Supernatural fic~ Tinsel
AN: this is the first Supernatural fanfiction that I've ever finished (I've started about four or five in the past week or so) but I'm still pretty new to the fandom technically. :P I hope that you enjoy! ^_^;
Tinsel
Sam was thrown backward, smashing with the loud sound of glass balls breaking into the lovely and impeccably decorated Christmas tree. He heard Mrs. Arnold scream as he crashed to the floor and had the strong suspicion that it had more to do with the Christmas tree being wrecked than with Sam getting hurled around by a ghost.
“Sammy!” Dean’s voice shocked him back to awareness just as Dean swung Iron through the Spirit standing menacingly over him.
She was there an instant later behind Dean, her fist swinging out so fast that Sam wasn’t even on his feet yet when Dean paled.
Deborah Small was no longer the lovely young woman she’d been in life. Her entire form when she appeared looked tortured, and slightly past the edge of sanity. It was understandable for someone who’d had all of her children murdered but Sam didn’t have the room for pity at the moment.
Sam yanked the Iron poker from Dean’s grip as he was forced to his knees and swung it swiftly through the spirit. She vanished and Dean drew in a short choked breath before she was there again, her hand in his chest like it had never left.
A strangled noise rushed through Dean’s throat and in a haze Sam swung through her immaterial body but again a moment later she was there like she’d never left. She’d chosen Dean to go first and Sam realized with a gut wrenching certainty that she wouldn’t stop until he died just how her children had.
“The book,” Dean gasped. Sam didn’t know how he did it with a fist in his lungs but Dean was right.
He dove for the photo album, spraying it with salt and dropping a lighter to it without lifting it from the floor.
It was barely burning. Why wasn’t it burning?
Dean gasped a hoarse strangled noise that tore from his throat and cursing, Sam remembered. His body taking over he dropped next to the album, smashing his cheap lighter against the book, letting it break open and flare the small fire to life, burning his fingers.
He heard Deborah Small vanish, the sizzling and startled whoosh of air and turned to find Dean laying unconscious on the floor.
“Dean!” He was at his side instantly, on his knees, his fingers searching for a pulse.
His brother’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at Sam for a moment, eyes dilated with pain.
“You kill the bitch?” he asked.
Sam nodded.
Dean tried to grin but it was just for show. For Sam.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll tell you, she’s definitely not a milf anymore.”
Sam smiled at the reference to his brother’s earlier joke. When he’d said it earlier today Sam had just rolled his eyes but right now pretending it was funny was the least he could do.
“Think you can walk?” he asked.
Dean’s answer was cut off by a loud rushing sound behind him. For a split second Sam thought it was the spirit back again and then he realized what it was.
He glanced back at Mrs. Arnold who was standing disheveled in the middle of her living room with a fire extinguisher in her hands and a whole pile of foam and charred carpet decorating the rest of the place.
She looked at Sam and Dean shakily.
“You set my house on fire,” she said simply.
Sam grimaced.
“It had to be done,” he said.
She opened her mouth to respond but a little face peeked around the kitchen door.
“Mom?”
“Kevin, I told you to stay in your room!” she snapped.
The boy flinched but didn’t move as she turned back on the brothers.
“What about that?” she demanded gesturing to the Christmas tree laying flat on its side, broken ornaments adorning the floor around it.
“It’s Christmas eve! What am I supposed to tell my family when they get here in the morning?”
Sam sighed and slid his arm carefully under Dean’s shoulders, lifting him up.
Dean staggered a little as he came to his feet and then slumped his weight against Sam wordlessly.
“How about you tell them that you’re still alive?”
Dean rode to the hotel slumped against the passenger door, his eyes closed. Sam could see him sweating but when he touched Dean’s skin it felt cold.
The only thing he could think of was calling poison control. Deborah Small’s children had been poisoned with
Rat poison then she had done the same to her husband for revenge before killing herself.
Sam knew all the tired details but even before he could reach for his phone he knew there would be no point.
None of the spirit’s other victims had had traces of anything in their blood. It was a mystery to all how the other families had gotten so ill that they’d dropped dead in a day.
But still. If it was just a phantom poison, why had it lasted past the ghost’s demise?
When he finally parked the car outside the Queenside Inn Dean was shaking.
Sam pulled open the door that Dean leaned against gently, expecting to wake him but Dean just slid.
Sam caught him, alarm running through him at the lack of response.
“Dean, come on,” he whispered. “We’ve dealt with a lot worse than her. You cant let some ghost gank you.”
Dean frowned, his brows creasing ever so slightly.
“Mm just tired,” he muttered.
“Come on.”
He hoisted an arm over his shoulders and pulled Dean from the car.
“Five more minutes,” Dean murmured.
