When You Are Scared
“When You…”One Shot Series
Summary: When you are scared, I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
Timeline: Season Two/Weechesters. No reference to anything.
Beta: None, all mistakes are my own
When You Are Scared
The rain ran down the collar of Dean Winchester’s leather jacket, dampness dribbling in against his neck and soaking down his shirt. I hate the rain. He shivered and looked out across the empty field. He’s really wished they were back in the warm hotel room and not out here in the middle of freaking no where, hunting down a damn Wendigo, in the middle of a storm.
A large white hot blaze of lightning flashed across the darkened sky and the thunder shook the ground.
“Sammy?” the older brother yelled loudly as his eyes cast out and through the rain. “You okay over there?” Little brother doesn’t like storms - never has.
Sam’s some thirty feet away, long gangly limbs leaning against a giant oak tree. He strains his eyes to see through the downpour.
“Hey,” Dean hollered louder, “You need to get the hell away from that tree.”
“I’m okay,” Sam yelled back just as loudly. “What about you, you’re leaning on a tree too?” The little brother snickered to himself. What’s good for little brothers obviously does not apply to big brothers.
“Can we just go?” Dean bellowed.
It’s raining harder now and the older brother narrows his eyes across the distance. Sam’s just a foggy figure in the deluge. The older brother already knows the answer to his question, doesn’t know why he even bothered to ask. The Wendigo’s killed three campers in the last six weeks. Sam won’t be leaving without killing it, no matter how much he doesn’t like the storm.
“NO,” Sam screams at the top of his lungs. I love my brother, only he knows how scared I am in storms. “No Dean, I said I’m fine,” he swallows down his fear, rolls his eyes at his older brother, and nuzzles in deeper against his waterlogged jacket. We need to kill this thing.
Nineteen Years Ago-
It was barely after four a.m. when John Winchester awoke his sleeping boys. The youngest, Sammy, was barely four years old. He rubbed his tightly clinched fist at his eyelids, and suckled intently on his badly wrinkled thumb. He blinked tiredly up at his Daddy, “but, I sweepy,” his little voice whispered in the dark.
“Time to get up kiddo, we got a hunt today.” John patted the heavy-eyed kid on the arm and then gently ruffled up his messy hair. “Get dressed, and stop sucking your thumb son, you’re a big boy now, remember.”
Sam frowned, but pulled his thumb out of his mouth.
The supernatural hunter turned to face his eldest son, the nine year old already sprinting off the bed and pulling on his jeans. That’s my boy. “Help your little brother, Dean,” his father ordered as he began stuffing items into his weapons duffle, making sure he had what he needed to get the job done fast.
And in the distance the thunder rolled as a storm brewed on the horizon.
The large black Impala’s tires splashed against the potholes, grinding in the mud as it bounced across the grassy field. John strained his eyes and peered out through the foggy windshield. The sun was up, but it was raining so damn hard you could barely make out the front end of the car. It was a bad day to hunt, he knew that, but people were dying and he had to put an end to it. He had to do his job.
He stopped the car, the back end fishtailing on the soggy ground beneath it. He threw the large vehicle into park and glanced over the bench seat at his sleeping boys. He should have found a baby-sitter, but no one lived close by. His good friend, Bobby Singer, was the nearest one, and he was still two hours away. He didn’t have anyone to keep his kids, and ‘sides, they needed to be tough, learn the ropes, and be able to take care of themselves. He shook his head. What would their mother say?
A small smile tugged against his lips as the memory of his Mary dashed across his mind. He pulled his hand back through his dark brown hair and sighed. It didn’t matter much, since Mary Winchester was gone, been dead now on three and a half years. His young wife had been taken from him while trying to save their son, their sweet baby boy, the one who was currently sleeping, nuzzled up against his older brother, in the back seat of the car.
The father drew in a weary breath. He moved his hand gently down to rest against his eldest son’s shoulder. “Dean,” he patted the tow headed boy lightly on the arm. Large blue-green eyes blinked open to stare hauntingly back at him, confusion evident for just a moment, before the kid regained his bearings. Suddenly, a bright smile adorned the youngsters face.
