Second Fan Fiction – I think this will be around 11 chapters but, who knows? Reviews are really welcome, it's nice to know I'm not just writing into a void. Without a review I can't tell if anyone is actually engaged and if it's worth continuing.
They were booking it out of the back of the small hospital as the CPS were coming through the front door. The situation had gone from SNAFU to FUBAR at the speed of light. Nothing in the last ten hours had gone right. Dean, the crying, disorientated thirteen year old in John's arms and Sammy, the mute nine year old holding onto Dean's bag and John's coat as they raced towards the far fire exit were evidence of the colossal fuck up that the night had been….
The day had started well enough, breakfast in a cheap diner and children herded to the library. The morning was spent with Sammy reading quietly and Dean vibrating with boredom (only stopping being irritating when John gave him a death stare or some research to do). Meantime John looked through enough records to work out that the ghost haunting the local park was probably Anthony Allbright, onetime denizen of the local dive bar and holder of a "death by stupid" award when he drove drunk one too many times, straight into the river in the woods.
Lunch was round two of bad diner food and the afternoon was spent preparing for the inevitable nighttime salt and burn. This time Dean vibrating with excitement because his Father was allowing him to help and Sammy sulking in the dive motel room, knowing another fun evening of cold fear for his family inside a cold car awaited him.
By six pm John had been through the, not complicated, plan with Dean at least a dozen times. Dean was to look out whilst John dug, Dean would have his homemade sawed-off shotgun with salt rounds and John would have his own shotgun with him while digging. Dean's job was to do whatever John said, whenever John said it and to protect himself first at all costs. John reiterated again and again that John had been hunting and digging for nearly ten years now, all by himself, and he didn't need Dean to protect him. He just needed Dean to be there and learn.
All of this was a great plan and the conditions were, for once, ideal. The moon was nearly full, shedding soft light over the graveyard and eliminating the need for lamps. The graveyard was secluded limiting the risk of accidental discovery. The urgent care was close if anything went wrong (John didn't actually think it would). The ground was pure "Goldilocks", neither too hard nor too soft. Mr Allbright's gravesite was clearly marked by a small headstone and, most importantly, whilst Anthony Allbright's escapades had been escalating (as was the way with ghosts), his MO was to frighten and not hurt. John was merely taking care of business before the inevitable hike in violence, for once able hopefully to prevent a first casualty. Everything was on track for an easy salt and burn and late-night chicken nuggets at the drive thru while Dean orated his, usually highly exaggerated, version of the hunt to Sammy, and Sammy complained about not being allowed to come along yet.
Unfortunately, and with the Winchester's there was usually an "unfortunately", no one had sent Anthony Allbright the memo that he was supposed to shuffle off this earthly plain with just enough complaint to provide Dean with training but no injury.
For 4 hours John kept an eye on Dean (who stood with terrified eyes scouting the horizon) and an eye on his surroundings while he dug and talked to his son calmly. It was natural for Dean to be nervous and John wanted to make sure that nerves didn't overcome his training, not because John felt there was real danger (Dean wouldn't be with him if there was) but because it was important Dean's confidence was maintained. After 4 hours of solid digging and just as the coffin was unearthed and ready to be opened, John felt the temperature drop.
John just had time to shout to Dean "Get ready, I think he's here!" and grab his own shotgun when he saw Anthony Allbright appear directly in front of Dean. Literally, the ghost appeared 3 inches in front of the child, and the shock of such a close encounter caused Dean a momentary pause before he lifted his shotgun to put it THROUGH Anthony Allbright's ghost. It's got to be said, that was very quick thinking, Dean knew the ghost was too close to fire at, but banked on the cartridges going through the ghost while still in the shotgun having the same effect.
The momentary pause, and the ghost realising what Dean intended to do, was the point at which it all moved to FUBAR. Apparently, a ghost knowing you are trying to salt and burn it is the moment at which it will escalate to violence. Moving slightly backwards to avoid the shotgun, the ghost roared and flung Dean high and backwards.
John was raising his shotgun and fired, just as he saw his firstborn's terrified eyes find his and Dean flying straight back, crashing the back of his head into the headstone of Leona Perkins (wife and mother, 1831 to 1906). Finally sliding limply down onto the cold ground.
