Still Us, Just Different: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

“I’m still not sure this feels right, Dean.”

Sam Winchester looked at his brother; worry lines swirling on his forehead.

“Dude, we talked about this.”

“I know, I know, but…” Sam chewed on his lip. “We know not all monsters are bad. We know some good ones out there; there must be more.”

“Yeah, sure, and most of the good ones we knew are long dead,” Dean shrugged. “Look man, I get it, but that question we keep asking, what if we could stop all the evil in the world, this is it, this is our chance. This is what we’re here to do, our purpose, or whatever, and neither of us has to die or sell our damn souls. This is a freakin’ gift. To us and humanity. Right?”

The brothers sat in the bunker, nursing a couple of whiskeys; a piece of parchment on the table between them. Sam turned the document to face him and looked at it.

“Could it be this easy? I mean. This seems too easy, Dean.”

Dean nodded. His brother was right, it seemed too easy, but they’d researched it every which way, and it came up good every time.

“Sammy, we’ve looked into it. You’ve gone through every angle, and I trust you. It’s legit. You know it, I know it. This is what we’ve wanted our whole lives, right?” he looked at Sam for reassurance as much as anything else.

“Yeah. It’s what we’ve always dreamed of, I guess.”

Sam and Dean sat in silence for a moment; the weight of their decision settling into their bones.

“It’s just,” Sam said. “What do we do then…”

That was it; what do they do then? Dean had been wondering exactly this for days, for weeks, ever since they found the spell locked in a box in an old shed. They’d been chasing down a demon making bad deals in a small town, when Dean literally tripped over the thing, spilling the contents across the dirt floor. It was Sam who realised it was something special. He spent sleepless nights translating it. They spent sleepless nights discussing it. They’d run the spell past the witch, Rowena and she said it was the real deal. She said she’d heard that such a spell may exist, but she always thought it was a fancy. Sam and Dean talked through the ethics of casting the spell; is it the right thing to do, is it taking what they do too far? For weeks they hashed it out over and over, always coming back to the same place; now they have it, how could they not use it? How many people would continue to die if they didn’t? How many lives could they save with just a few words of Latin.

But it wasn’t just a question of right or wrong that was keeping them awake at night, it was their mutual existential crisis; what would their lives be without this thing driving it? This thing that was their every, single day, their whole lives, their whole world, their constant. Everything they know, everything they were born to be, everything their father taught them. If that went away tomorrow, what then? Who were they if they weren’t hunters?

Dean drained his glass and reached for the bottle. “I dunno Sammy, I dunno what we’ll do when it all stops, but we’ll work it out together, like we always have.”

“I know we will,” Sam sighed. “And I know it’s right, I know it Dean. But all this…” he waved his hand around the bunker.

“This is our home, it’ll still be here, we’ll still be here, that’s not gunna change, what we’ve built that’s not going away, what we’ve achieved together, that’s always gunna be us. It’s just… It’ll be different…”

Years ago, Dean thought, if you’d have asked him or Sam if they had a chance to get out of the life, both of them would have jumped at it. But that was before they’d carved out a place for themselves, and understood their reason for being. That was before they accepted who they were, and were good with it. That was before they’d saved the world, twice.

“We keep saying there’s no cost to this spell, no deals, no downside,” Dean said. “But this is the cost, I guess. The world we built; our identities. We have to give part of that up for the greater good, and it ain’t gunna be easy. But it’s the job, man; just on a bigger scale, and it’s right.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, running a hand down his face. “And Kate, Garth, Mia are we sure they’ll be okay? They’re not just monsters, Dean. Are we sure we’ve looked after everyone?”

“Hopefully, Rowena’s spell will hold,” Dean said. “But we’ve warned them, that’s all we can do. It’s bigger than them, they know that. We’ve protected who we can the best we can. Sammy, I know you’re worried, but we can’t do any more.”

Sam nodded at his brother, before picking up his glass and gulping down the rest of his whiskey. Standing up, he grabbed the parchment from the table.

“Right. The longer we wait, the more people die. We got work to do.”

 

Sam and Dean stood in a grove of trees behind the bunker. A small fire burned in a circle, a bubbling pot suspended above it, the pungent aroma of herbs filling the chilled, night air. Dean held a piece of paper covered in glyphs. He turned to his brother.

“This is it, Sammy. We do this, it’s the end of everything we’ve ever known. You ready for that?”

“No,” Sam said. “But I know it’s right, and I know you and me, that doesn’t change.”