“We hunt’n now, Dad?" Dean asked overeagerly, giving his father an instant cause to grin
warmly at the kid.
“Yeah, buddy, we’re hunting.”
Little Sammy Winchester slid across the back seat and dangled his legs out the doorway, eyes peering out into the dark and rainy sky. He frowned and looked up at his older brother.
“Its wain’n De.”
Dean’s standing beside the car, hand zipping up the tattered cloth jacket that his baby brother wore. “Sit still Sammy; let me get your jacket zipped up before you get out in this freaking rain.”
The little brother fidgeted against the raindrops that were splashing on his face, but nodded his head eagerly at his big brother. “Kay De,” he said with an innocent smile.
Momentarily the coat was zipped up to Sammy’s pudgy chin, his hood pulled up around his head and tied securely by his older brothers hands. Dean then gripped him by the elbows and helped his little feet to set securely on the soggy ground.
“You boys ready?” John Winchesters military tone radiated through the wind and rainy air.
Both boys head rose to look intently at their Dad.
“Here Dean,” the father pushed a sawed off into the older brothers hands. “It’s loaded and ready; you just have to take off the safety.”
Dean nodded firmly, he knew what to do.
John then stooped down to Sam’s eye level, knee dropping against the muddy grass. “Here Sammy, it’s kind of dark out here today, so you can hold the flashlight, okay kiddo?”
“Uh-huh,” the youngest hunter grinned happily as his short little fingers reached and held the flailing light. “Look De, I get to cawwy the flashlight,” he beamed as the object wobbled in his tiny hands.
Dean just rolled his eyes.
The rain had eased up some by the time the damp threesome made it to the last known area the Wendigo had been seen; John halting them and gazing all around. Dean understood the magnitude of that fact, knowing that someone had died here on this very spot. He glanced down at Sammy. The kid was just a baby, totally oblivious to anything except the flashlight his father had so proudly let him tote.
“Stay right here boys, I’m looking around a minute.” John moved silently away.
“But Dad, you said I could help,” Dean whispered almost pleadingly. He’d been researching with his father hoping he’d get a chance to hunt.
John glared back over his shoulder at his oldest. “Stay with your brother.”
Dean immediately sulked, eyes darting down to look at his little brother. Stupid baby brothers.
“Don’t move from this spot,” the father ordered.
Both brothers nodded their understanding watching their Dad’s retreating back.
Sammy looked down at the muddy ground, the very low beam of light shinning against the glistening grass. He smiled. He flipped off the flashlight and the glimmer went away. He flipped it back on; it glimmered again, he flipped it off and it was gone, he flipped it on, he flipped it off, flipped on, flipped off, on, off, on, off …
Dean’s hand reached down to stop the flipping light. “Stop it,” he said grumpily.
Sam looked wide eyed up at his older brother. Playing with the light is fun. He frowned at Dean, his lower lip starting to tremble.
“Don’t be such a baby, Sammy.” Dean shushed as he relinquished his hold on the light in his little brother’s hands. I could be out hunting right now. I could kill this thing.
The littlest Winchester sucked in a gulp of air, “I not a baby!” He stomped his foot, his waterlogged sneaker squishing in the mud. He purposely dropped the flashlight so it landed precariously right against his older brother’s shoe with a loud and heavy thud. If the kid had learned anything from his big brother it was how to administer payback when necessary.
“Owe, Sam, that freakin’ hurt.” Dean admonished quickly.
The little guy smirked almost wickedly. He brushed his face against the sleeve of his jacket abruptly swiping away the tears that mingled with the rain. He crossed his arms and glared angrily up at his older brother.
Dean sighed. Little twerp. He bent down to retrieve the flashlight that was now rolling in the mud. Little brothers are a pain in my ass. He stuffed the light inside his coat pocket as he glowered down at Sam.
Sam’s face pouted. “De…that’s mine,” he whined, “Daddy gave it to me.”
Before Dean could reply, the lightning struck close by.
The thunder shook the ground.
But, it was the loud yelp from their father that caught both boys’ attention. Their heads darted in the last known direction that they had seen their Dad. A lone gunshot ricocheted in the tree line. Another muffled scream and Dean’s fingers ghosted off the safety on his gun. He glanced quickly at his little brother.
