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everyfairydies · 7 years

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Meet Sabbath

Part 2 of “Introductory Series” Rating: PG Characters: Dean & Sam Winchester SPN Timeline: Season 1 Warnings: Obscene language, alcohol, supernatural/horror themes Prompt: Sabbath meets Sam Sam fired the shotgun, the rock salt shells exploding into the form racing towards him. With a shriek, it dissipated into ragged tatters of shadow which slowly faded. Dean stumbled to his feet from where the ghost had thrown him across the room, rubbing the back of his head and fumbling to regain his grip on the iron poker in his hand. “Think it’s gone?” He asked his brother. “No idea,” Sam replied tersely, turning slowly on the spot, gun at the ready. As the two moved to stand back-to-back, the pictures on the wall started shaking. The dilapidated furniture also began to shake, the whole house vibrating while a voice started to shriek, all noise culminating into a grand crescendo of sound which forced both men to slam their hands against their ears in a vain attempt to protect their hearing. Suddenly, across the room, the manifestation appeared, more angry than it had ever been before. How dare these impudent children seek to end what life remained to it? They would be punished, and soon see for themselves just how difficult life within the veil was. The ghost gestured at Sam, sending him flying across the room and crashing into the far wall. Before he could get up, the ghost gestured again and sent him slamming head-first into a heavy dining table. Sam lay unmoving. “Hey!” Dean yelled at the ghost, burying his concern for his brother and repressing an urge to race over and check that he was still alive. He raised the poker in his hands baseball bat style. “Batter up.” The ghost sneered at him and gestured disdainfully. Dean felt the poker fall from his hands as he too was thrown across the room and crashed into a bookcase. As he fell to the ground, the bookcase collapsed on top of him, trapping him beneath and rendering him unable to avoid the top corner of the bookcase as it smashed into his head. Like his brother, Dean lay unmoving. The ghost hovered closer, glee twisting its features. It stood above Sam, pondering for a moment exactly how to kill the two brothers. So intent on its plotting was the creature, that it failed to notice the new presence in the room until, as it reached down to grab Sam, a voice behind him spoke. “Jesus, can’t you two do anything without incurring serious cranial injury?”

