Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of its related characters or themes.
AN1: This little plot bunny came to me while I had my own bout of Laryngitis this week – which sucked. BUT, I had to try it out!
AN2: A big shout-out to smalld1171 , Rosetta Brunestud , LeighAnnWallace , 27jaredjensen for their reviews :) I've really appreciate everybody's fantabulicious (is that even a word? :D ) reviews, story alerts and favourites! They've really inspired me to get this chapter out faster and make it longer! W00t!
AN3: This takes place a little while after 1x15 'The Benders'
Sorry it took so long to update! I hope this'll be worth the wait!
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Eye of the Storm
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"So… Kobalt, huh?"
Dean nods, pointing to the book he was holding, Got all the intel in here, dude.
"We haven't hunted one like this in… geez… how long?" Sam keeps muttering, almost as if he's trying to fill the void of silence by himself.
Absently Dean's hand flies up in the air, him holding his thumb and ring finger together. Seven years.
"Seriously?" Sam says, an eyebrow quirking. "Don't I feel that old…"
Dean scoffs but suddenly snaps his fingers, Got something.
"Yeah?" Sam walks over, peering over Dean's shoulder to get a look at the book.
Kobalts can be killed by stabbing either the heart or head with pure iron knife.
"OH, that's good… we got one in the trunk," Sam says, a smile finally appearing on his face.
Dean frowns and points to a paragraph above. Kobalts move with abnormal speed, can lift objects several times their size and mass with ease. Lore depict that they are stronger and faster than Banshees.
"Shit… that sucks…" Sam says, rubbing a hand over his face, "… well… look, we have to find this thing first… at least the area of hits were marked by her."
Dean's head tilted slightly. Who?
"Seriously?" Sam practically snaps, shaking his head, "The firing range instructor? Hello?"
A waggle of the eyebrows came as a reply. Oh… I totally knew that.
"Alright, so… we have…" Sam starts and pulls out a marker, joining the markers together, "A line going across like this…". He squinted and drew the map closer, "all of them were near the outskirts of town, near the forest… ugh… like last time.
It was Sam's plan now. It came out of the melon of the youngest.
Sometimes, and this is something Dean won't admit, it freaks Dean out. Not because it's Sam. Not because Dean was the one who used to change his diapers when he was a baby. Not because Sam used to cry whenever he was scared or hurt. Not because he was the one who usually left the scheming up to Dean or John. It's because Sam's plan is… well… too much like a plan he would've come up with. Too Dean-like to be Sam.
And it's freaking Dean out. Not a lot. Just a tad.
"So… we leave this out tonight… and we stake it out…" Sam says, sprinkling some sugar over the cookies.
Dean quirks an eyebrow, Are you sure this'll work? Not because he doesn't believe it, he just wants to be some kind of voice-of-logic in this plan.
"Of course! Apparently they have a sweet-tooth, so this'll work like a charm," Sam answers with a grin, "Or… at least, it should."
At the edge of the forest, at the edge of town, and, somehow on the edge of their sanity… they light a couple of candles near the plate of sugar-coated treats and burn the summoning sigils into the ground.
"That should do it," Sam says finally, tossing Dean's lighter back to him. He abruptly sneezes and rubs at nose, "… excuse me."
Dean jerks his thumb up to the trees close to the summoning circle and Sam nods in agreement.
The condition of Dean's tagging along was: stay hidden. Stay safe. And, considering Sam's a worry-wart, that didn't sound like anything less than a concession.
Sam might still be haggling with a cold, but that was actually manageable –especially since Dean's pumped him full of decongestant and pain-killers before they left the motel. But, with a brother who can't call for help when he needs it… yeah, Dean was the one who was 'in danger' (at least, according to Sam, that is.).
And that's how, two hours later, the pair of them are still up in a couple of pine trees. It was itchy and uncomfortable. The branches weren't particularly thick and each time they moved another branch would crack. Which sucked, since it meant they were stuck in a wedgie-like position for the better part of those two hours.
And, it was fine, up until the mist started settling in and the candles started sputtering.
Sam's seriously considering the validity of his plan –and he convinces himself that he wants to get out of there not just because of the fact that a pine branch was currently practically impaling his right kidney. It also doesn't help that all this mist was making his nose run even more. He grimaces as he drags his sleeve under his nose before looking over to Dean.
Dean, who still had the AK braced against his shoulder, seemed to be in the same type of predicament. He wasn't shuffling around, but Sam knows him well enough to spot the uncomfortable expression on his face a mile away.
Sam lowers the sight of his rifle with a sigh. He was pretty sure the Kobalts would've shown up by now if they were going to come at all tonight. It was well past twelve.
The youngest Winchester whistles to Dean and motions for them to climb down.
They both touchdown and make their way towards the circle, "Well… that was just a spectacular waste of time," Sam snaps, breaking away to sneeze abruptly.
Dean scoffs silently and slings the AK over his shoulder. No kidding. He pats Sam on the shoulder and absently rubs the back of the kid's neck. I think we need to get you back to bed, dude.
