Disclaimer: Sure, these are mine-- c'mon Kripke, sue me!
A/N: Howdy doodle people! Thank you so much to the very few readers I have left-- glad you're enjoying it. There is some questioning as to whether I'm gonna continue posting these-- to either your elite, or dismay... yep... I got a good twenty of these things left, so each day after work, I'm posting a new one so I don't loose 'em. This one shot was almost thrown out when I was purging through half-written stories the other month. But it re-caught my attention, and I wrote it fairly quickly after that happened. So anyways, I love to write young Sam and Dean, and love to explore both the relationship that Sam and Dean had, and also the relationship that Dean and John had... and this story does that nicely while still adding the drama everyone loves. Enjoy!
Title: Ghost Town
Genre: Angsty! Yeah... really kindda angsty and supernatural.
Summary: The three Winchester's are exploring an old ghost town where people have been reported of going missing. Nothing seems unusual besides the persistent bickering between Sam and Dean... at least nothing seems unusual until Sam disappears from right infront of Dean...
Ghost Town
"Take this," John handed Dean a shotgun, "And watch Sammy's back."
"I wouldn't let him hear you calling him that," Dean smirked as he checked the barrel of the gun.
John frowned, leaning over the trunk of the Impala, "Why?"
Dean leaned against the warm car, "Come on Dad-- the kid's fourteen now. He damn near bit my head off the other day when I called him Sammy in front of April."
John chuckled, "Well, he's still my boy, and so I can call him anything I like. You, on the other hand, I'd prefer not to get into fights with your brother."
"That's kind of hard," Dean wiped some sweat from his forehead, "I'm eighteen now Dad-- he's fourteen, and about as annoying as he was when he was five."
John grabbed some more weapons out of the trunk, "He just wants to do his own thing. It's a phase-- he'll get over it. Until then," John handed a hatchet to Dean, "Watch out for him, and try not to make him mad."
"Make who mad?" Sam asked as he walked up behind them.
John smiled, "No one Sammy-- but we're about ready to go."
"Ok," Sam nodded, eying the weapons, "Do I get a gun this time?"
"Not this time," John shook his head, "Dean will take the shotgun and you can have the hatchet. And I want you to stay close to your brother."
Sam sighed exasperatedly, "Dad, why won't you let me use even the .49? You do back at home, and I've been practicing with it for years it seems."
"Not on this hunt," John stated, "We don't know exactly what's out here."
Sam looked around. They were in the middle of Arizona in the middle of July with the heat blistering at 113 F. A local ghost town was the sight of five missing people in the past three months, and John decided to investigate it, with Dean eagerly agreeing. Sam, on the other hand, had wanted to stay for the summer in San Diego where he was becoming increasingly interested in girls.
"Do you understand?" John spoke up after a moment of silence.
"Yes Sir," Sam muttered.
"Dean?" John looked at his oldest.
"Yes Sir," Dean handed Sam the hatchet, and held tight to the shotgun.
"Alright," John closed the trunk of the car, "You boys head down the west road, and I'll head south. We'll meet back at the car in a half hour sharp. Dean, you have one of the walkie-talkies?"
Dean lifted up the rim of his jeans to reveal the bulky device.
"Be careful, and watch out for each other!" John warned as they set in their two separate directions.
Sam walked slowly, shuffling his feet in the sand. He wore jean shorts with a white tank top, and a dark navy blue 'Marine' baseball cap. The sun beat down hard in areas that weren't covered in shade, and Sam wished nothing more than to be able to stay in the car.
"Come on Sammy," Dean elbowed his brother playfully, "Try to enjoy yourself."
"Oh yeah," Sam rolled his eyes sarcastically, "Walking through a desert in the middle of summer is a blast. And it's Sam."
Dean frowned, "You know this new attitude of yours is stupid. When I was your age I'd grown up a hell of a lot more than you."
