Rule 26: Always remember to blow out the candles after a spell
"Got you," John grinned grimly and stood up from the couch, quickly surveying the objects sitting on the coffee table before him to ensure he wouldn't make a mistake.
No, the spell was foolproof. Even someone like him could perform it perfectly.
The hunter had been searching the town of Fairfield, Pennsylvania for a week and a half for a witch with no luck until Bobby Singer had called with the directions for a locator spell. Using a town map, two white candles and a deconstructed hex bag taken from the latest victim's apartment, the hunter had been able to narrow down the location of the witch to the mayor's office.
Standing, John drew his leather jacket around him, and walked around the coffee table, knocking it with his shin and causing the candles to wobble dangerously.
Unknown to the hunter, whose one-track-mind was now only focused on finding and killing the witch, the candles fell onto the table, scorching the map and rolling onto the carpeted floor just as he left the tiny two-bedroom house he was renting.
Upstairs, also unaware of the flames quickly burning through the carpet, Sam and Dean Winchester slept soundly, side-by-side.
In the living room carpet turned black, the fibers melting, sending up noxious smoke as the fire grew. The couch became the next victim, flames hungrily eating through its upholstery and stuffing beneath.
The wooden coffee table didn't stand a chance as fire crawled up its legs, weakening them until it crashed onto the carpet with a dry groan.
SPN
Sam opened his eyes, startled by an odd thudding sound.
Was Dad home? The boy listened for the sound of footfalls but there were none. Maybe the sound had come from outside.
Eyes half-closed, the boy was ready to fall back to sleep, his brother's warm breath in his face, but something in the back of his head told him something wasn't right.
"Dean," Sam whispered to his sibling.
The old boy scrunched his face and mumbled something unintelligible before falling back asleep.
"Dean," Sam tried again, this time reaching out and pushing on his brother's chest, "Wake up."
Green eyes peered irritated at the younger boy through the darkness.
"What?" Dean hissed.
"I heard a noise," Sam whispered to him.
"So? It was probably Dad," Dean scolded.
"It wasn't," Sam insisted, "I didn't hear him come upstairs."
"It was probably a dream then," Dean rolled over so his back was facing his brother, "Go back to sleep."
"Dean, can't we go check, please?" Sam shook his brother's shoulder.
The older boy glared back at his sibling, "Fine. If it'll shut you up."
Sam's lip trembled but he didn't cry. Instead he climbed out of bed and crept cautiously towards the door.
Peering over his shoulder, the boy saw his sibling was slow to follow.
"Come on, Dean," he whispered, "Please."
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, the older boy got out of bed.
"If this is just because you had a nightmare I'm going to pound you," Dean growled.
Sam turned away from his brother and opened the bedroom door. For a moment, all appeared normal. Then, the boy noticed an orange glow coming up the staircase across from their room.
Looking over his brother's shoulder, Dean spoke, "Maybe Dad is home."
Sam listened carefully; he still felt as though something wasn't quite right.
"Come on," he stepped out of the room and in the direction of the staircase.
As soon as he did so he caught the scent of something burning and wondered if his father had left some food in the oven or microwave too long.
"Dad?" Sam called and stopped at the top of the stairs, leaning over the bannister to peer into the living room below.
The boy's heart leaped as he caught sight of the flames flickering and crackling below, coming closer to the stairs.
"Dean," Sam whispered, his voice cracking.
"What?" Dean asked and reached out to grab his brother's shoulder.
"Fire," the younger boy answered.
"What are you talking about?"
"F-fire," Sam lifted a hand and pointed down the staircase.
Dean, again looking over his shorter sibling's shoulder, saw what his brother did. And froze.
"We have to get out of here," Sam turned to face Dean and saw his brother's green eyes were wide and unblinking; the orange flames below reflected in them.
"Dean!" Sam snapped and grabbed his brother's hand, "Come on! We have to get out!"
Dean didn't speak or move. He just stared at the flames making their way towards them.
"Come on! Snap out of it!" Sam cried, glancing behind him at the fire creeping eagerly towards them up the staircase.
With one hand still gripping his brother's like a vice, Sam raised his free hand and curled it into a fist. Knowing his brother would probably be furious about what he was about to do once they were safe, Sam closed his eyes and let his hand fly, connecting with Dean's chin.
The older boy's head snapped back and he groaned, blinking owlishly.
"This way!" Sam cried and led his brother back towards the bedroom, ignoring the string of curses following him.
Back in the bedroom, Sam closed the door and tore the blankets off the bed, stuffing them against the bottom of the door to keep the flames and smoke out.
Dean, rubbing his chin, eyed his brother.
"We have to open the windows," Sam told him.
"They don't open," Dean growled, "Remember?"
