SPN FIC: The Gift ~ Epilogue ~
TITLE: The Gift: ~ Epilogue ~
AUTHOR: jackfan2
CATEGORY: Gen
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, Castiel, OC's
WORDS: 6,900
GENRE: Humor/Hurt/Comfort
RATING: T, or PG13 for swearing
TIMELINE: Season 4
BETAS: mad_server & adrenalineshots
SUMMARY: Dean is whisked away for an urgent rescue mission, leaving Sam clamoring to find him. Between a dubious gift and a bat-shit horse, angelic blessings and hell's curses can sometimes be frighteningly similar, and all disastrous for Dean.
Epilogue here. Story done. *dies*
-~*~-
THE GIFT: Epilogue
-~*~-
The storm had been the worst in the area in ten years. Prior to the steady snowfall that dropped nearly three feet of snow on the area, the blizzard that had begun while they’d been at the mine, blew angrily making travel impossible for nearly three days.
On the second day of gale force winds, Dean’s fever broke. The coughing, congestion and the presence of far too much fluid in the lungs lingered to the point that Dr. Bullock insisted that Dean remain abed. With the roads impassable and no way to leave, there didn’t seem to be much to argue about. Well, not to Sam’s way of thinking.
Dean, on the other hand, argued plenty, between bouts of coughing and winces of pain from the stitches and muscle aches, not to mention the ever present pounding headache. Those sealed the deal and Dean remained stationary, though the copious amounts of food, and even the small cheeseburger with onions made it all so much better.
The Coleman’s, Kyle’s family, also remained at the ranch. The break Greg Coleman’s leg had sustained was deemed a simple fracture which, once splinted, as soon as travel was an option, he would be taken to the nearest hospital and the leg operated on to reset it. For the time being, the ranch had all the necessary medical supplies to sustain the broken limb.
Bridges had been built during the Winchester’s stay at the ranch. Despite the rough start with the ranch owners, Hank and Jenny were more than accommodating in offering them shelter for the duration of the storm and Dean's recovery. Beyond if necessary.
Well, ‘beyond’ hadn’t been necessary. Sam had good news for his brother and he practically sprinted up the stairs to Dean’s room, eager to share.
“Hey.” Sam walked happily into Dean’s room and placed his hands on his hips. The smile on his face slowly faded as he stared at the bed. “How’s it… going?”
Once Dean was able to sit up for longer periods of time, he and Kyle had taken to a near daily routine of playing checkers, as much as four times a day. Still, a bored, bed-ridden Dean was never a good thing and the sight of his brother and Kyle scrambling to rearrange the bed covers as he entered was a prime indicator that some worrying wasn't totally unwarranted.
Dean and Kyle each held half dozen cards and in between them was a small stack of cards, face down. This just didn’t look good. Eyes narrowed, Sam glanced from the top of Dean’s head, face buried in his hand of cards to the bedside table and the untouched checker board. Pointing at the board game he asked, “What…?”
“Oh,” Dean huffed, still suffering some residual congestion and coughed into his hand. “Just playing a harmless game of cards. You know, Sammy, can’t live on checkers alone.” He looked at Kyle. “Your turn.”
“Really.” Sam nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Dean and cards was not a combination Sam would ever believe as ‘harmless’. “What game was that?”
Kyle’s hand stilled. It hovered over the small pile next to the larger one on the bed and the look on his face as he looked at Dean spoke volumes.
“Hum?” Dean looked up innocently, though Sam knew that look. It was far from innocent. “Oh, um, it was that one, where you do that thing with those numbers -”
“Old Maid.” Kyle supplied quickly.
“That’s it!” Dean snapped his fingers. “Old Maid.”
“Hm…” Sam made a pretense of thinking about it. “How’s that played again?”
“Ah- you know, it’s,” Dean rolled a hand in the air, “where you find the old maid card and she - she cleans a full house -”
Kyle groaned; Sam’s eyes widened. “Full house?” Sam lifted the covers; poker chips scattered and he dropped the blanket to the floor. “Dean.” He tossed a look over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “You can’t teach someone’s kid to play poker.”
“Well,” Dean pouted angrily. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the stack of pillows. “I’m bored, Sam. I swear, I’m going to go nuts.”