Sammy’s eyes were huge. “Daddy?” the kid whispered.
“You, stay here.” The older brother ordered, and with those words - he ran.
Dean’s boots squished and squashed in the mud, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. His mind was on one thing, and one thing only – I got to get to Dad. The rain was coming down in sheets making it very hard to see, but he remembered the direction that his father had gone and he moved quickly toward that spot.
He stopped in the grove of trees, eyes darting all around. “Dad?” he yelled.
No sound greeted his ears.
He ran further into the brush and bushes, eyes scanning as he went. He kept the shotgun poised at his shoulder; ready to shoot at a moment’s notice, just like his Dad had taught him not so very long ago.
“Dad,” he screamed.
A muffled moan reached his rain filled ears. “Daddy?” he tilted his head and listened for the noise again.
“Dean,” John Winchesters voice bellowed up from below.
The kid stepped quickly toward the bushes, where he heard the voice again.
“Down here.” John yelled.
Emerald green eyes looked downward past the undergrowth, down past the rocks and dirt. The ground sloped abruptly and there, not fifteen feet below, he saw his father, his head poking out from beneath a dead Wendigo carcass.
“You okay,” Dean shouted as he held his breath. Please be okay.
John Winchester was never so happy to see those bright green eyes at the moment. He had managed to shoot the monster just as it lunged for him, but now, the heavy assed creature lay sprawled across him, pinning him to the muddy, soggy, ground. If I could just get some damn leverage, I could get this blame thing off.
“Help get this damn thing off me, son.” The older man roared.
Dean almost laughed; his father looked too funny with the creature laying on top his ass. He grinned, pushed the safety on his rifle, and shimmed down the hill.
Sammy was so scared. He didn’t like being here all alone; he just wanted his big brother. His large hazel eyes peered out through the heavy downpour as he watched Dean retreating from his view. Wait…De, please come back. He wanted to run after him, go with him, find their Daddy together; he just wanted to go home. His waterlogged jacket was soaked through to his skin, his hair wet and sticking to his face as his teeth chattered so loudly that it shook him to the core.
Within moments, he was all alone.
His eyes flitted around, no Daddy or big brother anywhere in sight. His lower lip trembled. Warm tears welled up in his eyes. He stared intently at the spot where he had last seen his big brother. I want my De. The lightning bolted down around him, the wind howling in the trees.
The little boy shivered, and then began to cry.
The mud was cold as it soaked in through his jeans. John pushed and shoved at the heavy creature as he watched his eldest shimmy down the hillside. I want this damn smelly son of a bitch off me – now! “Be careful Dean, it’s slippery.” He yelled.
Momentarily, Dean made it down the slope, bright eyes grinning at his Dad. “Got your self in quite a little pickle here - huh Dad.” The kid giggled as he sat his shotgun down against the muddy ground.
“Dean,” the father said with little heat, “Ha, freaking ha!” He rolled his eyes.
Dean reached down with both hands and grabbed the mammoth creature by the arms, John pushing from beneath it.
“Damn, this guy weighs a ton.” Dean heaved out.
“Watch your mouth.” His father said as he pushed and shoved at the Wendigo.
Dean couldn’t stifle his chuckle, “Yes sir.”
Finally, the hairy creature flopped to the side and off of one John Winchester. The older man dropped boneless back against the ground. He lay their silently for a long moment letting the raindrops drown out the ugly smell. “Damn son of a bitch stinks to high heaven.”
Dean laughed louder. “Yep, and so do you.”
John pushed to get up, as he did so he glared at his boy, the young kid grinning from ear to ear. He chucked to himself. Got to admit it’s kind of funny. He stood up whipping out his gasoline decanter from his coat pocket and dosing down the Wendigo. A match was suddenly poised within his fingers.
“Move back, son.” He ordered, the match sizzling with the strike. The creature went up in a red hot ball of flames; the nasty smell intensifying ten-fold.
“Holy crap,” Dean yanked his hand up to cover his nose and mouth. “I didn’t think it could smell any worse.”
