Hey yah'all! How've yah been lately?

Anyway, this story is a SFCOL(AR)S challenge for Secret Summer Santa Fic challenge number three. It was written for Square Flea in response to her prompt, and I sincerely hope she enjoys it, even though I tweaked it a little.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, Supernatural belongs to Kripke and the CW, and the plot is a mixture of mine and Square Flea's...

With that said, I hope you all enjoy!


Dean Winchester was a very suspicious man by nature. Though he did know about all the "things" that existed in the world, and he trusted that there were a lot of given, weird solutions to the problems those things created in the world; he wasn't sure that this solution was going to work.

Herbs and dirt in a bag? Yeah right.

"Dean Winchester, if you don't change that tone of yours, I'm gonna change it for you!" Missouri's shrill voice rang from the basement. Dean's eyes widened, and he nodded instinctively, forgetting the fact that Missouri couldn't see him. "That's better," she yelled, and Dean shook his head.

Holding the bag of herbs and dirt tightly in his palm, Dean made his way into the kitchen, to where he was supposed to hold up his end of the deal.

Ha! An exorcism is a deal now... I must be losing it!

Dean smiled to himself at the thought, and walked over to the far wall. Using his hatchet to figure out where a hollow place was, Dean tapped the wall and listened intently. When he heard the distinct, echoing 'thwunk,' the elder Winchester brother smacked the hatchet into the wall, creating a hole just big enough for the 'magical,' bag to fit in.

Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up just as he pushed the pouch into the hole, and instinctively turned... Only to find a knife flying at him. He swerved to the side a fraction and ducked, hoping to be fast enough to avoid the sharp projectile.

When the knife embedded itself into the cabinet above him, Dean sighed in relief. His relief didn't last long though, as he looked back towards the doorway. Well shit. Dean's eyes widened and he dropped, grabbing the table and flipping it in front of him to use as a shield as the rest of the knife set flew at him.

The sound of the knives hitting the table made Dean flinch, made him wonder what would have happened if he hadn't had the skills of a hunter. If he hadn't been trained to sense danger when he had been young, Dean probably would have been very tender right then, instead of safely hidden behind the upended table.

There was a thump coming from the second story, and Dean looked up, hoping that his little brother was alright. When there was another thump, and a small shriek coming from the basement, Dean found himself hoping the same for Missouri. He took a deep breath and set his attention back on his task.

Dean peered over the side of the table cautiously, looking for anything else that wanted to mince him, before he carefully stood, wincing as his tailbone hit the counter top. That's going to leave a bruise in the morning. Dean thought ruefully, as he rubbed the sore spot, wishing that he had thought to fall on his knees and not his ass.

Checking to make sure that he had placed the pouch right, Dean nodded to himself, waiting for the big finale that was sure to follow. But after a few moments with no spectacular light shows, and no big commotion Dean began to worry. One of the others must not have gotten their pouch placed, and Dean had the bad feeling that the other he was thinking of was his baby brother.

Dammit Sam!

"Missouri?" Dean yelled as he reached the stairs, his tone questioning her well being and Sam's at the same time.

"I'm fine honey, check Sam!" The woman yelled back, and Dean's big brother radar notched higher, and he took the stairs a few at a time, hoping that he would reach his little brother before something bad happened to him. Dean's connection to Sam had never failed him before, and he was counting that this time would be no different.

If his instinct was right, Sam was in trouble, and he needed to get there as fast as he could. Faster.

"Sammy?" He yelled halfway up the stairs. There was no answer, and Dean's worry escalated. His radar was going haywire, and Dean jumped the last three steps, turning the corner off the stairs with a slide. He ran for the room Sam had been told to place the herbs in, and when he reached the door, his breath caught and his heart stuttered.

"Sam!" He yelled, running for his little brother. His little brother was splayed on the ground, gasping, and pulling at something around his neck. When Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother, he saw that the younger man was pulling at a lamp cord, which had wrapped itself around Sam's throat to stop the younger Winchester from completing his task.

Dean grabbed the cord as Sam's hands fell away and pulled. He took a deep breath and pulled harder, as hard as he could, but still the cord wouldn't give, and Dean became desperate, wondering why he hadn't thought to grab one of the knives that had thrown itself at him when he had been placing his own bag.

Looking around, Dean grabbed the bag that still lay inches from his wheezing brother's hand, and stood. Bracing his hands against the wall, he kicked as hard as he could, not allowing himself to feel anything when it dented beneath his boot. Dean just concentrated harder, and all but threw his foot into the wall.

The plaster and wallpaper gave beneath his foot the second time, and Dean dropped, throwing the bag into the hole, and covering his head. A piercing white light lit the house, and Dean squeezed his eyes tighter.

When the light lessened, Dean ran/crawled to Sam, hoping against hope that his little brother was alright. He pulled Sam against himself, and leaned over the younger man to undo the wire from where it was wrapped around itself. Dean pushed Sam forward a little to unwrap the cord from his little brother's abused throat.

Pulling Sam back against himself just as he was about to once more fall to the floor, Dean rested his cheek against his baby brother's hair and closed his eyes with a sigh.

"I'm here little brother," Dean whispered, "You're okay."



A/N: So I hope this little one-shot was enjoyed. I especially hope that Square Flea enjoyed this story, seeing as it was her prompt that inspired it.

Well anyway, I wish you all the best, and hope you review as much as you can.

Take care,