“No, it doesn’t, and it never will,” Dean said. He tossed the paper into the fire.

Sam held up the parchment and chanted the incantation, “Abominationes impietatis animalia quae non. Qui non ex simplici. Ad te ab abyssum irent. Ab hoc mundo. Et abierunt!”

He threw a small, leather pouch Rowena had prepared for them, into the flames. There was an explosion of white, blue light. Then silence.

“That it?” Dean said. “Every evil son of a bitch… gone?”

“That’s it, Dean…”

The brothers stood for a long time, should to shoulder, quietly watching the dying embers.

 

Dean woke up and stretched his back, wincing at the loud crack. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood with a groan. He grabbed a pair of discarded jeans off the chair in the corner of his room and pulled them on, before taking a clean, black t-shirt from a draw and slipping it over his head. He picked up a pair of socks off the floor, holding them to his nose, before tugging them onto his feet. Putting on his boots, he grabbed his Colt 911 from the nightstand and tucked it in his pants. Opening his bedroom door, he walked down the bunker hall. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen, a steaming coffee mug in front of him, his laptop open.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, heading directly to the coffee pot. “What’s happening in the world?” He slid onto the chair opposite his brother, pulling his Colt from his belt and setting on the table next to Sam’s gun.

“Usual crazy stuff.” Sam said.

“Our kind of crazy?” Dean said, eyeing his brother.

“Just normal, human crazy,” Sam said. He closed his laptop.

Dean nodded. “Good. So… What we doin’ today?”

“I still have a whole bunch of boxes of lore from the back room to go through and catalogue,” Sam said. “So, I might as well get into that. You?”

“Baby could do with a clean, might give a few of the other cars a once over too.”

Sam nodded. The pair sat, drinking their coffee, the occasional slurp echoing in the silence.

“Before I do that though,” Dean said. “I might run into town, pick up some supplies, this kitchen is getting a bit low on just about everything. Fancy going for a ride?”

“Sure thing,” Sam said.

Standing up they both reached for their guns.

“Wait,” Dean said, his hand hovering over the weapon. “Do we still need these?”

Sam looked at him.

“Probably not.”

They stared at each other across table.

“Nah,” Dean said, sliding the gun into the back of his belt.

Sam laughed and did the same.

“See Sammy, still us.”

“Yep Dean, still us.”

-FIN-

(c) Story by Amy Hutton based on characters created by Eric Kripke.
    Dedicated to Supernatural and the Supernatural fandom, after the
    announcement that Supernatural will finish after it's 15th season.
    More Supernatural Fan fiction by Amy can be found here

Scammed: A Supernatural Fan Fiction

Dean Winchester drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel of his beloved Impala, his right hand pressing his phone to his ear. The heat radiating across his cheek.

“Come on,” he said, moving the phone in front of his face to glare at it.

The Impala door opened with a groan, and his brother, Sam, folded himself in, sliding onto his seat and tucking his long legs under the dash. He was nursing a tray with two large coffees and one sticky looking pastry.

“Still on hold?” Sam said, handing Dean a cardboard cup.

“With the worst freakin’ music ever!” Dean grumbled.

He turned his phone towards his brother and hit the speaker button. A crackling, muzak version of Afternoon Delight filled the car.

“Geesh,” Sam said, with a grimace.

Dean hit the speaker button again, silencing the cacophony of electronic notes. He put his phone back to his ear and grabbed the pastry from the tray on Sam’s lap, shoving a large bite of it into his mouth.

“Mm sthick ov wating,” Dean said, through a mouthful of food. “Ib beem ober thirby munmits”

Sam stared at him. “Dude, I didn’t understand a word you just said.”

Dean took a loud slurp of coffee and wiped his face along his sleeve.

“I said, I’m sick of waiting, it’s been over thirty minutes!”

“So, hang up,” Sam said with a shrug.

“And lose my place in the queue? No way.”

Dean angrily packed his mouth with the rest of the sugary treat at the exact moment a customer service member picked up his call. Quickly taking a gulp of coffee, he attempted to choke down the remnants of pastry while motioning wildly for Sam to hold his cup.

“Yes. Hello,” Dean spluttered into the phone, as he struggled to swallow his breakfast. “I want to check my credit card ……… Because I just went to use it, and it got rejected!”

He turned to Sam and rolled his eyes with exaggerated exasperation.

