Supernatural gen ficlet - Burned
Lots of lovely fic being posted at the moment - I'm having fic mood swings -one minute my heart is being torn from my chest, the next I'm laughing hard enough to break a rib. Reading SPN fic is bad for my physical health, clearly.
I'm working on my longer fics, but I decided to write something for the prompt over at 15minuteficlets. Which of course ran over to the tune of thirty minutes, so I can't link it. This is very stream of consciousness, I just let wee!Dean talk and out it all came.
ETA: Added to my paranormal25 fic table - Prompt Cemetery/Mausoleum
TITLE: Burned
RATING: PG13 (gen)
CHARACTERS: Wee!Dean, John and very wee!Sammy
DISCLAIMER: I repeat, it is a good thing they don't belong to me.
NOTES: 850 words. Wee!Dean POV. Dean helps Dad on a hunt.
Sammy’s asleep.
Thumb in his mouth and his arm wrapped around that dumb blanket that he cuddles all the time like it’s a teddy and cries if Dad tries to take it from him to wash. And it needs washed, spilled juice and holy water and something that might be grave dirt at one frayed corner.
Dean checks his watch, with proper hands and a face with numbers, just like Dad’s. Dad gave it to him for his birthday. The big hand’s at six, little hand past twelve. When Dad went - stay in the car, Dean, watch out for Sammy - the little hand was just past eleven. That’s too much time, more than it should take to burn a few bones.
He looks again at Sammy. Still asleep. He looks out the window. No sign of Dad.
Stay in the car, Dean.
Dad will be mad. If he leaves Sam alone and something comes, Dad will be really mad. But if something comes and gets Dad, then Dean and Sam will be alone, and Dean can’t drive, he can’t reach the pedals and right then he decides that Dad being mad with him is better than Dad not being there at all.
He shakes the salt around Sammy, carefully, whispers the protection charm that Dad says every night when he thinks they’re sleeping.
It’s cold outside. He locks the car, and shoves the keys deep into his pocket, and they dig into his thigh a bit. He’s got his pocket knife, blade folded in like Dad showed him, and he puts it in his other pocket.
Knox. That’s the ghost’s name. He remembers reading it off Dad’s papers, and he knew not to pronounce the first letter because Miss Hooper said it was a quiet 'k', and she’s just about the nicest teacher Dean’s ever had, so he takes her word for it.
He finds the vault quickly, doesn’t even need to read the lettering, because he hears it before he sees the name. Scuffling and breathing and choking and for a terrible minute Dean wants to run away.
But that’s Dad in there, and Dad doesn’t run away, so Dean doesn’t either.
The thing has Dad down on the ground. It’s white and flickery and not like the ghosts in sheets in the story that Mrs. Flannigan read one time, that Dean said was stupid and she made him stand outside the door. Mrs. Flannigan wasn’t the nicest teacher Dean’s ever had.
This ghost is scary. Sometimes its face is all normal and like a person, and then suddenly it changes into a skull, or a monster, and Dean doesn’t want to look at it. It has its horrible flickering hands around Dad’s throat and Dad isn’t even choking any more.
Dean looks over at the bones in the corner of the crypt. Dad’s salted them already, and they look wet, like he’s poured oil on.
Salt and burn the bones.
Dad’s lighter is on the ground near his foot.
Dean’s not allowed to touch it. He remembers when he was very little, and he found a lighter under the workbench at the garage and he was playing with it and Dad caught him and spanked him. And that was even before the terrible fire when Mommy went to heaven.
But Dad’s not making any sound now, and Dean decides he’d rather be spanked by Dad than not have Dad at all.
He crawls over to the lighter, and it takes him three goes to get a flame, then he tosses it into the pile of bones in the corner.
It’s really hot. Dean jumps back, and he loses his balance and falls over. The flames lick out towards his sneaker and try to bite him. The ghost screams, and Dean knows to shut his eyes or he’ll be waking up with nightmares for weeks.
He keeps them squeezed tight shut till there’s no more noise, and the heat from the fire doesn’t hurt his face so much. Then it’s quiet, and Dean scrambles over to Dad, leans over him, presses on his chest.
He wants to cry when he feels it move.
“Dean?” Dad’s voice sounds strange, like he’s got a sore throat or something.
“I touched your lighter, but I had to, and I locked the car and Sammy’s asleep, but I made a salt circle and the ghost was hurting you-“
It all comes out in a garbled jumbled-up rush and Dean stops when he feels Dad’s arms come round him and gather him up like he’s some dumb baby three-year-old like Sammy. Dad holds him very tight, and Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all.
They walk back to the car together, and Dean digs down deep in his pocket for the keys and Dad sees the salt line around Sam and says Good job, son, and kisses him on the top of his head like he’s a baby.
