Disclaimer: Would I be writing FANFICTION if I owned them....?
Yes, I'm starting another story. This is a bit different than what I usually write, but it's still full of Limp Sam XD
I hope this story goes over well. I'm not sure about the quality of the writing, so if you think good or bad, please let me know.
Sam is 13, Dean is 17-18
Enjoy chapter one!
Sam was the disappointment. He knew that much. He could tell everything he trained with his brother, the way his dad was always beating down hard on him and always praising Dean.
Dean was out getting information about a local hunt at the moment. John was standing behind Sam, watching him. He told Sam to shoot the ten empty beer bottles off the fence. Sam had never gotten more than five. But he was ready today. He'd been practicing.
Sam leveled the gun and aimed at the first bottle. He fired and the bottle shattered. The same with the second, third, and forth.
But he completely missed the fifth. He froze for a second, waiting for his father to start belittling him, but it never comes.
Hoping his father had better hopes for the next five bottles, Sam aimed at the sixth and fired. It shattered, making the fifth one Sam hit. As he aimed at the seventh, he dearly hoped he'd hit it and make his father proud of him for once. He aimed and fired. Miss.
Sam's chest practically jolted. Two more bottles left to prove to his father that he was improving. Sam's hand started to shake as he aimed at the ninth bottle. Not surprisingly, he missed.
Once bottle left. Sam could feel himself start to sweat. He willed his arm to stop shaking as he pointed his gun and aimed. He took a full fifteen seconds to aim, before he fired. It shattered.
"YES!" Sam yelled. Six bottles. That's the most he's ever gotten before! He turned around to look at his father, seeking his approval. Sam's smile fell when he all he saw was the familiar glare of disappointment. "Dad?" Sam said hesitantly. "Y-you saw that, right?"
John just shook his head. "You know, Dean was able to hit all of them by the time he was twelve." John sighed as he turned around and headed back to the car. "You're just wasting ammo at this point, Sam."
Sam just stood there. He gave a humorless laugh as tears welled in his eyes. "Of course," Sam whispered. "Not as good as your perfect soldier."
Sam quickly willed his tears away before running after his father. He placed the gun in the trunk and slammed it shut. I'm never going to get Dad's approval, am I? He opened the passenger door and slid in next to his father.
John pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the motel room. "Now listen, Sam. When we got and hunt this werewolf, I want you to keep guard and keep guard only. You see anything, you tell us. I don't want you trying to shoot it and end up killing me or your brother."
Sam flinched as the words hit home. He looked over at John in disbelief that he said that. Tears threatened to fall again, so Sam quickly turned to the window and concentrated on the passing trees, willing the tears to go away again. No need to give John anymore reason to wail on him.
---
When they got back, Dean was already there. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cold beer. He turned towards the door as it opened and his father and brother came in.
Dean smiled and got up. "So? How'd it go?"
"Could have been better," John growled.
Dean frowned. "How so?"
"Never mind that now. What do you got?"
Dean gave his father and brother questioning stares before grabbing the small pile of papers off the table. "I think the werewolf is this guy. Ted Newman. All the victims have been ex's."
"Ex's?" Sam asked.
"Ex-wives." Dean grabbed one of the papers and looked at it for a second before handing it to his dad. "Guy's remarried seven times. The only ex still alive was his last conquest, Jena Park. I think that'll be his target tonight."
John smiled and firmly clasped Dean's shoulder in approval. "Good job, Dean. Let's get ready. Nightfall's in an hour but none of the killings have happened until after eleven. So that leaves us with five hours to eat and prepare."
Sam and Dean both nodded before they went back to their room to prepare.
Sam was only half paying attention to what he was doing. He just couldn't get his father's approving look or the affectionate clasp of the shoulder out his head. And how they were both aimed at Dean. Dean did something right, like always, without change, and he got the approval and affection. Sam improved, but wasn't perfect. So he got disapproval and disappointment.
Sam tried to fantasize the approving look being aimed at him. Or the clasp of the shoulder being on his. Having him being worth something in his father's eyes. But Sam just couldn't muster up the image or feeling. He honestly didn't know what he would feel if either one of those were to happen. The last time his father showed him any affection was when he was eight years old, before he found out about the reality of his family and before his father expected him to be perfect, just like his brother.
"You okay, Sam?"