John grinned broadly and then glanced around the area. The rain was picking back up, wind whipping through the trees. “Where’s Sam?” he asked curiously as his brown eyes fell to Dean.
The nine year olds face drained of all color, stunned expression rising to his eyes. “crap!” he yanked up his shotgun, and hastily clamored back up the side of the embankment.
John frowned, then, sudden realization hit him like a truck. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered heatedly. He floundered frantically up the rocky hillside right behind his boy.
Dean’s breath was wheezing out as he thrashed up the rocky slope, “I’m sorry, Dad,” he muttered forlornly.” Sammy – oh God, please let my brother be okay.
“Its okay, Dean, he hasn’t been alone for that long, like twenty minutes - tops.”
“That’s too long,” the older brother whispered, guilt apparent in his tone.
“Dean, it’s not your fault,” John said through gasping breaths of air. “It’s mine.” I can’t let my boy take the blame for a situation that I caused myself. I should’ve gotten a baby sitter. I should’ve left them in the car.
Dean blinked back the tears and ran, ran faster than he even knew he could. His heart pounded in his ears. He came up over the slopping ground, feet slipping on the wet mud, eyes darting through the trees, the bushes, and the rain, to where he’d last seen his little brother. He strained his eyes, scanning the area in one continuous motion. No Sam, Sam, Sam. He ran. The limbs scrapped against his face, stinging at his skin, he didn’t’ care, he had to get to Sammy, and he had to do it now.
The raindrops grew heavier, and harder, thudding harshly on the John’s lightening flashed explosively across the sky; the thunder rolled and shook the ground. He glanced over at his boy, his guilty fear filled son. The wind whipped viciously around them, as his hand reached over to grip his nine year old by the elbow and steady him as he ran. His own feet fumbled in the muddy grass, his breath heaving in his lungs. One mantra kept playing over and over inside of both their heads – Get to Sam, get to Sam, get to Sam. Neither of them faltered as they pushed on through the storm.
Sammy’s little limbs shivered as the rain soaked through his tattered cloth jacket and saturated to his skin. Cold, so cold. His feet were freezing, little sneakers muddy and drenched completely through. A large lightening bolt hit a tree behind him and he turned around, his heart thudding in his chest. He jumped unconsciously as the tree limb fell to the mud-spattered ground with a loud resounding thud. He squished his eyes closed and hiccupped in some air between his wayward sobs. He moved his waterlogged hands up to press against the sides of his head, to drown out the rumbling noise as he twirled around in a shaky circle, his wide eyes glancing wildly all around. Where’s De…where’s Daddy?
It began to rain harder, water rolling down in sheets. The wind whipped harshly, water droplets hitting Sammy’s baby cheeks like tiny little swords, stinging at his skin. He sobbed and fell to his little knees against the sodden grass. I need De… De…De… He curled in on himself, as he lay down on the ground. The cold mud smashed against his face as he cried, and cried, and cried.
Dean saw the tiny mass lying unmoving on the grass. It was hard to see through the rain, but he strained his eyes and looked harder. Sammy? Oh God! He suddenly had an adrenaline rush as he plunged ahead of his Dad; his feet thudded loudly on the mucky ground. He skidded to his brother’s side, shoes sliding from beneath him as he landed on his butt.
“Sammy?” he heaved out as he panted for oxygen. He reached a shaky hand up to turn his little brother over to his back.
“Don’t move him.” John’s said with a harshness he really didn’t mean. He fell to his knees beside his boy, dropping his sawed off in the mud.
Dean’s hand stopped mid-motion as he looked up at his Dad.
“Let’s check him over first, son.” His voice heavy with concern, “Make sure that he’s okay.”
Dean nodded shakily. Oh yeah, first rule in hunting, how did I forget? “Sammy?” he repeated quietly. It was hard not to panic when Sammy didn’t respond. He watched with bated breath as his father’s hands ghosted over Sam’s shivering little form.
“Sammy, baby, can you hear me?” John slowly turned his youngest to his back. He sucked in a gasp as he saw the state his little boy was in.
