Title: Better Than Trick or Treat Author: septembers_coda Rating: PG-13 Genre/pairing: Gen, wee!chesters, casefic Characters: Sam, Dean, John, hunter-OC Word count: ~1,400 Summary: Something’s in wee! Sam. Disclaimer: No ownership of anything Supernatural.
Sam woke up with sticks and gravel poking his legs, and his first thought was that the ground was very cold—and why was he dressed only in underwear?—but he was too hot under the old Army sleeping bag draped over him. Dad’s—he recognized it by the slightly mildewed smell that featured in some of his earliest memories.
Or was this one of his earliest memories? No, he was nine now, too old for childish reminiscing. As he blinked open his eyes, sights and sounds slowly gained volume and clarity. The weird, flickering light shadowed more than it illuminated, but Sam gradually made out the shapes of several men around the fire—and the sound of low chanting.
He felt a thrill of fear, but it was almost rote—and wasn’t that strange, that at nine years old, it wasn’t that unexpected to wake up this way? But why couldn’t he move? And what was that strange, awful sensation in his belly, a squirming inside like he needed to throw up, but with no sick feeling gathering in his throat, and something tamping down his muscles, like cords tied around each one of them and a whisper made physical, all through his body, be still, be still…
He tried to scream for Dad or Dean, but it was like thinking about a scream from a long way away, and then he was born up, strong arms lifting him, and Dad’s face slid into view. “Sam?”
The voice was an intense relief, and Sam opened his mouth to ask what was happening, and found that he could only say, “Dad…” and then he was weeping, and oh God, they were on a hunt, they’d gone together because there was no time to drop Sam somewhere safe and he didn’t want to be dropped, he wanted to stay with Dean, and if Dean could hunt, why couldn’t he, even if Dad still pretended it wasn’t all real and he wasn’t supposed to know, he’d known for years now…
“Take it easy, buddy. I’ve got you. Just hang in there. Damn it, Aidan! Why isn’t it working? I would never have come to your god damned podunk shithole if you’d told me—”
“Relax, John. I’m sorry one got in. I’ve done this ritual a thousand times, and if it only got in him today—”
The stream of invective that John launched at Aidan was full of words he never said where Sam could hear; words Dean had started saying lately too but which always got him in trouble, and Sam felt Dad’s arms shaking with fury where they held him, and for some reason he liked it, so though his insides churned horribly, and even poked against the sleeping bag from inside his belly, like they were reaching, he sat still, wanting only to stay where he was, and maybe go to sleep and wake up somewhere different, better, but still in Dad’s arms.
“…you’re damned, damned to hell if you think it’s OK for one of my boys to get taken like this, and it’ll be your death, Aidan, unless…”
Sam knew Aidan, one of dad’s weird hunter friends who said things Sam didn’t like, but Dean did; Dean always asked him questions and didn’t seem to care that he was kind of off, weird and creepy like too many people Dad talked to, but Dean always wanted to know what weapon killed what, and Aidan would always tell him, saying things Sam, and even Dean, wasn’t supposed to hear, if Dad wasn’t there… (cont'd next comment)
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carisma_sensei
FILLED: Better Than Trick or Treat, part 1
Date: 2015-11-02 08:59 pm (UTC)Author:
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen, wee!chesters, casefic
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, hunter-OC
Word count: ~1,400
Summary: Something’s in wee! Sam.
Disclaimer: No ownership of anything Supernatural.
Sam woke up with sticks and gravel poking his legs, and his first thought was that the ground was very cold—and why was he dressed only in underwear?—but he was too hot under the old Army sleeping bag draped over him. Dad’s—he recognized it by the slightly mildewed smell that featured in some of his earliest memories.
Or was this one of his earliest memories? No, he was nine now, too old for childish reminiscing. As he blinked open his eyes, sights and sounds slowly gained volume and clarity. The weird, flickering light shadowed more than it illuminated, but Sam gradually made out the shapes of several men around the fire—and the sound of low chanting.
He felt a thrill of fear, but it was almost rote—and wasn’t that strange, that at nine years old, it wasn’t that unexpected to wake up this way? But why couldn’t he move? And what was that strange, awful sensation in his belly, a squirming inside like he needed to throw up, but with no sick feeling gathering in his throat, and something tamping down his muscles, like cords tied around each one of them and a whisper made physical, all through his body, be still, be still…
He tried to scream for Dad or Dean, but it was like thinking about a scream from a long way away, and then he was born up, strong arms lifting him, and Dad’s face slid into view. “Sam?”
The voice was an intense relief, and Sam opened his mouth to ask what was happening, and found that he could only say, “Dad…” and then he was weeping, and oh God, they were on a hunt, they’d gone together because there was no time to drop Sam somewhere safe and he didn’t want to be dropped, he wanted to stay with Dean, and if Dean could hunt, why couldn’t he, even if Dad still pretended it wasn’t all real and he wasn’t supposed to know, he’d known for years now…
“Take it easy, buddy. I’ve got you. Just hang in there. Damn it, Aidan! Why isn’t it working? I would never have come to your god damned podunk shithole if you’d told me—”
“Relax, John. I’m sorry one got in. I’ve done this ritual a thousand times, and if it only got in him today—”
The stream of invective that John launched at Aidan was full of words he never said where Sam could hear; words Dean had started saying lately too but which always got him in trouble, and Sam felt Dad’s arms shaking with fury where they held him, and for some reason he liked it, so though his insides churned horribly, and even poked against the sleeping bag from inside his belly, like they were reaching, he sat still, wanting only to stay where he was, and maybe go to sleep and wake up somewhere different, better, but still in Dad’s arms.
“…you’re damned, damned to hell if you think it’s OK for one of my boys to get taken like this, and it’ll be your death, Aidan, unless…”
Sam knew Aidan, one of dad’s weird hunter friends who said things Sam didn’t like, but Dean did; Dean always asked him questions and didn’t seem to care that he was kind of off, weird and creepy like too many people Dad talked to, but Dean always wanted to know what weapon killed what, and Aidan would always tell him, saying things Sam, and even Dean, wasn’t supposed to hear, if Dad wasn’t there…
(cont'd next comment)