“What. Oh yeah. Hang on.” Dean scrambled for his wallet, lifting his butt to extract it from his back pocket. Placing the wallet on his knee, he held it steady with an elbow while he pulled out his MasterCard. “Okay. It’s 5555 6466 8132 0000 ……… Vincent Cooper. 12 September 1979,” he said, then waited silently.

Sam watched his brother, eyebrows raised, an amused swirl of lines clustering in the middle of his forehead.

“My last transaction?” Dean carried on. “Um.” He glanced sideways at Sam. “It was an online purchase ……… You need me to confirm the purchase? But why? Can’t you see the purchase? ……… Oh. Right.”

He brought the phone closer to his face, cupping his hand over the mouthpiece and twisting inwards towards the window beside him.

“Anime Heaven,” he whispered into the device.

After a beat of silence, Dean closed his eyes and repeated himself, this time in his normal voice.

“ANIME HEAVEN.”

Sam let out a snicker followed closely by an “ow!” as his brother expertly reached across and thumped him without even looking.

“Yeah, that’s been the only purchase,” Dean mumbled. “The card was brand new ……… No. I definitely didn’t order forty pair of Nikes.” He turned to Sam, “Son of a bitch,” he said. “I knew it. Someone scammed my card!”

Before Sam could respond, Dean held up a silencing finger.

“A-ha. Okay,” he continued down phone. “Yup, absolutely, cancel it. That’ll screw up the fitness freaks.” Dean gave Sam a triumphant thumbs up. “And just to clarify, I’m not responsible for that money, right? …… Awesome. Yeah, okay, no that’s it. Thanks.”

He ended the call and turned to face Sam.

“Can you believe it. Freakin’ credit card fraud! Scammers. What ass-wipes. At least we don’t have to pay for it.”

Sam gapped at his brother.

“Dean, we never have to pay for it.”

“What? Yeah, well. That’s not the point.”

“That card was a scam. Vincent. Cooper. We live on credit card fraud!”

“Not the same.”

“Technically it is.”

“But we’re not stealing from anyone.”

“Technically we are.”

“Banks don’t count.”

“Technically they do.”

Dean glowered at Sam, before turning away and starting the car. She roared to life with a satisfying thrum.

“Anime Heaven, Dean?” Sam said with a smirk.

“Shut-up.”

“Really?”

“It’s an art form!”

The noise of screeching tyres mixed with Sam’s raucous laughter, as Dean floored the gas.

-FIN-

(c) Story by Amy Hutton based on characters created by Eric Kripke.
    Dedicated to all the Supernatural fans who had their credit cards
    scammed this past week in the Great SPN Credit Card Apocalypse. 
    More Supernatural Fan fiction by Amy can be found here

The Question

Jessie sat in the lounge-room, a glow from the streetlight sneaking through the curtains. She watched the door, anxiously chewing her nails, waiting for James to come home. She wanted to ask him something, something she knew he wouldn’t like. She’d rehearsed the words in her mind, and though they sounded perfectly logical to her, she knew he’d still say no. There was no way James would let her date a cop.

James was Jessie’s older brother, by a whole four minutes, and he never let her forget it. He was always there, watching over her, and though she never doubted his love, she wished, just once, he’d let her make her own decisions. She knew dating a cop could be dangerous for them, but their parent’s death was ancient history. Why would they be discovered now?

 

Jessie heard the key in the lock and watched silently as James stepped into the hall, kicking off his greasy boots. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, swallowing hard as he flicked on the light. He jumped out of his skin when he saw her.

“What the hell Jessie! Why are you in the dark?”

He was obviously tired. Jessie wished she’d picked her moment more carefully.

“I’m waiting for you. I, um, want to ask you something,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap.

“Yeah, well, it can wait. I wanna take a shower.”

“Can you shower in a minute?” she asked. “I won’t take long.”

“I said it can wait!”

Jessie winced. “Okay, sure,” she said, forcing a smile. “You go shower.”

She closed her eyes and listened as James stomped up the stairs.

 

“There’s no way I’m allowing you to go out with that guy, Jess, he’s a cop, are you stupid?”

James was standing in Jessie’s bedroom, towering over her, making her feel even smaller than she was.

“I’m not stupid, James, please don’t say that,” she tried to sound assertive. “How will he find out about mum and dad, no-one else has, besides the case was closed years ago!”

She looked at her twin brother, her fists balled tightly by her sides. She wanted to scream at him, tell him she was 24, that he couldn’t control her anymore. She wanted to hit him, punch him until she forced him to say yes, but she knew it wasn’t worth it, his anger was too much for her to bear.

