Characters: Sam, Dean
Written for Jolinarcarter during the ABC Drabble Meme
It was a small thing really, but it was the difference between life and death. Sam swallowed. In order to destroy this ghost, he had to cross a patch of land filled with this thing. He stayed rooted to his spot."Come on, Sammy! We haven't got all day!" Sam looked up to see Dean waving from the other side. He had that look on his face. The determined "I'm going to kill something" look. Sam took a step back. "Isn't there another way across?" he asked. "Dude, this is the only way, and I can't dig this son of a bitch up on my own." Sam eyed the plant spread out before him. "You remember what happened the last time I stepped in this stuff?" "What stuff?" Dean paused. Sam decided his brother must have looked down because Dean's tone changed. "Oh, that stuff. You blew up like a blowfish." Sam raised his head to meet Dean's eyes. "Exactly." "Sam," Dean stuck his shovel into the ground. "Which is more important? Stopping this dead bastard or you protecting your delicate frame?" "Very funny." Sam studied the plant. Dean was right; they had to stop this ghost before it killed again. Sam took a deep breath; he had no choice. Keeping his focus on the other side, he raced through the meadow, not stopping once. When he reached Dean, he inspected his skin to make sure none of the vegetation had touched him. Dean only shook his head and started for the grave. "Dude, only you would be allergic to sunflowers." "Shut up, Dean."
She gasps as he slides into her, a quick pain, and then pleasure. The motion grows rhythmic and pulses out a primal beat to match the pound of her heart. The movement becomes faster. Her breathing almost stops altogether. Her back arches as she grips his arms. Faster. Faster. Her body tingles all over, pushed by the rush of energy through her limbs."Dean," she breathes. "Dean." And then she explodes. Her head falls back as bliss fills every cell in her body. She crumbles onto the bed, barely able to move. Her eyes meet his greenish-hazel ones. "Let's do that again," she grins.
See Through You
Written for Storydivagirl
She laughed as Dean scrambled backwards off the bed, his eyes as big as saucers. He had no idea what her plans were for him, and she liked it that way. Licking her lips, she crawled across the bed.
"What's the matter, Dean? Afraid I can see right through you?" she taunted. She flipped the large knife in her hand.
Dean didn't answer. He merely produced a gun in two seconds flat. She stopped crawling. With her x-ray vision, she could see the intricate inner workings of the gun. Bullets filled each slot. Dean didn't appear to be a Russian roulette kind of guy. She didn't care. Turning her attention back to his body, she traced an artery to his heart. Knowing exactly where it was, she would have no problem plunging the blade straight into it. It pumped rapidly. She smiled. Dean may be calm and cool on the outside, but inside, he was frightened.
"You wouldn't shoot little old me, would you?" She tossed the knife aside. "An unarmed woman?"
Dean narrowed his eyes to slits. "In a heartbeat, baby, like you killed those three other guys."
She chuckled. He was right. Finding vital organs and making them stop working had become second nature to her. It had granted her freedom, like the yellow-eyed demon promised. She focused on Dean's chest, watching his heart tremble with every beat. Oh, how much fun it would be to squeeze the life out of it. Gripping the knife, she charged him.
She never heard the gun shot. Barely even felt the bullet rip through her flesh. All she knew was one minute she studied Dean's organs, the next, she couldn't see anything anymore.
Characters: Sam and Dean
Written For Seimaisin
Author's Note: If you're ever traveling along the Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina, look for Brown Mountain. At night, strange lights really do dance around it, and no, you can't see them if you're on the mountain. To this day, no one knows where they come from or what they are.
"Dude, there's nothing up here," Dean said when he met Sam in the clearing. "All I see are trees, trees, and more trees. I think this is a bust."
"But the lights we saw from the parkway. How do you explain that?" Sam insisted.
"I don't know, man, but there's nothing to hunt up here." Sam arched an eyebrow. "Well, unless you like hunting bears and deer," Dean corrected.
Sam lowered his flashlight. "I guess we'd better head back to Asheville. Check out those missing girls."
Dean started toward the Impala. "Yeah, looks like the Brown Mountain Lights will continue to remain a mystery."
Crossover with Charmed
Characters: Dean and Wyatt
Written for Xphoenixrising
"Hey, Wyatt, have you ever had problems with Chris whining about wanting to be normal?"
"All the time, Dean. He complains about missing school and not being able to hang out with his friends. Says he'd happily give up killing demons for a normal school day."
"Are you serious? Killing demons is so much better than learning math."
"You're telling me. How about Sam?"
"You mean Geek Boy? Oh, he's always got his nose stuck in a book. Would rather stay in college than help me and Dad on a hunt."
"They're both crazy."
"I'll drink to that."