Sam goes to pick up the plate, but pauses. He starts tracking with his eyes. "… we're missing five… " Sam mutters, counting the number of choc chips again.
It's then when the candles suddenly blow out, their smoke trailing into the air. The grassland's midnight gloom ten-folded and it felt like they were standing in complete darkness. The mist rose up in the fields, becoming tangible like a thick soup.
Both brothers crouch down, slinging their weapons to the ready.
"Dean, get going!" Sam commands, scanning the area.
But, Dean was never that good at following orders. He simply covers Sam's flank and sweeps his AK over the field.
The area seems to quieten in a deathly stillness. In the distance they can hear sun-beetles beating their wings, desperate to fill the cone of silence.
But, as much as Sam would like to convince himself, it wasn't wind that was rustling the grass like that.
The gust sweeps past Dean's line of vision and he fires two rounds. The echoes reverberate through the mist, sounding twice as loud as normal.
"Damnit, they're fast!" Sam growls, trying to track the gust as it flies across his field of vision.
But, Dean's reply doesn't come. Not as a reassuring hand-on-the-shoulder, not as a nod, not even a rustle of his boots. Because… Dean's not there anymore.
"Dean? Dean! DEAN!" Sam yells, feeling the panic grip his throat. He swivels around, left, right. The mist lolls in waves as Sam swirls around, "DEAN!"
When did they take him?
How long ago?
Where'll they take him?
How did it happen so fast?
Sam tries to illuminate the ground with his cellphone. The ground was wet and soft, owing to the mist and Colorado rains. Good for short-term tracking. Bad for long term.
He spots Dean's footprints in the soil. Those from here he was crouched, those from where he had came from, those from where he was being dragged off to.
How come he didn't hear him?
Sam wants to hit his head against the wall. Dean's voice was completely gone. Between tracking those damned Kobalts and trying to figure out where his plan had gone wrong, he blocked out everything else.
With one smooth motion, Sam's up and shuffling along the path. He has to keep randomly hitting the keypad of his cell to keep the backlight on, and it's the first time he's ever regretted setting his phone to battery-save options.
He tracks the trail for twenty yards before the silence suddenly breaks with the sound of gun fire.
Two shots.
Sam grins internally. Thanks for letting me know where you are, big bro.
He sprints off towards the sound, slinging the rifle over his shoulder to free up his hands.
The creatures were dragging Dean further into the grassland, not the forest, and Sam's not sure that that's an improvement.
In a forest, tracks are easier to follow. In a grassland… unless it's marshy, it's not. Smart buggers.
Three more shots rips through the silence, and Sam pushes even harder. His legs are burning by the time he spots Dean on the horizon.
Dean's clawing at the ground with one hand, trying to get some leverage to hold unto. With the other he's slashing away with the iron knife. The AK long gone.
Sam brakes, falling into a crouch as he slings over the rifle.
The two Kobalts are both clawing at Dean's boots, trying to drag him further, but failing. They're not even two foot tall, but look like sinewy gremlins. They even got friggen tiny boots and hats on for Batman's sake!
Sam fires the first shot and he hits the one Kobalt on Dean's right. Direct hit in the leg.
Dean throws himself forwards, staking the damned thing in the heart. But, the second Kobalt on his left suddenly leaps and friggen' attaches itself to Dean's friggen' face.
"SHIT!" Sam's voice resounds through the quarry, "Dean! Freeze!"
And Dean, two seconds away from stabbing the creature –and inadvertently himself- freezes. The Kobalt starts pawing at Dean's face, like he's trying tear his face right off.
It takes Sam longer than usual to track the creature until it's on the bullseye, and Sam has to force the rifle into his shoulder to stop his hands from shaking the rifle –and the sight- so damn much. With a final round, Sam pops a round off in the things stomach, missing Dean's face by an inch.
The Kobalt fails about for a second, screeching with a high-pitched squeal before Dean finally stabs it right in the eye. He twists the knife and waits until the writhing stops.
"Are you alright?" Sam screams, finally lowering the rifle.
The older Winchester rubs at the claw-marks, the tiny scratches bleeding profusely. He stands up and throws Sam a thumbs-up. I'm super.
Sam trudges over, his legs feeling like jelly. He slips twice on the ground but manages to talk the stretch without actually tripping.
When he finally reaches Dean, he kinda expects a pat on the back. Or a hug. But, he also has to accept the fact that the slap behind the head wasn't a bad thing.
Dean's pretty pissed off within the gratefulness. Are you crazy! You could've killed me!
But, they both know that Dean had taught Sam well and that Sam was a pretty good shot. So, Dean'll forget the times when Sam actually misses his targets quite badly. At least this time Sam was a good shot –or, at least, didn't get Dean shot.
When they head back to the Impala that night, and Sam's sneezing fervently, Dean throws Sam an encouraging smile and pats him on the back to get him to feel better. You did well tonight, Sam. Good shootin'.
So, Sam kinda neglects to tell Dean that the first shot he fired was supposed to be a warning shot.
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WOOT! That's it! I'm out :DD
Hope you enjoyed it ;))
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