The past few days had been unbearably hot and the house did not have any air conditioners. The only relief would be to open a window or two and let the breeze in. Unfortunately, the windows in the bedrooms had been painted shut.
Sam peered around the room and grabbed a lamp sitting on the nightstand, pulling its cord from the wall.
"Hurry," he told Dean as he handed the lamp to his brother.
Sam tried to listen for the sound of crackling flames but could hear nothing. Maybe the fire was still climbing the stairs.
Dean hefted the lamp in one hand and then heaved it at the window. It broke through with a musical tinkling of glass. Grabbing the top sheet from the bed, Dean wrapped it around his arm and broke off the shards of glass still clinging to the sill.
"Go faster!" Sam snapped. Reaching out one hand, he could feel growing warmth against the other side of the door.
"Shit," Dean swore and motioned for his brother to come forward.
"You first," he told Sam.
The boy peered out the window at the ground. Now it seemed like a very long way to fall.
"Remember what Dad taught you," Dean encouraged.
Sam nodded.
"Feet first, relax, bent knees when landing, roll."
"Out you go," Dean said and Sam gripped the sides of the window frame, his brother pushing him up as he did so.
I can do this, Sam thought as he stared at the grass beneath him; I have to do this.
Then he was falling. Arms flailing, legs kicking, heart pounding, it only took seconds before Sam impacted the ground, John's rules for safely jumping out of a window completely forgotten.
Sam landed on his feet, barely, pain shooting up his legs and into his pelvis. The boy gasped and staggered, collapsing on the ground in agony.
Moments later, the grass shook with impact as Dean landed and rolled, a little winded but otherwise no worse for wear.
"We did it, Sammy!" he heard Dean cry even as tears streamed from his own eyes.
"Sammy? Sammy! Are you okay?"
"My…leg…" the younger boy ground out, one trembling hand against his right knee.
"Shit," Dean swore, "Okay, just relax. I can hear sirens coming."
Sam nodded, trying to steady his breathing as pain crackled up his injured leg.
Dean got down onto his knees beside his brother and brushed Sam's sweaty hair back from his forehead.
"You saved us, Sammy," he murmured, "You found the fire."
"Huh… not really," the younger boy commented through clenched teeth.
"I would have just gone back to sleep," Dean told him, "Who knows what would have happened to us if I'd done that."
Sam closed his eyes, concentrating on his brother's voice.
The next few hours went by in a blur of pain and fluorescent lights and intravenous analgesics so that Sam did not have a strong memory of its events.
At one point John appeared at Sam's bedside before they boy was taken into surgery to repair his broken kneecap. A comminuted fracture broke the patella into five separate pieces that needed to be held together with pins to stabilize the bone while it healed.
SPN
"Mr. Winchester?" John looked up from where he sat beside Sam's bed. The boy and his brother sharing the younger Winchester's hospital dinner, his injured leg laying above the covers, bruised and scraped, a bandage protecting the healing kneecap.
A police officer stood in the doorway.
"Do you have a minute? This won't take long.
The father peered at his sons for a moment before standing and following the cop into the hallway, closing the door slightly.
"Yes?" he asked, "What's this about, Officer?"
"We received the report back from the Fire Inspector," the officer informed him, "Turns out the fire started in the living room of the house you were renting, and it appears that an unattended candle was what caused it in the first place."
John frowned for a moment. He didn't leave any cand-
Oh God, he thought and his eyes widened. Had he remembered to blow out the candles when he'd used the spell to find the witch? He couldn't remember.
"Mr. Winchester? Are you all right?" the police officer asked.
Clearing his throat, John nodded, "Yeah… yes."
"Now the homeowner isn't going to press charges," the cop assured him, "It appears as though the fire was started by accident rather than malicious intent."
John nodded, agreeing with him.
"But I'd like to remind you to be careful next time you decide to have candles in your home," the cop warned, "This very easily could have ended in tragedy."
Thinking of his sons- and Sam's quick thinking that saved them both- John nodded, "I couldn't agree more. Thank you officer."
The cop touched the brim of his hat and turned away, making his way down the hallway.
John let out a shaking breath and went back into Sam's room.
"What was that about?" Dean asked, slurping bright green Jell-O from a plastic cup- Sam's dessert that he didn't want- as his brother picked at what looked like grey potato salad.
"Nothing," John shook his head.
"Is everything okay?" Sam asked, his eyes slightly glazed from the painkillers he was being given.
"Yeah, everything's just fine," John forced himself to smile, telling himself that he would never ever allow fire to harm another member of his family again.
Author's Note:
Rule comes from GuardianOfMusic27855.
Thanks to Masami Mistress Of Fire, StyxxsOmega, hecatess, Imtheonewhofeelinglost, elliereynolds777, jensensgirl3, SamDeanLover28, Mama's Stories, and Imtheonewhofeelinglost for reviewing.
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