Written for Lesserknown
Finally! I thought Geek Boy was never going to make a move. Sometimes I worry about him. Yes, I know he's still mourning Jess, but if he doesn't move on, he'll shrivel up and die, consumed by revenge. Kind of like Dad. I don't want to see that happen to Sammy, and I think this chick is the right cure. Oh, Sam, don't be a pansy. Slip her the tongue. Oh, holding her jaw, nice touch. He did learn a thing or two from me, didn't he? Good work, my man. Good work.
We're going to die! We're all going to die! This plane is going to crash and pieces of me will scatter all over the countryside.
Okay, hang in there, Dean. You've faced worse than this. You can do this. Once Sam finishes the exorcism, the plane will right itself. It will. It has to.
Wait! Did we drop again? Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. I'm doomed. Doomed!
I should've stayed in the car. Safe and sound in my baby. She wouldn't crash and burn like this.
But, no, I can't let these people die. I can't.
But we're all going to die a fiery death anyway!
Hurry, Sam, hurry!
I swear I am never flying again. Ever.
Dreams were a waste of time. Sam Winchester knew that now.
He had had so many of them. Dreams of working at a law firm, helping people in his own way. Dreams of marrying Jess and raising children. Dreams of a beautiful house in a beautiful neighborhood.
But all of those dreams died with Jess.
Now Sam doesn't believe in dreams. All he dreams about now is finding his father and the answers to what destroyed his life.
Once that is done, though, Sam has promised himself that he won't dream anymore. He won't let his dreams hurt him again.
Cold. Wet. Each sensation hit Dean the moment his skin touched the water. He fought the urge to swim out, though. He was there for a reason.
Taking a deep breath, he dove under the surface. His eyes popped open, only to be greeted by a murky, grey color. He cupped his hands and pushed his arms out, going into a breast stroke. He strained to see past the dark water.
Lucas was here. He had to be. Dean wasn't giving up yet. He pushed closer to the bottom of the lake, ignoring the burning in his lungs.
Finally, he saw a figure, small and faint. Dean swam towards it and his eyes widened when he saw Lucas. He wrapped an arm around the boy's waist and pulled with all of his might. The ghost let him go.
Dean swam as hard as he could, keeping his eyes on the light above. With one strong push, he and Lucas broke the surface. He gasped for air, but refuse to let go of the boy.
He peered at Lucas. Thank God the boy was breathing. With that thought, he swam to shore.
"Dude, do you see that?" Dean stared at the ceiling.
Sam followed his line of sight. "What is that?"
"I don't know, man. It's weird."
"Do you think we should look it up?"
Dean shook his head. "I don't think we'd be able to find it."
"Can I help you, gentlemen?"
Sam and Dean turned their attention away from the ceiling to see a well-dressed man standing in front of them. Dean stepped forward.
"Yeah, but before we begin, what is that?" Dean pointed to the ceiling.
The gentleman sniffed. "That is an original painting by my nephew. At least treat it with some respect." He turned on his heel and headed into the office.
Dean shrugged. "How was I suppose to know it was art?"
Sam only shook his head as the two followed the gentleman.
Dean stepped outside the hotel room and breathed in. The air smelled wet, almost clean. He smiled as he leaned against the door jamb.
The air after a rainfall was always intoxicating. Rain could wash away anything, giving everyone a clean start. For a moment, he could almost believe the rain had washed away all the bad stuff in his life.
He turned toward the sound of crunching gravel. He saw Sam trudging back to the hotel room, a coffee in each hand. Apparently his baby brother still wasn't sleeping.
Dean sighed. Sadly, there were some things the rain couldn't wash away.
Sam Winchester hadn't wanted any of it -- the weapons, the killing, the training. He wanted a simple, normal life. A life where he could fight for good without shedding blood.
And then he lost Jessica the same way he had lost his mother.
It was hard to calm the rage when all he wanted to do was lash out. Clutching the large knife, he wanted nothing more than to hack the current creature he and Dean were hunting into a thousand pieces.But it wouldn't help because it wouldn't bring Jessica or his mother back. Nothing would. That was something he was going to have to learn to live with.
Plop. Sam froze as soon as he heard the sound behind him. Plop. That couldn't be good. Plop. Gathering his courage, he slowly turned toward the sound. Plop.
A small pool of red started forming a circle on the ground by his feet. Plop. A small drop, the same color, blended in with the pool on the floor. Plop.
Sam took a deep breath and peered above him. Plop. A body, or what was left of it, lay across the beam of the ceiling. Plop.
Sam called to Dean. "Hey! I think we're too late," he said. Plop.
He flashed the ID so quick the young girl behind the counter couldn't see it. "I'm Dean, this is Sam, we're FBI," he said.
The girl raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like FBI agents."
"We get that a lot," Dean said as he leaned against the counter. He breathed in and caught the scent of her perfume. He grinned. "Is that vanilla I smell?"
"Maybe." She resumed her filing and barely looked at him.
Dean almost said something else when Sam hit him on the arm.
"Could we?" his younger brother asked.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Distracted by the vanilla, you know."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."