (aka Me)
Beta: Sparrow Lover (again...how sad...I made her look over her own Request Fic...) Sammy girl at heart, kina24, and key of darkness. What can I say? I'm a beta-junkie...
Characters: Dean, Sam, John, Pastor Jim(!)
Pairing: None
Rating: PG / K
Genre: Supernatural
Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't sue
Feedback: is loved like cookies! -:munches:-
Summary: Something Wicked aftermath.
Warning: None I can think of.
Notes: A First Review Request Fic for Sparrow Lover. The prompt was "younger fic...either Dean first looking out for Sam...or right after the Shtriga incident".
I picked the Shtriga incident.
This is a two-parter...I thought I could do it in one, but my muse slapped me upside the head and said it would be better in two. -:le sigh:-

It was ten thirty at night when someone started banging on his door.

Pastor Jim Murphy got up from crossword he was solving and headed to the door, pausing along the way to pick up a shotgun loaded with silver rounds he'd consecrated himself. Ten thirty was a little late for just a casual house-call, so whoever - or whatever - was knocking on his door was either a fellow hunter, one of the things he hunted, or a fellow hunter pursued by something he hunted.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if he preferred the former or the latter.

He got to the door and undid the dead-lock and chain. He took a deep breath, then turned the key and opened the door...

...to reveal John Winchester standing on his doorstep.

Five-year-old Sam was clutching onto his hand and nine-year-old Dean was standing just behind him. As he looked closer, he noted that Sam looked like he was going to fall asleep any second, and Dean was as pale as a ghost. Jim frowned worriedly. Something wasn't right.

"John?" he asked, confused. The other man nodded grimly.

"Look, Jim, there's been an...incident. Can you look after the boys? I need to get back to Fort Douglas right away."

"Of course...how long will you be?"

"I don't know," John replied, and Jim nodded, understanding.

"Dad..." Dean began, then stopped and bit his lip. John glanced at him for a moment, expectantly. There was a pause, then...

"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered, his young voice cracking on the last word. John nodded tersely, his lips pressed together in a thin line, then he turned and headed out the door, all but running over to the Impala. He slid in behind the wheel, threw the car into gear, then tore out of the driveway, sending up a little spray of dirt in his wake. Jim watched him go, then shook his head and opened the door a little wider.

"Come in, boys, it's a bit cold out there." He held out a hand to Sam and the younger Winchester took it. He drew the boy inside, beckoning as he did so with his other hand for Dean to come in, too. The older boy followed silently, and after he crossed the threshold, Jim closed the door. He released Sam's and reached for the canister of salt that sat on the table beside the door; once the salt line was redone, he turned to look at his charges.

From the look of things, he'd been correct in his previous assumption: Sam was clearly close to sleep, and Dean looked...well, he looked scared. Jim paused as the realization hit him, surprised. He realized that he'd never seen Dean scared...not even when his father had been hurt on a hunt...worried, yes, but never scared.

First thing's first... "Come on, Sammy, why don't we get you to bed?" he suggested. Sam considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay," he said, then turned and trotted off up the stairs, headed for the small bedroom he and Dean always stayed in when they came here, dragging his bag behind him. Jim glanced at Dean.

"What about you?" he asked. Dean shook his head.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "No, I...I can't sleep."

"Okay," Jim said quietly. "How about you take a seat then? You can go to bed later." Dean hesitated for a long moment, clearly torn between settling his younger brother and leaving him, so Jim gave him a gentle shove towards the kitchen.

"Go on," he pressed. "I can put Sam to bed...you go get yourself something to eat and drink. You look like you could use some food." The boy stared at him for a moment, then nodded and padded off toward the kitchen.

Jim watched him go, then sighed and started off up the stairs after Sam.

-:-

"'Night, Pastor Jim," Sam called as Jim turned off the light. Jim gave him a smile.

"'Night, Sammy," he replied, relieved that the five-year-old was so willing to go to sleep. By the time he'd gotten upstairs, the youngest Winchester had already gotten into bed, and had demanded only one story before declaring himself ready for sleep. "Sweet dreams."

"Mm-hmmm..." was the only reply as the little boy drifted off, and Jim quietly closed the door before heading downstairs to deal with the older Winchester boy.

He entered the kitchen to find Dean sitting at the table, a glass of milk and an untouched cookie sitting in front of him. If Jim had needed any more convincing of the fact that something was wrong, this would have been it.

"Dean?" he asked. "What's wrong?" The nine-year-old raised his head.

"I almost got Sammy killed," he whispered. Jim swallowed at the look of grief on the boy's face, then nodded and sat down opposite him.

"Okay," he said, not bothering to contradict him. Years of hearing confessions had taught him to let the person in question talk it out, then try to offer absolution. "Why do you think so?"

Dean looked at him for a moment, then took a deep breath and glanced down, studying the table.

"Dad was hunting a shtriga," he began. "It was hurting kids in Fort Douglas...sucking their life force or whatever. Making them sick. Dad thought he was getting close to finding it, so two days ago he left me and Sam at the hotel while he went to get it."

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, then focused again on Dean. He thought he could see where this was going, but he let Dean tell him in his own words.

"Anyway...tonight I just...I needed to get out. I checked on Sam, and he was fine, so I locked the door and went to play a game. And when I came back..." He didn't finish, but Jim didn't need him to. A shtriga...Sam left alone, undoubtedly perfect prey...no wonder John had been so determined to go back...

"I shouldn't have left him," Dean whispered, interrupting his thoughts. "I shouldn't...but I was so bored...it was only for half an hour..." The nine-year-old buried his face in his arms. Jim sighed and reached over to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay..." he began, but Dean shook him off and lifted his head.

"No it's not! It was stupid, and dangerous, and I nearly got Sammy killed." His eyes widened slightly. "And what about all the other kids? Dad's gone after it, but what if it gets away? Oh, god..." He buried his face again in his arms with a groan that sounded perilously close to a sob.

Jim sighed again. By God, this child had had a rough day...rough few days. Too much worry and stress and responsibility laid on too slight shoulders.

"Why don't you go to bed, son?" he suggested quietly after a moment. Dean raised his head slightly, shook it determinedly.

"No, I need to stay up...Dad..."

"...might be a while," Jim interrupted. "He might not be back until tomorrow evening, and..." He hesitated, then pulled his trump, "...if you don't get some rest, how are you going to take care of Sammy?"

That did it. Immediately, Dean pushed his chair back and stood up.

"Okay," he murmured. Then, stronger: "Okay." He looked at Jim. "I think I'll go up to bed now, Pastor Jim." Jim nodded.

"All right. Good night, Dean."

"Good night, Pastor Jim."

Okies...Part 1 up. Part 2 tomorrow. Dean today. John tomorrow.

My brain hurts...

I hope you like this first bit, Sparrow Lover...

luv ShaedowCat xox : )