Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, Sam and Dean would never be allowed to wear shirts
New story... Don't know if it'll take, so if enough people like it, I'll continue it.
Dean is 17. Sam is 13. They are NOT related. (NOT WINCEST!!!)
Enjoy chapter one!
Dean chuckled as he continued to research. This was one of those cakewalk hunts. A pure and simple salt and burn case. Dean didn't even see the point in doing further research, but his father had insisted on it.
Two months ago, a rash of unexplained deaths occurred by a stream that went through the local woods. Two weeks before that, a kid named Russel Tringum was found dead beside the stream. He had been beaten and strangled. Though the cause of death turned out to be blunt trauma to the head. Further investigating by the Winchesters showed that Russel was a very picked on child. He was skinny and small for his age and super smart on top of it. Turns out that a couple of bullies, Harry Patterson and Greg Simmon, were with Russel the night he died. They went into the woods in the middle of the night in hopes of scaring Russel. However, the teasing got a bit too far. Harry and Greg are sons of some of the most powerful people in the small town so Russel's death received no justice.
In the two months following Russel Tringum's death, anyone matching Harry Patterson or Greg Simmon's physical description were found dead by the stream, bruises on their neck and face, cause of death was always blunt trauma to the head.
Dean already knew where the body was buried and was fully prepared to go out and salt and burn the son of a bitch. The research he was conducting now was of the boring past of the boring town. Simmonsville of Kentucky was just downright boring. Dean sighed. Did he mention this town was boring?
Dean loved the hunt but sometimes it brought them to some serious dumps. While the few families at the top lived happy and content, the poor rest of the 95 percent of the population lived like shit. Most of the houses were rotting and needed some serious paint jobs. The cops were lazy and useless. Not to mention corrupt. They pretty much did whatever the top families told them to do. There were two schools in the entire town. One of them was a nice private school for the rich kids while the rest got to go to the shitty school with barely no funding and crappy teachers. Dean would be very happy once they got out of there and onto the next case.
John and Dean Winchester got into hunting when Dean was four years old. His mother was killed by some supernatural entity. She was found one morning in the living room, her neck was twisted broken and her eyes had bled out of her skull. Every since, his father has been hellbent to kill the evil bastard that murdered his wife. And on they way, he was determined to kill every supernatural threat out there. Growing up in his father's shadow and remembering his mother's body with vivid accuracy, Dean took after his father in the love in the hunt and desire to exterminate supernatural threats. Though Dean was slightly more level-headed and (as much as he hated to admit it) soft than his hardcore Marine father.
Dean looked up from his research at his father. "Can I stop now?"
John smiled. "Yup. Let's get something to eat then go back to the motel."
Dean smiled back and quickly slammed the records book shut, noticing how the librarians didn't seem to care how he mistreated the books.
Back at the motel room, Dean was stuffing his face with a double-stacked burger as John lay out how the evening was going to go. "At around eleven o'clock tonight, we'll leave for the cemetery. From there it's routine. I'll dig while you keep a look out and then well salt and burn the bones."
"Body, Dad. It's only been a couple of months. It's gonna be a rotting, kinda fresh body," Dean said with clear distaste at the idea of burning flesh.
"Suck it up, Dean. It's gotta be done."
"I know that! I just wish the poor bastard could have been dead a bit longer before getting all vengeful."
John chuckled. "Alright, go to bed and get some rest. I'll wake you up when it's time to go.
Dean woke up with a start as a duffle bag landed on him.
"Up and at 'em, Dean. We're leaving in five."
Dean rubbed his eyes and forced them open. He sighed as he grabbed the duffle bag and stuffed his gear in it. "Dad, did you get...?" John held a cup of coffee in front of his face and Dean greedily grabbed it.
"I swear you're addicted to the stuff." John sipped on his own coffee as he loaded up the Impala.
They sat in comfortable silence as they drove to the cemetery. Dean finished off his coffee and got himself mentally ready for the job. John couldn't afford to have Dean groggy minded. Especially since Russel was bound to get angry at them trying to destroy him.
When they arrived, they grabbed their duffle bags and headed into the cemetery. Dean led his father to where Russel Tringum was resting and handed him the shovel. Dean opened his bag and pulled out a shotgun loaded with rock salt.
As John neared the bottom of the grave, the temperature dropped and their flashlights started to flicker. Dean steeled himself and held the sawed-off firmly in his hands.
"What are you doing?"
Dean spun around to face a twelve-year-old spirit, bruises and cuts covering most of his body. Russel looked down at John who continued to dig and Dean quickly fired. The boy dissipated as John gave a triumphant shout. Dean heard him break the coffin and pull aside the wood. "Dean!"
