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Dec. 31st, 2008

Supernatural Christmas Songs

 I started off with one poem for a contest, then just had so much fun with it that I decided to do more. So here they all are! At least all the ones I've written so far. I might do more.

It’s the Most Horrible Time of the Year


(To be sung to the tune of It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year)


It’s the most horrible time of the year.

Your kids replaced with changelings,

And playing with dead things,

‘Zat Latin I hear?

It’s the most horrible time of the year!

It’s the fug-fugliest season of all!

With those friggin’ apple pies and scary poltergeists,

When dead people call,

It’s the fug-fugliest season of all!


There’ll be corpses for burning,

Werewolves that are turning,

And sacrifices to scarecrows.

There’ll be demons and angels,

Knife wounds that are painful,

And aliens dancing real slow.


It’s the most horrible time of the year.

There’ll be tricksters and zombies,

And death by Christmas trees,

No the boys are not queer!

It’s the most horrible time of the year!


There’ll be corpses for burning,

Werewolves that are turning,

And sacrifices to scarecrows.

There’ll be demons and angels,

Knife wounds that are painful,

And aliens dancing real slow.


It’s the most horrible time of the year.

There’ll be tricksters and zombies,

And death by Christmas trees,

No the boys are not queer!

It’s the most horrible time

It’s the most horrible time

Oh the most horrible time…of the year!

Deck The Halls

Deck the halls with creepy doll-ies,

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Drink spiked eggnog and be jolly,

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Please stay safe and out of peril,

 Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la.

Dean and Sam sing off-tune carols,

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.


Psychics can read minds so don’t cuss,

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Put up wreathes that scream, “Come eat us!”

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Dean must find the ghost sickness cure,

 Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

How much daytime TV can he endure?

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la


Dean looks for a knife of brass,

 Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

He runs away, almost falls on his ass,

  Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

No matter how harsh the weather,

 Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

Our boys can pull through together,

 Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!

Sam and Dean are Coming to Town


You don’t have to shout,

You don’t have to cry,

You don’t have to pout,

I’m telling you why.

Sam and Dean are coming to town.


They’re doing research,

And checking it twice,

If you’ve got some pie,

Dean will have a slice,

Sam and Dean are coming to town.


They guard you when you’re sleeping,

They’ll save you if you drown,

They brave all kinds of evil things,

Except for planes and clowns.


Oh, you don’t have to shout,

You don’t have to cry,

You don’t have to pout,

I’m telling you why.

Sam and Dean are coming to town.


Lilith the White-Eyed Demon

(Sung to the tune of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer)


You know Ipos and Amy,

And Berith and Vepar,

Foras and Amon,

And Mavet and Zepar.

But do you recall,

The most famous demon of all?


Lilith the white-eyed demon,

Had a very tiny host,

But if you ever saw her,

You would swear and say, “I’m toast.”


All of the other demons,

Never ever called her names.

They wouldn’t want young Lilith,

Playing gruesome demon games.


When the apocalypse arrived,

Satan came to say,

Lilith with your eyes so white,

Will you destroy the Earth tonight?


Then all the demons feared her,

And they shouted anguished pleas,

“Lilith the white-eyed demon,

You’ll go down in history!”

The Twelve Days of Christmas Supernatural Style


On the first day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

A stake from an evergreen tree.


On the second day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the third day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the fourth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the fifth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the sixth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the seventh day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Seven Glocks a’shooting,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the eighth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Eight tasers a’shocking,

Seven Glocks a’shooting,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the ninth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Nine vampires biting,

Eight tasers a’shocking,

Seven Glocks a’shooting,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the tenth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Ten corpses rotting,

Nine vampires biting,

Eight tasers a’shocking,

Seven Glocks a’shooting,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the eleventh day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Eleven angels smiting,

Ten corpses rotting,

Nine vampires biting,

Eight tasers a’shocking,

Seven Glocks a’shooting,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.


On the twelfth day of Christmas,

My true love gave to me,

Twelve shtrigas feeding,

Eleven angels smiting,

Ten corpses rotting,

Nine vampires biting,

Eight tasers a’shocking,

Seven Glocks a’shooting,

Six bombs exploding,

Five silver knives,

Four black lights,

Three flare guns,

Two bags of salt,

And a stake from an evergreen tree.

Supernatural Ride

(To the tune of Sleigh Ride)



Just hear those werewolves howling,

Yow-yow-yowling too,

Come on, it’s lovely weather

For a ghost hunt together with you.

The boys are always brawling,

Jokes and name-calling, it’s true.

Come on, it’s lovely weather,

For a ghost hunt together with you.



Just run, just run, just run,

Let’s go, run from the scarecrow.

Just sprint away from the wendigo.

Just run, just run, just run,

Come on, Sam, Dean and John.

Do a salt and burn, your turn,

Let’s go, let’s get a move on.



Our neck wounds badly bleeding,

The vampires feeding, oh no.

The ghost sickness gets worse

And the land is cursed, let’s go!

Let’s do some exorcising,

Witnesses are rising, it’s true.

Come on, it’s lovely weather

For a ghost hunt together with you.



There’s a birthday party

At the haunted Morton House.

Maggie’s scared of ghosts

And Harry’s scared of a dead mouse.

We’ll be driving the Impala

Through the night without a stop.

When we find the werewolf, we shoot

With silver bullets. Pop, pop, pop!



There’s a happy feeling

Nothing in the world can buy,

When a demon steps into

A devils’ trap. Bye-bye.

It’ll nearly be like a picture print,

When everyone survives.

These wonderful things are the things

We remember all through our lives!

These wonderful things are the things

We remember all through our lives!



Just hear those werewolves howling,

Yow-yow-yowling too,

Come on, it’s lovely weather

For a ghost hunt together with you.

The boys are always brawling,

Jokes and name-calling, it’s true.

Come on, it’s lovely weather,

For a ghost hunt together with you.



Just run, just run, just run,

Let’s go, run from the scarecrow.

Just sprint away from the wendigo.

Just run, just run, just run,

Come on, Sam, Dean and John.

Do a salt and burn, your turn,

Let’s go, let’s get a move on.



Our neck wounds badly bleeding,

The vampires feeding, oh no.

The ghost sickness gets worse

And the land is cursed, let’s go!

Let’s do some exorcising,

Witnesses are rising, it’s true.

Come on, it’s lovely weather

For a ghost hunt together with you.

The Night Before Christmas


‘Twas the night before Christmas, and in the motel,

Two young men were sleeping, worn out, you could tell.

The boys had swapped gifts, things that would be quite handy.

Porn, shaving cream, motor oil, and candy.


Christmas for these boys was not normal, you see.

They did not hang up stockings or cut down a tree.

These boys, Dean and Sam, had killed two Pagan Gods.

They had nearly been killed, but had defied the odds.


Sam had thought back to early memories.

He remembered his brother, how he used to tease.

Sam had asked Dean questions; what happened to their mother?

He recalled that ninth Christmas, harsh words from his brother.


When Dean had come back, Sam had showed him John’s book.

Dean yelled and got mad when Sam said he’d looked.

When Sam asked his brother, “Are monsters real?”

Dean hated what he knew he had to reveal.


Dean told his young brother of spirits and ghosts,

Of demons and creatures, and of hunting he boasts.

He says, “Dad’s a hero. He saves people’s lives.