Sam was pale as he panted for air around the tiny thumb that was suckling in his mouth. Large overblown pupils gazed out from hazels that you could barely see. “He’s in shock?” John stated in confusion. Jesus, how’d this happen? He quickly removed his heavy coat and wrapped it around his little boys shivering form.
Sam moaned, but other than that, the Dad got no reaction as he bundled up his boy.
“Dad?” Dean’s voice quivered now from fear. His fingers tugged lightly across Sammy’s freezing cheek. “He’s so cold.”
John scooped his baby boy up gently into his arms as he looked across at Dean. “Let’s go, son, we need to get him back to the motel, warm him up. Grab my gun.”
Dean nodded. He yanked up his father’s fire arm from the dirt and nuzzled it up against his own. His free hand reached down to grip Sam’s ice cold fingers.
The rain kept pouring down.
“Dad, what happened to him?” he asked as he scurried to keep up with his father’s large and hurried steps. His fingers never released his grip on Sammy’s hand, as he stumbled to keep up.
“I…I don’t know son, but, he’ll be okay,” he glanced up at his boy. “I promise.”
Dean just looked scared.
“He’s gon’na be fine, Dean, just fine.” The father made a bee-line toward the car. Please god, let my baby be okay.
And the rain continued to pore down in sheets, the lightning flashing in the sky.
“Get in first Dean; you can hold your brother.”
Dean quickly yanked open the passenger door and slid into the seat.
“Get that wet jacket off him.” John ordered as eased Sammy down against the well worn leather seat. He quickly pulled off Sammy’s soggy sneakers and socks, and shimmed his littlest out of a sopping wet pair of jeans.
The older brother worked to untie the knot beneath Sam’s chubby chin and remove the rain drenched coat from his brother’s waterlogged limbs. The brown mop of wet and tangled hair tumbled from its bindings and flopped down against the child’s pale face. Dean’s fingers fumbled with the damp bangs, pushing them aside.
Sam whimpered, his thumb moving to his lips. His eyes remained closed as John eased him into his older brother’s lap.
Dean’s arms wrapped around the ice cold limbs, “Easy Sammy, I gotcha,” he murmured.
John flung the waterlogged clothing into the back seat. He snuggled Sam and Dean beneath two army blankets that they carried in the he carried in the car. “You’re gonna be hot Dean, but we got to get him warmed up.”
Dean nodded, “I know.” He understood, he was meant to suffer through.
Satisfied, John shut the door, ran around the Impala, and swiftly jumped inside. He revved up the engine and floored the car. The worn tires spun out in the muddy grass, bouncing haphazardly through the water soaked field as he guided the vehicle back onto the road.
“Keep him warm Dean,” the worried father stated abruptly as he glanced across to Sam. What the hell is wrong with me, how’d I let this happen?
Dean frowned sadly at his father, recognizing the worried sound that rested in his tone. His fingers gently threaded through his baby brother’s hair. “Okay, Daddy,” he whispered as he tugged Sammy closer up against him.
Dean was sweltering by the time the Impala pulled into the motel parking lot; his damp clothes sticking uncomfortably back against his skin.
The car came to an abrupt halt, John bolting from his seat and running quickly round the vehicle. The passenger door flung hastily open and suddenly Sammy was lifted from Dean’s grasp, leaving the older brother feeling lost and all alone. He blinked for a moment, reorienting himself to his surroundings. He saw John’s retreating back. He floundered out of the car and deligently followed his father back inside their room. By the time he caught up, John had laid Sammy out on the second bed, the one farthest from the door, and was giving his smallest the once over one more time, fingers ghosting over Sam’s limp body.
“Nothing’s broken no cuts or bruises I can see.” The father offered up honestly.
Dean stood silently beside his Dad, shuffling nervously from one shoe to the other. “Why doesn’t he open his eyes, Dad?”
“He will son, he just got cold, and scared,” John glanced at Dean. “Change out of those damp clothes,” he ordered.
Dean did as his Dad instructed. He stood silently, flipped off his shoes, tugged off his waterlogged socks, and stripped off his soggy shirt and jeans. He pulled on an old pair of sweat pants and ragged ACDC shirt then moved quickly back to his little brother’s side.
