No Place Like a Home - SPN, Gen - 12/13/08 DEAD AND BURIED
Posted: Sat Oct 04, 2008 7:42 pm
Title: No Place Like a Home
Author: Assilem_1 a.k.a. Melissa
Fandom: SPN, AU, Pre-series but will lead to the Pilot
Category: Gen
Spoilers: None
Summary: Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. - Robert Frost
Prologue
It all started with a phone call.
It was a totally normal day. Well, normal for the Winchesters anyway . . . Which, of course, was a different kind of normal than other people.
They were in the middle of a cemetery. Sounds of exertion, pain, and a kinda sickly rustling, the only sound for miles. John Winchester and his eldest were battling a ghoul (hence the rustling sound), which had managed to toss John around one time too many, which was to say, once, but it had also managed to knock the nifty flamethrower they brought with them just for this purpose away and a twelve-year-old Dean was currently trying to stay out of the way of battle yet still retrieve the weapon when a young, pre-adolescent voice split the air.
“Dad!”
Both Dean and John continued what they were doing, John with a pang, because he recognized, just as Dean did, that had Sam been in any kind of danger, he would have called for his brother, not his father.
“Hang on, Sam” John grunted, knocking the ghoul that was apparently peckish, back a step and then swinging the axe that he had finally managed to get out of the tree trunk it had been lodged in in a show of force that would have put any normal human down for the count, minus a part or two. Since this was no normal human, he had to just keep swinging, thuds impacting the ground as the ghoul howled then fell silent, parts of it flying away in a shower of viscous fluid.
“Any day now, Dean” John said as, finished, he stepped back and bent to wipe his axe on a patch of grass. He then slung it over one shoulder, and arched an impatient brow at Dean, who had been staring at the scene and was apparently intent on catching flies.
“Right . . . Ok” Dean snapped back to attention, closing his mouth and lifting the flamethrower to torch the remains of the ghoul who, frankly, had never stood a chance against his father.
When finished, he handed over the flamethrower and wiped sweaty palms on his jeans before rushing towards the car and Sam with a wide grin on his face.
“What do you think Sammy wants?” his father called to Dean, even as another call from Sam split the air. Dean didn’t seem to hear him, too intent on getting to Sammy, just increasing his steps to the Impala. When they arrived, they were both surprised to see Sam talking into John’s cell phone.
“It’ll be alright. Don’t worry, it’ll be ok” Sam was saying soothingly. John just marveled at the fact that his son seemed to be eight going on eighty at any given time and he was sure that whomever his son was talking to was invariably an adult. “He’s coming now. I’ll let you talk to him” and with that Sam held out the phone with a pleading look to his dad that said “Be nice” and “Fix this” all at the same time.
And there was the eight year old again . . . Amazing how Sam slipped between those two ages so seamlessly.
He only managed to get out a hello, Dean already shoving Sam over and pushing his way into the backseat where he dimly heard him questioning who was on the phone before a panicked voice sounded in his ear.
“Johnny?!”
“Pop?!” John said, surprised. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s, there’s somebody at the door son. . . He said he knew you and we were talking so I invited him in but you know how you put that stuff, what was it, sugar?, under the seal of the door? Well, when he got ready to come in, he hit the threshold and well, his eyes, they *changed* son-“
John’s blood ran cold.
“-and he wouldn’t leave. I ordered him off my property. I called the Sheriff, but when he came, the guy killed, he killed him as easy as breathing . . . even, I even, *shot* him but he just stood there bleeding and what the hell kinda man you shoot that don’t care they been shot?! And I swear he’s out there just smiling and bleeding, Johnny. Smiling and bleeding! What kinda man?!” Hysteria was starting to overtake his father’s voice.
The next few minutes passed in a blur as John slid into the car, started the engine and told his father to stay put, reassuring him that they would be there soon, already calculating the distance from Mississippi to Texas in his mind, thankful they weren’t further away.
”This doesn’t make sense son” his father repeated wearily, confusion still clear in his voice.
“I know Pop, just stay inside. We’ll be there soon” and he snapped the phone shut.
Silence reigned in the car for a minute, just the sound of the engine cutting through the night before a small voice spoke from the back.
“We’re gonna help Grandpa?” Sam’s voice wobbled on the question.
“Yeah, Sammy. He’s gonna be fine.”
He heard a relieved sigh and chanced a glance in the rearview mirror in time to see a solemn Dean wrap a reassuring arm around Sam who collapsed gratefully against him, before he focused again on the road.