Sam jumped a little at the sudden break of silence. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean," he said a bit too quickly. He hurriedly went back to cleaning and preparing the guns.
Dean gave his brother a look before going back to looking through the first aide kit, making sure they had plenty of everything just in case. "So did training with Dad go?"
"It was fine," Sam mumbled, truly not wanting to talk about it.
"'Fine'?" Dean said incredulously. "You mean you and Dad had a training session with ripping each other's throats out?"
"I was the only one getting their throat ripped out," Sam unconsciously mumbled.
"What?" Dean said.
Sam blanched when he realized he said that out loud. "Nothing."
Dean stopped looking through his kit and went over and sat by his brother. "Seriously, Sam. What happened?"
Sam sighed. "The usual. Then at the end he wanted me to try do that shoot-ten-bottles-on-a-fence thing."
"And...?" Dean said.
Sam smiled bitterly. "I shot six."
Dean beamed. "What so wrong with that? You've never hit more than five! And five was a rare case!"
Sam shook his head. "Not good enough for Dad."
"Forget Dad," Dean scoffed. "It looks like you're improving!" Dean slapped a hand on Sam's back "All that practicing is finally paying off."
Sam smiled. No matter what, it seems, whatever their father couldn't provide, Dean could. Whether that be the material things, like clothes or school supplies, or simple gestures like this.
It still didn't dull the sting of their father's disapproval of him. But Sam was gratefully for it anyway.
John knocked the open door and Sam and Dean turned their heads. "Meet me by the car in five," John said. "We gotta eat good tonight if we wanna be in top shape for the wolf."
---
They ate at a buffet, Dean eating half of it (the greasy half), Sam eating the other half, and their father eating a mixture of both.
It was close to nine by the time they got back to the motel. It was an hour and a half drive to thier destination, so they all hurriedly packed their gear into the car and headed out.
"Do you boys remember what you're supposed to do?" John asked.
"Yes, sir," Dean said. He and his father were going to circle the house until Newman came. When he did, they'd take him out. John already laid out the best hiding spots and paths to take around the house so not to attract attention to themselves.
Sam stared out the window, not giving a response.
"Sam!" John barked.
Sam jumped in his seat and looked at his father.
"Do you remember what you're supposed to do?" John reiterated irritably.
I want you to keep guard and keep guard only. You see anything, you tell us. I don't want you trying to shoot it and end up killing me or your brother.
"Yes, sir," Sam mumbled, going back to stare out the window.
The rest of the trip was made in silence.
---
It was past midnight. John and Dean were at opposite sides of the house, moving to new hiding spots ever ten minutes. It was tiring but necessary. They couldn't miss a single thing.
Sam was sitting in the car, across the street from the house. Sam was keeping a look out, as he was told. If he saw anything, he was supposed to call either his father or brother and give them the heads up.
Sam sighed as he leaned back in the passenger seat. He felt so damn useless. His aim was good enough to at least help. Sam growled as he hit a fist against the seat. He stared at his phone before looking outside again.
And there it was.
Sam's heart leapt to his throat when he saw how close the werewolf was to the house. And Dean.
Sam started dialing his brother's cell when he stopped. The wolf was so close, that as soon as Dean's, or John's for that matter, cell went off, even on vibrate, would alert the wolf and it would probably attack either one of them on the spot before they knew what was happening.
Sam's mind scrambled for an idea. When he spotted a .45 on the floor. Sam didn't even wonder why it was there. He just grabbed it, got out of the car and ran across the street.
Apparently the werewolf heard Sam running, because it suddenly turned around and growled at Sam. Sam stopped midrun and quickly aimed the gun.
Dean heard the growl and flung his gun at the ready. When he saw the wolf, it was running towards the street. And straight at Sam!
"Hey!" Dean yelled as he fired.
The bullet imbedded itself into the wolf's shoulder, causing it to howl in agony and anger. It turned itself and snarled at Dean before going towards the older teen.
As the wolf ran away from Sam, Sam quickly aimed his gun at the wolf's back. Please hit. And fired.
Two shots rang out, and the wolf and Dean fell to the ground.
So...
1) tell me all your thoughts, good or bad! Bad is good because it tells me what i should improve on.
2) Should I continue it?
PLEASE REVIEW AND FEED THE DRAGON!