Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Supernatural except two books and season one DVDs. Written just for fun and stress relief. Don't sue
Author's note: This is my first fic in this fandom, and I am brand new to it. This is set in season one, probably before Faith. Please review, let me know what you think.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," Sam Winchester said to his big brother approached the edge of the forest.
Dean turned to look him in the eye in the bright moonlight. "Like, a Han Solo type bad feeling, or a Danny Torrence type bad feeling?"
Sam made a face and thought about stating for the millionth time that just because he had the occasional premonition it did not make him the weird kid from The Shining. Instead, he simply muttered "Han Solo was usually right. The whole "Death Star" thing ring a bell?"
Dean shrugged, turning to face him full-on. "Ok… what do you want to do?"
"I don't know… I just-"
"You want to scrap the hunt? Go back into town and order a pizza and a few beers? Maybe take in a movie? Go to the beauty shop and get our nails done?"
Sam winced at his brother's sarcasm. "I just think we need to do some more research. We have no idea what's out there!"
Dean's expression softened as he realized his brother had a point. "Look, Sammy, I know we don't have much to go on. But tonight is the full moon, and there is as of yet no reason that two more people won't die like they did on the full moon every month for a year. Do you want to go back and research and just accept that people are going to die tonight, without even trying to fight for them? Can you live with that?"
It was a low blow, and Dean regretted it the second he said it. While he could be a cold, calculating bastard (which he was quite happy with, thank you very much), Sam felt things on a much deeper level. He saw collateral damage, Sam saw a family destroyed beyond repair, the victim's actual pain and the devastation of the ones left behind. Seeing his brother's face twist as the words hit home, he opened his mouth to apologize, but Sam beat him to it. Sighing, he replied, "You're right… I've got enough faces haunting my sleep… Let's go."
Something about the resignation in his little brother's voice hit Dean clearly then. "What did you see?" He asked warily. He had pretended to still be asleep this morning when Sam sat straight up in bed with a cry of "No! Please!", assuming (hoping) that it was another nightmare about Jess. Not because he wanted Sam to have to relive that agony night after night, but because if he was dreaming of past horrors then he wasn't dreaming about future horrors. Ones that could still hurt/torture/maim/kill one or both of them.
Sam shrugged with one shoulder, not sure how to explain this. "I didn't see anything…" Dean's gaze pinned him down, demanding better than that, so he continued. "There was no picture, no actual dream. Just blackness, and the most profound fear and horror- call me a chick if you want, but the worst emotional pain I could possibly imagine. Like, crippling, debilitating psychological torture." He shook his head. "I don't know what it means, or if it even means anything. Forget I brought it up…"
Dean nodded, and tried to shrug it off. Really tried. But it seemed Sam's bad feeling was contagious. Still, they had a job to do. "We're ready for anything. We've got holy water, rock salt in the shotgun, silver bullets, and Dad's journal. Whatever's killing those people, we find it, we kill it, then we go get that pizza. Maybe even a movie. I'll pass on getting my nails done, but if that's what floats your boat…"
Sam snorted derisively. "Lead on, Captain."
Dean decided to let the "good little soldier" reference go, and stepped cautiously into the tree line.
"Okay…" Sam whispered to Dean. "So, any clue what he is?"
The pair stood watching as a short, pudgy demon with unfortunate fangs that formed a massive overbite was standing beside a huge bonfire, chanting. A book was balanced precariously in its left hand/claw/thing as he read. "No idea," replied Dean. "Dude… How does that thing chew its food?"
"Maybe it doesn't have to?" suggested Sam with a shrug. He spotted two people tied to trees on either side of the fire. "Got a plan?"
Dean looked at Sam with his trademark smirk. "More or less. Critter or victims?"
Sam rolled his eyes. This did look a little too easy, but his earlier fear wouldn't let go of his mind. "I'll get the hostages, you kill it."
Armed with the shotgun in one hand, a bottle of holy water in the other, and a pistol tucked into his belt, Dean nodded his agreement. "Ok. I'll cover you."
Sam crept out from behind the tree they were using as cover and circled around the demon and his ritual. He wasn't sure what the hell-spawn was trying to summon, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't bode well for the two people bound and gagged. At least, it hadn't for the previous 22 victims.
The man was closest, so Sam crept up beside him first. "It's ok, I'm here to help," he whispered as he went to work cutting the rough rope from the man's wrists.
His hands free, the man pulled the gag down. "Help my wife! I can get it from here."
Sam's mind involuntarily shot back to Jessica, and he shoved that thought forcefully away. He nodded and hurried to the other tree, leaving the man to untie his own ankles. The woman was bordering on hysteria –And who could blame her, really?- so Sam whispered soothing words as quietly as he could as he freed her. He was so engrossed with the task at hand that he wasn't overly concerned with what the demon was saying until one Latin phrase sank in and translated in his mind. Cloud of Anguish. His head jerked up, eyes wide. Oh, hell…
The woman, finally free from her bonds, sprinted off into the woods, making way too much noise. Thankfully the ritual involved total concentration on the part of the spellcaster. Sam nodded to Dean and pulled a pistol quickly from behind his back. Two victims a month, and this would be the 12th month. Tonight the ritual would have been complete. Good thing Dean hadn't listened to him… If the Cloud of Anguish rose, a whole lot of people would die. Horribly. But with the two intended victims gone, there would be no summoning. Time to take out the demon and go get that pizza.
Dean fired the shotgun at the demon. It barely flinched as the rock salt penetrated its body. Dean cocked and fired again, with the same result. Without even turning toward the elder Winchester brother, it held up a hand and a shock wave sent Dean flying into the tree he had been hiding behind.
As his brother hit the tree and slumped unconscious, Sam charged with his pistol. All these things have a head and a heart… shoot there and you can at least slow them down. It was still proceeding with the ritual. Didn't it realize that it's victims were gone? Sam raised the pistol to aim when it suddenly hit him… Hostages or not, there were still two humans here. Raising it's hand again, Sam froze, paralyzed in place by the creature, only able to watch in horror as the being said the last few words of the ritual. His heart hammered in his chest as he saw an inky blackness begin to rise from the fire. He was still unable to move, unable to run away, or even protect his brother. He took a small comfort in the fact that he was closest, he would go first, and Dean was still unconscious. Neither of them would have to watch the other die slowly and painfully as the Cloud dissolved any human flesh it cam in contact with. Hopefully, Dean wouldn't even feel it.
Just as he had resigned himself to his fate, He heard a soft twang and something shot past him. The crossbow bolt embedded its self in the demon's chest, and it pitched forward, partially into the fire. The spell broken, Sam dropped to his knees in relief. Dean had saved them. He must have regained consciousness and- Wait a minute… Dean didn't bring a crossbow…
Then everything went black.