First Kill -Supernatural fanfic pre-series kid-fic
Supernatural Fanfiction
Title: First Kill
Series:
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: I don't own anything Supernatural. Just playing with the characters.
Four year old Sammy goes hunting alone.
First Kill
John stretched out on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. He smiled as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, little Dean mirror his movements beside him. Dean had to scoot down on the couch until he was practically laying flat to reach the table with his feet, but he managed it and gave a sigh similar to his dad's as he settled in to watch the baseball game on TV. It had been a long day, but a productive one. The Impala had needed a tune-up for months now. Dean was getting better at hitting what he aimed at, and little Sammy was a natural at tumbling. John had taught both boys how to fall so they wouldn't get hurt, roll out of it and land on their feet ready for action.
John popped the top button of his jeans open and scratched his belly, watching Dean do the same. Vera from the diner had over filled their take-out boxes again. She said growing boys needed the extra calories to burn, but she had been looking at John when she said it and the word 'burn' had arrived with a wink and an inviting grin. Vera had three chins and a back porch swing that would bring down the house, but the meatloaf was good.
Sam scurried through the living room and into the kitchen only to trot right back out and disappear down the hall into his bedroom again. The bottom of his cotton knit PJ's riding dangerously low on his narrow hips and non-existent baby bottom, as he cradled something to his chest out of sight of the couch dwellers.
John and Dean turned their heads in unison as the pitter patter of little feet echoed from the back of the house. "Sam! What are you up to?" John called down the hall from his too comfortable spot on the couch. He didn't want to move unless he absolutely had to. His meatloaf was still digesting.
"I'm hunting!" came the tiny voiced shout from the boy's room at the end of the hall.
John and Dean grinned at each other at the thought of their 30 pound four year old "hunting" just like Dad and his older brother. "He's hunting!" Dean cackled as he lost his tenuous balance and rolled around on the couch trying to get his feet back on the coffee table again.
"What cha' hunting Sport?" Dad cocked an ear toward the hall while keeping an eye on the ball game on TV.
"Demons!" came the muffled shout from the bedroom.
John had checked the house thoroughly just before dinner as he did every weekend so he wasn't too concerned, but he did sit up a bit. "Let us know if you need back-up!"
"kay" was replied from the only hunter on duty tonight.
After a few minutes, John melted back into the cushions. Dean took his cue from his dad and did the same.
Just as John and Dean were comparing the RBI's of their favorite players, a cry of pain, horror, and emotional anguish rose from the bedroom. The cry got louder and cut in and out with every running footstep slapping up the hall.
Although Dean was on the other side of his Dad and the hallway, he made it to his brother's side first. Eight year old Dean twirled Sammy behind him has he backed them both down the hall toward their dad and safety. John grabbed Sammy up and shoved Dean into the living room before shouting over Sammy's wails. "What Sam? What happened?"
I...I...I ki...hi...hi...hilled it!" Sammy burst into fresh tears and buried his face into the crook of John's neck.
"Killed what Sammy?" John automatically rubbed circles on Sam's back as he made his way to the shotgun standing in the corner. He turned around just in time to see Dean disappear into the bedroom. "Dean!" John ran, not bothering to drop Sammy on the couch as he had originally planned. John shifted Sammy to the left and twirled the stock of the shotgun under his right arm and slid his finger to the trigger in one smooth motion just as he cleared the bedroom doorway.
Dean was crouched in the closet holding a canister of salt.
"Back, Dean!" John bellowed as he took aim at the Batman windbreaker hanging dead center on the clothes rod.
Dean looked up at his father with absolute trust that the shotgun aimed in his general direction would not harm him. "I found it, Dad."
John cautiously moved the muzzle to the right and down, prepared to reverse the move at a second's notice. He boosted a still quivering Sam back up onto his shoulder as he approached Dean. "What did you find, Dean?"
"Sammy killed it alright. Man, I didn't even know they were evil, but salt sure took care of its badass."
"Dean! Watch your mouth!" Dad reprimanded as he crouched down to see his youngest son's first kill. There was a slime trail leading from the closet and part of a slug writhing around a puddle of goo.
"Snails," Dad sighed in relief as he hugged Sam and smiled at Dean. "Sam," Sammy burrowed deeper into the strong shoulder, "we have to finish it off, son. Winchesters never leave a job half done or a creature in pain no matter how evil it is."
Dean saw the pain in Sammy's one eye that he had allowed to peek away from his dad's flannel shirt. Dean quickly dusted the rest of the snail with the salt shaker before hopping up. "I got it for you Sammy, don't cry. Look, its all gone."
"Dean, you know I wanted Sam to finish it. He needs to learn to finish the job he started, son."
Dean looked up and grinned, "I could go outside and find another one for Sammy to vanquish."
John considered his son for a moment and the ramifications for the future, because he suspected that Dean would always be willing to do his brother's dirty work if it meant saving his Sammy a little pain.
"Lets go watch some baseball." John ushered Dean into the hall with his shotgun filled hand as he gave Sam a bounce with his left arm. "Sammy, you can clean up the salt in the morning." He would speak to his sons later about Dean running unarmed into danger and Sam initiating a hunt alone. Snails, John mused, he hadn’t realized they were evil either.