Dean reached into his pocket and tossed the salt and Vaseline to his father. Just as Russel appeared.
"Dean! Behind you!"
Dean turned just as Russel flung his arm, sending him flying at a headstone. He gave a pained grunt as his shoulder popped out of place. He looked up and quickly aimed his weapon as Russel appeared above him. But Russel froze as his form caught on fire. He turned towards his grave where John stood over the burning remains.
"No!" Russel screamed as he burst into flames. Dean sagged to the ground, thankful it was over. He winced as his dislocated shoulder screamed at him. It never goes smoothly.
Dean was sitting in the Impala, resting his shoulder on his father's insistence, while John finished up refilling the grave and packing all their gear up. After he dumped the duffles in the truck, John got in the car and looked over worriedly at his son. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Dean grunted, trying to get into a more comfortable position. "It'll be fine once you pop it back in."
John nodded. He turned on the ignition and pulled out of the cemetery parking lot. "It's times like these I'm glad we know how to deal with first aid..."
"What do you mean?" Dean asked.
"I checked out this town's medical facilities..." John shook his head disbelievingly. "I've seen sewers more sterile. The doctors don't know shit and I bet they get their kicks playing around with their patients."
Dean gagged a little at the implication. "God, I'm suddenly very thankful to have you has a father."
John chuckled. "Yeah, I still can't..."
"LOOK OUT!" Dean yelled."
John turned his attention to the road just in time to see that someone was standing in the middle of the road. He slammed on the brakes and swerved the car, barely missing the person. "Jesus Christ!"
The Winchester men sat frozen for a moment, their heavy breathing loud in the silence. Then, remembering what happened, Dean quickly got out of the Impala to check up on the person. Or kid. The boy just stood in the middle of the road, his body was slightly hunched over, the longish brown mop on his head effectively hiding his face. His body was trembling, mostly likely from shock. "Hey, you okay?" Dean asked. He approached the boy slowly, like he would a wounded animal, not knowing how the kid would react to a stranger. "Kid?"
The boy looked up at him and Dean froze. The boy had a jagged scar running from the left side of his forehead to the bottom of his right cheek. His blue-green eyes were wide and fearful. Dean noticed how the kid's right leg was at an odd angle.
John got out of the car and stood behind Dean, taking the boy's appearance in. He was no older than thirteen. His clothes were dirty, worn-out, and much too big for him. "Kid," John said cautiously, "What's your name?"
The boy just stared back wide-eyed at them. When John tried to step closer, the kid took a tentative step back. John noted how the kid limped as he retreated.
"It's okay, we're not gonna hurt you. As much as the Impala begged to differ..." John tried to joke. The kid remained unchanged.
Dean took a few steps closer and the kid quickly stepped back, but he lost his balance and fell over. The kid yelped and Dean instinctively ran up to help the kid.
"Dean..." John warned.
The kid looked up fearfully at the approaching teenager. "It's okay," Dean said. He slowly knelt beside the child, noticing how the kid cringed away from him. "I'm not gonna hurt you..." Dean pointed to the boy's right leg and said, "Can I check this out?"
The kid just stared back before slowly nodding. Dean bent forward, taking note of the slight flinch the boy gave as Dean started to roll the pant leg up. Dean took a sharp inhale at the sight. At some point in the distant past, the leg had been broken and twisted in three different places. By the looks of things, it hadn't been treated and now the kid has a permanently twisted leg. "Jesus, kid what happened to you...?"
John let Dean talk to and inspect the young child, knowing Dean was better at that sort of thing anyway. John tended to be a bit harsh and direct.
John took a few steps forward, wincing at the sight of the leg. "Yeah, Dean."
Dean looked up and said, "We can't leave this kid here."
John nodded. "Kid... where do you live?"
The kid's eyes flickered back and forth between the two Winchesters, still wide and fearful.
John sighed and felt a little guilty that his patience was starting to wear thin. "Can you talk, kid?"
The kid bit his lip in response, tears starting to brim in his eyes.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?!" John said a little annoyed.
"Dad!" Dean chided when he heard the kid's breathing hitch at the harsh tone.
"Sorry... kid, do you understand what I'm saying? Can you answer me in any way?" he said more gently.
Slowly, the kid gave a slight nod.
Dean smiled. "Okay." He pulled the kids pant leg back down over the twisted mess.
"You're coming back to the motel with us," John said, not noticing how the kid's eyes darkened in deeper fear. "Tomorrow, we find out who you are. I'm sure you have a family that's very worried about you right now."
Dean looked at the kid's face, and highly doubted his father's words.
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