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Author: Assilem_1 a.k.a. Melissa
Fandom: SPN, AU, Pre-series but will lead to the Pilot
Category: Gen
Spoilers: None
Summary: Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. - Robert Frost
Prologue
It all started with a phone call.
It was a totally normal day. Well, normal for the Winchesters anyway . . . Which, of course, was a different kind of normal than other people.
They were in the middle of a cemetery. Sounds of exertion, pain, and a kinda sickly rustling, the only sound for miles. John Winchester and his eldest were battling a ghoul (hence the rustling sound), which had managed to toss John around one time too many, which was to say, once, but it had also managed to knock the nifty flamethrower they brought with them just for this purpose away and a twelve-year-old Dean was currently trying to stay out of the way of battle yet still retrieve the weapon when a young, pre-adolescent voice split the air.
“Dad!”
Both Dean and John continued what they were doing, John with a pang, because he recognized, just as Dean did, that had Sam been in any kind of danger, he would have called for his brother, not his father.
“Hang on, Sam” John grunted, knocking the ghoul that was apparently peckish, back a step and then swinging the axe that he had finally managed to get out of the tree trunk it had been lodged in in a show of force that would have put any normal human down for the count, minus a part or two. Since this was no normal human, he had to just keep swinging, thuds impacting the ground as the ghoul howled then fell silent, parts of it flying away in a shower of viscous fluid.
“Any day now, Dean” John said as, finished, he stepped back and bent to wipe his axe on a patch of grass. He then slung it over one shoulder, and arched an impatient brow at Dean, who had been staring at the scene and was apparently intent on catching flies.
“Right . . . Ok” Dean snapped back to attention, closing his mouth and lifting the flamethrower to torch the remains of the ghoul who, frankly, had never stood a chance against his father.
When finished, he handed over the flamethrower and wiped sweaty palms on his jeans before rushing towards the car and Sam with a wide grin on his face.
“What do you think Sammy wants?” his father called to Dean, even as another call from Sam split the air. Dean didn’t seem to hear him, too intent on getting to Sammy, just increasing his steps to the Impala. When they arrived, they were both surprised to see Sam talking into John’s cell phone.
“It’ll be alright. Don’t worry, it’ll be ok” Sam was saying soothingly. John just marveled at the fact that his son seemed to be eight going on eighty at any given time and he was sure that whomever his son was talking to was invariably an adult. “He’s coming now. I’ll let you talk to him” and with that Sam held out the phone with a pleading look to his dad that said “Be nice” and “Fix this” all at the same time.
And there was the eight year old again . . . Amazing how Sam slipped between those two ages so seamlessly.
He only managed to get out a hello, Dean already shoving Sam over and pushing his way into the backseat where he dimly heard him questioning who was on the phone before a panicked voice sounded in his ear.
“Johnny?!”
“Pop?!” John said, surprised. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s, there’s somebody at the door son. . . He said he knew you and we were talking so I invited him in but you know how you put that stuff, what was it, sugar?, under the seal of the door? Well, when he got ready to come in, he hit the threshold and well, his eyes, they *changed* son-“
John’s blood ran cold.
“-and he wouldn’t leave. I ordered him off my property. I called the Sheriff, but when he came, the guy killed, he killed him as easy as breathing . . . even, I even, *shot* him but he just stood there bleeding and what the hell kinda man you shoot that don’t care they been shot?! And I swear he’s out there just smiling and bleeding, Johnny. Smiling and bleeding! What kinda man?!” Hysteria was starting to overtake his father’s voice.
The next few minutes passed in a blur as John slid into the car, started the engine and told his father to stay put, reassuring him that they would be there soon, already calculating the distance from Mississippi to Texas in his mind, thankful they weren’t further away.
”This doesn’t make sense son” his father repeated wearily, confusion still clear in his voice.
“I know Pop, just stay inside. We’ll be there soon” and he snapped the phone shut.
Silence reigned in the car for a minute, just the sound of the engine cutting through the night before a small voice spoke from the back.
“We’re gonna help Grandpa?” Sam’s voice wobbled on the question.
“Yeah, Sammy. He’s gonna be fine.”
He heard a relieved sigh and chanced a glance in the rearview mirror in time to see a solemn Dean wrap a reassuring arm around Sam who collapsed gratefully against him, before he focused again on the road.
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