FanFiction.Net - unleash your imagination|
Author of 13 Stories |
WinchesterHaunt: Hello all. I was listening to a Backstreet Boys' CD with my mother the other day; we were driving to town. And then the song 'The Perfect Fan' came on and all I could think about was Sam and Dean (not that I wasn't already thinking about them). Mostly Dean though. I thought that it would make the perfect fanfiction, so I'm going to try my hand at a Dean fic. Sam's in it of course, but this will be Dean's thoughts and memories. I hope you like it.
Rating: PG-13 (Shame on you Dean, cursing is bad for your soul.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the song 'The Perfect Fan' by the Backstreet Boys.
Summery: During a hunt, Dean is reminded of all the things his mother did for him and how much all those things truly meant, and still mean, to him. One-Shot
The Perfect Fan
By: WinchesterHaunt
"So this is it?" Dean stopped and tilted his head back to look up at a rather large tree.
Sam breathed out a 'wow' as he stood next to Dean, also taking in its' large stature, "This tree most be hundreds of years old."
"Well that's the thing, Sammy, Dule trees usually are." Dean circled half the tree before stopping in front of a posted sign of historical facts. "Hanging people isn't exactly modern day punishment anymore, not to mention legal."
"Didn't stopped the Morisons from doing it," Sam grimaced at the thought of being strung up by the neck.
The Morisons were two teenaged brothers that were well known throughout the small town of Leore. They would usually be seen helping their father out at the local convenient store or hanging out with friends at the mall or the movies. No one had ever thought they could commit such a cruel crime. No one had ever expected for Joshua and Dennis Morison to be responsible for murder; for the lynching of Todd Wilkerson.
Sam subconsciously rubbed the back of his neck, "So, what'd ya think?"
The older brother stepped back and gave the tree another once-over before answering, "A stake-out. See if this is really the root of Wilkerson's haunting."
"If it is?"
"We burn it."
Dean cocked an eyebrow at his younger brother when heard a disappointed grunt. "What?"
"Nothing, it's just," Sam sighed and shook his head, "It just seems to be a waste to burn a tree that's survived this long."
"Don't go all tree-hugger on me, Sam. The town may lose their tree, but at least they'll be rid of Casper."
Dean shook his head when his little brother didn't reply. He could almost see the wheels turning inside Sam's head as he kept studying the tree. His brother was trying to figure out another way to banish the spirit and also save the tree. It was a flaw Sam had always had when it came to hunting. He always wanted save everybody, or everything. But as a hurter, Dean knew that having a winner on both sides was usually, and mostly, impossible.
"We'll come back tonight," Dean spoke, getting his brother's attention.
Sam nodded somewhat begrudgingly, "What do we do till then?"
"Hey, look out!"
Dean and Sam both looked up towards a little boy that was peering at them through a large fence. When the boy pointed upwards, the two brothers had just enough time to step out of the way as a flying baseball came crashing down where they had just been standing.
"That was close," Dean acknowledged his brother by bending down and picking up the red stitched ball. He turned it around a few times in his hand before grinning at Sam's now confused face.
"How about we go watch a game?"
"I remember when me and dad use to sit in the bleachers back in Lawrence and watch the other teams in my T-ball league play."
Sam was startled at his brother random confession. But when Sam looked at Dean he saw that his brother had never taken his eyes off the field in front of them. It made Sam wonder if Dean was really talking to him or if he was thinking out loud and had forgotten that he wasn't alone.
"You played little league?"
Dean didn't flinch when Sam had replied. He hadn't expected him to, but at least Sam knew that Dean had been talking to him.
"Yeah!" Dean's cocky smile graced his face as he watched the little boys on the field run about, "Damn good at it too."
Sam smiled at his brother. It was rare that Dean ever opened up like this. His brother hardly ever talked about anything in his childhood but hunting, so it was nice to hear Dean talk about something he enjoyed before their life had literally been turned upside down.
