Jun. 16th, 2017

Warzone

Jun. 16th, 2017 11:58 pm
madimpossibledreamer: Sherlock holding his violin. (creative)
Not perfect, but I've been sitting on it for a while with no ideas about how to improve it, so here goes.
Also I absolutely refuse to create a tag for John Winchester because I'm not going to write him enough to need one because I don't like him.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Prequel to Lucky Strike 'verse, the Supernatural/Shadowed Suspicions (Buffy/Jojo's Bizarre Adventure fanfic) Crossover AU.
Summary: This is what happened to Dean and why he ended up stranded (and bitter) in Sunnydale.
Word Count: 590
Rating: T

         Mere luck was all that saved Dean.
         Usually, he wouldn't have woken up.  He subconsciously recognized all the 'safe' sounds-little Sammy's noises, the way his father moved around, even 'Uncle' Bobby.  So when he heard John's step, walking toward him, stopping, he would've usually stayed asleep,  knowing that Dad was just doing his job.
         This time he woke, just in time to see the knife coming for his head.  Survival instincts reacted faster than his own brain, and in a second he was twisting out of the way.
         "Thought you could trick me, boy."  A sneer, anger directed at him. 
         What had he done?  Panic thrilled through him, but somehow contained.  He wasn't going to die like this.  "Dad, what's going on?"
         "Dad?" John Winchester repeated, look on his face only growing more disdainful.  "This ends now.  You're not my son.  You never have been."
         "What?" he managed, eyes wet with pain and fear and a hint of anger, and that distant crash wasn't anything to worry himself about.  Just his world, falling apart.
         "I don't know how you managed to convince us all, but you're not going to take Sam away from me."  Sam!
         "Is Sammy okay?" he asked quickly, because if there was anything more powerful than his respect for this man who—was he right?  he'd always been right, after all, he was a hunter and knew what he was doing, but—but no, if he'd been affected out on a hunt, if he suddenly turned against Sammy too, he had to protect his younger brother, that was his job
         "You won't see him again," John promised, holding up the knife again.
         Dean had been training to make quick, life-or-death decisions all his life.  So while making the next choice was easy at the time—more instinct rather than anything else—he'd agonize over it later.  Later, though.
         He jumped out the window, aiming for the bush he'd seen earlier.  The landing was a little scratchy, and he'd have cuts everywhere later, but for the time being he'd be able to make a run for it.  And make a run for it he did.
         He ran hard, tearing through the streets, lungs feeling so much more alive than normal.  He made it to a payphone with no sign of Dad, and decided to risk the call to Bobby.  He probably used the wrong number, but at the other end was Bobby and that's what mattered.  His brain was a mess at the moment.
         "Yeah?  This is Director Kirsch, how can I help you?"  Bobby sounded groggy.
         "It's Dean."  His voice sounded harsh, and he couldn't help a cough.
         "Balls, don't you know which lines to use, boy?" Yep, that was Bobby.
         "Dad tried to kill me, and I don't know...if it's me, if something happened to me, or whether it's Dad—but Sammy, you gotta make sure Sammy's—"  And then he heard a familiar sound.  The Impala's engine.  He'd know his baby anywhere.  Except this time, it wasn't the sound of home.
         He threw away the phone, began running down the streets, ignoring Bobby's frantic questions.  The Impala came tearing down the road, Dad at the wheel.  He barely managed to throw himself into a warehouse before he was run over, only to see a bunch of monsters with fangs and weird faces had made this place their home.  "Son of a bitch."
         Something hit him over the back of the head, and he thought he noticed a flare of something bright before everything went dark.

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