Sam couldn’t help himself. A large grin spread across his face. “Then get packed bro. Doc says you’re cleared to go, so,” he shrugged, “we’re goin’.”
The Winchester’s didn’t waste any time. Dean seemed to run out of steam at one point, though he’d never admit it. Sam worried over how to get him to just sit and let Sam take over. Only one thing came to mind, “Dean, if you start that wheezing again, Dr. Bullock’s gonna hear and make us stay another week!”
Dean actually paled. He sat down immediately, no further argument offered.
Within minutes they were packed, the Impala loaded and the two were headed down the hall and toward the front door, Dean taking it slow.
At the veranda steps, Sam hesitated. No matter how much he wanted to reach out and assist his big brother in his slow descent of the stairs, Sam relented. Dean, one hand pressed to his still healing side, a slight limp in his gait from where the horse had tried to skewer him on a tree branch on the ride to the mine, moved with great caution toward the Impala.
Outside, the ranch hands milled around, watching them. Nathaniel had been first to approach as they walked slowly to where the Impala was parked. He clapped Sam on the back, shook Dean’s hand and that seemed to signal a flood of admirers.
One after another the other ranch hands moved in to shake Dean’s hand, Sam’s too but he got the distinct impression that it was mainly because he was Dean’s younger brother, related to the man who would no doubt be the most famous rider ever to have graced the Willow Creek ranch.
After Dean’d spent days in his sick room, for many of the hands, this was their first meeting of ‘the rider’ who’d taken Widow’s Peak. Sam marveled at how Dean’s face heated with embarrassment at the outpouring. Through much of it, he kept his eyes averted from those awe-filled gazes.
It seemed there wasn’t a cowboy on the ranch who wasn’t in awe of the older Winchester’s riding prowess. Dean basked in their admiration and Sam had to fight to keep his own sense of pride at bay. Dean had indeed fought against insurmountable odds in what he’d done but as far as riding skill, well, just how do you explain to a bunch of strangers that much of his riding skill had more to do with an angel and less to do with natural ability?
Next to the car, the Coleman’s stood bunched together; Cara gathered in her mother’s arms, Greg leaning heavily on his crutches. Kyle, however, remained firmly in front, all of them wearing warm smiles against the chill in the air. The Culvers, Doctor Bullock and even Pete Hankins were there.
Dean seemed to be handling it all with his usual bravado, that is, until Kyle stepped away from his Dad and started moving toward him. It was one thing to receive gratitude from other men, but Dean had always flushed under the admiration of children. Sam grinned at his brother’s embarrassment.
While Dean’s steps had slowed Kyle’s had increased and quick enough he closed the distance, flinging his arms around the elder Winchester, his little arms only barely reaching above Dean’s waist. Dean’s jaw clenched ever so subtly when the boy unwittingly pressed against his stitched side. Only Sam saw the change in his brother’s stance.
After several seconds, Kyle stepped back. “Thank you.”
Dean ruffled his hair. “You take care of your family, alright?” Kyle nodded, eyes full of trust and to Sam’s utter dismay, hero worship. Well, Sam would suffer this one because truth be told, Dean could use it, and he more than deserved it. Maybe it was time Sam told him as much…
Then, Dean bent down gingerly to Kyle’s ear and Sam heard him whisper, “And remember, it’s not about the cards, it’s about playing the player, get it?” he said with a wink.
Kyle grinned and nodded. “Got it.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
The fire thing hadn’t been all that hard to explain away to the boy. Tucked behind in an outcropping of rock, at that angle, he hadn’t seen how the fire leapt out of Dean’s hand all of its own accord. No, Sam had told him Dean’d had a matchbook in one pocket and lit it up, then flung it up at the creature. The boy had accepted it all too willingly.
Since Mr. and Mrs. Coleman had been unconscious most of their time in the cavern, the idea that it had been the workings of some deranged serial killer seemed more than reasonable enough for them. Kyle was content enough for all of them not to dispel that thought.
They shook hands with the family; Mrs. Coleman kissed each of the Winchesters on the cheek but added a heartfelt hug for Dean for saving her children. Blushing ear to ear, the boys issued a hasty goodbye to Hank and Jenny, the doctor handing Sam a bag full of meds for Dean to continue taking and a final list of orders to get his stitches checked out in ten more days.