"When you were my age Dad didn't move around every six months, and he actually let you use the good weapons," Sam pouted, trying to keep in the shade of the large, abandoned buildings.
"Grow up," Dean shot out, "Not everything is about you Sam. This is a hunt."
"I don't care," Sam stopped in his tracks, "What if I don't want to hunt things? My teacher back in San Diego said that I was really smart, and that if I keep my grades up like they are now, I might be able to get a scholarship to University or College."
"And do what?" Dean laughed, swiveling around, "Sam, you're not like other people. We're not like other people. What could you do in school that Dad or I can't teach you?"
"I want to be a lawyer," Sam stated.
Dean shook his head and walked off more, "Honestly. I don't know where your personality comes from."
Sam breathed deep, anger bubbling up in his young, teenaged body, "I'm going back to the car."
"What?" Dean looked back at Sam, "Sam come on-- Dad said to stay with me."
"I don't care!" Sam shouted, "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be a part of this family anymore, and I don't want to 'stay close' to you!"
"You know what, fine," Dean gestured back down the road where the car was, "Go back to the car. Let Dad yell at you later for it."
"He always yells at me," Sam fumed.
"That's because you're always doing stupid things!" Dean argued back loudly.
Sam stared at Dean a moment before turning around and walking off. Dean turned his back on his little brother, though didn't move. He planned on following Sam back to the car, and then radio their Dad, but wanted to leave ample distance between the two of them. The older brothers back was turned only a few seconds, and when he turned around to follow-- Sam was gone.
"Sam?" Dean looked around, a small, cold feeling filling the pit of his stomach, "Hey Sam, this isn't funny!"
No reply came to his words, and Dean felt his heart start to pound.
"Sammy!"
The car was far off in the distance, and Dean knew there was no way Sam could have gotten there already. On either side of the road he stood in the middle of was old, run down wooden houses left over from the old mining town. The wind blew hot through the desert, blowing Dean's light brown hair.
"Sam if you're playing around, I am going to kill you!" Dean shouted out loudly.
Again, no answer came.
"Alright Sammy, I'm calling Dad!" one last feeble attempt was given, and with the lack of reply, Dean knew that it was serious.
With fumbling hands, Dean pulled out the walkie-talkie and called for his Dad.
"Dean, what is it?" John's voice crackled over.
"Dad, something got Sammy," Dean's frantic voice responded, "You gotta get over here-- please!"
"I'll be right there," John's authoritative voice ended the conversation.
"Sammy!" Dean screamed out again after turning off the walkie-talkie, "Sam please answer me!"
The combination of the heat and his heart rate quickly rising caused dizziness to rush through Dean making him to have to crouch onto the ground. His hands supporting him, Dean stared at the dirt, the tears slowly working their way down his face. He stayed like this for less than a minute before a shout came.
"Dean!" it was John, "Dean!"
Dean looked up, his world spinning with the sudden movement.
"Dean," John skidded to a stop by his eldest boy, and crouched down to his level, "Are you alright?"
"I lost him," Dean's voice shook out, "I lost Sammy Dad…"
John took hold of the side of Dean's face with one hand while still holding a long barrel shotgun in the other, "Dean, it's not your fault. I need you to tell me what happened son."
"I-I don't know," Dean stared into his father's worried eyes, "One minute he was there; I turned around, and then he was gone when I turned back."
"Wasn't he with you?" John questioned.
Dean paused, looking back down at the ground, "No. He left."
"What do you mean left?" his Dad's voice was laced with anger.
"He left," Dean repeated, "He got mad, and said he was going to head back to the car."
"And you let him!?" John let his anger show now, though still stayed crouched down to Dean's level.
"I wasn't going to let him go by himself!" Dean defended, "I was going to let him have a small head start and then follow behind him."
"Dean, you are almost nineteen!" John barked, "I expected more of you! Your number one job on any hunt with your brother is to keep an eye on him, and--"
"And I screwed up!" Dean stood up, forcing the nauseous feeling down, "So if you're just going to stand here and tell me how horrible of a job I did looking out for Sammy, then leave; I already know!"