"Wow, I never thought…"
"…that I'd be good at it?" Dean cut his brother off knowing good and well it wasn't what Sam was going to say. He knew his brother never pictured him being the 'normal' kid. The kid that went to his friend's birthday parties or the kid that made the most home runs for his little league team. And he couldn't blame Sam for that thought. His brother hadn't grown up in that life, so it was only nature for him to think they'd never been that kind of family.
"That hurts little bro," a mock express of hurt passed over Dean's eyes but returned to its' mischievous glint at his brother's eye roll. "Yeah, they were lucky to have me. Bet they didn't think the same about mom though."
Dean tensed a bit. He hadn't meant for that to come out, but knew that it was too late to try and play it off or act like he hadn't said it when Sam's posture straightened. He had his little brother's undivided attention. What a bad time to have a lump forming in his throat.
"Mom was there?" Sam sounded more like he was pondering the question then asking, "So this was before…"
"Yeah." Dean swallowed again and refused to look at his baby brother. "She'd come to every practice and game; especially when dad couldn't make it."
"You know, when had to work and stuff," Dean added when he noticed the bitter look his brother was sporting when he mentioned his father not being at one of his games.
Sam nodded, accepting the answer. He sometimes forgot that their father had a job before he became the king of credit card embezzlement.
"What was it like?"
Dean looked over at Sam, and for once, Sam wasn't looking back. Instead, his attention was on the practicing boys just as Dean had before.
"Like what?"
"To have mom there. What was she like?"
And Dean followed his brother's lead, turning to look out at the field again. He couldn't help but to see myself out there. To see himself dressed in his little uniform, rounding bases with a speed that no one could catch up to, and to see his mother cheering proudly as he slide into home base.
"She was never quiet. She always had something to yell about, always blamed the coaches for everything that went wrong, and she'd always cheer for every swing I took, even if it was a miss," Dean allowed a grin and a small snort as he looked over at his brother, whose attention was back focused on him, "But dude, she didn't even know how to play the game."
Sam grinned in return and shook his head. He could now see were Dean got some of his more off-the-wall traits.
"But she never let me forget anything." Dean nodded to himself, "She'd always keep an extra glove in the car so I'd never be without one when I forgot mine."
At the time, Dean hadn't thought much of the gesture. He just thought it was mom being mom. But as Dean reflected on it now, he knew it was the little things, along with the big things, that made his mom so great.
It takes a lot to know what is love
It's not the big things, but the little things
That can mean enough
Dean knew that Sam was waiting for him to continue, but right now, he couldn't. So he was thankful when the speakers around the field came to life and announced that the game was about to start. The older brother sat a bit straighter in his seat to watch the game and at the same time let his younger brother know that the conversation was over for now.
But Dean could no more concentrate on the ball game then he knew that Sam could. The reminder of his mother on days of his t-ball games had brought back more memories then he was able to push away. Sometimes he would even prayed to forget, but not because he didn't want to remember. He didn't need to remember. Remembering only made it harder for him to wear that stony mask he put on everyday and the threat of looking vulnerable was something he didn't like to look or show. He had to stay strong, for his brother and his father.
Dean could remember a time when prayer was a common thing to him. His mother would take him into Sam's nursery and pull both boys into the rocking chair before they would take turns praying about what they were thankful for.
Dean would always pray for his mommy, daddy, and his little brother. On the occasion he would also pray for a solid victory over the team he would be playing the next day. Mary would always pray for her precious boys and her wonderful husband. She'd prayed for their health and for their happiness, and that they'd always be together. And when it came Sam's turn to pray, his mother would tell Dean that he was the blessing and that someday he'd be able to join in with them.
But that day never came. Mary had been so diligent to pray for the good fortune of her family, that she had forgotten to pray for herself, and now she was gone. Those prayers were what got Dean through on some days. After his mother's dead, he would crawl into Sam's crib and continue the little prayers with his brother. He couldn't forget, nor could he let Sam forget about the evenings that they spent together.
A lot of prayers to get me through
And there is never a day that passes by
I don't think of you
"You can do it, Justin!"