Dad fights evil monsters and always survives.”


But young Sammy was scared and got angry at this.

Monsters were real and evil exists?

What of the monster that had killed their mother?

It could kill John or Sammy, or even his brother.


Yet Dean told his brother he’d always protect him.

He’d stay by his side and no evil would get him.

Sam went to sleep crying and Dean was distressed.

He put on his shoes and left, on a quest.


When Sam later woke, he was shocked to see,

Some Christmas presents and even a tree.

Dean told his brother that their dad had been there.

But Sam knew Dean had had Christmas prepared.


When Sam opened his presents, it seemed way too…pink.

Sam stared at his brother. “You stole these, I think.”

Dean admitted he had and Sam handed to him,

The gift for their father, with newspaper trim.

Dean objected, Sam persisted, and Dean opened it.

He held in his hand an antique amulet.

“I love it,” Dean said, his voice very soft.

And from that day forward, it never came off.


So from monsters to demons, if ever there’s danger,

They will help a friend, or even a stranger.

But no stockings are hung during their Christmas.

They’re just as happy grinding evil to dust.



(Sung to the tune of Jingle Bells)


Speeding down the road,

In a four-door hard-top car,

Down the street she goes,

Admired from afar.

The black paint really shines,

Making people smile,

What fun it is to grin and sing

Bon Jovi songs tonight.


Metallicar, Metallicar,

Purring, she drives far,

Oh what fun it is to drive

In a four-door hard-top car.

Metallicar, Metallicar,

Purring, she drives far,

Oh what fun it is to drive

In a four-door hard-top car.


Driving really fast,

To the hospital we go,

Now the danger’s passed,

But John’s bleeding, I know.

Sam still has the Colt,

One bullet left inside,

A great big crash and one big jolt,

John Winchester, he died.


Metallicar, Metallicar,

Purring, she drives far,

Oh what fun it is to drive

In a four-door hard-top car.

Metallicar, Metallicar,

Purring, she drives far,

Oh what fun it is to drive

In a four-door hard-top car.


Supernatural Land


Banshees scream, are you listening.

In your dream, blood is glistening.

A horrible sight,

Changelings are tonight,

Walking in a supernatural land.


EVP, that’s what we heard,

Vengeful ghosts, that’s not absurd.

Dean sees a girl’s thong,

As she strolls along,

Walking in a supernatural land.


In the junkyard Dean will work on his car,

And pretend that he is really fine.

Sam will say he’s not, everything’s FUBAR,

And you know Sammy,

He can really whine.


They need suits, slick attires.

They must be, quite good liars.

To be NSA,

And then sprint away,

Walking in a supernatural land.


In the Roadhouse Ash builds a computer.

Sam and Dean, they hunt for killer clowns.

When they find Azazel, Dean’s the shooter.

The bullet hits his head and he goes down.


Dean is scared of a small cat.

Run away? He can do that.

Yellow in Sam’s eyes,

His mouth spouting lies,

Walking in a supernatural land.


Walking in a supernatural land.

Walking in a supernatural land.


Ruby the Demon


Ruby the demon is a bitchy, slutty soul,

With a low-cut top and a special knife,

And two eyes as black as coals.


Ruby the demon is a good demon they say.

She was sent to Hell and down there she dwelled,

‘Til she came to Earth one day.


There’s got to be much magic in that

Ancient knife she’s got.

For when it stabs a demon’s host,

It’s dead right on the spot.


O, Ruby the demon,

Was a human long ago.

She had been a witch, then she’d tried to ditch,

And was sent way down below.


Stabbity stab stab,

Stabbity stab stab,

Look at Ruby go!

Stabbity stab stab,

Stabbity stab stab,

Into their chests and throats!


Ruby the demon knew

About Sam’s psychic skills.

So she said, “Let’s train,

We’ll work through the pain,

That’s enough whiskey refills.”


She trapped some demons,

And they purged or killed each one.

The demons were jerks,

And it took some work,

But Sam exorcised a ton.


When Dean returned and then he learned,

What Sam had done with her,

He said it was a slippery slope,

To hunted from hunter.


Ruby the demon

Left Sam for a little while.

She had said to Sam,

“You know what I am.

Angels think I’m wholly vile.”


Stabbity stab stab,

Stabbity stab stab,

Look at Ruby go!

Stabbity stab stab,

Stabbity stab stab,

Into their chests and throats!


A Monster Is

 A one-shot drabbly thing I thought up bored at 4:15 AM. Just thought it’d be cool. L8rs!

Reviews are like chocolate!

A Monster Is

                  Sam Winchester sat at his desk, staring at his assignment sheet from his 7th grade history teacher. He wished it would disappear into thin air. Poof. The assignment was, taking into account Adolf Hitler’s impact on the world, his monstrous behavior as a dictator, and the overall impact of World War II, what is a monster?

                  Sam sat. Thinking. Thinking. Thinking. Usually he’d brainstorm on paper to look back at his ideas, organize his train of thought, but this time…this time he just…wrote.

A Monster Is:

Written by Samuel Winchester

                  If you ask three blind men to feel an elephant and tell you what it is, the one who feels a leg says the elephant is a pillar, the one who feels the tail says the elephant is a rope, the one who feels the trunk says the elephant is a tree branch. If you ask people, “What is a monster?” you will get a similar response, just not because they are looking at different parts of the same monster. Most can agree, when a true monster makes itself known that it is indeed a monster. You will get different responses because some may give you different traits or qualities that they consider to be monstrous and may doubt whether a monster is in fact monster at all when faced with one.

                  In World War II, Adolf Hitler's bid for territorial conquest and racial subjugation caused the deaths of 43 million people, including the methodical genocide of upwards of six million Jews as well as further "undesirables" in what is known as the Holocaust. He created death camps, for human beings to work themselves to death, the worst of which was Auschwitz, a camp that had the slogan over the entrance, “Work will set you free.” And when they did not work themselves to death, they were systematically killed off, by the tens, hundreds, thousands, until bodies of people that had been breathing, speaking, laughing, crying, just a short time before lay defeated and broken, dead, in mass graves.

                  If that is not a monster, then I don’t know what is.

A Prisoner

 A Prisoner

                  I don’t know when it started. I’d woken up to realize that I was already awake. And so began my waking nightmare.

                  I was walking down the street in some of my casual clothes, shirt, jeans, sneakers. I tried to move my muscles. I couldn’t. I tried to look around. I couldn’t. I tried to scream. I couldn’t. I was a prisoner in my own body. And it took me days to finally accept that I wasn’t dreaming.

                  Days stretched into weeks, which stretched into months. Sometimes I was there, sometimes I wasn’t. I think I got so tired from being awake all the time that I would lose consciousness. But whatever was inside me wouldn’t stop. It hurt people. It killed people. I remember the feeling as a blade I clutched in my hand slid neatly into a man’s chest, blood rushing from the wound, sliding down my arm, as he collapsed to the ground.

                  I am a sixteen year old girl. And I want to die.

                  I remember a meeting between me and others in a forest. They spoke a different language, maybe Latin. All of their eyes were black, so I assumed that mine were too. That whatever was inside me was causing them to be black.

                  Finally, I’m not sure how much later, hope came. Alone in my motel room, the door swings open and two young men run inside. The scene progresses quickly, and I lose flashes of what’s happening. I remember growling horrible things at them, threatening them, saying things I would never say. I remember a choking sensation as water was poured down my throat. I think the water hurt whatever was inside me, because steam came from my mouth and it struggled violently.

