This was spurred on by Rd. 18 of the CW Wars. I've had this sitting on my comp long before I actually posted that one, thought I might as well put this up as well.

The moon shone through the curtain-less window, casting a light on two small, sleeping forms in identical beds.


Though the sound was soft and brief, it drew the attention of the youngest. Recently turned nine, Sam Winchester abruptly woke. Curled under the massive doona, his eyes skimmed the room for any evidence that what he heard was not a one-off thing.


Frozen to the spot, he tried to peer over at the closet without giving away his presence. After a second he thought to pull the doona up further, but the next sound stopped him.


Sams' eyes darted to the other bed. Surely Dean had to have heard that?

Face-planted on the mattress Dean slept on, the soft sounds of snoring could be heard.

Glancing between the closet and his brother, Sam considered waking him. Afraid that the noise would draw the attention of whatever opened the door, Sam licked his lips and hesitated.


"Dean." It was a soft whisper. He curled himself up closer in case he was heard.

No response.

"Deeeeean!" Though he was still reluctant to let his voice come out in anything more than a rushed breath, there was a certain panicked quality to his plea that roused his brother.

Worried for his brother's safety, Dean's head shot up, his hair askew and his eyes half closed as he appraised his brother. "What is it, Sammy?"

He tilted his head to the right. "There's something in the closet."

Not even bothering to look, Dean sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillow, his voice a muffled yawn. "No there isn't."

"Yes there is, look."

"Sammy, I checked before we went to bed, remember? It's clear." The arm closest to Sam spasmed in a lazy gesture of 'lie down'. "Go back to sleep."

Considering he had only known The Truth for six months, he deferred to big brother's experience and settled back down. 'Sides, if there was anything Dean would protect him. He was sure.

After a few tosses, he finally managed to get himself comfortable enough to drift off.


He shot back up like a rocket.


The door hadn't moved any more, and nothing was out of place. The only sound was his erratic breathing that he was trying hard to calm. He thought of waking his brother again, but knew that unless there was actually some sort of proof that there was some sort of creature in his room, his brother would just tell him that it was probably just a rat and to stop being a baby.

He considered the thought, then dismissed it as quickly as it came. Rats can't open doors.

Finding himself running out of options, and his instincts screaming to do something, he dropped his feet to the floor and ran out of the bedroom to the one place he knew all monsters were afraid to go - the same room as John Winchester.


John was hunched over the small table the small apartment offered. Texts, photos, maps and notes lay spread out before him. He paused in his research when he heard sounds coming from his sons' room. Ever the parent (and partially the hunter), he worried that something was up, but the feeling quickly subsided when he heard them talking.

He turned back to his notes, copying the relevant information on wendigos into his journal. He had two days left until the hunt and was looking to be as prepared as possible.

The soft footfalls, too light to be his eldest's, alerted him that Sam had entered the room. When he didn't speak or approach the table, John looked up.

Sam was chewing his bottom lip as though he wasn't sure whether or not he should share his information. John had waited nine hours for a banshee once; a few minutes for his son to fess up wasn't a big deal.

After a few false starts, Sam finally spoke up. "There's something in my closet."

Johns' eyes shot to the bedroom door as he considered this. If there truly was something, Dean would have raised the alarm. He knew they were talking before Sam came out, which led him to believe that Dean didn't think anything was amiss. Dean also would have checked said closet when they first moved in. After the incident a few years ago, Dean knew better than to let anything get near his brother.

John decided to gives his eldest the benefit of the doubt on this one and surmised that, "It was probably just a rat, son."

There was a sparkle of fear in Sams' eyes that told John that it would take more than just a rationalisation to calm his nerves. He held out his arms and in a second Sam was on his lap.

"I'm scared, Dad."

"It's okay, son. Look," His eyes scanned the table, "if you're still worried, take..." He located it, lying underneath a newspaper. Carefully he handed it over. "This."

Sam looked down at the .45 in his small hands.

"You remember how to use it?"

His small head bobbed in the affirmative as he kept his gaze on the weapon in front of him.

"Good, now go on back to bed."

With overt care, Sam slipped from his father's embrace and started walking back to his room.

"Don't forget to take the safety off."

Glancing back, he saw that his father had returned to his work. Sam looked down at the gun.


When Sam returned back to his bed, he noticed that it was a little too quiet.

He looked over at Dean's bed, where the telltale sounds of snoring were absent.

"You awake Dean?"

Having overheard, Dean cut to the chase. "Dad gave you a gun?"

A gun that looked bulky in the hands of a nine year-old. "Yeah."

Sam wasn't sure, but he thought the response his brother gave mid-yawn was, "Awesome."

As Dean rolled over to sleep, he noticed his brother was still standing next to him. Annoyed at being held up, he grumbled, "What?"

Sam's response was to hold out the gun. Dean looked down at it and sighed. He took it from Sam and tucked it under his pillow, a soft clink as the metal touched the knife he'd already had stashed underneath.

Satisfied that his brother would protect him, Sam returned to his bed and pulled the covers up. After a minute, he heard it again:


"Dean, you asleep?"

"Nnnnh," Dean moaned.

When it seemed Dean wasn't going to react, the patpatpat of movement slowly crept closer and closer to Sam's bed. When it finally stopped, not a foot away, Sam shut his eyes, missing the shadow that the creature cast over his form.

From seemingly nothing, a purple lizardic creature appeared matching the shadow as it towered over the rigid form in front of him. It leaned over, preparing to make its move--


In one fluid movement, the creature spun to see the .45 trained on him by one thirteen year-old Dean Winchester. His face was hardened and there was the unmistakable just try it message in his eyes.

A brief impasse occurred with neither moving.

When the small gasp from Sam alerted them both that he had opened his eyes, the creature deftly scattered back into the closet, shutting the door behind it.

When it seemed like it wasn't about to come barging back out, Sam turned to his brother,

"See, I told you there was a monster in the closet!"