When all well-wishes and good-bye’s were done, the boys got into the Impala and pulled out of the ranch and onto the road. It wasn’t until they were a mile away that they breathed a sigh of relief.
In the passenger side, Dean rummaged through the cassettes and pulled out AC/DC. He popped it in and when “Hell’s Bells” began he relaxed into the door, the pillow Jenny Culver had provided cushioning his head nicely.
Sam cleared his throat. “Hey Dean?”
“Hmm…?” After a beat, Dean looked over, cracking one eye open.
“I just… well...” The words, I trust you and I believe in you, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make them sound less forced, even in his head.
“Oh god,” Dean graveled out, his voice still too weak from the lingering illness. “You’re not going to go all… weepy on me are ya?”
“Nah man,” Sam grinned. “Just… fireballs, dude?” he looked at his brother. “Pretty awesome.” It was a conversational icebreaker as valid as any other, at least when you’re a Winchester. “Don’t you kind of wish... I don’t know, that it’d stuck around?”
Sam stole a look towards his brother, trying to figure if Dean had caught the real question he was asking. Having a power to fight your enemy, even if it’s a power you don’t fully understand or control can be very handy. Sam certainly understood that.
Dean’s left eyebrow raised on its own volition. “Did you missed the part where I almost died because of the frigging thing?”
Sam sighed. Yeah, fat change of Dean ever seeing it that way. Supernatural was supernatural and nine times out of ten, it would bite you in the ass.
“Hell of a curve ball,” Sam muttered to himself. He wasn’t particularly sure if he was talking about his powers, Dean’s temporary ones, Castiel and his damn tests or just the frigging weather.
When Dean didn’t answer, Sam felt a moment of panic. He wondered if perhaps his words had been measured, weighed and found lacking.
“Yeah, curve ball,” Dean said, his eyes sliding closed. He coughed into his fist and snuggled deeper into the pillow. “And horses man. Fucking killer horses.”
~*The end*~
Back to Part 1
Author's Notes:
Ya'll have a great weekend. Hope to see you 'round next story. Thanks again to my beta's.
As always, comments are welcome.
AUTHOR: jackfan2
CATEGORY: Gen
CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam, Castiel, OC's
WORDS: 6,900
GENRE: Humor/Hurt/Comfort
RATING: T, or PG13 for swearing
TIMELINE: Season 4
BETAS: mad_server & adrenalineshots
SUMMARY: Dean is whisked away for an urgent rescue mission, leaving Sam clamoring to find him. Between a dubious gift and a bat-shit horse, angelic blessings and hell's curses can sometimes be frighteningly similar, and all disastrous for Dean.
Epilogue here. Story done. *dies*
-~*~-
THE GIFT: Epilogue
-~*~-
The storm had been the worst in the area in ten years. Prior to the steady snowfall that dropped nearly three feet of snow on the area, the blizzard that had begun while they’d been at the mine, blew angrily making travel impossible for nearly three days.
On the second day of gale force winds, Dean’s fever broke. The coughing, congestion and the presence of far too much fluid in the lungs lingered to the point that Dr. Bullock insisted that Dean remain abed. With the roads impassable and no way to leave, there didn’t seem to be much to argue about. Well, not to Sam’s way of thinking.
Dean, on the other hand, argued plenty, between bouts of coughing and winces of pain from the stitches and muscle aches, not to mention the ever present pounding headache. Those sealed the deal and Dean remained stationary, though the copious amounts of food, and even the small cheeseburger with onions made it all so much better.
The Coleman’s, Kyle’s family, also remained at the ranch. The break Greg Coleman’s leg had sustained was deemed a simple fracture which, once splinted, as soon as travel was an option, he would be taken to the nearest hospital and the leg operated on to reset it. For the time being, the ranch had all the necessary medical supplies to sustain the broken limb.
Bridges had been built during the Winchester’s stay at the ranch. Despite the rough start with the ranch owners, Hank and Jenny were more than accommodating in offering them shelter for the duration of the storm and Dean's recovery. Beyond if necessary.
Well, ‘beyond’ hadn’t been necessary. Sam had good news for his brother and he practically sprinted up the stairs to Dean’s room, eager to share.