                  Suddenly, I was tied to a chair, looking up at a symbol on the ceiling above me. The thing inside me is calm, as if it doesn’t feel it is in danger, but the two young men look cruel. They look like they want to hurt me. Fear bubbles up inside me. Are they here to help me or hurt me? I’m not sure. The emotions sparkling in their eyes sing of hate and loathing, but I see pity too.

I just want this nightmare to be over. To be finished. I want to be free. I want to say I’m sorry for the things I’ve done, though I wasn’t in control. I want to get the blood from underneath my fingernails, where it has sat for weeks. I want to reclaim my body as my own.

The taller one begins to recite something. Latin again I think. My body contorts and shakes fiercely as he progresses into what I can only assume is an exorcism. I’m soaking wet from the water they’ve been throwing on me, and slightly shivering from that as well. The chair moves back and forth on the ground with violent screeches. I catch bits and pieces of the words, unsure of their meaning but knowing in my heart that they will free me from this prison inside my own body.

My head is thrown back with a harsh force and a dark smoke is expelled from my mouth. My chin falls to my chest and after a couple of seconds I manage to cough.

Of my own free will.

I blink.

I move my muscles.

I look around.

I cry.

The two young men are suddenly at my side, untying the ropes that bind me as I continue to cry. As soon as I’m free, the taller of the two takes me into his arms and sits me on the ground. I curl into him, sobbing, my fingers interwoven in his shirt, tightly grasping what’s nearest to hold onto. I hear him speak to me softly as he rocks me, rubbing my back as my breaths come in shudders.

“Shhhh. It’s alright. You’re alright now, Delia. It’s gone. You’re safe.”

I keep my grip on his shirt tight, the closest thing I can get to safety. I cry for a few more minutes, then exhaustion sweeps in and I’m too tired to cry. I just lean against the safety of the young man who saved me.

“Sam, we gotta go. We don’t know if Brendan is coming to get her.”

Sam nods and looks down at me. “I’m going to carry you to the car, okay?”

I nod, my hold on his shirt remaining, as his arms go under my legs and shoulders, holding me tightly to his chest as he stands. We walk outside and I breathe slowly. In and out. In and out. I’m safe. It’s alright. It’s gone. I repeat his words to myself as he puts me in the car. I feel like a frightened child as he pulls away, assuming he’s sitting in the front, and I whimper.

“Please…” I whisper. “I don’t want to be alone.”

His eyes, which had before been full of hate and loathing, are now soft and gentle. He nods and motions for me to move over, which I do, and he slides into the car, closing the door. He pulls me up against him, putting his arm around me, and I curl up at his side, swallowing hard, and closing my eyes.

I sleep. I’m not sure for how long. No nightmares. I’m sure those will come later. For now, I think I’m too tired to remember dreams. When I wake up, Sam’s arm is still around me and I’m still against him. He’s awake and alert, looking out the window. I move my arm to wipe my tired eyes and he startles.

“Hey. How you doing?” he murmurs.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Where are we?”

“About half an hour from your house.”

My heart skips a beat and I look up to Sam with wide eyes. “Are they—?”

“They’re fine. Lucy’s fine, your mom and dad are fine. They’ve been worried about you.”

“How long has it been?” I whisper.

He hesitates. “Four months.”

I swallow. “Seems like longer.” We’re silent for a few moments. “All those things I did….”

“It wasn’t you,” he says, quietly but firmly.

“But the homicides will be investigated. Will I be charged?”

Sam is silent, almost surprised at my reasonable question. “Ah…no. No, we took care of that.”

I let out a long breath. “All right,” I murmur. I pause. “What do my parents think happened to me?”

“They don’t know. Dean and I posed as FBI agents on the case. We visited your parents and they were devastated but clueless. We’ve been looking for you and a few others for about three weeks.”

“The others….” My voice trails off. “There was a campfire….”

Dean turns around in his seat for the first time, the only sign that he’d been paying attention. “You remember?” he asks urgently.

I nod. “A little. I think. Is that important for tracking down the others?”

“We’ve got two more, so yea,” Dean said, turning back to the front. “Anything you remember, write down for us.”

“Delia?” I turn to Sam. “It’s important that you help us find these others, but don’t push yourself too hard, okay? These past four months have been really hard on you. But I don’t want to find the others just to find out we’ve pushed you over the edge. Okay?”

I nod slowly. “Okay. But if it can help you find the others, I want to help,” I tell them. “I don’t…want anyone else to have to go through this like I did.”

Sam purses his lips and nods. “Sounds good.”

There’s a long silence. “Was I possessed?”

Sam sighs. “Yea. Yea, you were.”

“Is there something I can do to protect myself from it ever happening again?” I ask.

Sam nods and shifts in his seat, pulling out a necklace. “Here. Put this on.” I do as he says, taking a look at the amulet. “That’s protection from being possessed by a demon. If you want something more permanent, you can go with this,” he said, pulling down his shirt to reveal a tattoo.

I nod, then look down at the necklace. “This’ll do until I can get the tattoo.” I sigh, leaning back against him. “Thank you,” I whisper. Sam folds his arm back around me comfortingly, not needing to say a word.




Fourteen-year-old Sam walked off the bus and went to the mailbox. He took out the mail, leafing through it as he walked into the apartment. His eyes widened at what he saw. A letter from one of the colleges he’d applied to for Dean. He hadn’t even been sure if they would be at the same address long enough for any responses to arrive, but here it was.


Sam quickly ran to the kitchen, dumping his backpack on the floor on the way, and put the rest of the mail on the counter. He hesitated before opening the letter. He wouldn’t give it to Dean if it was a rejection letter. What good would that do?


To Mr. Dean Winchester,


You recently applied to Lakeview University and we are pleased to say that your application has been accepted…


Sam read the rest of the letter, but didn’t register much of it. Dean hadn’t even considered applying to college, and here was an acceptance letter! Question was, what would his reaction be?


Walking down the hallway to Dean’s room, he knocked on the door before opening it. Dean sat in front of his television, playing a video game Sam didn’t recognize.


“Dean?” he asked.


“What do you want?” his brother quipped, not removing his eyes from the television screen.


“I, uh…you got a letter.”


“Put it on my desk.”


“I already opened it.”


That got Dean’s attention. He put the game on pause and leapt to his feet. “You what?” he asked angrily, walking over to Sam and glaring at him.


“It’s a college letter. You got into Lakeview.”


Dean spent a few seconds staring at Sam blankly before he slowly took the letter from his hands and opened it, reading it over. Then he took one look at Sam and smacked him upside the head.


“Ow! What was that for?”


“Why’d you go and do that? Apply to college for me?” Dean yelled. “You had no right to do that!”


“Well you weren’t going to!”


“Yea, because I’m not going!”


“So what are you so mad about?”


“I’m mad because…because you wasted these people’s time,” he finished, crumpling the letter up and tossing it into the garbage bin.


“Dean!” Sam exclaimed. “You can’t be serious! You really aren’t going to go to college? Even after you got in?”


“Yea, and how’d you manage that anyway?” Dean asked. “Don’t they need an essay or something?”


“I took one of your essays that you did from school,” Sam said quietly.