Dean was startled out of his thoughts by a woman at the bottom of the bleachers. She was on her feet when no one else in the stands was and was cheering like no tomorrow. It was apparent that the little boy that was currently running the bases was her son. And even though the boy had been tagged by the other team, the mother still continued to cheer encouragements to him. Just like his mother always did.
There had been a time when Dean wanted to give up. He wanted to hind in his room and never try again. But there was no way that Mary was going to allow that. She understood that her son was competitive, even if it was only a t-ball game. And she knew that Dean would take their loss badly, but that wasn't a reason to give up.
"Dean, sweety," Mary gathered up her sullen four-year-old into her arms, "just because you make a mistake doesn't mean you should hide away in your room forever."
"I dropped the ball." Dean crossed his arms over his chest and refused to look at his mother, "Everybody hates me now."
Mary frowned at that thought. "Do you think your father hates me, Dean?"
Dean whirled around with wide eyes. "No!"
"But I forgot to make his lunch for work the other day. It was a mistake."
"Daddy doesn't hate you for making mistakes, mommy."
"And no one hates you for making a mistake, Dean."
Dean bite the bottom of his lip; he wasn't totally convinced, "But I lost us the game."
"And your father lost some weight," Mary grinned at the memory of her grumbling husband, "but do you know what I did?"
Dean shook his head.
"I made it up to him by giving him an extra dessert the next day. You see Dean, just because we make a mistake, doesn't mean we give up. It just means we strive to do better next time."
"So you think I should keep playing," Dean sighed when his mother nodded, "Okay. I'll just try harder during practice."
As odd as it was, that encouragement had stuck with him all his life. Every time he wanted to give up, to give in, he thought about his mother and how she had triumphed over the lunch issue. She had always been there to give him that push he needed. He sometimes wondered if that was why he was so stubborn at times. But he knew he had to succeed for her.
You were always there for me
Pushing me and guiding me
Always to succeed
There had been so many things that his mother had done for him. The kind of things that he hadn't been able to appreciate when he was younger. She had done all the things that a child would normally thank their mother for when they got older.
She was the one that had drawn a measuring line on the side of the door so Dean would know when he got taller. The young boy had always been concern about his height, as most young boys are. Glancing in Sam's direction made him wonder what their mother would say about her youngest being taller than her oldest now. Dean smirked; she would probably laugh.
You showed me
When I was young just how to grow
Dean eyes lingered on his brother for a bit longer. Sam had never known what it was like to have a mother. He didn't know what it was like for his mother patch him up when he came inside with a scrapped knee nor did he know what it was like to have her comfort him after a nightmare. But Dean did.
Dean was able to remember his first bad scrap and his first nightmare and he could remember that his mom was their both times. After she had died, once again it was up to Dean to not let her ways die. So when Sam came home with his first bad scrap, Dean was there to make it all better. And when Sam had his first nightmare, Dean had been there to let him know that everything was okay.
Mary had set the standard for Dean. She had showed him everything he needed to know to be the best big brother he could be, and she did it all without even knowing it.
You showed me
Everything that I should know
The first day of preschool was hard for Dean. Most children were excited to start school, but Dean never was. He couldn't understand what everyone else though was so great. How great could it really be? They stick you in a class room all day and make you color and sing. Dean didn't understand why he couldn't just stay home and do all that.
His mother walked him to school everyday, accompanied by Sam in his stroller. Dean always held her hand the entire way, and when he got there he never wanted to let go. But in the end he would. He would leave her hand with the promise that she would be back every day to take it again and walk him home.
Dean understood why she had made him go now. She trusted him to walk on his own. She knew that when she let go that he would be okay. And she was right. The night that she died, Dean had to let go of her hand permanently and some how he had been able to continue on without her.
You showed me
Just how to walk without your hands,
Cause mom you always were
The perfect fan
"Dean?"
Sam almost whining voice made Dean's head tilt in his brother's direction. What was he complaining about? "What, Sammy?"
"It's Sam, and I was begin to wonder if you had died in there. I've been calling you for the last minute or so."
"Well…?" Dean didn't feel like sharing his brief trip down memory lane with his kid brother. It was hard enough reliving it in his mind. To say it out loud would have been too much. The best thing to do was just to cut right to the point with Sam.
