Got Your Back, Gen, PG
Title: Got Your Back
Author: starrylizard
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, PG
Word count: 1400 or so
Characters: Sam and Dean (at various ages)
Summary: The brothers are always there for each other.
Notes: I'm not sure this one hangs together as well as it could, but I've been staring at it for a week now and it's not helping, so I'm just going to post it. Kindly beta-read by celtic_sky. All remaining mistakes are mine, but I’ll blame her for them anyway. :P Comments and con crit. always welcome.
“Dean?” The small voice carried across the playground.
Dean stilled in his play with the other ten-year-old boys interrupting their wrestling for a football on the grass. His head snapped about to pinpoint the voice - a voice that sounded tentative, possibly scared - and he stood, releasing the football and brushing his hands on his pants as he jogged over to his little brother.
Sam stood to the side, bouncing uncomfortably on the balls of his feet as he eyed off the bigger boys uneasily. Dean smiled and clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What is it, Sammy?”
“I can’t undo these and I have to go.” Sam spoke quietly for Dean’s ears only, desperation making his voice a gentle whine as he fingered the clasps that held up his overalls.
Dean rolled his eyes, pushing his brother on ahead of him as he strode toward the boys' bathroom. “Back in minute, guys,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You’re all kinds of trouble, Sammy,” he griped to his brother, but his voice only held amusement as he watched Sam try to walk quickly while holding his knees together.
“I gotta go, Dean.”
“Come on, Sammy. We’re almost there.”
Inside he undid the clasps for his brother, laughing hysterically as he cajoled him through the stall door. “Should've seen your face, Bro. And that duck walk. Classic!”
He wiped the tears from his eyes as Sam emerged, face flushed with embarrassment, and Dean did the clasps back up without Sam even asking.
“You right now, Sammy?”
“Yeah.” Sam toed the floor with his little trainers, then looked up into his brother’s face. “Thanks, Dean.”
“Yeah. Whatever, Sammy.” Dean gave his little brother a push, but he kept an eye on his brother's progress as he scuttled safely back to the little kids’ part of the playground.
He stayed standing where he was, shading his eyes against the sun until he couldn’t see Sam anymore, and then he jogged back to the game.
Dad said that it was his job to look after Sammy and keep him safe when he couldn’t be around, but he would have done it anyway. He had his brother’s back, because that’s what big brothers do.
OoooO
Dean heard the swish of something through the air. That small warning and his father’s training were the only reasons he dodged to the side at all, the punch glancing painfully off his shoulder instead of knocking him out cold.
Then they were on him. And boy, did he regret swindling those idiot kids now.
He’d stumbled on them between classes: a few sullen teenagers, all of them were a couple of years his junior and trying to look cool. They were hanging out behind the boys’ bathrooms - cigarettes hanging limply from their mouths, pocket money on the line as they doled out the playing cards like they had a clue about playing poker - and Dean had instantly known the type. He’d recognised an easy swindle, grinned suavely at the boy in charge and flashed the small bit of cash he had on him as if it were nothing to him if he lost it. He’d been instantly accepted.
Now, he fought on instinct alone, as his brain struggled to catch up with the situation. One minute he was walking back to the trailer park on a quiet night, the next… The guy that had hit him from behind was only the beginning as more of them emerged, bats swinging. These boys weren’t all younger than Dean either.
He swung out, and then tackled one kid to the ground before rolling to the side to avoid a kick, then he was springing back into the action, trying to minimize the energy he expended and still keep moving.
He could hear his Dad’s voice, droning away in his this-is-important-stuff tone of voice. ‘Keep them all blocking each other, so they can’t all attack you at once. Remember, it’s not an action movie and whether they’re thugs or demonic hell-spawn, they aren’t going to stand around in a neat circle and politely take turns.’ …But Dean definitely didn’t think he was winning this one as another bat swung out too fast for him, glancing off his chin as he stumbled backward.
That’s when he heard it - heard him.
And who knew an eleven-year-old could make such a racket?
Sam came around the corner, took in the scene and screamed bloody murder. He sounded kind of like Tarzan and, somewhere in Dean’s woozy thoughts, he decided he’d have to rib him for that later.
But it was Sammy who never missed a beat. He never hesitated for a second, between seeing his brother in trouble - seeing Dean knocked down on his knees, blood dripping from his chin, surrounded by wannabe teenage gang members - and swinging his heavy book bag like deadly weapon, thumping it into anyone that came too close. The noise it made was a satisfying whump-thud, and the book bag deflected fist and bat alike as Sammy made his kamikaze run of a rescue mission.
“Dean. Come on, get up! We gotta go!”
Dean would never forget it as long as he lived.
Little Sammy, standing in front of him protectively with his bag still swinging. Sammy, sporting an impressive scowl, hair flying wildly in his face, green eyes gleaming defiance, while the older boys stood back warily and just let them leave.