“You went through my stuff?” his brother yelled, walking back over to him angrily.


“Yea, I went through your stuff, because you don’t care about your own future!” Sam told him, staring his brother straight in the eye.


“I care about my own future plenty. As long as I’m alive and breathing, I’m good. But I’m a hunter. That’s how it is.”


“But you don’t have to do this forever,” Sam protested.  “You can have a real life.”


Dean snorted, shook his head. “A real life? You really think that’s possible? With what we know?”


I’m going to college,” Sam told him. “As soon as I can get out of this hellhole of a life, I’m going to college.”


“Goody for you, Sammy,” Dean said with a tight smile. “You do that. You just run off and abandon me and dad to try to get that white picket fence.”


“It’s not about a white picket fence, Dean, and it’s not about abandoning you and dad. It’s about not having to deal with hunting anymore! Do you really want to be doing this for the rest of your life?”


Dean shook his head, looking away from Sam. “You don’t get it. This is who I am,” Dean said loudly. “I can’t change that.”


“Do you want to?”


“No. I’m fine the way I am.”


“Fine. Thought I was doing you a favor.”


“Well you weren’t.”






Sam left Dean’s room, slamming the door behind himself. Dean stood stock-still for a few seconds before he went over and locked his door. He rested his hand on the doorknob for a moment, then went over to his trash bin and took out the letter, flattening it out on his desk, and fell into the seat.


No way. That was the first thought that had come into Dean’s head when he’d opened and read the letter addressed to him. An acceptance letter to college.


It’s not Ivy League, but hey….


Dean sat, staring at the letter, for a good five minutes, reading it over and over, trying to figure out if he’d made a mistake. Or if they’d made a mistake. His grades had never been great. He had never been a student like Sam, always in the books, always doing his homework. But somehow he’d gotten accepted.


But to actually go….


The concept of leaving his father and stop hunting to go to college was laughable. Dean knew that. But something inside him relished the fact that he knew was good enough to go to college. That he could make it as a normal person, even if he wasn’t going. His life was hunting. And he couldn’t just leave that.


Could he?


Dean closed the letter, replacing the paper in the envelope and going over to his bed, tucking it under his pillow. He lay down and folded his arms behind his head, leaning back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t leave his dad. He couldn’t stop hunting. It was his life, period. He was the guy that came into town, hooked up with a girl or two, and left the next night. He was trained in as many weapons as his father could get his hands on.


And yet I still have a weakness for someone offering me a normal life.


Dean felt so torn. And he hadn’t expected that. He’d expected that he would keep hunting with his dad. That’s what the plan was, and he didn’t want to deviate from it. It was all he knew. It was familiar. And it was what kept him going. He was hunting. If he didn’t have hunting…he didn’t have anything.


 A one-shot, taking place right after Metamorphasis. Thought it’d be appropriate and wanted to put a lot of emotion into it. Hope you like it!

Reviews are like chocolate!


                  Dean walked into the church, his gaze drifting around to the paintings of angels and stained glass creating a rainbow of shadows around the hall. His footsteps seemed loud and echoed, as if he were an intruder. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a man of God. Sure, he’d allegedly been visited by an angel, a warrior of God, but it wasn’t enough to take without some more proof.

                  But really, proof? Dean thought to himself as he took steps past the pews, gradually getting closer to the front. What proof was he expecting to get? So far, the only proof he’d received was evident of something of great power, great strength, and great influence, further than any he’d ever encountered. Something that could burn the eyes of a human out of their skull just for them looking on his true form, that could shatter glass and have Dean writhing on the ground in pain, hands clamped over his ears tightly when it spoke in its true voice.

                  And his brother….

                  He was losing him. He fought so hard to keep his brother safe. That was what he needed to do.

                  Keep Sammy safe….

                  Keep Sammy safe….

                  Keep Sammy safe….

                  And yet it seemed that from the beginning there was a force unlike any other that was pushing against Dean’s will to save his brother. Pushing hard. Something inside Sam himself that, though the boys had yet to say it out loud, they had called Sam a freak, a weirdo, dangerous, going down a dark road, all that…they had yet to admit one thing about Sam’s demonic blood.

                  They were scared.

                  Dean took a deep breath, as if it was his last, before drawing the curtain aside, going into the booth, and sitting down, closing the curtain. He swallowed hard, shifting nervously, and looked around the small enclosure, for the hundredth time asking himself, “Why am I here?” only to have himself answer, “Well, you idiot, where the hell else are you supposed to go that you can keep yourself from going completely bonkers?!”

                  Dean took another breath as the sliding grid slid back, revealing the lattice, and Dean spoke to him after a few moments. “I…Bless….Bless me father…for I…have sinned.”

                  “How long has it been since your last confession?”

                  Dean let out a long breath. “Ah….” He paused, looking around, avoiding looking at the lattice screen. “Probably…a few years…at least…. Probably more.”

                  “What do you wish to confess?”

                  Dean noticed his leg was bouncing slightly and he put a hand on it, forcing it to stop. What the hell am I doing? “Honestly father,” Dean whispered, folding his hands in his lap as he hunched forward, “I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know what I could possibly gain from this. My views on God and angels have changed…quite a bit recently, but…I still don’t know who to trust and who to suspect and how I can…save my brother when now…..”

                  Dean realized he was sweating, but he didn’t take off his jacket. Instead he wiped his hand across his forehead, wiping the excess moisture off on his jeans. God, where could he start? Where could he end, for that matter? He didn’t know what to do.

                  That was the whole problem there, wasn’t it? When he was younger, it was so much easier. Kill the evil. Save the good. Kill the evil. Save the good. Like a mantra. Then he grew up. And things got complicated.

                  Sam had always made things complicated. His innocent perspective on life. But nothing like his life lately. Saving vampires from other hunters. Having to murder a woman in cold blood because she was infected with a virus that would cause her to murder and maim everyone and anyone she could. A werewolf that Sam fell in love with, and was then forced to murder. Finding out his mother had been a hunter and had made a deal with Azazel to bring John back to life, unknowing that it would end in her demise and Sam drinking demon blood. Not to mention the fact that his new best buddy Castiel basically said he ripped Dean out of hell, and he could, without a problem, throw him right back in.

                  But all that paled in comparison to one thing. One important fact that ruled his whole life.

                  Watch. Out. For. Sam.

                  The thing was, his dad said it and it meant he wanted Dean to keep his brother safe, until that one day, the day his father died, that his father whispered in his ear that he may have to kill Sam. Murder his own brother. Then his brother said it, and he meant to make sure that he didn’t turn into something evil. And that if he did, to kill him. To kill his own brother. Sam looked him in his eyes, with drunken puppy eyes no less, and made him promise to kill him if he ever turned into a monster. And Dean promised. And Sam remembered that promise.


                  Dean didn’t jerk at the reminder that there was someone else there, but he did realize that tears were streaming down his face. He let them.

                  “Father, let me ask you something,” Dean whispered, staring at his hands.

                  “Of course.”

                  “You take this job o’ yours pretty seriously, right?”

                  “The confidentiality of a confession?”

                  “No. Being a priest. You know that there’s…evil out in our world. You know there are really, really bad things that try to hurt good people. You know that there’s a higher power, a God, and that there are demons.”

                  “Yes, my son. I do believe.”