“Hey.” Sam walked happily into Dean’s room and placed his hands on his hips. The smile on his face slowly faded as he stared at the bed. “How’s it… going?”
Once Dean was able to sit up for longer periods of time, he and Kyle had taken to a near daily routine of playing checkers, as much as four times a day. Still, a bored, bed-ridden Dean was never a good thing and the sight of his brother and Kyle scrambling to rearrange the bed covers as he entered was a prime indicator that some worrying wasn't totally unwarranted.
Dean and Kyle each held half dozen cards and in between them was a small stack of cards, face down. This just didn’t look good. Eyes narrowed, Sam glanced from the top of Dean’s head, face buried in his hand of cards to the bedside table and the untouched checker board. Pointing at the board game he asked, “What…?”
“Oh,” Dean huffed, still suffering some residual congestion and coughed into his hand. “Just playing a harmless game of cards. You know, Sammy, can’t live on checkers alone.” He looked at Kyle. “Your turn.”
“Really.” Sam nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. Dean and cards was not a combination Sam would ever believe as ‘harmless’. “What game was that?”
Kyle’s hand stilled. It hovered over the small pile next to the larger one on the bed and the look on his face as he looked at Dean spoke volumes.
“Hum?” Dean looked up innocently, though Sam knew that look. It was far from innocent. “Oh, um, it was that one, where you do that thing with those numbers -”
“Old Maid.” Kyle supplied quickly.
“That’s it!” Dean snapped his fingers. “Old Maid.”
“Hm…” Sam made a pretense of thinking about it. “How’s that played again?”
“Ah- you know, it’s,” Dean rolled a hand in the air, “where you find the old maid card and she - she cleans a full house -”
Kyle groaned; Sam’s eyes widened. “Full house?” Sam lifted the covers; poker chips scattered and he dropped the blanket to the floor. “Dean.” He tossed a look over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. “You can’t teach someone’s kid to play poker.”
“Well,” Dean pouted angrily. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into the stack of pillows. “I’m bored, Sam. I swear, I’m going to go nuts.”
Sam couldn’t help himself. A large grin spread across his face. “Then get packed bro. Doc says you’re cleared to go, so,” he shrugged, “we’re goin’.”
The Winchester’s didn’t waste any time. Dean seemed to run out of steam at one point, though he’d never admit it. Sam worried over how to get him to just sit and let Sam take over. Only one thing came to mind, “Dean, if you start that wheezing again, Dr. Bullock’s gonna hear and make us stay another week!”
Dean actually paled. He sat down immediately, no further argument offered.
Within minutes they were packed, the Impala loaded and the two were headed down the hall and toward the front door, Dean taking it slow.
At the veranda steps, Sam hesitated. No matter how much he wanted to reach out and assist his big brother in his slow descent of the stairs, Sam relented. Dean, one hand pressed to his still healing side, a slight limp in his gait from where the horse had tried to skewer him on a tree branch on the ride to the mine, moved with great caution toward the Impala.
Outside, the ranch hands milled around, watching them. Nathaniel had been first to approach as they walked slowly to where the Impala was parked. He clapped Sam on the back, shook Dean’s hand and that seemed to signal a flood of admirers.
One after another the other ranch hands moved in to shake Dean’s hand, Sam’s too but he got the distinct impression that it was mainly because he was Dean’s younger brother, related to the man who would no doubt be the most famous rider ever to have graced the Willow Creek ranch.
After Dean’d spent days in his sick room, for many of the hands, this was their first meeting of ‘the rider’ who’d taken Widow’s Peak. Sam marveled at how Dean’s face heated with embarrassment at the outpouring. Through much of it, he kept his eyes averted from those awe-filled gazes.
It seemed there wasn’t a cowboy on the ranch who wasn’t in awe of the older Winchester’s riding prowess. Dean basked in their admiration and Sam had to fight to keep his own sense of pride at bay. Dean had indeed fought against insurmountable odds in what he’d done but as far as riding skill, well, just how do you explain to a bunch of strangers that much of his riding skill had more to do with an angel and less to do with natural ability?
Next to the car, the Coleman’s stood bunched together; Cara gathered in her mother’s arms, Greg leaning heavily on his crutches. Kyle, however, remained firmly in front, all of them wearing warm smiles against the chill in the air. The Culvers, Doctor Bullock and even Pete Hankins were there.
