This little drabble is based on a challenge given by bubbles90:
Sam is in high school still, but Deans out. A kid brings a gun to school and starts shooting. Some kids are held hostage, and Sam is one of them. Dean is trying to help, though he doesn't know if its supernatural or not (optional), and he doesn't want to wait for the cops to do something.
I found this when browsing the challenge forums, and it seemed interesting, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: Kripke owns the boys. Not me. If I did, there would be more hugging between the boys and more shirtless scenes. The plot bunny belongs to bubbles90, but the rest is mine!
Rated for a bit of bad language. Dean and his dirty mouth.
“Alright class, please turn your books to page 269,” Mrs. Evans called over he shoulder, copying some notes off of the piece of paper in her hand onto the blackboard. There was a loud flurry of noise as the students pulled their books out of their backpacks, placed them on their desks, and turned to the required page. Barely half of the class was paying attention to their History teacher. It was the last class of the day on a Friday, and most most talking amongst themselves about upcoming plans or counting down the minutes until the bell rung, dismissing school for the weekend.
However, a tall, gangly fifteen-year old with long brown hair that always fell into his brown eyes, was not thinking about his plans for the upcoming weekend. Sam Winchester was not a typical teenager. He did not come from a typical family. His mother was dead, and him, his brother, Dean, and his father hunted demons. While other boys his age were thinking about sports, parties, and hooking up with girls, Sam's head was filled with such things as how to kill a werewolf, how to clean and load a shotgun, and what protection spells could keep him and his brother safe in their line of work. Currently, his father was out on another of his hunts, protecting more innocent people from getting killed by the things that lurked in the dark.
Sam was snapped out of his thoughts at the loud banging of a door against the wall. A short, skinny kid with flaming red hair and a pimply face stepped through the door, brandishing a 9 millimeter and yelling at everyone to get down on the floor. Screams erupted as the occupants of the room scrambled to get out of his way, knocking over tables and chairs in their haste. Sam didn't move.
“YOU!” bellowed the kid, in a raspy, nasaly voice, pointing the gun directly at Sam's head. “I said get the fuck down!”
Immediately dismissing a foolish thought to try and disarm the kid, Sam slowly lowered himself to the ground with his arms raised in a motion of surrender, positioning himself in such a way that he could fling himself at the kid if necessary. There was no way in hell he was about to take on a trigger-happy teenager. Demons he could deal with. They usually didn't tend to go around pointing guns at peoples' heads.
While the kid's attention was focused on Sam, a girl put her plan of escape in action, standing up quickly and sprinting toward the door. Unfortunately, the kid caught this motion out of the corner of his eye and turned, shooting her in the back before anyone had time to react. She fell with a loud thud on the ground, motionless, and a large puddle of blood started to seep from under her body. Once again, several loud screams sounded, and the shooter swiveled around the room, pointing the gun in every direction, causing everyone to fling themselves at the ground. Before Sam could warn him against it, a large, burly jock jumped up in an attempt to tackle the shooter, only to be shot in the chest, flying back into the desk behind him. More screams. More blood. Sam started to get up, his only thought being to get to the kid before he shot anyone else, but was met with the gun pointed at his face.
“Nobody says anything, no body MOVES, until I tell you so. Got it?” screamed the shooter, still pointing the gun at Sam, forcing him back down to the floor. All anybody could do was cower in fear, hoping that they would not be the next person to be shot.
Dean Winchester, Sam's eighteen-year-old brother, was lounging back in his '67 Chevy Impala, waiting for his kid brother to get out of school so that he could drive him back to their apartment. Suddenly, without any warning, a loud shot rang out, startling several birds out of the tree that he was parked under.
“Son of a bitch!” cried Dean, sitting up so quickly that he almost whacked his head on the sunroof. Another shot. Whipping his head toward the entrance of the school and seeing literally hundreds of people running from the building, he immediately got out of the car slamming the door and locking it before rushing toward the crowd. Not seeing Sam among the fleeing students, he panicked, breaking out into a full-on run, stopping when he felt his phone ring in his pocket. Pulling it out of his pocket, he quickly read the screen which was blinking Sammy, before pressing the “talk” button hurriedly.
“Sammy! Where the hell are you?” he asked, raw concern making his voice come out as a growl. “I heard a shot and people came running out of the fucking building! Where are yo-..”
“Dean!” Dean heard him say. “There's a kid with a gun. Room 108. Hurry. A girl's dead, Dean,” he added, and Dean could hear the emotion in his voice.
“Ok, ok. Don't worry. I'm coming. I-...” Dean was once again interrupted, this time by the an angry, nasally voice.
“YOU! What you think you're doing! Who the hell are you talking to?”
Dean's eyes widened as he heard Sam gasp, knowing he had been caught by the shooter.
“You just WHAT? You just made a big mistake, kid.”
Dean felt his stomach drop as a shot sounded. Hysterical screams sounded through the phone, followed something heavy dropped to the floor.
“SAM? SAMMY!” Dean shouted, but he didn't get an answer. He was unable to move, his feet were stuck to the ground as he clutched the phone to his ear in horror. The line went dead.
“No! Sam! FUCK!” he roared, wrenching himself out of his shock induced stupor and sprinting up the stairs of the school, only to be caught around the waist by what he assumed were two teachers.
“Sir! You can't go in there! The police are on their way!” a woman tried to reason with him, placing her hand on his shoulder in an effort to calm him down.
“Get off of me!” he growled menacingly, flinging the offending limbs off of him. “Bastard shot my little brother. I'm going in there!” Without waiting for a response, he vaulted up the last few steps, faintly hearing police sirens around the pounding in his year. He jerked open the door, and stepped into the building running wildly down the hallways in search of room 108. Skidding past the door, and almost running head-first into a glass trophy case at the end of the hall, he sprinted back, only thinking about his brother as he tried the door. Locked.