 

Jessie followed James onto the landing, trying to reason with him.

“He’s known me for nearly a year, James, don’t you think if he was secretly investigating us, we’d know by now? He just wants to take me to dinner. I’m 24, I should be able to go on a date!” She realised her voice was raised, but she didn’t care, she was done with this bullshit.

“You’re not seeing him and that’s it!” James literally stamped his foot.

They stood on the landing, a long, unspoken resentment rolling between them.

“So, is it just him? Or is it anyone?”Jessie asked calmly.

“What?” James said.

“Is it that you don’t want me to date a cop or is it that you don’t want me to date anyone?” She glared at him, challenging. “You can’t risk it can you, because I might leave, and who would you be then? Who are you if you’re not controlling me? You’re terrified that if I meet someone, I’ll finally see how pathetic you are! You need me!”

James flew forward, his face so close to hers she could feel the heat of his breath.

“I don’t need you,” he growled. “You’ve done nothing but hold me back my entire life. Protecting you, watching you, trapped in this shitty existence, all because of you! My psychopath sister! Maybe I should leave you, see how far you get.”

“But who other than me, would love a loser like you?” Jessie practically hissed.

James punched the wall by her head, he was fuming, but she no longer cared, it was time to own her life.

“Maybe I should tell your Officer Becket the truth about you,” James continued, through gritted teeth. “Or better still, take a leaf out of your book and just get rid of him completely.” He sneered down at her.

That was it. Jessie felt something explode inside. “You can’t control me anymore,” she screamed as her hands shot forward, hitting James with all her strength.

He stumbled backwards, realisation frozen on his face.

 

Jessie sat on the footpath, a sense of calm filling the space where rage just lived. She could hear the sirens. She knew what she was going to say, and she knew they’d believe her. She found James at the bottom of the stairs when she got home. A tragedy. She was pretty sure she could fake some tears, she’d faked them before. As she sat waiting for the ambulance, for the first time in her life she felt truly alone. But it wasn’t a sad feeling, it was exhilarating. After 24 years of sharing every emotion, every experience, now she could finally have something for herself. She thought about James’ body, broken on the floor and a rush of pleasure coursed through her. She’d forgotten what it felt like to kill, how liberating it was. James had tried to control her, but now she was free, now she could do whatever she wanted.

(c) Amy Hutton

Ten Second Hero

Crystal still couldn’t believe she was there, she still couldn’t believe she was doing it. Any minute now she was going to meet her favourite actor, she was going to say hello to him, maybe even touch him.

Her stomach felt like it had a flock of butterflies flapping around inside it and she was acutely aware that she was trembling. Her palms may even be sweating. She wiped them down the front of her dress just in case. She had wanted to come to one of these fan conventions forever, but she never seemed to be able to work up the nerve, her anxiety always getting in the way. And yet somehow here she was, waiting in line to take a photo with a guy she’d been in love with for years! What was she even thinking?

The energy in the room was electric, happiness bouncing off the walls. Music was playing, people were laughing, everyone was excited to be there. As Crystal made her way forward in the queue, she suddenly realised she could see him. There he was, standing in front of a back drop, looking more beautiful than she ever thought possible. It was surreal. Like her wildest dream.

A wave of panic gripped her, she was not emotionally prepared for this! Not even a little! What if she couldn’t do it? What if she couldn’t talk? Or worse, what if she fainted? She felt light headed just thinking about it. As she started to sway, a girl behind her grabbed her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked. “Do you need to sit down?”

Crystal looked around, concerned faces staring in her direction. Please don’t let this be how it ends, she thought, with her in a pile on the floor, not when she’d come this far. She took in a steadying breath, determined not to humiliate herself. Determined not to miss this chance.

“Just a bit nervous,” she said with a shaky smile.

The girl smiled back understandingly, and then nodded towards the beginning of the line.

Crystal was next.

He turned as she stepped into the photo area, smiling warmly down at her. He was taller than she thought.

“Hi,” he said. “What are we doing today?”

She willed herself to speak, “Ah ah…”

He leant in closer so he could hear her.

“A hhhhhhhuuuu…,” she stumbled, trying her best to get out the word, just one word. She could feel her face starting to burn. “Aaaa..aaaaaa…A HUG?” she blurted so loud he actually started.

“You got it,” he said, gently guiding her into his arms. She bravely rested her head against the warmth of his broad chest.

As Crystal floated from the room, the noise of the fans and the music behind her, all she could hear was her heart singing. She did it. SHE DID IT! And it was the greatest ten seconds of her life.