Sam grit his teeth and just forced Dean on, trying to keep him from slipping on the snow. He didn’t want to admit how scary it was to have Dean leaning on him so much. His brother’s weight pushing almost fully against him for support wasn’t anything he thought he’d ever felt before. Even with everything that had happened between them and to them… sure Dean had put his life in Sam’s hand more times than he could count, but he’d never really felt it. Not like this anyway.
He barely made it to the bed when Dean dropped into it. Of course he dropped on the wrong way and lay there, letting Sam pull and push him into the right position on the covers and making little noises that Sam assumed were supposed to be grumblings but came out a lot more like little sighs.
He pulled out his phone, speed dialing Bobby while he pulled Dean’s boots off and kicked off his own.
“Sam,” Bobby said gruffly from the other end. “I was wondering when you boys’d call to wish a happy
Christmas.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, caught off guard. “Merry Christmas Bobby.”
“So, when’ll you be getting here?”
“Uh, about that, I’m not so sure we’ll make it.”
There was a long pause.
“What happened now?”
“Dean’s sick,” he said softly. “He got poisoned by that vengeful spirit.”
“The one that kills on Christmas Eve?” he asked incredulously. “It was just a vengeful spirit Sam! You boys getting rusty?”
Sam sighed.
“Bobby, he’s pretty sick. It didn’t wear away after we burned her.”
Bobby sighed.
“I’ll break out the books,” he said laboriously.
“Thanks.”
He heard a mumbling about having to work during holidays and then the line went blank.
Sam shut his eyes for a moment and took a breath, trying to ease some of the tension from his shoulders. He knew he should be out there with Dean, taking care of him, but the truth was that he didn’t know how.
It wasn’t like he had the flu, and even if he did, Dean was the one who usually did the caring.
When he stepped back into the room, Dean was exactly as Sam had left him, lying basically spread eagle on the bed on top of the covers, his eyes closed, and breath shallow.
He watched him for a moment, looking so vulnerable and wondered what would happen if they were attacked when Dean was like this. It wasn’t a secret that luck was basically never on their side, in fact now that he’d thought of it Sam half expected it.
With a sigh he sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed and pressed his palm against his forehead. His skin felt hot now, and with his hand against his brother’s skin like this he could feel the gentle shivering.
He pulled the covers from his own bed and wrapped them around Dean coming close to tucking him in before he realized that might be a little too weird. When he looked up again Dean was watching him.
A soft smile touched his lips as he took Sam in. Not the kind he’d given before that was simply meant to reassure his brother, but a real one that lifted the corners of his mouth and made his eyes glint even if it was subtle.
“Getting ready for the ball, Rapunzel?” he asked.
Sam frowned. There were a lot of things to be said to that question but Sam could only register one.
“Rapunzel doesn’t go to a ball,” he said.
Dean frowned at him hazily.
“But she has the hair, right?”
Sam leaned down, pressing his hand to Dean’s skin again.
“How do you feel?” he asked, but Dean didn’t answer, instead reaching up.
He did it slowly as though not quite sure where it was going. For a moment Sam thought Dean was going to press his hand to his cheek in that loving way people did in movies.
His heart skipped awkwardly but Dean just reached past and brushed his fingers into Sam’s hair.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked quietly but Dean drew back his hand, strands of shimmering silver and blue in his fingers.
Tinsel.
Sam’s jaw dropped and he remembered falling into Mrs. Arnold’s tree with a groan. He reached up to run a hand through his hair but Dean stopped him.
“It looks pretty,” he said, his soft smile returning. “Kinda girly, but…”
He reached up, touching Sam’s hair again. This time he didn’t pull any of the shiny strands from his hair, just touched it.
“We don’t have a Christmas tree, so we kinda need some decorations in here.”
Sam shook his head but couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips.
“Always joking Dean…”
Dean shook his head softly, his eyes starting to droop.
“I’m not joking,” he said. “I like it.”
His hand fell from Sam’s hair and for a while he just watched Sam, his eyes fluttering sleepily. When they finally fell closed Sam did the only thing he could think of.
He pulled off everything but his boxers and t-shirt and climbed into bed next to Dean, giving him warmth.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam when his large arms wrapped around him but otherwise didn’t move.
If his brother had been anymore conscious at all Sam knew he would put up a fight but right now Sam only assumed that he physically couldn’t.
Pressed this close to Dean’s side, Sam could feel the soft tremors running through his body.
Dean turn his face toward Sam’s warmth and softly pressed his face into Sam’s long, tinseled hair, breathing deeply.
“Dean?” Sam asked stiffly.
When he didn’t answer Sam relaxed his head on the pillow half of his face tucked over Dean’s.