Dean seemed to be handling it all with his usual bravado, that is, until Kyle stepped away from his Dad and started moving toward him. It was one thing to receive gratitude from other men, but Dean had always flushed under the admiration of children. Sam grinned at his brother’s embarrassment.
While Dean’s steps had slowed Kyle’s had increased and quick enough he closed the distance, flinging his arms around the elder Winchester, his little arms only barely reaching above Dean’s waist. Dean’s jaw clenched ever so subtly when the boy unwittingly pressed against his stitched side. Only Sam saw the change in his brother’s stance.
After several seconds, Kyle stepped back. “Thank you.”
Dean ruffled his hair. “You take care of your family, alright?” Kyle nodded, eyes full of trust and to Sam’s utter dismay, hero worship. Well, Sam would suffer this one because truth be told, Dean could use it, and he more than deserved it. Maybe it was time Sam told him as much…
Then, Dean bent down gingerly to Kyle’s ear and Sam heard him whisper, “And remember, it’s not about the cards, it’s about playing the player, get it?” he said with a wink.
Kyle grinned and nodded. “Got it.”
Sam rolled his eyes.
The fire thing hadn’t been all that hard to explain away to the boy. Tucked behind in an outcropping of rock, at that angle, he hadn’t seen how the fire leapt out of Dean’s hand all of its own accord. No, Sam had told him Dean’d had a matchbook in one pocket and lit it up, then flung it up at the creature. The boy had accepted it all too willingly.
Since Mr. and Mrs. Coleman had been unconscious most of their time in the cavern, the idea that it had been the workings of some deranged serial killer seemed more than reasonable enough for them. Kyle was content enough for all of them not to dispel that thought.
They shook hands with the family; Mrs. Coleman kissed each of the Winchesters on the cheek but added a heartfelt hug for Dean for saving her children. Blushing ear to ear, the boys issued a hasty goodbye to Hank and Jenny, the doctor handing Sam a bag full of meds for Dean to continue taking and a final list of orders to get his stitches checked out in ten more days.
When all well-wishes and good-bye’s were done, the boys got into the Impala and pulled out of the ranch and onto the road. It wasn’t until they were a mile away that they breathed a sigh of relief.
In the passenger side, Dean rummaged through the cassettes and pulled out AC/DC. He popped it in and when “Hell’s Bells” began he relaxed into the door, the pillow Jenny Culver had provided cushioning his head nicely.
Sam cleared his throat. “Hey Dean?”
“Hmm…?” After a beat, Dean looked over, cracking one eye open.
“I just… well...” The words, I trust you and I believe in you, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make them sound less forced, even in his head.
“Oh god,” Dean graveled out, his voice still too weak from the lingering illness. “You’re not going to go all… weepy on me are ya?”
“Nah man,” Sam grinned. “Just… fireballs, dude?” he looked at his brother. “Pretty awesome.” It was a conversational icebreaker as valid as any other, at least when you’re a Winchester. “Don’t you kind of wish... I don’t know, that it’d stuck around?”
Sam stole a look towards his brother, trying to figure if Dean had caught the real question he was asking. Having a power to fight your enemy, even if it’s a power you don’t fully understand or control can be very handy. Sam certainly understood that.
Dean’s left eyebrow raised on its own volition. “Did you missed the part where I almost died because of the frigging thing?”
Sam sighed. Yeah, fat change of Dean ever seeing it that way. Supernatural was supernatural and nine times out of ten, it would bite you in the ass.
“Hell of a curve ball,” Sam muttered to himself. He wasn’t particularly sure if he was talking about his powers, Dean’s temporary ones, Castiel and his damn tests or just the frigging weather.
When Dean didn’t answer, Sam felt a moment of panic. He wondered if perhaps his words had been measured, weighed and found lacking.
“Yeah, curve ball,” Dean said, his eyes sliding closed. He coughed into his fist and snuggled deeper into the pillow. “And horses man. Fucking killer horses.”
~*The end*~
Back to Part 1
Author's Notes:
Ya'll have a great weekend. Hope to see you 'round next story. Thanks again to my beta's.
As always, comments are welcome.