"The first ending is over," Sam stood and stretched his long legs out before jamming his hands into his pockets, "I figured we could go to the concession stand. It's getting hard to hear the game over your stomach."
Dean cocked an eyebrow at his smirking brother but stood up all the same, "Yeah, as if you even know what's going on anyway."
"I know the rules, Dean."
"From where?" Dean gave Sam an intrusive look before raising both eyebrows, "In a book? Come on, Sammy, knowing the rules doesn't mean you know the game."
"Sorry," the taller boy frowned, "between all the hunting I never got much practice."
Dean sent a sidelong glance in his brother's direction but chose not to comment. Instead, he settled for groaning at the size of the line that had formed in front of the snack stand.
"Man…"
"Well, I tried to get your attention sooner, but you were dead set on staring off into space. What was that about anyway?"
Dean just shrugged, "It was nothing. Now shut up and help me figure out how to get to the front of this line."
"We're not butting, Dean" Sam said incredulously. "You'll make all those kids cry and then I'm not going to save your butt when every mother out have decides to pummel you."
Dean blew out a short breath and hide his unsure expression, "I could take 'em."
"Sure, Dean."
Dean looked back at Sam when he was sure he wasn't looking and snorted. It looked like little brother was finally starting to pick up some sarcasm from older brother. And to think, it only took twenty-two years.
God has been so good
Blessing me with a family
Who did all they could
The game had ended a while ago and now both brothers were back into the motel room where they were going over plans for their own little ball game tonight. They weren't really much for plans, not if you called sitting and waiting for the annoying poltergeist to appear plans. But for now, it was all they had to go on. All the reported sightings and mischief were all manifesting in that particular area, and not to mention the very unusual coincidence that someone had just recently been murderer, strung up by their neck from the dule tree that sat in the middle of the aforementioned area.
"Alright," Sam looked up from the glowing screen of his and Dean's 'work desk on the go', "It says here that most of the sightings took place around midnight." Sam cocked his head up towards Dean, "What is it with ghosts and midnight?"
"'Cause that's when the freaks come out, Sammy. And speaking of freaks…" Dean's eyes wondered over to the clock on the wall as he shrugged his jacket on, "We'd better get going. It's three hours till midnight and I wanna get a good seat."
"Oh yeah, there's probably already a line and I know how you are about waiting."
"What do you expect? After waiting on your ass everyday—even the most patient person is bound to crack." Dean smirked as his brother's lopsided grin fell into annoyed frown, "Now turn off the computer research boy and let's get moving."
Dean popped the trunk of the impala and started loading their equipment into the very back so that their hidden artillery compartment was still easily accessible. He hoped that this would be an easy job for a chance. It seemed like their last few jobs had been a bit over the abnormal scale (even for them), and in Dean's opinion, their worse job yet hadn't even involved the supernatural. Just a bunch of backwater hillbillies whose thrill for hunting lions, tigers, and bears had left a long time ago. Human hunting seemed to be more their sport now, or, at least was.
The last thing Dean had tossed into the back of the trunk was his dad's journal. On impacting with the gas can, it tipped over and some of the looser material in the book came sliding out.
Dean growled at the small mess and began to push the pieces back in the worn-out booklet as best and quickly as he could. He was almost done when he came across one of the few pictures his father kept in his journal that had nothing to do with the paranormal. It was a picture taken not to long before the 'accident'. It was one of the few pictures Dean had ever seen off his whole completed family; the normal, carefree family that use to exist in something more then Dean's memories.
'And poor Sammy,' Dean thought as he looked at the photo of his innocent like brother all wrapped up in his mother's embrace. His brother had not gotten to know their normal family at all. Only the twisted one that had emerged in the need to seek vengeance on the thing who had destroyed their perfect family. Even though there was no such thing as a perfect family, Dean believed that they had found it, just before it had been violently ripped away from all of them.