John roared but he was all too conscious of how quickly ghosts (especially pissed off ghosts) could re-appear so turned and hit the exposed coffin lid with his shovel several times, crashing through the cheap lid to the bones below. Clumsily throwing the bag of salt onto the bones , he emptied a whole canister of lighter fluid over the bones and, as he was crawling out of the grave calling "Deeeaaaannnn!", lit the complimentary matches and threw them backwards into the last resting place of his child's attacker. It has to be said that the resulting blaze was pretty spectacular. What John didn't notice however was the usual lightshow as the ghost moved on (or more accurately was shoved on).
John's focus was on reaching his son and preventing his own heart and stomach spewing though his throat. Scrambling over to Dean, it seemed it really was possible for 5 seconds to feel like 5 hours. John crashed on the ground next to the un-moving, body of his son,
"Come on son" he said trying to rouse the boy, hoping against hope the injury was minor "you've had a worse knock than this from Sammy, wake up for Dad, come on". He kept up a repeat of "Dean, come on".
All the while he was speaking to Dean (and getting no response) John's hands were probing Dean for injury. Gently feeling his neck and upper back he let out a breath when he could feel no break or dislocation. He knew that didn't mean that there wasn't damage, but it was a step forward. He gently felt his ribs and wrists and, feeling no breaks turned to Dean's head. Lifting the boys head slightly, he felt the back, immediately feeling warm liquid fun through his fingers.
"Shit" said John unconsciously "come on Dean!". Carefully lifting his son's torso and head to prevent injury, he leaned the boy against him and, in the moon's glow, looked down at the back of his sons' head.
It was a mess, the scalp was covered in blood and, what John hoped was skin. He wasn't sure it wasn't brain, the blood having completely soaked the top of Dean's top and head. A skin fold, no doubt pulled from the skull by a sharp edge of Leona Perkins memorial, flapped downwards. Through the examination Dean remained unmoving.
Feeling his heart race, whilst his mind beat a drum of "shit! shit! shit", he grabbed the limp boy in his arms bridal style and, ignoring the tools of his trade scattered across the graveyard, raced to his car.
Sammy meanwhile was reading the comic Dean had bought him. Dean had handed it to him earlier that evening with a "Take this squirt, it'll keep your mind from exploding whilst your awesome older brother rids the world of evil" and a hair ruffle. Sammy was starting to feel a little too old for the hair ruffle, but whenever Dean went on a hunt with his Father Sammy had a firm rule of always being nice beforehand so that Dean was never distracted. He therefore thanked Dean and had spent preceding hours reading his book and the comic, whilst concentrating on neither whilst his small world was away.
"Open the back door!" Sammy heard John shout out as John neared the car "I need to put Dean in the back"!
Looking up Sammy saw with horror his father carrying his still brother and running to the car.
"Quick Sammy!" shouted John "Open the fucking door!
Jolted into action by his Father's second command, Sammy quickly unlocked and opened the door sliding out to help his Father.
"No" said his Father "Get in, I'll pass him to you. You need to hold his head still and check on him until we can get him to a hospital". Seeing Sammy's horrified face, John added "He'll be fine Sammy, he's just knocked out".
Sammy backed into the car and, following his father's commands, ended up with Dean's head lain on his lap whilst John covered his body quickly with his jacket and, glancing at his son for a moment, shut the door.
Once in the car, John quickly drove towards the highway, all the time keeping up a litany of comments and questions to Sammy "Keep him still Sammy", "Is he moving?", "Did he just groan?", "He'll be fine Sammy!" "Let me know if anything changes!".
The fear in his Father was palpable. In Sammy's short life this was the first time he had really thought anything could happen to them with his Father around…
"Dad" said Sammy "His head's really bleeding, and he won't wake up!"
"Head wounds bleed a lot Sammy, just keep him warm and stable, we're two minutes out from a hospital. He'll be fine Sammy, he'll be fine." repeated John over and over again
Seeing the sign for the small urgent care unit, John quickly swung in and in seconds had the rear door open and Dean back in his arms. "Sammy, lock up and come in!" his Father shouted as he raced to the automatic doors, disappearing inside with Sammy's world held un-moving in his arms.
Shocked Sammy sat for a second in the car then carefully locked it up and went inside. The reception and waiting room were empty and Sammy, overwhelmed and alone, sat down and began to cry…..
TBC...