John was on his feet too, and took a deep breath, "Where did you see him last?"
"Right here," Dean looked around feebly, "He was right here, I turned my back for no more than five seconds, and when I turned back around, he was gone. I heard absolutely nothing, and the dirt around here doesn't show that there was any struggle."
"Ok," John washed his hand over his face, "Ok… you still have your weapon?" Dean pulled it out of a back holster he had on, "Alright-- you go right, and I'll go left. Leave the walkie-talkie on, and meet back here no matter what in ten minutes. Understand?"
"Yes Sir," Dean nodded, flicking on the radio.
"Be careful," John warned taking a step away.
"Dad," Dean called out, turning towards his father, "Dad… I'm sorry."
John nodded, "I know."
Wordlessly Dean walked off to his right, gun clutched in hand as he looked around. The building he walked towards was an old sheriff office with rotting boards covering broken windows. The door was unhooked, and with a low creak, Dean pushed it open.
"Sam!" he called out, "Hey Sam, are you in here?"
The reply wasn't that of his brother, but one of an unknown origin that echoed quietly in the abandoned office.
'You were bad. You were supposed to watch Sammy.'
"Who's there!" Dean shouted, poising his gun ahead of him, rotating slowly.
'Sammy was bad. He was supposed to stay by you.'
"Show yourself you son of a bitch!" Dean's voice caused dust to vibrate down the walls.
'Sammy needs to be punished.'
"No," Dean breathed before again raising his voice, "No! Leave Sam alone! It wasn't his fault, it was mine!"
There was no reply, and, again, Dean found himself frantically looking around for anything. There was nothing there except an old desk collecting dust beside a door. Upon seeing it, Dean ran off through the door which lead into a hallway. On either side of the straight hallway was a large holding cell with a long window. Light shot through the room lighting up the way for the still young hunter.
"Sammy?" Dean spoke monotone, weary of every shadow, "Sammy, can you hear me?"
Yet another door was at the end of the hallway and Dean walked slowly towards it, turning the old handle carefully. It opened soundlessly, and Dean found himself staring into a bright field and breathing in hot air. Forced to shade his eyes, Dean took a step out and glanced around.
He heard it before he saw it.
"Dean!"
"Sam," Dean immediately recognized his little brother's voice and stared off in front of him.
A tall plank off wood stood up from the ground with another, even taller beam of timber sticking up from that. Dean recognized it immediately as gallows; a place where they hung people a long time ago, and as he stared more, the older brother's blood turned cold.
Sam stood with his arms tied behind his back, and a noose around his neck.
"Sammy!" Dean cried out taking two large strides to get closer.
"Dean, watch out!" Sam had tears coming down his face and his eyes were wide, "It's here! The Sheriff! It's here somewhere!"
Just as the words left Sam's mouth a wind blew through the clearing, and a figure stood between Dean and his little brother. The man wore old western clothes, but it was the large badge pinned to his chest that gave him clue that it was indeed the Sheriff. He stared at Dean a moment before a smile crept across his old weathered face.
"What the hell are you smiling at?" Dean pointed the gun towards it.
"You're brother was bad," the Sheriff spoke, "He needs to be punished."
Dean let out a nervous chuckle, "Is that what you've been doing to all the people that have gone missing around here?"
"I'm the Sheriff, it is my job to punish those who have done wrong."
"Yeah, well Sammy didn't do anything wrong," Dean spat out.
"Yes he did," the Sheriff raised one arm, "And now he needs to be punished. And then you will be."
"Guess what," Dean whispered, a slow smile creeping to his face, "You were bad too."
A blast from the shot gun erupted through the spirit causing it to disappear into thin air. Immediately Dean's gaze went to Sam who continued to stand helplessly on the platform looking scared.
"Don't worry Sammy," Dean breathed out, tossing the shotgun to the ground, and running the few feet, "I got you."
