Title: The Firefighter, The Witch and The Closet
Author: Silverkit
Part: 5 of 5
Pairings: None
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary: Dean's apple pie life was going along quite nicely until a man stole his brother.
Spoilers: Through Nightmare in Season one
Author's Note: Love to my beta reader Michelle who is still an amazing person! A very big hug and thank you to everyone who has reviewed and enjoyed this story. It was fun while it lasted, but it's time to move on. I'm not sure if there will be any sort of sequel/prequel to this. Maybe, I'm still thinking about it. Enjoy the last chapter.
Chapter 5-Dean Winchester, Firefighter
Exhausted, Dean stumbled into his apartment, leading Sam in by the shoulder. The police had kept them late, asking them question after question while both of them fought to stay awake. The adrenaline he had been running had long past burnt out of his system and all he wanted to do was fall into bed. Gently pushing Sam towards the bedroom he headed for the kitchen.
"Go to sleep Sam," he said nodding towards the doorway. "I'll take the couch."
"Not going to take your bed," Sam said stubbornly.
"You are because I want to watch some T.V., and I can't do that with your freakishly tall body hanging all over my one good sitting spot."
"You need to get more furniture, Dean," Sam mumbled, walking towards the bedroom.
"Thank you Martha Stewart," Dean called to the retreating back.
Leaning against his kitchen counters Dean tilted his head back and took a moment to stare at the ceiling above him.
If he starts talking about fires and women on ceilings…
He shuddered, and quickly looked away.
Dean took the paper out of his breast pocket and studied it. Three words had been hastily scrawled across its white surface. He thought they might be German.
My handwriting Dean thought.
So many things had been stolen from him tonight, but he'd gotten the most important thing back.
He heard the sound of rustling cloths, and the bed springs creaked as Sam settled in for the night. The bedroom door had been left open.
Below the words was a name, but he only read as far as 'Jim' before hastily folding the paper back together. For a moment he considered tossing the thing. The paper was light in his hand. One gust of wind would take it out the window or behind the fridge never to be seen again. A very large part of Dean wanted nothing more than to burn all memory of this night from both his and his brother's memories.
He moved across the tile and onto carpet, crossing to Dean's DVD collection. Flipping open his copy of Willard he shoved the folded paper inside before snapping it closed.
After the ropes had been sawed away from his hands, Sam had lunged for him, burying his face in Dean's chest, and shaking so hard Dean were sure he was going to fall into a thousand pieces at any moment. His response had been to grip the back of Sam's shirt, unsure if the shaking in his hands was from his own body or something Sam was passing over.
"We're cool, Sammy," he'd said, his own hands twisting through Sam's shirt.
"Yeah, we're cool," Sam had responded, his voice muffled against Dean's chest.
"You're fine," Dean had repeated softly. "You're fine."
Sliding the DVD case back onto the shelves, Dean stood ignoring the cracks of protest his knees gave out. Old baseball injuries.
The gun had been in the back seat, holstered and laying in a pool of broken glass. He'd shoved it into his jacket before leading Sam back into the firehouse, and now he laid it, unloaded, into the bottom drawer of his kitchen cabinets.
Collapsing into one of his kitchen chairs, Dean rested his head on top of his hands. Dean hadn't known how to explain the doppelganger or the white woman to the cops or even to himself. He didn't even want to think about what they'd have to tell his parents come morning. He hadn't known how the doppelganger had gotten the woman to leave the road, hadn't known what she'd wanted, hadn't known how to stop that thing from taking Sam, from terrifying him. Even though he hadn't, this monster look a like could have hurt Sam, taken him across state lines and done god knows what. Dean wouldn't have known where to look. The woman with claws had eyed his brother, and had she lunged, Dean would once again have had no clue how to get her off.
All and all, Dean was beginning to see how little he really knew, about anything.
He could fix that. The library would be open tomorrow, and there was an entire section of books on the history of Kansas, its legends and stories. He bet he could find something about a white witch that haunted the Beaver Caves. He could find someone to point him in the direction of a shooting range, get Martha to take him hunting for deer, and become a crack shot. This wouldn't happen again. Dean already knew how to handle one type of blaze, this would just be a matter of learning how to put out fires of a different kind.
The End
Again, I just have to thank all of the amazing people that took the time to review! It's such a great feeling, knowing that people enjoyed my story. Thank you, again and again.