But Dean decides he’d rather have Dad treating him like a baby, than not have Dad at all.
I'm working on my longer fics, but I decided to write something for the prompt over at 15minuteficlets. Which of course ran over to the tune of thirty minutes, so I can't link it. This is very stream of consciousness, I just let wee!Dean talk and out it all came.
ETA: Added to my paranormal25 fic table - Prompt Cemetery/Mausoleum
TITLE: Burned
RATING: PG13 (gen)
CHARACTERS: Wee!Dean, John and very wee!Sammy
DISCLAIMER: I repeat, it is a good thing they don't belong to me.
NOTES: 850 words. Wee!Dean POV. Dean helps Dad on a hunt.
Sammy’s asleep.
Thumb in his mouth and his arm wrapped around that dumb blanket that he cuddles all the time like it’s a teddy and cries if Dad tries to take it from him to wash. And it needs washed, spilled juice and holy water and something that might be grave dirt at one frayed corner.
Dean checks his watch, with proper hands and a face with numbers, just like Dad’s. Dad gave it to him for his birthday. The big hand’s at six, little hand past twelve. When Dad went - stay in the car, Dean, watch out for Sammy - the little hand was just past eleven. That’s too much time, more than it should take to burn a few bones.
He looks again at Sammy. Still asleep. He looks out the window. No sign of Dad.
Stay in the car, Dean.
Dad will be mad. If he leaves Sam alone and something comes, Dad will be really mad. But if something comes and gets Dad, then Dean and Sam will be alone, and Dean can’t drive, he can’t reach the pedals and right then he decides that Dad being mad with him is better than Dad not being there at all.
He shakes the salt around Sammy, carefully, whispers the protection charm that Dad says every night when he thinks they’re sleeping.
It’s cold outside. He locks the car, and shoves the keys deep into his pocket, and they dig into his thigh a bit. He’s got his pocket knife, blade folded in like Dad showed him, and he puts it in his other pocket.
Knox. That’s the ghost’s name. He remembers reading it off Dad’s papers, and he knew not to pronounce the first letter because Miss Hooper said it was a quiet 'k', and she’s just about the nicest teacher Dean’s ever had, so he takes her word for it.
He finds the vault quickly, doesn’t even need to read the lettering, because he hears it before he sees the name. Scuffling and breathing and choking and for a terrible minute Dean wants to run away.
But that’s Dad in there, and Dad doesn’t run away, so Dean doesn’t either.
The thing has Dad down on the ground. It’s white and flickery and not like the ghosts in sheets in the story that Mrs. Flannigan read one time, that Dean said was stupid and she made him stand outside the door. Mrs. Flannigan wasn’t the nicest teacher Dean’s ever had.
This ghost is scary. Sometimes its face is all normal and like a person, and then suddenly it changes into a skull, or a monster, and Dean doesn’t want to look at it. It has its horrible flickering hands around Dad’s throat and Dad isn’t even choking any more.
Dean looks over at the bones in the corner of the crypt. Dad’s salted them already, and they look wet, like he’s poured oil on.
Salt and burn the bones.
Dad’s lighter is on the ground near his foot.
Dean’s not allowed to touch it. He remembers when he was very little, and he found a lighter under the workbench at the garage and he was playing with it and Dad caught him and spanked him. And that was even before the terrible fire when Mommy went to heaven.
But Dad’s not making any sound now, and Dean decides he’d rather be spanked by Dad than not have Dad at all.
He crawls over to the lighter, and it takes him three goes to get a flame, then he tosses it into the pile of bones in the corner.
It’s really hot. Dean jumps back, and he loses his balance and falls over. The flames lick out towards his sneaker and try to bite him. The ghost screams, and Dean knows to shut his eyes or he’ll be waking up with nightmares for weeks.
He keeps them squeezed tight shut till there’s no more noise, and the heat from the fire doesn’t hurt his face so much. Then it’s quiet, and Dean scrambles over to Dad, leans over him, presses on his chest.
He wants to cry when he feels it move.
“Dean?” Dad’s voice sounds strange, like he’s got a sore throat or something.
“I touched your lighter, but I had to, and I locked the car and Sammy’s asleep, but I made a salt circle and the ghost was hurting you-“
It all comes out in a garbled jumbled-up rush and Dean stops when he feels Dad’s arms come round him and gather him up like he’s some dumb baby three-year-old like Sammy. Dad holds him very tight, and Dean doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all.
They walk back to the car together, and Dean digs down deep in his pocket for the keys and Dad sees the salt line around Sam and says Good job, son, and kisses him on the top of his head like he’s a baby.
But Dean decides he’d rather have Dad treating him like a baby, than not have Dad at all.