                  “Well I gotta spill all this…stuff…to someone or else…I’m going to take another swing at my brother.” Dean ran a hand over his face, wiping away tears, and sniffled tightly. “I just recently got a few of the pieces to this puzzle, so bear with me…. My grandfather and grandmother were hunters. They hunted evil things. Demons. Spirits. What-have-you. And they taught it to my mother, Mary. Now my mother fell in love with a man named John. Although her father objected to the marriage, Mary was adamant to marry this man.”

                  “Now…a demon had surfaced in the area, making deals with folks nearby. When Mary and her father go hunting to investigate…the demon takes a liking to Mary. And later that night, the demon follows them and kills John in front of Mary. And as Mary holds John in her arms…his neck broken…the demon whispers in her ear that he will bring John back. But in ten years, the demon will visit her. The demon is unclear as to why, but says that as long as he isn’t interrupted, that nobody will get hurt.”

                  “Mary makes that deal,” Dean whispered, choking over his words.

                  “Ten years later, Mary is married to John and they have two children, Dean, who’s four and Sammy who’s 6 months old. That night, the demon comes into the house. Into little Sammy’s…nursery…and drips demon blood…into his mouth. And then he’s interrupted by Mary, who runs into the room, recognizing the demon’s yellow eyes. So he murders her. John, Dean, and Sammy all get out of the house alive and watch…from outside…as it burns.”

                  “John, Dean, and Sam grow up as hunters. Sam gets into a serious relationship only to have the woman he loved taken the same was his mother was taken by the same demon. Two years after that incident, Dean kills the demon. The Yellow Eyed Demon. Azazel.”

                  “Now Sam and Dean find out about the demon blood in Sam. Left and right, Sam’s been keeping secrets from Dean. Sam already knew about the demon blood in him. He knew about these powers it could give him, demon exorcising powers, and he’s been using them behind Dean’s back.” Dean took in a shaky breath, tears continuing to stream down his face, and forces himself to continue, to get it all out, or he never will. “He’s lied to Dean, lied to his brother who has protected him his whole life and just wants him to be safe. To just stay safe and alive and good. And he keeps these secrets from Dean because…because….”

                  “He is scared.”

                  Finally the priest speaks. Just three words, but they allow Dean to continue.

                  “He is so completely and totally…scared,” Dean breathed. “That was why I made that drunken promise. He made me promise to kill him if he ever got too far. If it ever went too far. If he crossed the line, if he was evil, if he was hurting people he told me to kill him! His own brother! He told me to…..”

                  Dean forced himself to take in a shaky breath, wiping away snot with his sleeve carelessly and sniffling, hating the tears and the sadness that he perceives as weakness, but loving the fact that he can unload in this place, this haven, and it is really and truly all right to do so.

                  “Both boys are scared,” the priest says quietly. “Because they have built a relationship further than most brothers. They are bonded. And to tear that bond apart is to rip apart two halves of one whole. And to hurt or kill one half is to hurt or kill another.”

                  Dean took in and let out a deep breath, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

                  “Fear is a powerful emotion, young man. It can force a person to a state of unbelievable calm, or into a state of uncontrollable rage. It’s less of a weapon and more of a trigger to it. Fear is rarely unwarranted. It is what you do with that fear and how you manage it that can control your fate.”

                  “But I don’t know what to do,” Dean whispered, the last part of the sentence cracking off into a sob.

                  “You love your brother. It is your duty to protect him. You feel powerless in this situation because you cannot understand. You cannot empathize or even sympathize with what he is feeling. You are utterly terrified of the possibility of killing your brother being a last option some point in the future. You are desperate for him to stay and fight with good. To be with you. To fight by your side. Not to leave you.”

                  “Not to leave me,” Dean whispered. “I don’t want him to leave me.”

                  “And yet at the same time, he does not want you to leave him. With what you boys do as hunters, for one of you to turn into a monster, it is one of the worst, hellish possibilities out there. And he is your younger brother. As terrified of what he might become as you are, you love him and he loves you. And you have to hold on to that to keep yourselves together. To keep up the good fight. Don’t make promises to each other, much less drunken promises, about something as priceless and precious as your lives. Just know that when the time comes, you will do the right thing. Both of you will. And as brothers, if one of you makes a mistake, the other will fix it. Two halves of a whole.”

                  Dean nodded slowly. “Two halves of a whole,” he whispered. Dean sat, still, breathing for a few moments, before he turned to the lattice and let out a shadow of a smile. “Thank you, father.”

                  “Bless you, my child,” the man spoke, making the sign of the cross.

                  Dean stood up, moving the curtain aside, making the sign of the cross, before turning and slowly walking out of the church.

Kill or Be Killed

 Kind of an AU. If in Fresh Blood, the girl kidnapped by Gordon had reacted…differently. Just an idea I thought up that could be cool. Drabble? One-shot? I dunno. Read and tell me if you like or hate. Thanks!

Reviews are like chocolate!

Kill or be Killed

                  Sam and Dean crept into the factory, Dean wielding the Colt and Sam a machete, eyes peeled for the slightest movement. Dean raised the gun, lowered it, raised it again. Their eyes darted to their left as they heard movement and rested on the girl, bound to pipes.

                  “Hey, hey, we gotcha. Don’t worry, we’re gonna get you out,” Sam said quietly, undoing her right wrist as Dean undid her left. Sam carefully removed the gag from her mouth and she coughed slightly before looking up to him with terrified eyes. But there was something more in her eyes. Something serious.

                  “He showed me his teeth,” she rasped.

                  Sam froze for a second, glancing to Dean, who instantly looked back. “It’s okay,” Sam told her. “You’re safe now—.”

                  “No you don’t understand. He fed me his blood,” she said to Sam shakily, staring him in the eye.

Sam froze again, staring at the girl with wide eyes, as did Dean. “What’d you just say?” Sam whispered.

“I read books. I watch movies. If he did to me what I think he….” The girl swallowed, looking to Dean, then back to Sam. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered, tears shining on her eyelids. “Just answer me one question. Is there a way for me to still survive without hurting people?”

Sam felt a lump wedge in his throat and swallowed past it. Not again. He couldn’t go through this again. He wasn’t nearly as close to this girl as he was to Madison, but after Lucy the other day…. He couldn’t imagine what this girl was going through, but he knew that she’d been thinking about this for the past hour. Considering what this meant. So he considered her question, quickly but carefully.

 “Sam,” Dean said quietly, in his warning voice.

“Yes, there is,” he whispered to her.

“Sam,” Dean repeated, slightly louder.

Sam looked up to Dean, his gaze fierce. “Dean. She hasn’t fed yet,” he hissed. “She hasn’t even turned. We can call Lenore and have her come pick her up. She can go with them.”

Dean’s mouth twitched as he scanned the room again, anxious to get the hell out. Then he looked back to Sam’s face. “Dammit,” he muttered. He knew he could never say no to Sam with his expression like that. Dean gave a brisk nod. “Fine. She comes. But if she attacks me, Sam—.”

“I know,” Sam said softly.

They helped the girl to her feet, Sam putting his hand above her head so she didn’t hit it on the pipe. Dean put his arm under hers, helping her along, until her knees caved in under herself. He picked her up under her legs, briskly walking toward the exit, eyes alert to detect the slightest movement. “Sam, stay close,” Dean snapped.