At that moment Dean had never felt so proud or scared for his brother, and he’d never felt like such an idiot. It was then he realised that, while he always looked out for Sammy, Sammy looked out for his big brother too.
OoooO
Dean ducked to the side as a large book whistled past his head. “Incoming,” he warned. Sam muttered a curse as he tossed the book back out of the hole he was digging.
“Found it yet?”
Sam’s head peered out over the edge of the hole, as he straightened and stretched, rolling his eyes at his brother. “I’m digging as fast as I can, dude. You want a turn?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just dig faster. Seriously, dude, this bitch is getting on my nerves.”
“Get down, Dean!”
Dean hit the deck as a tray of cutlery went flying over his head, forks and knives embedding themselves into the opposite wall. Damn, he’d only turned around for a second.
Dean bounced back to his feet and let off a shot at the annoying little poltergeist, causing her to once again shimmer out of existence, powdered rock salt marking where she had just been. Her annoying giggle echoed around the room before she reappeared to their left. This time a broom set sail and Dean was forced to skip to the right, almost tumbling into the hole before he caught his balance.
They’d set up concentric salt lines within the haunted hotel’s store room, one around the dig site and Sam and another one a little further out - inside which Dean stood with the shotgun. Unfortunately, while the salt lines stopped the little girl’s spirit from getting close enough to push the brothers around physically, it didn’t stop her from throwing objects into the circles… and she seemed to be enjoying doing just that.
“Got it!” Sam crowed triumphantly as he popped up and clambered out of the hole, already reaching for the salt and fuel that would finish the job.
Dean didn’t answer, busy deflecting a chair that had most definitely been aimed to knock his little brother’s head off. Sam didn’t even duck, trusting his brother to deal with it.
He struck and dropped the match, and the little girl’s ghost gave a last scream before flickering out of existence for the final time. Cold flames flickered along her non-corporeal body with its white dress and blood stained teddy bear, mirroring the heat that now devoured her bones.
With matching grins, Sam and Dean slapped each other on the back and sat down to watch the flames die down.
“You’re so digging next time, dude.”
Dean looked around at the mess. “Sure, you can have flying-fork-deflection duty next time. Really, I’m fine with that.”
“We make a good team still. Dad would be proud.”
“What did I say about the chick-flick moments, dude? Seriously!” Dean grimaced and slapped Sam up the back of his head as Sam batted him away, both laughing.
Some days, it felt like they’d never been apart.
Author: starrylizard
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, PG
Word count: 1400 or so
Characters: Sam and Dean (at various ages)
Summary: The brothers are always there for each other.
Notes: I'm not sure this one hangs together as well as it could, but I've been staring at it for a week now and it's not helping, so I'm just going to post it. Kindly beta-read by celtic_sky. All remaining mistakes are mine, but I’ll blame her for them anyway. :P Comments and con crit. always welcome.
“Dean?” The small voice carried across the playground.
Dean stilled in his play with the other ten-year-old boys interrupting their wrestling for a football on the grass. His head snapped about to pinpoint the voice - a voice that sounded tentative, possibly scared - and he stood, releasing the football and brushing his hands on his pants as he jogged over to his little brother.
Sam stood to the side, bouncing uncomfortably on the balls of his feet as he eyed off the bigger boys uneasily. Dean smiled and clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “What is it, Sammy?”
“I can’t undo these and I have to go.” Sam spoke quietly for Dean’s ears only, desperation making his voice a gentle whine as he fingered the clasps that held up his overalls.
Dean rolled his eyes, pushing his brother on ahead of him as he strode toward the boys' bathroom. “Back in minute, guys,” he yelled over his shoulder. “You’re all kinds of trouble, Sammy,” he griped to his brother, but his voice only held amusement as he watched Sam try to walk quickly while holding his knees together.
“I gotta go, Dean.”
“Come on, Sammy. We’re almost there.”
Inside he undid the clasps for his brother, laughing hysterically as he cajoled him through the stall door. “Should've seen your face, Bro. And that duck walk. Classic!”
He wiped the tears from his eyes as Sam emerged, face flushed with embarrassment, and Dean did the clasps back up without Sam even asking.
“You right now, Sammy?”
“Yeah.” Sam toed the floor with his little trainers, then looked up into his brother’s face. “Thanks, Dean.”
“Yeah. Whatever, Sammy.” Dean gave his little brother a push, but he kept an eye on his brother's progress as he scuttled safely back to the little kids’ part of the playground.
He stayed standing where he was, shading his eyes against the sun until he couldn’t see Sam anymore, and then he jogged back to the game.
Dad said that it was his job to look after Sammy and keep him safe when he couldn’t be around, but he would have done it anyway. He had his brother’s back, because that’s what big brothers do.
OoooO
Dean heard the swish of something through the air. That small warning and his father’s training were the only reasons he dodged to the side at all, the punch glancing painfully off his shoulder instead of knocking him out cold.