Kicking the door open without a second thought, he jumped over the body of the girl, tackling the kid with the gun before he had a chance to register what was happening, causing him to let off a shot into a nearby desk. As he raised the gun to shoot his attacker, Dean grabbed his arm, getting a sense of sick satisfaction as he heard it snap, effectively getting the kid to drop the gun to the floor. Kicking the gun out of reach, Dean slammed the kid to the ground, holding his arms behind his back.
“You're going to regret the day you ever laid eyes on my brother, you son of a bitch,” he growled, squeezing the kid's arm until he saw is face contort in pain.
“FREEZE!” sounded a voice behind him, “Put your hands up!” Turning he saw three police officers, each with their guns pointed at his head. Dean raised his hands, stepped off of the shooter and moved away slowly. Realizing that he was not the threat, the three officers, put away their guns, rushing into the room, one hurrying toward the shooter and handcuffing him, one running toward the jock, who was slumped over a desk, and one bent down to check for a pulse of the girl sprawled in the doorway. The second they looked away from him, he looked wildly around the room for a sign of his brother. Spotting him slumped in a corner with a girl pressing a sweatshirt to a wound to his chest, Dean sprinted over, dropping to his knees and scattering the girls away from Sam's body.
“Dean...” croaked Sam, throat dry and vision swimming.
“No, Sam. No no no no no,” Dean repeated, grabbing his hand and taking in his brother's wide eyes and the blood trickling from his mouth.
“Hey! This one's alive!” he heard one of the police officers call, ushering in a paramedic with a stretcher. “Sir, you need to move. Your brother needs to be transported to hospital immediately.”
“I'm not leaving him,” replied Dean, lowering his voice menacingly but not looking away from his brother.
“Ok, you can come in the ambulance, but he REALLY needs a hospital,” pleaded the young paramedic, looking at him with wide eyes. Moving back a few paces, but refusing to relinquish contact with his baby brother, he allowed the paramedics to lift Sam onto the stretcher before rushing him down the hall and into the ambulance. Dean refused to let go of his hands, stepping into the vehicle and sitting down, unshed tears glistening in his eyes.
“Dean,” managed Sam weakly, catching his brother's eyes with his. “Dean, I-...”
“Shhh, Sammy. Don't talk. It's ok. You're going to be ok,” replied Dean, in an effort to reassure himself that his Sam was going to be alright. “You're going to the hospital. They'll patch you up. You'll be as good as new in no time.” Sam managed a small smile before slipping into unconscious, head lolling to the side.
“No! Sammy! Stay with me! Dammit, Sam!” ordered Dean, to no avail shaking his brother as the paramedics attempted to move him aside so that they could do their job. Arriving at the hospital, Sam was pulled out of the ambulance and out of Dean's grasp. As he attempted to catch up with the stretcher, a several doctors came up to him, holding him back so that he could not enter the doors that led to surgery. “No! Sam! Let me go!” he called, struggling to break their hold on him.
“Sir! You need to calm down!” replied an older lady, forcing him through the doors to the waiting room and into a chair. “I know you want to be with your brother, but he needs to go into surgery now! You wouldn't want anything to happen to him because you were in the way, would you?” This seemed to penetrate the haze of confusion that was Dean's brain and he slumped into the chair, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. Satisfied that he wasn't going to do anything rash, the nurses and doctors went back to their jobs, while the other occupants of the ER waiting room glanced at the newcomer with startled looks on their faces. Dean ignored them, praying to whatever higher powers there might be that his brother came out of this alive.
After a nerve wracking call to his father, who had abandoned his hunt and was currently driving back as fast as his truck could go, Dean started pacing up and down the waiting room angrily, snapping at anyone who dared look at him. Several hours later, a doctor entered the waiting room, causing Dean to look up from the circle he was packing into the rug beneath him.
“Mr. Kinney?” he asked, using the fake name that Dean had given the hospital for insurance. “Your brother's out of surgery. Although he suffered from an enormous amount of blood loss, there was little damage done to his organs.”
“So... is he...” Dean broke off, feeling his throat close up in anticipation.
“Your brother is going to be fine. We managed to stabilize him. He might still be groggy from the medications we have given him, but you may come see him if you'd like.” At a nod from Dean, he exited the waiting room and led him down several quarters before stopping in front of a door. “Here you go. Call if you need anything,” he said before opening the door and walking back down the hallway.
Stepping into the room, the first thing he saw was Sam laying in a bed with various machines hooked up to him. Closing the door quietly behind him, he took a seat in one of the chairs by the bed before reaching out and shaking his brother's arm slightly. Brown eyes met green as Sam opened his eyes and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.
“Dean...” he tried, but broke off coughing, reaching for a glass of water placed beside him. Handing him the glass, Dean interrupted before he could say anything further.
“God, it's good to see you, Sammy. I thought I almost lost you... You have no idea... I don't know what I would have done without you... I-...” rambling in relief and clutching Sam's hand with no intent of ever letting it go. Gone was the tough exterior that he so often put up. The only thing that mattered that Sam was ok.
“Dean,” Sam started with a small smile, throat slightly raspy. “No chick-flick moments.” Dean looked at him wide-eyed for a moment before bursting out laughing.
“Alright... bitch,” he replied, clearly relieved that his brother was well enough to make jokes.
“Jerk,” Sam answered back, relaxing into his pillows and smiling amusedly at his older brother. Pause. “Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?” came Dean's reply.
“Dad's gonna be pissed.”
Well, that's the end! Hope you liked it! Drop me a review on the way out!