They walked rapidly to the exit, startled when a loud rattling sound came out of nowhere, separating the two young men. Dean spun around, putting the girl down, and leaning her against the wall. “Sam!”


Dean banged against the metal garage door angrily. “Dammit, Sam!” Sam stood staring at the door, frustrated, for a few seconds before he gave a final bang against it in frustration. He slowly turned around, taking a look at his surroundings. “Sam, be careful!” he heard Dean’s voice call to him faintly.

Dean looked around, trying to find some sort of weapon to break the door down with. He looked behind a few crates and down the hall before his eyes settled on a pipe the size of a baseball bat. He snatched it up, quickly getting back to the door, and tried to stick it under the handle to use it as a fulcrum and get the door up. With no success, he went over to the chain and lever to his right, slamming the pipe against it over and over again, trying to break something, anything, but ended up just pounding it in frustration.


Dean spun around to the girl, who was panting, leaning against the wall, eyes closed. “What?” he asked, eyes wide but narrowed.

“Dean…I’m sorry,” she choked out.

Dean stared at her for a few seconds as he realized what was happening. The girl’s eyes opened and gazed intensely at him before her fangs emerged, the hunger in her expression obvious. “Oh, come on,” he whispered through gnashed teeth. The girl leapt at him and Dean used her momentum against her, flying her into some crates. He did a mental scan of what he was packing, but he didn’t have any injections of dead man’s blood. Only some in a jar in his jacket, and the Colt.

He pulled out the Colt. And as the girl ran at him again, he fired.

On the Road

 A funny one-shot about Sam and Dean with a GPS. Came to me on a 22 hour trip divided into three legs down to Florida. Yea. Loooong ride.

On the Road

“How do you work this thing?”

“Dean! Eyes! Road!”

Dean swerved to avoid a semi, straightening the wheel. “Fine. You do it.”

Sam took the GPS device off the windshield. He pressed a few buttons and it spoke up, “Turn right.”

“I’m not turning right. We have to go straight,” Dean objected.

“I’m setting it,” Sam said through gnashed teeth.

“Don’t know why we even bought this thing,” Dean told him. “Waste of money. We do fine with maps.”

“If by fine you mean adding hours to our trip every time we go somewhere, then yea, we were fine.”

Dean grumbled a bit. “Yea, well, what about the car on the screen there? It’s blue. My car’s black.”

“You need to add the additional features online,” Sam muttered, continuing to press buttons. “And you say I’m OCD. There.” He put the GPS back on the clip on the windshield.

Calculating…. Continue 2.5 miles.”

“At least you got one with a woman’s voice. Don’t want some dude bossing me around with directions. Is that another upgrade? Additional feature? Get a sexier voice telling you where to go?”

Sam rolled his eyes as he flipped through the manual.

“That thing say anything interesting?”

“Only how to use the Garmen,” Sam replied.

Ten minutes later, Dean spoke up. “I’m hungry,” he said, glancing at the passing Food and Lodging sign.

“We just got on the highway!”


“So…nothing. Never mind.”

“Can you use that thing to find us some food?”

Sam took the Garmen off the windshield, pressing a few buttons to find some food as Dean exited off the highway. “How’s McDonalds?”


Recalculating. Go .7 miles. Then turn right.”

Dean prepared to turn right.

“No, it’s recalculating our trip. You got off the highway to get food. Don’t turn right.”

Dean got back into the left lane and sighed. “Alright.”


Go 1.7 miles. Then turn left.

“Okay. This thing gets me to food, I’m okay with it,” Dean said.

Twenty minutes later, the two boys exited McDonalds and went back outside to the car, taking the GPS out from the dashboard compartment, putting it back up. Sam reset it to their destination in Florida.

Go 1 mile. Then enter roundabout.”

“So what’d Ruby tell you about this gig in Florida?” Dean asked.

“Just that Matt told her. There are at least thirty that swarmed Miami.”

“I have to say, if they had to go anywhere, I’m stoked they chose Miami.”

“Matt estimates six deaths so far,” Sam added tightly.

“Oh. Well. That’s not good.”

“No. They tend to travel in groups of four and five, which should be okay for you, me, Matt, and Ruby to handle. Bobby’s getting there in a few days since he’s working on another job.”

Enter roundabout. Take third exit right.”

“Okay…this is annoying,” Dean muttered, looking at the roundabout.

“Go there.”


“There! No, the next turn.”

Dean swerved to the left and then to the right, getting back onto the highway. A loud horn sounded to his left and Dean flashed the finger at the driver as he pulled away. “Okay, there had to be a better way to do that,” Dean said.

“Well that’s the one the GPS gave us,” Sam replied. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Look at it though. It says 132 miles. How encouraging is that? Arrival time 6:18 AM?”

“It’s useful. We know we have to stop at whatever time and we’ll know how much time we have to leave for tomorrow.”

Dean sighed. “I guess that’s right. God it’s so dry around here.”

“It’s South Carolina. Brown grass equals dry weather.”

“Yea, or a lot of dogs,” Dean snorted.

Sam cracked a smile. “We have to refill on holy water,” he told him. “And we need to make sure we do it right. We can’t afford any screw-ups going up against this many demons.”

“No kidding,” Dean replied. “How are we on rock salt?”

“Pretty good.”

In two miles, take ramp right.”

Minutes ticked by and Dean eventually pulled onto the ramp.

Stay left for 129 miles.

“Easy,” Dean murmured.

“It’s about mid-March. So our cover can be college guys on spring break?” Sam asked.

“Think you could pull that off?” Dean asked.

“I was in college for two years.”

“Yea, but you had no fun whatsoever.”

“I had fun!”

“Name once.”

“Jess and I went to that Halloween party right before you came to get me,” Sam told him. “We had shots, tequila and…other stuff….”

“Ten bucks said you didn’t wear a costume,” Dean replied. Sam was silent. “Knew it.”

“So what? You don’t like Halloween either.”

“Yea, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t come up with something totally awesome for a costume,” Dean said. “College is when you’re supposed to have fun. Best four years of your life?”

“Sorry, it ended up not quite qualifying,” Sam murmured.

Dean swallowed. “Look, man, I didn’t mean—.”

“No, I didn’t mean to bring up Jess. I just…college wasn’t for me what it would have been for you.”

Dean sighed. “Whatever. My point is, if our cover is going to be college guys on spring break, you’re going to have to try to have a little fun. If you stick out like a sore thumb, we’re screwed.”

“I know that,” Sam told him. “I can blend in just as well as you can.” Dean snorted. “Okay, maybe not just as well, but almost as well.”

“Alright. Well, we’ll figure out the rest with Ruby and Matt when we get there,” Dean replied. He pressed a button on the dashboard and the speakers started playing AC/DC. Sam shifted in his seat, leaning against the door, and stared out at the scenery passing him by.

The Beginning of the End

I guess I must have been depressed when I wrote this. :-P Not sure when that was. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

            The beginning of the end was one day ago. Then it started raining hell fire, creating horror and chaos of biblical proportions. The increasing speed toward earth devastating, friction creating a flaming projectile, colliding with human flesh that was orbiting the earth, that flies at Dean so fast, he barely has time to duck, dart, run, faster faster, don’t trip, don’t fall, slide behind the cement wall of the building and—.