John, their father, looked genuinely happy too. No lines of age and worry or shadows marred his face and projected proof of the hardship he had gone through. No, in this picture, it was just a happy John Winchester holding his eldest son in his arms. Dean had always been a daddy's boy and to this day still was. But Sam was a different story. Sam had always been a momma's boy. Dean snorted to himself, 'And he still acts like it sometimes.'
'God…' Dean smiled sadly at the aging photo. His little brother and his mother were so much alike. Dean had started noticing their similarities as Sam had started to get older. They both shared the same over-expressive eyes; the ones that made Sam so easy for Dean to read. His mother was always smart, and that too was something she had passed onto Sam.
"Hey."
Dean looked up to find an amused looking geek, otherwise known as his brother, standing with the door opened to the passenger side of the Impala.
"Now who's waiting on whom?"
And there was one more thing that his baby brother and his mother had in common. They both wore the same smile. That very same lopsided, goofy grin that was contagious to anyone who saw it. It was also the same smile that his brother was flashing him right now. But of course, it would have to go, because right now it was being used for evil and not good. Sam couldn't mock his older brother and not expect some sort of retaliation.
"It's gonna be me when I leave you here to make your own way to the park," Dean returned while shutting the trunk and climbing into the driver's seat.
Sam's laughter was only heard briefly before a fresh wave of Metallica came pulsing from the car.
And I've had many years of grace
And it flatters me when I see a smile on your face
The hour was close to midnight now and both brothers couldn't be relieved. Sitting in the dark amongst prickly brushes wasn't exactly their favorite part of a hunt, but hiding and being patient was all part of a stake-out.
Dean, not being a very patient young man, found it hard to keep still, especially after the first hour had passed and his butt had grown numb. The eldest boy was definitely a man of action. All this sitting around and waiting was for the birds. He suddenly felt that if he didn't move soon he might grow roots.
"Dean," Sam chastised his brother for the hundredth time.
Dean growled and stopped his shifting, "Damn ghost needs to hurry up."
His brother snorted but didn't take his eyes away from the brushes he was peering through, "You really don't like waiting, do you?"
"No." Dean spat matter-of-factly and Sam just shook his head in return.
Dean's hand pulled ideally at a piece of grass, desperate for something to make the time pass quicker. Sam had obviously sensed his brother's growing agitation and had pity on him.
"Alright, let's go over what we know about the murder," the youngest released his hold on the parted brushed and mumbled, "Since we obviously have the time."
Dean sat up a bit straighter and placed the shot gun down in his lap in case their conversation got interrupted at any point. "A'right, well, we know who the murderers are."
"The Morison brothers," Sam inserted.
"And we know that their victim was Todd Wilkerson, a new transfer student," Dean frowned in thought, "What would two star athletes have against a transfer student they'd never even met?"
"Exactly that," Sam said before clarifying, "As soon as Wilkerson rolled into town, Joshua and Dennis Morison were no longer the star of their little high school baseball team."
"So Wilkerson took the spotlight and the Morison brothers made him pay."
Sam nodded and glanced back towards the tree, "That about sums it up."
"It still doesn't make sense," Sam looked back at his brother and waited for him to continue, "If all that's true, then wouldn't the ghost want revenge or something instead of just wondering about this area harassing people that pass by."
"Maybe his spirit is attached to the tree some how."
"I think that's a good possibility, "Dean agreed, "Looks like we get to have that bonfire tonight after all.
The older hunter noticed the frown that spread across his brother's face and he rolled his eyes, knowing immediately what had caused it. "Sam. When I go to burn this tree, I'm not going to find you chained to it singing protest songs am I?"
"No," Sam glared before slumping over into a pouting position. "I just—I just wish this thing would hurry up so we can get the heck out of here."
'Now whose impatient,' Dean thought, "Ah don't worry Sammy, I won't let the ghost get ya'."
"I'm not scared," Sam snapped back offended.
Dean just chuckled and took to watching the tree and his little brother.
Dean knew that making the comment about protecting Sam would fluster his baby bro, but in all reality, that's what Dean did everyday without saying it. It was his job, even before his father had appointed him the task. The day his mother had come home from the hospital had been the first day Dean had stepped into his new role as big brother and protector.