John stepped aside to let Dean get up on the bed. “You lay down with him Dean.”
The father covered both of them with blankets, his hand resting on his baby’s chubby cheek. “Its okay baby,” he whispered, “Daddy’s here.”
Sammy didn’t stir as outside the storm rolled on.
It was still raining as John dozed in the ragged motel chair.
The older brother had kept his grip on Sam. He didn’t know how long he had been lying next to his little brother, but in truth, he didn’t care. Every time the lightning struck, Sammy had whimpered and nuzzled closer in. He sighed, and looked at Sam’s pale face. All he wanted was for his whiny baby brother to wake up, to bug the crap out of him, to get on his nerves - Because that’s what little brothers did.
Another bolt of lightning and Sam stirred. His thumb moved up to rest against his lips. He burrowed deeper into Dean’s side.
The older brother leaned up on one elbow to look into the tiny face. He grinned warmly when Sam’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He waited, and was momentarily greeted by two wide hazel eyes. “Hey Sammy,” he cooed as he pushed his fingers through the messy chestnut locks.
Sam blinked several times, looking blankly at his brother.
The thunder clapped and Sammy shivered, “I scared’d De,” he said softly as he suckled on his thumb and nuzzled into Dean.
“Its okay, Sam, it’s just a storm.” The big brother smiled. “You’re okay now, it’s okay.”
Little fingers gripped at Dean’s tee shirt, balling the fabric in a knot.
“Daddy,” Dean said contentedly, “Sam’s awake.”
John’s eyes darted open. Sam’s awake? His looked tiredly around the dimly lit room. He smiled when he saw the little face snuggled up to Dean. He pushed off the tattered chair and scooted hastily to his youngest boy’s side.
Dean released his grip on Sam.
“Hey buddy, how’s my little man feeling?” The father’s strong arms pulled the precious burden up against him in a fierce, but gentle, hug.
Sam’s head burrowed against his Daddy’s shoulder. “I scared’d of da wain.” the little voice stated between slurps against his thumb.
John looked down at his baby. “It’s okay Sammy, I gotcha.” Kid needs to stop suckling his thumb. He smiled. Just not today. He reached his large arms out and pulled his eldest into his grasp. “Family hug,” he said almost giddily.
Dean looked surprised. Is Daddy giving us a hug? He grinned at his little brother.
Dean caved. He relaxed against his Dad, and all three Winchesters fell back against the pillows in a loud contented laugh.
And outside, the wind howled and the rain continued to fall.
Present Day –
Sam heard a rustling beneath the wind and rain and his eyes darted about twenty feet away. He couldn’t see much through the driving rain. He glanced forward to see Dean way across the field. Guess it’s nothing. He tugged his coat up closer against his soaked skin, his fingers slipping and sliding around his sawed off gun. Maybe Dean’s right, this is just a waste of time.
A bolt of lightning flashed across the treetops and he shuddered. I hate thunderstorms. Breathe, breathe, breathe, and breathe. He barely remembered being stuck out in a storm when he was little, Dean said that was why he never liked them, said that was when he started crawling in his bed, to escape the terror that filled him every time their was storm. Sam, well, he really didn’t remember, just took his older brother’s word for it. All he knew was he never liked thunderstorms, the lightning, the howling of the wind. It scared him half to death. Funny, he could hunt all things supernatural, but he was afraid of the freaking rain.
He snickered to himself.
Another bolt of lightning and he chewed his lower lip. If it wasn’t mandatory that they take this Wendigo down, they would’ve been long gone by now, lying on the motel bed, eating take out food, and watching stupid movies. But, that wasn’t going to happen, not as long as there was a hungry Wendigo on the prowl.
Something rustled behind him and he turned again to look. Something is moving over there. He glanced across at Dean who seemed to be absorbed in his own thoughts way across the field. I’ll just check it out before I get him over here – it’s probably a raccoon or something, and I’ll never live it down. He pushed off the tree stump and moved through the woody brush.
The rustling grew louder.