He could only hope that Dean would be better by the morning because he would never live this down. In the meantime he squeezed Dean tightly and waited for the shaking to stop.
End
Tinsel
Sam was thrown backward, smashing with the loud sound of glass balls breaking into the lovely and impeccably decorated Christmas tree. He heard Mrs. Arnold scream as he crashed to the floor and had the strong suspicion that it had more to do with the Christmas tree being wrecked than with Sam getting hurled around by a ghost.
“Sammy!” Dean’s voice shocked him back to awareness just as Dean swung Iron through the Spirit standing menacingly over him.
She was there an instant later behind Dean, her fist swinging out so fast that Sam wasn’t even on his feet yet when Dean paled.
Deborah Small was no longer the lovely young woman she’d been in life. Her entire form when she appeared looked tortured, and slightly past the edge of sanity. It was understandable for someone who’d had all of her children murdered but Sam didn’t have the room for pity at the moment.
Sam yanked the Iron poker from Dean’s grip as he was forced to his knees and swung it swiftly through the spirit. She vanished and Dean drew in a short choked breath before she was there again, her hand in his chest like it had never left.
A strangled noise rushed through Dean’s throat and in a haze Sam swung through her immaterial body but again a moment later she was there like she’d never left. She’d chosen Dean to go first and Sam realized with a gut wrenching certainty that she wouldn’t stop until he died just how her children had.
“The book,” Dean gasped. Sam didn’t know how he did it with a fist in his lungs but Dean was right.
He dove for the photo album, spraying it with salt and dropping a lighter to it without lifting it from the floor.
It was barely burning. Why wasn’t it burning?
Dean gasped a hoarse strangled noise that tore from his throat and cursing, Sam remembered. His body taking over he dropped next to the album, smashing his cheap lighter against the book, letting it break open and flare the small fire to life, burning his fingers.
He heard Deborah Small vanish, the sizzling and startled whoosh of air and turned to find Dean laying unconscious on the floor.
“Dean!” He was at his side instantly, on his knees, his fingers searching for a pulse.
His brother’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at Sam for a moment, eyes dilated with pain.
“You kill the bitch?” he asked.
Sam nodded.
Dean tried to grin but it was just for show. For Sam.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll tell you, she’s definitely not a milf anymore.”
Sam smiled at the reference to his brother’s earlier joke. When he’d said it earlier today Sam had just rolled his eyes but right now pretending it was funny was the least he could do.
“Think you can walk?” he asked.
Dean’s answer was cut off by a loud rushing sound behind him. For a split second Sam thought it was the spirit back again and then he realized what it was.
He glanced back at Mrs. Arnold who was standing disheveled in the middle of her living room with a fire extinguisher in her hands and a whole pile of foam and charred carpet decorating the rest of the place.
She looked at Sam and Dean shakily.
“You set my house on fire,” she said simply.
Sam grimaced.
“It had to be done,” he said.
She opened her mouth to respond but a little face peeked around the kitchen door.
“Mom?”
“Kevin, I told you to stay in your room!” she snapped.
The boy flinched but didn’t move as she turned back on the brothers.
“What about that?” she demanded gesturing to the Christmas tree laying flat on its side, broken ornaments adorning the floor around it.
“It’s Christmas eve! What am I supposed to tell my family when they get here in the morning?”
Sam sighed and slid his arm carefully under Dean’s shoulders, lifting him up.
Dean staggered a little as he came to his feet and then slumped his weight against Sam wordlessly.
“How about you tell them that you’re still alive?”
Dean rode to the hotel slumped against the passenger door, his eyes closed. Sam could see him sweating but when he touched Dean’s skin it felt cold.
The only thing he could think of was calling poison control. Deborah Small’s children had been poisoned with
Rat poison then she had done the same to her husband for revenge before killing herself.
Sam knew all the tired details but even before he could reach for his phone he knew there would be no point.
None of the spirit’s other victims had had traces of anything in their blood. It was a mystery to all how the other families had gotten so ill that they’d dropped dead in a day.
But still. If it was just a phantom poison, why had it lasted past the ghost’s demise?
When he finally parked the car outside the Queenside Inn Dean was shaking.
Sam pulled open the door that Dean leaned against gently, expecting to wake him but Dean just slid.
Sam caught him, alarm running through him at the lack of response.
“Dean, come on,” he whispered. “We’ve dealt with a lot worse than her. You cant let some ghost gank you.”
Dean frowned, his brows creasing ever so slightly.
“Mm just tired,” he muttered.
“Come on.”
He hoisted an arm over his shoulders and pulled Dean from the car.
“Five more minutes,” Dean murmured.