A three year old Dean peered into the doorway of their house's once guest room now turned baby room. His mother was sitting in a rocking chair holding a small bundle of blue blankets and humming softly as the chair rocked gently back and fourth. His father had explained to him that for the last few days while he had been staying at his grandparent's house that his mommy had been at the hospital having a baby.
Dean wasn't sure that it had been a good idea at first. He didn't think that removing the large lump from his mother's stomach was going to give her the baby she was so looking forward to and he was almost sure that whatever the process was for removing the lump was going to be painful. That brought Dean to a panic. He didn't want to see his mommy in pain. But as he stood looking into the new nursery, Dean saw that his mother looked to be okay, if not tired.
"Mommy?"
Mary stopped her humming and looked up to her now eldest son peeking shyly into the room. She smiled and beckoned him in, "I've got a surprise for you, Dean."
The young boy trotted into the room and over to his mother with an excited spring in his step, "What is it?"
"See for yourself."
Dean looked over into the bundle of clothe before looking back up at his mother with a confused expression, "A doll?"
"No silly," Mary laughed, "This is your new little brother. You're Big Brother Dean now."
"Big Brother Dean," the small boy repeated the words in awe as he looked over into the blankets again, "So that means I'm the oldest now?"
"Um hm, but that title comes with some responsibilities too. You think you can do it kiddo?"
"I can do it," Dean nodded excitedly. Big Brother Dean could do anything, "I can take care of him."
"I'm sure you will."
Suddenly Dean let out a surprised gasp as he was grabbed up from behind and placed on his dad's shoulders. "Daddy!"
"Alright, Big Brother Dean." John smiled down at his wife and new son, "Let's let your mom and Sammy rest from a little while, okay?"
"Okay," Dean sighed and then waved back as his dad was carrying him out the door, "Bye mommy, bye Sammy."
"Good bye, Dean"
Sam was definitely not little Sammy anymore, but no matter how old he got, Dean would always be Big Brother Dean and he would always hold his title and his promise to his mother. It was the only way he knew that he could make her proud. And even though she wasn't here, he knew that he could thank her for everything she had done for him by keep the promise he had made to her years ago. He would keep Sammy safe. He would be the big brother.
I wanna thank you for what you've done
In hopes I can give back to you
And be the perfect son
"Dean!" Sam whispered with urgency.
The older brother was immediately by his brother's side and looking toward the tree.
"A noose." Dean stated a loud, "How the hell…?"
"I guess the wait is over."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, "Looks like Wilkerson's finally come to hang out with us."
Sam grimaced at his brother's grim terminology. "But where's Wilkerson?"
The question was immediately answered, but not in the way that Sam had hoped it would be. A twig snapping from behind them brought their attention behind them and just barely springing out of the way as a wooden baseball bat came crashing down between them.
"Sam!" Dean yelled and kicked the gas can that was by his foot towards his brother, "douse the tree, I'll hold off Babe Ruth."
Sam was hesitate and looked like he was about to argue, but one stern look and a forceful 'now' from his brother had him spurred into action.
Dean could handle this minor league misfit, easy. This guy may have been able to hit any kind of curve ball that came his way, but there was one curve ball, named Dean Winchester, that was about to strike him out. This ghost may have a bat, but Dean had a shot gun full of salt. …Let's play ball.
Dean rolled out of the way of a well played swing to his head and then rolled back the other way to miss the next blow. He was finding it hard to get in a good shot with Casper, the not so friendly ghost, keeping up his steady stream of swings. The experienced hunter knew that his luck would run out soon if he didn't hurry and find a window of opportunity to blow this guy's ghostly guts out. But at least it was buying Sam some time.
And as if the ghost of Todd Wilkerson had heard Dean's thought, he immediately paused his onslaught of brutal blows and cocked his head to the side before disappearing.
"Hey!" Dean yelled indigently, "I'm not done with you, you…Sam!"