            Dean closes his eyes and breathes. Just breathes. There were smatterings of sweat, blood and tears covering his body, his t-shirt and jeans not having been washed for three days, of distant importance in his mind. The duffle thrown over his shoulders that contains only necessities; army rations, bottles of water, aspirin, and as many weapons he could think of that wouldn’t weigh him down too much.

The only thought is find Sam. Must find Sam. After taking all of five seconds to compose himself, trying to get through the throngs of people who are desperate to get somewhere, anywhere, anywhere but here, this Hell on Earth. Dean’s trained eyes scan the area for any possibility of his Impala still sitting around the corner. The possibility that it is still intact, and if not, at least driveable, and if not that, at least the weapons cache remained undiscovered.

            However much good it will do, he isn’t sure.

            Dean thinks he starts screaming, pushing people out of the way. He finally reaches where he parked the car. The windows have been smashed, including the windshield, so, adrenaline pumping, Dean slid out a switchblade, cutting mercilessly at the fiberglass, tearing off enough so he will be able to see from the driver’s seat. He does the same for the rearview glass window.

             He gives the car a once over, desperate to get it going, moving, somewhere, anywhere but here, before it gets worse. There’s damage, but mostly to the frame, but it should hold for a while. It’s a Chevy Impala. And it’s tough. Resilient against all odds. It means more to Dean than anything ever could. He spent months after his father’s death rebuilding her, putting love into every nut and bolt he screwed together. He trusted her. And all Dean needs is a little while. Fury is in his eyes and in his heart that his brother was somewhere out in this chaotic demonic mess, bunkered down in Bobby’s safe room or in a well stocked, safe-house-appropriate shelter of some sort.

            Dean goes back around to his engine propping up the cover, giving a good long look, well trained eyes scanning every screw and pipe and lever in it, whether something is wrong or could go wrong later. After a brief, yet thorough examination, Dean closes the hatch and pops the trunk, taking out a few weapons he could fit in his jacket and shoving them in, slamming the hatch and then the trunk itself shut, then goes and gets into his car. Digs into his pocket, the only thing in there, the only thing worth keeping, were the keys to that car. And all the cash he could drum up so he could get as much survival materials as possible. But really, what did money matter anymore?

            Dean was 100 miles from Bobby’s safe room, and even that, Dean isn’t sure they can be protected there from all this, and even if they were protected, how long could they survive? And he had no way to reach him. No way but to get there.

            Dean took a deep breath, blocking out all else but him and his car, which barely managed to even hint at the possibility of reducing the adrenaline and panic in his system. He put the key in the ignition. Turned it. Once. Twice. And at the third time, it turned over.

            As Dean had assumed, as soon as he started moving, other frantic parents with their children, mob mentality taking over, and Dean gnashed his teeth together, pushing the gas down.

            “Get out of my way,” he rasps loudly, through the hot, smoky air.

            Dean takes out his gun and fires it through his non-existent windshield. It causes an immediate, instinctive reaction, and everyone jumps away from the car. Dean gnashed his teeth together. What he wouldn’t have given for some bullet-proof glass. He shot off another bullet, causing everyone to wince and back up farther.

            Dean punched it.

            His gas tank was ¾ full. A blessing, since it usually wobbled around 1/8, then he’d need to refill it. Should last him a while. And Dean was driving past clueless, helpless people that were unsure of how to begin to protect their children. Protect themselves.

            Dean rocketed down the deserted road, taking out a map and finding the easiest way to get to Bobby’s house. If Sam is there, Dean’s mission is complete. Then a new one begins. One which they have to create once the current one is complete. Dean quickly maps out a route through side roads and such, cringing every time some hot crispy rock cracked the top of his car. Bobby. Bobby will have plenty of choices of what they could use.

            Right now it is survival.

            “Dean?” asks a small voice from the back.

            Dean swerves at the stunning interruption and slams on the breaks, getting an ‘oaf’ from the young boy in the back seat. Dean reached back and pulled the young boy over to the front, shoving him in shotgun. “What the hell are you—?” Dean’s eyes widen and he pushes the child back against the door. It’s Sam. Except he is five years old.

            To Dean’s utter shock, a smile slowly surfaced on the boy’s face. And right before Dean’s eyes, the boy shifted. He grew. He grew taller and more muscular, aging years in seconds, slowly taking on the form of his brother. Dean stared wide-eyed at the man in his car speechlessly before he managed to cough out, “Sam?”

            “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sam whispered, looking around at the civilians in hysteria, fire everywhere. When he looked back to Dean, his eyes were white.

            Dean’s eyes widened. “You son of a bitch, you get the hell out of my brother!” Dean cried, struggling to unbuckle his seat belt and then leapt on him, holding him up against the Impala’s door around his throat.

            “Dean, Dean, Dean,” Sam whispered. He reached up and carefully pulled his brother’s rigid fingers from squeezing his throat away by his wrists. Dean’s eyes widened, this time in fear of the power of the demon holding his brother hostage. His upper lip quivered angrily. “You misunderstand.”

            The white faded from Sam’s eyes. “It’s still me. It’s just a better me.”

            Dean blinked, honestly confused, dreading that he would understand soon. “What?” he croaked.

            “We did it, Dean,” Sam said with a smile that was meant for Christmas presents. “I am all powerful. Lucifer is free. And I serve…as his right-hand man.”

            Dean’s heart seemed to stop, just long enough for him to clutch at his chest in shock and throw himself backwards away from his brother. “No, Sam, please,” Dean whispered.

            “You can have it too, Dean,” he whispered, temptation laced in the words. “You can have everything. All the power. All the influence. You can help me lead an army.”

            “No, this is not you, Sam. Sammy. Please.”

            “It’s not Sam or Sammy. It is Samael,” Sam whispered. “I serve now with Lilith for Lucifer himself. You failed me, Dean. Now join me.”

            Dean could barely breathe. The smoke that had been a mist before was choking him. “No,” he rasped desperately. “Sammy, please, listen to me—.”

            “I’m done listening, Dean,” Sam replied. “Will you join me?”

            Sweat pouring down his face, exhausted from all the running, all the fighting, all the war, Dean was honestly not that surprised when he spoke up, low but clearly, “No.”

            “Then…I’ll see you in Hell,” Sam whispered. At that, he whipped out what Dean barely had a chance to recognize as Ruby’s knife before it swung forward and sliced viciously through skin and cartilage into his heart.

            Dean felt all-encompassing, blinding pain.

            And then nothing. He feels nothing. His body is floating, not here, nor there.

            And then a voice. Too far away to know what they’re saying. It comes closer. He tries to reach it.


            There it is again.

            Dean, come on man, hold on!


            His teeth grind together achingly and the all-encompassing, blinding pain comes again, and then finally he opens his eyes to a bright, blurry world. “Eyes are open, he’s conscious,” spoke a voice.

            Everything else blurred except Dean’s gaze on his brother, who paced back and forth outside the hospital room, looking in regularly every five seconds, until the room was empty enough for him to enter and rush over to Dean’s bed. “Hey, I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

            Dean’s heavy eyelids drooped, but he forced them up. As Sam took his brother’s hand, Dean pulled back instinctively. Immediately covered with, “Du’e, shove it. ‘eport.”

            Sam swallowed, then nodded. Leaned forward to talk softly in Dean’s ear because of the doctors close by. “Tried to take out the spirit. When we torched the remains in the basement, it took so long for the supernatural lockdown to give us up, we had some bad smoke inhalation. But we got out. Fire trucks got there like three minutes later. You got the worst of it. Were having hallucinations of still being in the fire, they said.”