(c) Amy Hutton

The Pledge

Alec stepped carefully onto the creaking porch of the dilapidated house. He flicked on his flashlight, shining it on his face and turning towards the boys on the footpath, laughing at his good joke.

“You’re not getting out of it, Pledge,” one of the boys yelled.

Alec shrugged his shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. Turning back, he pushed open the heavy door, closing it behind him with a loud slam. He walked forward in to the dankness and shone the light around the broken-down room.

To be honest, he wished he’d said no to this stupid challenge. This place had always made his skin crawl. He knew the disappearances were only an urban legend, but fact or fiction, there was no denying his heart was beating pretty loud in his ears right now.

He couldn’t say no though, could he, not if he wanted to make the fraternity, and he really wanted to make the fraternity. He couldn’t believe they even accepted him as a Pledge, so he sure as shit wasn’t blowing it now. He had to do this, like it or not, if he wanted any kind of college existence. Basically, it was go into this creepy-ass house, or continuing being a nobody.

Alec took a steadying breath, he was determined to see this through. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and looked at the clue. Somewhere in here was what he was looking for, whatever that was. Something unexpected, was all they said. The room was all but empty, just a tatty chair and a few boxes strewn in the dust. He shone his torch into the blackness, spiderwebs glistening as the beam passed over them.

When he heard the noise, Alec was sure it was prank. He waited for Halloween decorations to drop from the ceiling, his future brothers to jump out laughing at his expense. He was so caught up in the scenario in his head, he didn’t notice the figure behind him.

As Alec lay strapped to the table, he could just make out another person in the room.

“Very funny, guys,” he said, hoping his shaky voice didn’t betray him.

“Shhhhhhhh,” was all that came back.

Alec felt fear bristle up his spine. “Come on, guys,” he said. “These things are starting to hurt.” He twisted against the ties on his arms and legs

Out of the shadows, a woman slowly stepped forward. Alec blinked hard, as light glinted off the edge of her knife.

“My boys brought me a pretty one this time,” she cooed, smiling sweetly as she gently passed the blade over Alec’s face.

As the shock of the cool metal pierced Alec’s heart, all he could think was, worst fraternity ever.

(c) Amy Hutton

The Eternal Fear

He hid in the shadows, listening. His eyes, used to the gloom, darted furtively back and forth.

After all these years, is this where it ends?

He remembered the first time he was hunted. A father and son. Farmers he thought. He’d taken their daughter, their sister. He’d led her to him, tricked her, seduced her, changed her. They fled together, travelling at night, hiding like animals in caves. But still the hunters came.

He remembered the moment the stake entered her body, the agony he felt in his undead soul. He remembered her guttural scream seconds before her head hit the ground.

She was his first creation. There’d been others since, but her destruction pained him the most.

He’d spent his eternity skulking, feigning humanity, even falling in love, a long time ago. She was young, her cheeks pink like the blossoms of a tree, her skin warm like the kiss of forgotten sunshine. Beautiful. Human. He was first her suitor, then husband, then son, then grandson, when after sixty years she died in his arms. Leathery skin pressed against his permanent youth.

He vowed to live his endless existence causing no more harm. He picked his prey, the bad people, the evil, the dregs that no-one wanted, and no-one missed. He believed this was his debt to pay for all who had died on his lips.

But now the hunters came again, and they were no longer afraid.

As he disappeared up a rickety fire escape, fleeing across rooftops, he wondered if it would be so bad to die? Wasn’t 352 years on this earth enough? The only thing that kept him going his the dread of the unknown. What would become of him when his head was finally separated from his shoulders. Could a vampire not fear death too?

(c) Amy Hutton

The Song

She held her breath as she waited for the music to begin. This song had come to mean so much to her. So much happiness, so much pain. It was love, it was friendship, it was crazy adventures. It was understanding. It was acceptance.

She knew its words like they were her mantra. The lyrics were tattooed on to her skin. She’d sung it at the top of her lungs, screaming out the chorus, arms slung about the shoulders of her besties, as the crowd swayed and chanted around her.

It was no longer just a song, it was an emotion, raw and powerful. It flooded her mind with images and flooded her heart with cherished memories.

As she sat there, holding the remote to her chest, leaning forward on her couch, her eyes fixed on the screen, tears already threatening to run down her cheeks, she whispered, “Here we go.”

The picture came up from black and music flooded her room…

Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don’t you cry no more.

(c) Amy Hutton