Dean scrambled to his feet, shot gun in hand just in time to see his kid brother toss the gasoline can to the side. Unfortunately, at about the same time Todd had found himself a new batting target and Dean didn't ever think that he could feel so displeased that it wasn't him.
"Sammy! Get down, now!"
Sam didn't even turn to see what his big brother was yelling about; instead, he ducked without question and winced at the ear splitting crack of wood on wood. Green eyes chanced a quick glance upwards just in time to see the bat once again heading his way.
A loud shot rang through the park and the ghost shrieked before disappearing, letting his solid bat crash down beside Sam.
"You okay?" Dean cautiously made his way over to Sam, never letting his gun drop. His brother nodded and pulled himself to his feet with the bat in tow.
Dean sighed in relief. He didn't want to think about the injury the ghost could have caused his baby brother if his first swing had connected with its' original target. The bark on the side of the tree had cracked and fallen away where he had struck. Swallowing, Dean put that thought away and concentrated on the fact that rock salt would only dispel a ghost for so long.
"We gotta torch this thing, Sammy, before Wilkerson decides to step back up to the plate."
Sam agreed without words and started checking his pockets. When it was apparent that he hadn't found what he was looking for he began patting the forward of his jacket and looking around at the ground.
"Where's the lighter, Dean?"
Dean dropped one hand from his shot gun to find the lighter he hoped he had remembered to pocket before leaving the Impala. A sigh of barely visible relief left his lips as he held up the lighter and tossed it to his brother.
Unfortunately, before the lighter could reach Sam it was caught in midair and slung at an alarmingly long distance away from them. Next thing they knew, they were the next targets of the mysterious flinging objects. Dean's gun was flung at Sam, which managed to catch the right side of his head, and Dean, himself, was flung forward hitting the lighter soaked tree.
The older Winchester grunted at the hard impact and slide down the trunk to sit on top of the tree's roots. The ghost was slowly approaching Dean, who was now without his gun, or at least without his shot gun. The older hunter reached down to his waist band of his jeans and pulled out his 9mm he always carried with him. It wasn't much for power, or help for getting rid of ghost for that matter, but at least it was some form of protection.
His attention was momentarily stolen when he heard a groan coming from his brother and saw that he as slowly getting to his feet, his right eye blinking rapidly.
"You son of a…" Dean cursed and raised his simple bullet bearing gun towards the apparition. How dare he hurt his brother. His brother. The brother that he had spent his whole life caring for, making sure that he was safe, making sure that he kept his promise to his mother.
Dean got up every morning and went out in the world to fight for his family; for his father, for this mother, and especially for his brother. Sam was Dean's best friend, and his only living reminder of his mother. How dare this undead all-star wannabe try to take that from him.
Dean's finger twitched at the trigger but was stopped as a forced pinned his whole body to the tree and forced his head up toward the noose that was hanging just to the left of him.
"What? You're gonna hang me?" Dean's cold voice showed no fear, no weakness.
Surprisingly, the ghost shook his head and pointed up to the noose and an image of the ghost's humanly hung from it for a moment. Dean stared at the swinging rope and it was suddenly clear what the ghost want, but after what the ghost had done to him and Sam, he wasn't sure he wanted to do it. When Dean didn't seem to respond to the ghost it pushed him harder against the tree and Dean closed his eyes from the pressure. But all of a sudden the pressure was released and a yell of pain was heard. Dean's eyes flung open and went wide a the sight of his little brother laying what looked to be a home-run swing into the abdomen of Todd Wilkerson.
Dean knew then what he had to do. He didn't want to, but if it would get rid of their newest poltergeist pest, then he would do it. Quickly, he raised his gun towards the rope hanging from the tree and with careful and precise aim; he shot and severed the rope. Before the rope could even hit the ground the ghost of Todd Wilkerson stepped back, smiled, and dissipated.
You showed me how to love
You showed me how to care
And you showed me that you would
Always be there
Sam looked around making sure that the ghost had truly left before dropping the bat and then dropping to his knees.
"What'd you do?" Sam asked and drew in a tired breath.