Title: First Kill
Series:
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: I don't own anything Supernatural. Just playing with the characters.
Four year old Sammy goes hunting alone.
First Kill
John stretched out on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. He smiled as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, little Dean mirror his movements beside him. Dean had to scoot down on the couch until he was practically laying flat to reach the table with his feet, but he managed it and gave a sigh similar to his dad's as he settled in to watch the baseball game on TV. It had been a long day, but a productive one. The Impala had needed a tune-up for months now. Dean was getting better at hitting what he aimed at, and little Sammy was a natural at tumbling. John had taught both boys how to fall so they wouldn't get hurt, roll out of it and land on their feet ready for action.
John popped the top button of his jeans open and scratched his belly, watching Dean do the same. Vera from the diner had over filled their take-out boxes again. She said growing boys needed the extra calories to burn, but she had been looking at John when she said it and the word 'burn' had arrived with a wink and an inviting grin. Vera had three chins and a back porch swing that would bring down the house, but the meatloaf was good.
Sam scurried through the living room and into the kitchen only to trot right back out and disappear down the hall into his bedroom again. The bottom of his cotton knit PJ's riding dangerously low on his narrow hips and non-existent baby bottom, as he cradled something to his chest out of sight of the couch dwellers.
John and Dean turned their heads in unison as the pitter patter of little feet echoed from the back of the house. "Sam! What are you up to?" John called down the hall from his too comfortable spot on the couch. He didn't want to move unless he absolutely had to. His meatloaf was still digesting.
"I'm hunting!" came the tiny voiced shout from the boy's room at the end of the hall.
John and Dean grinned at each other at the thought of their 30 pound four year old "hunting" just like Dad and his older brother. "He's hunting!" Dean cackled as he lost his tenuous balance and rolled around on the couch trying to get his feet back on the coffee table again.
"What cha' hunting Sport?" Dad cocked an ear toward the hall while keeping an eye on the ball game on TV.
"Demons!" came the muffled shout from the bedroom.
John had checked the house thoroughly just before dinner as he did every weekend so he wasn't too concerned, but he did sit up a bit. "Let us know if you need back-up!"
"kay" was replied from the only hunter on duty tonight.
After a few minutes, John melted back into the cushions. Dean took his cue from his dad and did the same.
Just as John and Dean were comparing the RBI's of their favorite players, a cry of pain, horror, and emotional anguish rose from the bedroom. The cry got louder and cut in and out with every running footstep slapping up the hall.
Although Dean was on the other side of his Dad and the hallway, he made it to his brother's side first. Eight year old Dean twirled Sammy behind him has he backed them both down the hall toward their dad and safety. John grabbed Sammy up and shoved Dean into the living room before shouting over Sammy's wails. "What Sam? What happened?"
I...I...I ki...hi...hi...hilled it!" Sammy burst into fresh tears and buried his face into the crook of John's neck.
"Killed what Sammy?" John automatically rubbed circles on Sam's back as he made his way to the shotgun standing in the corner. He turned around just in time to see Dean disappear into the bedroom. "Dean!" John ran, not bothering to drop Sammy on the couch as he had originally planned. John shifted Sammy to the left and twirled the stock of the shotgun under his right arm and slid his finger to the trigger in one smooth motion just as he cleared the bedroom doorway.
Dean was crouched in the closet holding a canister of salt.
"Back, Dean!" John bellowed as he took aim at the Batman windbreaker hanging dead center on the clothes rod.
Dean looked up at his father with absolute trust that the shotgun aimed in his general direction would not harm him. "I found it, Dad."
John cautiously moved the muzzle to the right and down, prepared to reverse the move at a second's notice. He boosted a still quivering Sam back up onto his shoulder as he approached Dean. "What did you find, Dean?"
"Sammy killed it alright. Man, I didn't even know they were evil, but salt sure took care of its badass."
"Dean! Watch your mouth!" Dad reprimanded as he crouched down to see his youngest son's first kill. There was a slime trail leading from the closet and part of a slug writhing around a puddle of goo.
"Snails," Dad sighed in relief as he hugged Sam and smiled at Dean. "Sam," Sammy burrowed deeper into the strong shoulder, "we have to finish it off, son. Winchesters never leave a job half done or a creature in pain no matter how evil it is."
Dean saw the pain in Sammy's one eye that he had allowed to peek away from his dad's flannel shirt. Dean quickly dusted the rest of the snail with the salt shaker before hopping up. "I got it for you Sammy, don't cry. Look, its all gone."
"Dean, you know I wanted Sam to finish it. He needs to learn to finish the job he started, son."
Dean looked up and grinned, "I could go outside and find another one for Sammy to vanquish."
John considered his son for a moment and the ramifications for the future, because he suspected that Dean would always be willing to do his brother's dirty work if it meant saving his Sammy a little pain.
"Lets go watch some baseball." John ushered Dean into the hall with his shotgun filled hand as he gave Sam a bounce with his left arm. "Sammy, you can clean up the salt in the morning." He would speak to his sons later about Dean running unarmed into danger and Sam initiating a hunt alone. Snails, John mused, he hadn’t realized they were evil either.