Seconds later Dean had the rope off from around Sam's neck, and he worked quickly to untie his bound hands. For a moment the two brothers stared at each other before Sam let out a quiet sob, and threw his arms around Dean.
"It's ok Sammy," Dean rubbed his little brother's back, "It's ok-- I'm here. You're alright."
"I was so scared," Sam whispered into his brother's shirt, "I didn't want to die. I'm sorry I left Dean," his fourteen year old body shook deeply, "I'm so sorry,"
"Hey," Dean pulled Sam back, and brushed his hair from his sweaty forehead, "It's ok Sammy."
Sam took a deep breath before asking, "Where's Dad?"
"Right, Dad!" Dean fumbled for the walkie-talkie, "Hey Dad, can you hear me?"
There was a slight crackle before John's voice came through, "Yes Dean, it's me; what's going on?"
Dean smiled, "I have Sam."
"Where?" immediate worry was evident in the oldest hunter's voice, "Where are you? Is he alright?"
"We're behind the Sheriff office," Dean supplied, "Just walk right through it. And yeah; he's ok-- just kindda scared," Dean shot a teasing look at his little brother, "But, you know, that's Sammy."
There was a long pause before John's hoarse voice cracked through, "I'll be right there."
Dean turned off the radio and sat down on the edge of the plank, his feet hanging nearly three feet from the ground. Sam sat down beside him, staring down at the dirt, forcing his heart and breathing back to normal.
"Are you ok?" Dean asked after a few moments, placing a hand around Sam's still trembling shoulder.
Sam nodded, "Yeah. I-I lost my hat."
Dean laughed, "That's ok. I'm sure we can find you another one."
"Is Dad mad?" Sam abruptly asked.
"About what?" Dean looked towards him.
"About me leaving," Sam explained still looking down, "I know I shouldn't have; he said to stay with you. But I didn't," Sam's voice cracked as he spoke his next words, "That Sheriff was right… I did deserve to be punished."
"No," Dean spoke firmly, pulling Sam's face to look at him, "Sam, no. Dad was not mad at you; he was mad at me. I'm the one that did the bad thing. I let you go. I didn't listen to you when you were saying how much you didn't want to hunt. I should have; both Dad and I need to let you do what makes you happy. Not us. Don't blame yourself for this Sammy."
"It wasn't your fault Dean," fresh tears slipped down Sam's face, "I like to hunt; I do. I like knowing that we're stopping other families from getting hurt like ours did. But sometimes I want to see what else is out there. I shouldn't have left though."
"You're right Sammy," a quiet voice came from across the clearing, "You shouldn't have left."
"Dad!" Sam cried out, a smile spreading across his dirty face.
His youngest son jumped from the wooden platform, and ran over to where John pulled him tightly into an embrace. Sam held tightly onto his Dad while John stroked his hair comfortingly.
"And Dean's also right," John spoke near a whisper as emotions threatened to claim him, "Your brother and I need to listen to you more."
"It's ok Dad," Sam moved back and shook his head, "It's ok. I promise I'll be good-- I won't be bad."
John grinned and clapped Sam on the shoulder, "You're fourteen years old Sammy… you're supposed to do things that I don't want you to."
"But being hung up by your neck kid…" Dean added walking over, "Not recommended as one of those things."
John tilted Sam's head back and wiped away dirt and tears, "Are you ok?"
"Yeah," again Sam internally shivered at the memories, "It was the Sheriff."
"Ok," John started walking towards the building, holding Sam close to him as he went, "I can burn his bones some time tomorrow. For right now lets get the two of you back to the hotel, and you Sammy, to bed."
"Ok," Sam leaned into his Dad, not realizing until that point just how exhausted he was.
"If it will make you feel better," Dean put in as they walked, "I won't call you Sammy anymore."
Sam smiled over at his big brother, "I don't mind when you call me Sammy," he paused, "…most of the time."
The End.