Dean grunted again as he climbed to his feet and stumbled over to Sam. "He just wanted someone to let him down, Sam." When his little brother gave Dean a confused look, Dean saw the gash on Sam's forehead and the thick line of blood that had run down the front of his face and over his right eye.
"Geez Sammy, that blow to the head must have knocked some common sense out of you. Not that you had much to begin with but…" Dean tried to make light of the topic. He could see that the wound wasn't too bad, but he didn't like the fact that it was there at all.
"I'm fine," Sam brushed it off and started to climb to his feet, "What do you mean, he just wanted to be let down? There was nothing on the noose to let down."
Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the pain in his back. Sam caught the flinch and was about to inquire about it, but Dean shushed him up with a dismissing hand.
"They took his human body down Sam, but he must've been up there long enough to trap his spirit there." Dean shrugged, "So, he just wanted to be let down."
"Not bad."
"'Course it was," Dean flashed a cocky grin, "I thought of it."
Sam smiled and shook his head, which he immediately regretted.
Dean watched Sam walk over to where the shot gun was to retrieve it. He then took a deep breath and looked towards the star dotted sky. He hadn't noticed how truly bright they had been shining tonight. A rouge thought flittered over his mind; was there mother up there watching them? He wasn't sure. Sometimes he wished that she was, so that she could keep an eye on all of them like she used to, and another part of him wondered that if she was watching them, would she be proud or ashamed of what they did.
He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was almost positive that she was proud of them. She always was; no doubt that she still was.
Dean released the breath he had been holding.
'Thank you, mom.' Dean thought. He was going to continue with a list of why he was thankful to her, but realized that if he did start naming off the reasons, then he would be there most of the night. So instead, he just added, 'for everything.'
I wanna thank you for that time
And I'm proud to say you're mine
Sam came to stand beside his brother and looked up at the night sky with him. He looked at Dean for a minute and thought about asking him if he had gotten hit on the head too, but something felt peaceful about Dean at that moment and Sam wouldn't be respect for breaking any peace that his brother might have stumbled onto. So he just stood there and waited for Dean to finish.
"She's watching, Sam," Dean's eyes searched around in the sky before locking eyes with his brother.
Sam understood without Dean explaining. There was only one woman that his brother could be referring to. There mom.
"What do you thinking she's thinking?" Sam stopped to clear his throat before continuing, "You think she'd be proud of us?"
"She was always proud Sammy," his brother said without hesitation, "She was always proud of everything we did. She was—is, the perfect fan."
The two shared eye contact for a moment and traded a small smile. But the serene moment only lasted a moment as Dean grimaced causing Sam to roll his eyes and start to walk away.
"Dude, come on," Dean complained as he caught up to his little brother, "I can only handle a chick-flick moment for so long."
"You—are impossible."
"Yeah, but that's what makes me so adorable."
"I'll bet."
Dean chuckled at his brother's dry humor and grabbed the handle to the driver's side of the Impala, "Well, come on Sammy Sosa, let's get you back to the motel and clean the wound on that hard head of yours."
"Sammy Sosa?"
"Yeah Sam. I saw that swing you used to nail Wilkerson," Dean grinned and leaned against the roof of his car, "If dad and I had only known what a great swing you had when you were younger; we could've traded you off to the Clubs or something. We'd be rich."
Sam looked incredulous and shifted on his feet before the passenger door creaked open and he ducking in.
"Ah come on, Sammy," Dean opened his side and began to climb in, "Fine. How about the Red Sox?"
Once again Metallica jarred the still air around the car before the engine revved and both the boys drove back down the open road.
Cause mom you always were
Mom you always were
Mom you always were
You know you always were
Cause mom you always were
The perfect fan,
I love you mom
WinchesterHaunt: Owie, my arms are a bit stiff now. Hehe, I need a bigger desk, this whole keyboard be shoved under my monitor isn't really doing it for me. So how did you like it? I can no longer listen to that song without thinking about Dean now. Which isn't a bad thing. So tell me what you thought. I'd love to hear from you. I hope you enjoyed it. I actually had a pretty good time writing it. So until next time! WinchesterHaunt, out!
:
:
:
:
