Grandma's House
Nov. 1st, 2006 08:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: Grandma's House
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1014
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100_situations Table 2, Prompt 045 Animal
Summary: Sam and Dean are tracking a werewolf. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ellipsisblack who requested fic based on fairy tales...
A/N & Warnigns: No warnings...no angstiness...no schloomp...no wincest...just...well, read it...
The woods were eerily quiet. Dean gestured Sam around the back of the tiny little house. The werewolf had come this way, he was sure of it. Sam nodded and adjusted his grip on his gun before moving. Dean moved in the opposite direction.
The house itself was odd. Out in the middle of no where. Almost exactly half way between the two closest towns. It appeared to be old, not exactly run down, but obviously old. There was no car, no garage for a car, no road or tracks leading in from the state road they’d left the Impala at. He couldn’t imagine who would live out here.
There was movement in the house though. Someone was definitely home. He met Sam at the door. Both of them were strung pretty tight. They’d watched the damn thing kill two kids the night before, and this was the last night of the full moon…their last chance to track it and kill it, unless they came back a month from now.
Dean snapped his fingers to get Sam’s attention, and his eyes flashed to his brother briefly, before returning to the door. Sam nodded, he didn’t need to see what Dean was mouthing, he already knew. Slowly, Sam reached out with one hand for the door. The knob turned easily and the door swung open without a sound. Dean stepped through first, though Sam was hard behind him.
“Dude.” Dean whispered, looking around them. “It’s like a Grandma’s house.”
Every available surface was covered in pictures. The couch was covered in plastic and a hand crafted afghan was draped over the back. “Focus.” Sam whispered back, stepping around him. “Its in here somewhere.”
The house wasn’t really all that big, so hiding space was limited. They moved through the small living room slowly, eyes sweeping each lurking shadow, ears trained for any sound that might be a wounded werewolf waiting to kill them. “Its almost dawn.” Sam whispered as Dean rejoined him after detouring around the couch.
“I know.”
The kitchen space was even smaller than the living room, and its counters were tidy and neat, flower printed canisters and a draining board with a single plate and a glass sitting on it. A tea kettle sat atop an ancient stove.
That left only the door. They both turned to it, Dean counting on his fingers to three. They burst in and stopped cold. The tiny room was lit by a single candle on the nightstand by the tiny bed. On the bed, a little old woman blinked back at them. Dean held up one hand in hopes of forestalling her scream. “Hey…it’s okay. We’re just looking for…”
“Dean.” Sam’s hand touched his, drew his attention from the woman to the floor beside the bed. Fur. A lot of dark gray fur. Sam’s breathing was quick and light as he raised his gun and leveled it at the bed.
“Well, Grandma’s got a secret.” Dean said dryly.
Sam looked at him and he shrugged. “What?
“Get out of my house,” the woman snapped as if just finding her voice. “Out!”
“No offense ma’am, but no.” Dean stepped closer cautiously, his gun leveled. “You sure Sammy?”
“Sam. And no.”
“There’s nothing else here.”
“I know Dean. But…I mean…she’s…”
“Grandma, yeah.” Dean finished for him.
“You gonna shoot an old woman, boy?” she spit at him and he pulled back on the gun just a little.
“I winged it yesterday. Check her left thigh.”
“Dude, I am not looking at some old lady’s thigh.” Sam snorted.
“Fine, cover me and I’ll look.” Dean shimmied around Sam and moved closer to the bed. His nervous steps rang out against the floor in a strange pattern. Her hand grabbed his as he reached for the blanket. She was surprisingly strong for someone who didn’t look as though she could even get out of bed on her own. “I’m just going to check to see if you’re wounded, Grandma.”
“I’m not your Grandma, boy.”
Dean made a face and rolled his eyes. In one motion, he yanked his hand free and pulled down the blankets. He managed to get a hand on her nightgown before she was clawing at him. He pulled up, exposing her white skin, but no wound. “Nothing.” She scratched him and he yanked his hand away, watching her face contort in pain as his elbow hit her hip. He pulled the nightgown up higher and found an angry, festering would high up on her thigh, almost to her hip.
Dean jumped back as hair began to sprout around the wound and the old woman’s head fell back, an odd, strangled howl bubbling up out of her. Dean stepped back, tripping over a rug and landing in a pile of discarded werewolf fur and skin as she changed right before their eyes. “Sam?” It was half warning, half prodding and Sam only hesitated a second before squeezing the trigger…once, twice…and a third just for good measure…straight shots, into her heart, stopping the transformation part way through.
She fell back against the bed, stuck somewhere between wolf and woman. Sam reached down to help Dean up. “You okay, man?”
Dean just shook his head and headed out of the tiny room. “Dude, that is just so messed up.”
“We should torch the place, Dean.”
Dean nodded, making for the front door quickly. “Yeah. We should.”
It was an old house, dry and easy to burn. Dean was quiet as they hiked back toward the car
“Hey…you okay?” Sam asked as they got into the car.
Dean shook his head as he started the engine. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
Sam laughed. “What?”
“No…I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“The story, moron. Little Red Riding Hood. The wolf…you know?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “And this is just now occurring to you?”
“What? You knew?”
Sam chuckled, his teeth blinding white in the first rays of the sunrise. “Get us out of here before someone sees the flames, and I’ll fill you in on the real story behind Snow White too.”
Title: Grandma's House
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1014
100_situations Table 2, Prompt 045 AnimalSummary: Sam and Dean are tracking a werewolf. Written for
ellipsisblack who requested fic based on fairy tales...A/N & Warnigns: No warnings...no angstiness...no schloomp...no wincest...just...well, read it...
The woods were eerily quiet. Dean gestured Sam around the back of the tiny little house. The werewolf had come this way, he was sure of it. Sam nodded and adjusted his grip on his gun before moving. Dean moved in the opposite direction.
The house itself was odd. Out in the middle of no where. Almost exactly half way between the two closest towns. It appeared to be old, not exactly run down, but obviously old. There was no car, no garage for a car, no road or tracks leading in from the state road they’d left the Impala at. He couldn’t imagine who would live out here.
There was movement in the house though. Someone was definitely home. He met Sam at the door. Both of them were strung pretty tight. They’d watched the damn thing kill two kids the night before, and this was the last night of the full moon…their last chance to track it and kill it, unless they came back a month from now.
Dean snapped his fingers to get Sam’s attention, and his eyes flashed to his brother briefly, before returning to the door. Sam nodded, he didn’t need to see what Dean was mouthing, he already knew. Slowly, Sam reached out with one hand for the door. The knob turned easily and the door swung open without a sound. Dean stepped through first, though Sam was hard behind him.
“Dude.” Dean whispered, looking around them. “It’s like a Grandma’s house.”
Every available surface was covered in pictures. The couch was covered in plastic and a hand crafted afghan was draped over the back. “Focus.” Sam whispered back, stepping around him. “Its in here somewhere.”
The house wasn’t really all that big, so hiding space was limited. They moved through the small living room slowly, eyes sweeping each lurking shadow, ears trained for any sound that might be a wounded werewolf waiting to kill them. “Its almost dawn.” Sam whispered as Dean rejoined him after detouring around the couch.
“I know.”
The kitchen space was even smaller than the living room, and its counters were tidy and neat, flower printed canisters and a draining board with a single plate and a glass sitting on it. A tea kettle sat atop an ancient stove.
That left only the door. They both turned to it, Dean counting on his fingers to three. They burst in and stopped cold. The tiny room was lit by a single candle on the nightstand by the tiny bed. On the bed, a little old woman blinked back at them. Dean held up one hand in hopes of forestalling her scream. “Hey…it’s okay. We’re just looking for…”
“Dean.” Sam’s hand touched his, drew his attention from the woman to the floor beside the bed. Fur. A lot of dark gray fur. Sam’s breathing was quick and light as he raised his gun and leveled it at the bed.
“Well, Grandma’s got a secret.” Dean said dryly.
Sam looked at him and he shrugged. “What?
“Get out of my house,” the woman snapped as if just finding her voice. “Out!”
“No offense ma’am, but no.” Dean stepped closer cautiously, his gun leveled. “You sure Sammy?”
“Sam. And no.”
“There’s nothing else here.”
“I know Dean. But…I mean…she’s…”
“Grandma, yeah.” Dean finished for him.
“You gonna shoot an old woman, boy?” she spit at him and he pulled back on the gun just a little.
“I winged it yesterday. Check her left thigh.”
“Dude, I am not looking at some old lady’s thigh.” Sam snorted.
“Fine, cover me and I’ll look.” Dean shimmied around Sam and moved closer to the bed. His nervous steps rang out against the floor in a strange pattern. Her hand grabbed his as he reached for the blanket. She was surprisingly strong for someone who didn’t look as though she could even get out of bed on her own. “I’m just going to check to see if you’re wounded, Grandma.”
“I’m not your Grandma, boy.”
Dean made a face and rolled his eyes. In one motion, he yanked his hand free and pulled down the blankets. He managed to get a hand on her nightgown before she was clawing at him. He pulled up, exposing her white skin, but no wound. “Nothing.” She scratched him and he yanked his hand away, watching her face contort in pain as his elbow hit her hip. He pulled the nightgown up higher and found an angry, festering would high up on her thigh, almost to her hip.
Dean jumped back as hair began to sprout around the wound and the old woman’s head fell back, an odd, strangled howl bubbling up out of her. Dean stepped back, tripping over a rug and landing in a pile of discarded werewolf fur and skin as she changed right before their eyes. “Sam?” It was half warning, half prodding and Sam only hesitated a second before squeezing the trigger…once, twice…and a third just for good measure…straight shots, into her heart, stopping the transformation part way through.
She fell back against the bed, stuck somewhere between wolf and woman. Sam reached down to help Dean up. “You okay, man?”
Dean just shook his head and headed out of the tiny room. “Dude, that is just so messed up.”
“We should torch the place, Dean.”
Dean nodded, making for the front door quickly. “Yeah. We should.”
It was an old house, dry and easy to burn. Dean was quiet as they hiked back toward the car
“Hey…you okay?” Sam asked as they got into the car.
Dean shook his head as he started the engine. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
Sam laughed. “What?”
“No…I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“The story, moron. Little Red Riding Hood. The wolf…you know?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “And this is just now occurring to you?”
“What? You knew?”
Sam chuckled, his teeth blinding white in the first rays of the sunrise. “Get us out of here before someone sees the flames, and I’ll fill you in on the real story behind Snow White too.”