Sam groaned and slowly opened his eyes. His head pounded and he felt bruised all over. As he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, he frowned, immediately noticing something wrong but unable to put his finger on it. As his vision cleared, he looked around at his surroundings, an astonished look on his face. He reached over and shook Dean. “Dean, Dean!” Dean muttered and swiped lazily at his brother. “Dude, wake up!” “Huh? Wha? I’m up, I’m up,” Dean spoke and sat up before his eyes were fully open. As he felt the mattress beneath him, he finally peeled open his eyelids and stared in amazement at their ratty hotel room. “How the hell did we get here?” Sam asked his brother, doing his best not to freak out. “The last thing I remember is being in that house, and that ghost slamming me head-first into a table.” Sam stood and paced a turn around the room. Dean rubbed an eye. “Yeah, and I was rammed into a bookcase. So-“ “So how the hell did we end up back here?” Sam snapped, frustrated and a little creeped out. “More to the point,” Dean said, rising and looking at himself, “who cleaned up us and put us to bed? I’m telling ya, it better have been a hot chick in a nurse’s uniform.” Sam looked down at himself, suddenly realising Dean was right. Both of them were wearing different clothes from what they had been when they’d left to check that house. Instead of jeans and three layers of flannel, they were both dressed in track pants and loose shirts. And they’d been tended to. There was a bandage around Dean’s hand, and Sam could feel that his ribs had been taped up. They were also both clean, and a quick look in the bathroom showed a neat pile of used towels, and their blood stained clothes soaking in the bathtub. “Dude,” Sam asked in exasperation, “what the hell happened?” Dean shook his head. “I have no-.” He stopped as he caught sight of an iridescent throwing knife jammed upright in middle of the kitchenette table. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” he muttered as he moved over to inspect it. “What?” Sam followed his brother’s eyes and started in surprise when he saw the knife. He stood beside Dean as they both examined it, then slowly reached out to pull the knife from the table. He turned it over in his hand, watching almost fascinated as the knife flashed and the colors sparkled in the light. “She better not have taken photos this time!” Dean almost shouted. “Thinks this is funny, messing with a man when he’s unconscious. Never mind interfering in someone else’s hunt!” Dean whirled and faced Sam. “Well, I’m not letting her get away with it this time!” Sam stared at Dean in bewilderment. “What? What are you talking about, Dean?” “Sabbath!” Dean yelled, furious. Sam continued to stare as Dean stomped around the room, muttering imprecations. “What? Who’s Sabbath? Dean, what are you talking about?” Dean whirled. “That chick thinks she can just walk in here and-,” he stopped, and the color drained from his face. “Oh god, no!” “What-?” Sam began to ask as Dean threw open the door and raced out into the parking lot, Sam close on his heels. Dean ran up to the Impala, relief plastered across his face. “Thank god, thank god! It’s ok, baby,” he soothed the silent vehicle. “I’m here now. Did she hurt you?” Sam stared at the windscreen, then nudged Dean. “What?” Dean looked to where Sam pointed. “Son of a bitch!” He cursed as he read the message scrawled across the windscreen. Oh, c’mon, like I’d steal her while you were unconscious. Where’s the fun in that? Sam stared, first at the car, then at Dean. He felt himself trying hard to repress a laugh at the look of horrified anger mixed with grudging admiration and something else he couldn’t quite figure out crossed his brother’s face. The whole thing seemed insane. “Are you telling me,” Sam said carefully, “that when that ghost knocked us out, a friend of yours came in, ganked the ghost, brought us and the Impala back here, stripped us, treated our injuries and then put us to bed?” In lieu of reply, Dean whirled and stomped back inside their hotel room while Sam trailed behind him. “So, who’s this Sabbath?” He asked, burning with curiosity. Dean grabbed Sam’s laptop, typed something into the search engine, and turned the computer screen towards his brother. He gestured silently with slight disgust for Sam to see for himself. Sam looked at the images that lined up on the screen. A beautiful, curvaceous woman, with dark hair and deep eyes, pictured in various dance poses and costumes. He clicked a Wikipedia link, and his eyebrows slowly raised as he read. When he reached the end of the article, he leaned back in his chair. “Wow.” He stared at the photos in front of him. “Nurse outfit indeed,” he murmured, then realised he’d said it out loud and blushed slightly. He cleared his throat. “So,” he turned to Dean, “you know this woman? This… ballerina?” Sam couldn’t help but feel amazed that his crass, coarse, strip-club-patronising brother could possibly be friends with a woman so refined and educated. He again scanned the list of cities she’d studied at and performed in: London, New York, Paris, Moscow and St Petersburg, just to name a few. “Yeah, I know her,” Dean ground out through gritted teeth as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. “And she’s not the refined lady you think she is,” he added bitingly. “But, how did you meet her?” “It’s a long story.” Sam waited while Dean continued to silently drink his beer in surliness. “Well?” Sam asked. “Never mind,” Dean snapped. “We need to head out to the graveyard tonight, find this ghost’s bones and burn ‘em.” Sam knew if he kept pestering his brother, he’d never get an answer out of him, so he simply nodded and gestured for Dean to hand him a beer.

The night was still and silent, with a faint chill in the air as they wended their way through the headstones. Dean lead Sam towards the gravesite, shovels over their shoulders and their lights flashing over the names and dates of the stones. Dean stopped beside one stone, and nodded to Sam. “Here it is.” He lowered his shovel and moved to start digging. He stopped, noticing the ground was freshly dug and smoothed. Sam moved his light across the mound and stopped at the base of the headstone. He gently tapped on Dean’s arm and pointed. Tucked between the tombstone and a loose rock, a white piece of paper shone brightly in the night. Sam could see Dean’s name scrawled across the front, in the same handwriting that they had washed off the Impala’s windscreen earlier that day. When Dean didn’t move, Sam leaned over and picked up the paper. He opened it, and had to stifle a chuckle as he read it out. Well, I’m hardly going to leave a job half-finished, now, am I? I mean, you could spend the night digging up the coffin just to check if I’ve done the job properly, but really Dean, it’s a bit of a waste of time and effort, don’t you think? Have a few beers on me, instead. I look forward to your snarky texts. Sabbath. Sam pulled out the fifty dollar bill that had been attached to the note by a paper clip and held up for Dean to see. Dean scowled at Sam, grabbed his shovel and stomped off, muttering under his breath. Sam followed, an evil grin on his face.

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #fanfic #fanfiction #sabbath nolyreux

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