Then they were on him. And boy, did he regret swindling those idiot kids now.
He’d stumbled on them between classes: a few sullen teenagers, all of them were a couple of years his junior and trying to look cool. They were hanging out behind the boys’ bathrooms - cigarettes hanging limply from their mouths, pocket money on the line as they doled out the playing cards like they had a clue about playing poker - and Dean had instantly known the type. He’d recognised an easy swindle, grinned suavely at the boy in charge and flashed the small bit of cash he had on him as if it were nothing to him if he lost it. He’d been instantly accepted.
Now, he fought on instinct alone, as his brain struggled to catch up with the situation. One minute he was walking back to the trailer park on a quiet night, the next… The guy that had hit him from behind was only the beginning as more of them emerged, bats swinging. These boys weren’t all younger than Dean either.
He swung out, and then tackled one kid to the ground before rolling to the side to avoid a kick, then he was springing back into the action, trying to minimize the energy he expended and still keep moving.
He could hear his Dad’s voice, droning away in his this-is-important-stuff tone of voice. ‘Keep them all blocking each other, so they can’t all attack you at once. Remember, it’s not an action movie and whether they’re thugs or demonic hell-spawn, they aren’t going to stand around in a neat circle and politely take turns.’ …But Dean definitely didn’t think he was winning this one as another bat swung out too fast for him, glancing off his chin as he stumbled backward.
That’s when he heard it - heard him.
And who knew an eleven-year-old could make such a racket?
Sam came around the corner, took in the scene and screamed bloody murder. He sounded kind of like Tarzan and, somewhere in Dean’s woozy thoughts, he decided he’d have to rib him for that later.
But it was Sammy who never missed a beat. He never hesitated for a second, between seeing his brother in trouble - seeing Dean knocked down on his knees, blood dripping from his chin, surrounded by wannabe teenage gang members - and swinging his heavy book bag like deadly weapon, thumping it into anyone that came too close. The noise it made was a satisfying whump-thud, and the book bag deflected fist and bat alike as Sammy made his kamikaze run of a rescue mission.
“Dean. Come on, get up! We gotta go!”
Dean would never forget it as long as he lived.
Little Sammy, standing in front of him protectively with his bag still swinging. Sammy, sporting an impressive scowl, hair flying wildly in his face, green eyes gleaming defiance, while the older boys stood back warily and just let them leave.
At that moment Dean had never felt so proud or scared for his brother, and he’d never felt like such an idiot. It was then he realised that, while he always looked out for Sammy, Sammy looked out for his big brother too.
OoooO
Dean ducked to the side as a large book whistled past his head. “Incoming,” he warned. Sam muttered a curse as he tossed the book back out of the hole he was digging.
“Found it yet?”
Sam’s head peered out over the edge of the hole, as he straightened and stretched, rolling his eyes at his brother. “I’m digging as fast as I can, dude. You want a turn?”
“Nah, I’m good. Just dig faster. Seriously, dude, this bitch is getting on my nerves.”
“Get down, Dean!”
Dean hit the deck as a tray of cutlery went flying over his head, forks and knives embedding themselves into the opposite wall. Damn, he’d only turned around for a second.
Dean bounced back to his feet and let off a shot at the annoying little poltergeist, causing her to once again shimmer out of existence, powdered rock salt marking where she had just been. Her annoying giggle echoed around the room before she reappeared to their left. This time a broom set sail and Dean was forced to skip to the right, almost tumbling into the hole before he caught his balance.
They’d set up concentric salt lines within the haunted hotel’s store room, one around the dig site and Sam and another one a little further out - inside which Dean stood with the shotgun. Unfortunately, while the salt lines stopped the little girl’s spirit from getting close enough to push the brothers around physically, it didn’t stop her from throwing objects into the circles… and she seemed to be enjoying doing just that.
“Got it!” Sam crowed triumphantly as he popped up and clambered out of the hole, already reaching for the salt and fuel that would finish the job.
Dean didn’t answer, busy deflecting a chair that had most definitely been aimed to knock his little brother’s head off. Sam didn’t even duck, trusting his brother to deal with it.
He struck and dropped the match, and the little girl’s ghost gave a last scream before flickering out of existence for the final time. Cold flames flickered along her non-corporeal body with its white dress and blood stained teddy bear, mirroring the heat that now devoured her bones.
With matching grins, Sam and Dean slapped each other on the back and sat down to watch the flames die down.
“You’re so digging next time, dude.”
Dean looked around at the mess. “Sure, you can have flying-fork-deflection duty next time. Really, I’m fine with that.”
“We make a good team still. Dad would be proud.”
“What did I say about the chick-flick moments, dude? Seriously!” Dean grimaced and slapped Sam up the back of his head as Sam batted him away, both laughing.
Some days, it felt like they’d never been apart.