Sam grit his teeth and just forced Dean on, trying to keep him from slipping on the snow. He didn’t want to admit how scary it was to have Dean leaning on him so much. His brother’s weight pushing almost fully against him for support wasn’t anything he thought he’d ever felt before. Even with everything that had happened between them and to them… sure Dean had put his life in Sam’s hand more times than he could count, but he’d never really felt it. Not like this anyway.
He barely made it to the bed when Dean dropped into it. Of course he dropped on the wrong way and lay there, letting Sam pull and push him into the right position on the covers and making little noises that Sam assumed were supposed to be grumblings but came out a lot more like little sighs.
He pulled out his phone, speed dialing Bobby while he pulled Dean’s boots off and kicked off his own.
“Sam,” Bobby said gruffly from the other end. “I was wondering when you boys’d call to wish a happy
Christmas.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, caught off guard. “Merry Christmas Bobby.”
“So, when’ll you be getting here?”
“Uh, about that, I’m not so sure we’ll make it.”
There was a long pause.
“What happened now?”
“Dean’s sick,” he said softly. “He got poisoned by that vengeful spirit.”
“The one that kills on Christmas Eve?” he asked incredulously. “It was just a vengeful spirit Sam! You boys getting rusty?”
Sam sighed.
“Bobby, he’s pretty sick. It didn’t wear away after we burned her.”
Bobby sighed.
“I’ll break out the books,” he said laboriously.
“Thanks.”
He heard a mumbling about having to work during holidays and then the line went blank.
Sam shut his eyes for a moment and took a breath, trying to ease some of the tension from his shoulders. He knew he should be out there with Dean, taking care of him, but the truth was that he didn’t know how.
It wasn’t like he had the flu, and even if he did, Dean was the one who usually did the caring.
When he stepped back into the room, Dean was exactly as Sam had left him, lying basically spread eagle on the bed on top of the covers, his eyes closed, and breath shallow.
He watched him for a moment, looking so vulnerable and wondered what would happen if they were attacked when Dean was like this. It wasn’t a secret that luck was basically never on their side, in fact now that he’d thought of it Sam half expected it.
With a sigh he sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed and pressed his palm against his forehead. His skin felt hot now, and with his hand against his brother’s skin like this he could feel the gentle shivering.
He pulled the covers from his own bed and wrapped them around Dean coming close to tucking him in before he realized that might be a little too weird. When he looked up again Dean was watching him.
A soft smile touched his lips as he took Sam in. Not the kind he’d given before that was simply meant to reassure his brother, but a real one that lifted the corners of his mouth and made his eyes glint even if it was subtle.
“Getting ready for the ball, Rapunzel?” he asked.
Sam frowned. There were a lot of things to be said to that question but Sam could only register one.
“Rapunzel doesn’t go to a ball,” he said.
Dean frowned at him hazily.
“But she has the hair, right?”
Sam leaned down, pressing his hand to Dean’s skin again.
“How do you feel?” he asked, but Dean didn’t answer, instead reaching up.
He did it slowly as though not quite sure where it was going. For a moment Sam thought Dean was going to press his hand to his cheek in that loving way people did in movies.
His heart skipped awkwardly but Dean just reached past and brushed his fingers into Sam’s hair.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked quietly but Dean drew back his hand, strands of shimmering silver and blue in his fingers.
Tinsel.
Sam’s jaw dropped and he remembered falling into Mrs. Arnold’s tree with a groan. He reached up to run a hand through his hair but Dean stopped him.
“It looks pretty,” he said, his soft smile returning. “Kinda girly, but…”
He reached up, touching Sam’s hair again. This time he didn’t pull any of the shiny strands from his hair, just touched it.
“We don’t have a Christmas tree, so we kinda need some decorations in here.”
Sam shook his head but couldn’t help the smile that touched his lips.
“Always joking Dean…”
Dean shook his head softly, his eyes starting to droop.
“I’m not joking,” he said. “I like it.”
His hand fell from Sam’s hair and for a while he just watched Sam, his eyes fluttering sleepily. When they finally fell closed Sam did the only thing he could think of.
He pulled off everything but his boxers and t-shirt and climbed into bed next to Dean, giving him warmth.
Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam when his large arms wrapped around him but otherwise didn’t move.
If his brother had been anymore conscious at all Sam knew he would put up a fight but right now Sam only assumed that he physically couldn’t.
Pressed this close to Dean’s side, Sam could feel the soft tremors running through his body.
Dean turn his face toward Sam’s warmth and softly pressed his face into Sam’s long, tinseled hair, breathing deeply.
“Dean?” Sam asked stiffly.
When he didn’t answer Sam relaxed his head on the pillow half of his face tucked over Dean’s.
He could only hope that Dean would be better by the morning because he would never live this down. In the meantime he squeezed Dean tightly and waited for the shaking to stop.
End