Dean’s shoes squashed against the muddy ground as he attempted to move around, boots slipping and sliding. crap! He pushed against the tree he was leaning on to steady is flailing feet. I’ve had enough of standing out here in this downpour. He was sopping wet, tired and hungry. Screw this.
Lightning blared across the sky again. Thunder rolled and shook the ground.
Dean stained his deep green eyes to peer across the field at his little brother. He frowned, he couldn’t see Sammy anymore. What the hell? The older brother sighed. Little brothers are a pain in my ass. It didn’t matter if it was raining sheets, Sam said Wendigos didn’t care. The older brother stepped away from the tree, his stiff body protesting, as he slowly moved across the muddy field. Damn rain.
“SAM,” he whined at the top of his voice, “This is a bust dude, let’s get out of here.”
He waited, but no sound met his ears. He frowned and trudged forward, rain pounding on his skin. “Sam?”
And then he heard it, a piercing gunshot wailing in the wind. His heart suddenly pounded in his chest. He ran. His boots thudded on the damp and soggy ground.
“SAM,” his eyes darted quickly through the rain. He passed the tree where Sam was standing in a mad unrelenting rush. “SAMMY?” he yelled again.
A large bolt of lightning gave a glow across the sky, and that’s when he saw it, the large creature lying on the sodden grass not twenty feet away. He could barely make out something, or someone rather, pinned beneath the mammoth creature. Oh my god – Sam! The older brother stumbled toward his brother and skidded down against the grass, dropping his shotgun to the ground.
“Sammy?” Dean’s fingers nudged against the creature, pushing his body partially off of Sam.
Sam’s eyes fluttered and he moaned slightly. “Dean?” he whispered as he struggled in some air.
Dean smiled. Guess it was hard to breath with a 300 pound creature lying on your ass. He was never so happy as he was at that exact moment, when he saw hazel eyes slitting open, his brother looking confusedly at him.
Sam’s nose suddenly snarled up, “Oh my god, it stinks.”
Dean laughed, the image of his father a very long time ago coming to his mind.
“Push Sammy, I’ll pull and we’ll get the mother off of you.” Dean grinned.
Sam moved to help Dean remove the creature, but when he did so, a sharp pain radiated across his chest. “Guh,” he moaned.
Dean’s eyes widened, “Sammy?” Not funny anymore, Sammy’s hurt.
Sam seemed to be struggling for some air. “H…h...hurts.”
Suddenly, not sure where it came from, but Dean had had the strength of ten men and pushed and shoved the gargantuan creature off his brother.
Sam moaned with the motion, blinking sluggishly up at Dean. His breathe was coming out in ragged little gasps.
Dean kicked the large creature just once for god measure. Damn son of a bitch. He moved back to his brother. “Sam, you with me?”
Sam grimaced, his hand rubbing at his chest. “Ribs,” he whispered.
Dean’s hands reached beneath his little brother waterlogged jacket and damp shirt to feel against his chest. He heaved out a relieved sigh, “Nothing broken just must be bruising there little brother.” He patted Sam lightly on the shoulder. “Guess a big ole monster falling on your ass will do that to ya, huh?” Dean grinned, “Just lie still a minute, and see if you can catch your breath.”
Sam nodded. Still hurts like a mother. The thunder rolled around them, the lightning bolting in the sky, and his gangly limbs shudder unconsciously.
The lightning struck again.
Dean gripped his brother’s arm. “Easy Sam, it’s okay. Can you set up?” he queried as he moved to ease Sam up to a sitting position.
“Yeah, yeah…I’m…okay.” Sam wavered slightly. The raindrops dribbled quickly down his face as he leaned slightly forward against Dean’s steady shoulder, still heaving to get air. Not sure if I can’t breathe from my being pounded by the big Wendigo, or I just don’t like this freaking storm.
Dean recognized the fear in his little brother’s eyes. Kid may be grown, but he’s still scared shitless in a storm. He held on to Sam tighter.
Large hazel eyes blinked up at Dean.
“I scared’d of da wain.” a little voice floated through his thoughts and the older brother smiled.
“It’s okay Sammy, I gotcha.”
:hi5 So tell me what you think- reviews are what keeps me going! Denise