            Dean blinked slowly, reopening his eyes to Sam. “Wa’nt no halluc’nations, bro,” he grumbled. “Mem’ries ‘n poss’bilties.” Dean pursed his lips together, as if it could help with the pain meds that was making him loose-lipped.

            Sam’s guarded face slipped slightly into despair, but then went right back up. “Look, just stay on the oxygen. There’s no reason we can’t be out of here in an hour. I convinced the doctor I’m getting you to stay overnight, but we’ll wait half an hour and then blow this popsicle stand.”

            Dean stared at his brother. Blinked lazily. “Y’r not evil,” he mumbled absently.

            Sam’s stomach clenched and he swallowed hard. “No. I’m Sam. I’m a good guy.”

            “’M not ‘n y’r side…. Y’r ‘n mine,” Dean slurred. And at that, he drifted off to unconsciousness, leaving Sam staring at his older brother, desperate to know what Dean was thinking. Desperate to know if he was collapsing on the inside, as much as he put up a steady front on the outside. Desperate to help carry whatever load Dean had on his shoulders. But he couldn’t. Dean had told him he couldn’t. It was his load to bear. So Sam just had to keep going. Like Dean said.

            Keep fighting…. Remember what Dad taught you…. Remember what I taught you….


I just made this one shot because I wanted to bring Kathleen back. Thought it’d be cool. I didn’t actually go into the hunt after, but I liked this, so I thought I’d post it. Hope you like!

Reviews are like chocolate!


                  Sam startled as his phone started vibrating in his pocket, jarring him from sleep.

                  “Hey, jumpy,” Dean said, glancing over to him, tearing his gaze away from the TV.

                  Sam blinked his way out of sleep and glanced at the clock; 8:53 PM. Not exactly panic-phone-call time. He figured any phone call could be bad news, but he always escalated it between the hours of midnight and seven AM. He took out his cell, blinked once at the unfamiliar number, and answered. “Yea?”

                  “Hello, is this Sam Winchester?”

                  Sam narrowed his eyes, sitting up straight. For someone to know his real name like this, that meant it had to do with a referral usually. “Who’s asking?”

                  “Ah, this is Deputy Sheriff Kathleen Hudak. A few years back your brother helped me out with a case in Hibbing, Minnesota? A family who was hunting humans for sport? Pretended to be a cop to get an in with me? You remember that?”

                  Sam grimaced slightly at the memory, scratching his head. “Yea, of course.” He paused. “Wait, Kathleen? You were….”

                  “I have to confess that I didn’t actually cross you boys off my list of interesting cases to pursue after you left walking down that road that night. You’ve been kind of an interest of mine.”

                  Sam pursed his lips, glancing over to Dean, mild worry in his expression. “Alright. And? What’d you find?”

                  “Not a whole hell of a lot. But I can tell you one thing. If people are being hurt or killed for some strange, unstoppable reason that law enforcement can’t figure out, and it makes less than no sense, you boys tend to surface, and the deaths stop. That’s what I’ve got.”

                  Sam blinked again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have to say that’s a response we rarely get from law enforcement,” he said.

                  “Law enforcement? Sammy who the hell is that?” Dean asked, eyes narrowed, turning off the television.

                  Sam moved the receiver to his jacket. “Kathleen Hudak. Helped her out in Minnesota. The Bender family?”

                  Dean blinked, turning his eyes back to the blank TV. “Wow.” He narrowed his eyes, looking back to Sam. “How’d she get our number?”

                  Sam brought the phone back to his mouth.  “Yea, how did you get our number?” he asked.

                  “I’m a cop, Sam. Give me some credit,” she told him. Sam shrugged. “I called you for a reason. I need some advice. You have internet access?”

                  “Ah…yea….” Sam’s voice trailed off as he went to the table where his laptop was positioned. He sat in front of it, pressing the button to take it off standby. “Hold on….” Sam waited for it to boot up and typed in his password, opening an Internet Explorer screen. “Alright. Where am I going?”

                  “First dash kill dot com,” she told him. Sam narrowed his eyes curiously as Dean wandered over and he typed it in, pressing Enter. He waited as the page loaded. “This is going to be a little gruesome, just so you know.”

                  “Well we kind of specialize in gruesome,” Sam replied in a low voice. The only thing that popped up in the page was a video. He pressed the Play button and his eyebrows rose at what he saw.

                  “Kathleen called us to tell us to watch porn?” Dean asked, deadpan.

                  The two boys watched the young man and woman having sex in the bed, the camera positioned on a shelf to the right. They stared intently, looking around the screen for any clues to why they were watching the video. As soon as the ‘porn’ part was over, Sam watched the young man as he shifted his position on the bed, opening his bedside table drawer, and taking out a knife.

                  “Ah crap,” Dean muttered.

                  He leapt on the girl, stabbing her in the chest, over and over, utter shock on her face as blood poured from her chest.

                  “Damn,” Sam said quietly.

                  “Yea, that’s what I said,” Kathleen replied, leaning back in her desk chair. “So listen, I needed to ask you—.”

                  “Wait,” Sam said quickly, leaning forward toward the laptop screen.

                  “Hold on a sec,” Dean said almost at the same time.

                  “You see that?” Sam asked.

                  Dean nodded as the video stopped, once the man in the film turned the camera off. “Yea, play it back. Freeze it.” Sam did as he was told. “There.”

                  Sam sighed. “That tells us a lot. Okay. What was your question, Kathleen?” he asked.

                  “Ah…this was the first video. There are two more. I can show you those too if you want. They finally caught up with this guy, but while they were in pursuit of the suspect, they shot at him and nothing happened. Barely a flinch. Now the guy that shot the suspect is a good friend of mine. He says he is sure that his bullets hit this guy. Even if he was wearing Kevlar though, it should have done something. I’d like to know if you have any idea why it didn’t before we go after him again.”

                  “We do,” Sam replied. “He’s not human.”

                  Kathleen paused. “Well that would do it. What the hell is he?”

                  “He’s a shapeshifter. That’s what we just saw on the tape. A shapeshifter’s eyes will usually flare at a camera or intense light.”

                  “That’s it? You saw his eyes flare?” Kathleen asked, raising an eyebrow.

                  “No, that’s not it. Your friend shot at this guy with no effect. The only thing that’ll slow these guys down is silver. And the only thing that’ll kill it is a silver bullet or a knife or something right to its heart.”

                  Kathleen sighed. “Alright. So what am I supposed to do? Have the department packing silver bullets?”

                  “That’s what Dean and I would do,” Sam replied, glancing to his brother. “But you tell your department that and they’ll think you’re nuts. Tell you what. Dean and I will come down to Minnesota and take care of this for you.”

                  “You sure?” she asked. “It’s a serial killer. The FBI’s all over this and I know what would happen if you boys were spotted.”

                  “Definitely. It beats you going after this thing yourself.”

                  “Alright. Call me when you get down here at this number, extension 263.”

                  “Will do.”

                  Kathleen hung up the phone and opened the file for the video on her computer. She watched it again, fast-forwarding to the end, where Sam and Dean had reacted to something. Then she went back, pausing it. “Huh. I’ll be damned.”