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remix_reduxTitle: Grandma's House (Bad Wolf Remix)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amchara
Summary: It's too soon, after California, after Madison, after everything. But they're Winchesters and they get the job done.
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Belongs to Kripke, not mine
Original story: Grandma's House by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
amara_m
Notes: Spoilers up to Episode 2.17, "Heart". Thanks to my my roommate, for offering to help out in beta-ing, even though she normally has nothing to do with this whole fanfic thing.
It’s too soon after California.
***
“The hearts are missing?” Dean asks, bending down to look at the mess of flesh that had once been a man.
“Yes.” The answer comes from the coroner, quick and sure.
Sam takes a deep breath. “And what do you think caused his death?”
The coroner shakes his head slowly, “If we were closer to the mountains, I’d say mountain lion. But there hasn’t been any sighted in this area, near on ten year. But the hearts missings, now…” his voice lowers. “That’s strange.” He straightens up and clears his throat. “But unless there’s been a feral rottweiler on the loose, I don’t know what else it could be. So, I’m writing mountain lion on the report and informing the local ranger staff.”
He eyes them. “I doubt this is a matter for the police any longer, as you can see.”
Hearing the dismissal, Sam jerks his head at Dean, who’s still looking at the cadaver as if it could come back to life at any moment. “Let’s go.”
***
“We can leave,” Dean says, as they sit in the Impala in the hospital’s parking lot, drinking weak coffee. “Hell, you heard the coroner say it himself- it could’ve been a mountain lion.”
“Dean,” Sam’s voice is soft. “The lunar cycle fits. And the hearts…”
“We can still…” Dean says hastily, but he stops as he sees Sam’s face. “We can… I don’t know, call Ellen, maybe she’ll be able send some hunter down to take this one.” There’s a catch in his voice, a pleading tone that he knows he’s using too damn often, lately. He hears it. Sam hears it.
Sam’s eyes narrows and he shakes his head. “And what- leave town, leave it up to chance that someone else will have the skills to kill it? Likely dooming some people in town who’s only bad luck will be to live here and come across it tonight?”
Sam sets his cup down with more force than necessary on the dashboard. “There’s three days left in this lunar cycle. No other hunter is gonna have the chance we have.”
“We can stop it, Dean” he says.
Dean stares ahead, not answering. Finally, there’s a small nod and he starts the car. “If that’s what you want, Sammy.”
“Dude, I’m not made of glass,” Sam snaps.
“Forget it,” Dean says, and he slips Metallica into the tape deck as they head down the highway to the Motel 8 a couple miles back.
***
They’re in the wrong end of the street when they hear the screams.
When they finally get there, it’s already gone, leaving its broken toys bleeding out on the cold asphalt.
“Hey, shhhh, it’s okay,” Dean tells the girl as she clutches at his arm. She wheezes and gurgles as the blood from her shredded throat soaks down onto her Hello Kitty jacket. Her sparkly-blue nails dig into his skin as she begins to panic, struggling to breathe. Dean whispers useless lies about how it’s going to be all right, as the light slowly fades from her eyes.
Dean looks over to Sam, who is standing by the other body.
Sam shakes his head. “He was already dead when I reached him,” he says.
“Did you see which way it went?” Deans asks.
“West, I think.”
They tuck their silver-loaded guns back into pockets and they leave the dead teenagers, sticking to the shadows and back streets while soft snow falls, blanketing the quiet town.
***
It’s the last night, and their last chance. There’s a chill in the early evening air as they walk through the woods. They tracked it to this area the evening before, but hadn’t been able to find anything.
“Dean,” Sam points to the flickering lights up ahead.
No roads, not even a rough path leads to this house.
“Middle of nowhere, guess they don’t like visitors, huh?” Dean says.
“Or else they want an isolated place for a certain time of month,” Sam answers. He stops. “The moon hasn’t risen yet- they won’t have changed yet.”
“Sam, it’s not going to make a difference,” Dean says, wanting to soften the truth. “We’re still going to have to-”
Sam’s mouth tightens. “I know,” he says shortly.
The house- little more than a cottage- is old, but not run-down. The porch is freshly shoveled and the shovel is leaning up against the house, beside the bright red door.
With unspoken signals, they take up their positions. Slowly, Sam opens the door. Dean steps in first, with Sam closely following behind.
“Dude, it’s like a Grandma’s house,” Deans says. Every available surface is covered in pictures, most of them featuring kittens or snow-covered cottages. There’s a plastic wrap over the pink floral couch, with an afghan carefully placed on top.
“Focus,” Sam whispers. “It’s in here somewhere.”
The kitchen space is even smaller than the living room, and its counters are tidy and neat, flower printed canisters and a draining board with a single plate and a glass sitting on it. A tea kettle sits atop an ancient stove.
That leaves only the door on the far side. They both turn to it, Dean counts on his fingers to three. They burst in and stop cold. The tiny room is lit by a single candle on a nightstand by the tiny bed. On the bed, a little old woman blinks back at them.
Dean holds up one hand in hopes of forestalling her scream. “Hey…it’s okay. We’re just looking for…”
“Get out of my house,” the woman snaps. She raises a quivering hand and points at them. “Out!”
“Dean-” Sam’s whisper is soft. “There’s no one else in the house.”
“You think-” Dean’s attention turns from the woman and he gives Sam a horrified look. “This old lady is our wolf? The grandma?”
“Get out of my house!” she repeats.
“No offense ma’am, but no.” Dean steps closer cautiously, his gun leveled. “You sure, Sam?”
“No. But we can check.”
“You gonna shoot an old woman, boy?” she spits at him and he pulls 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 snorts.
“Fine, cover me and I’ll look.” Dean shimmies around Sam and moves closer to the bed. Her hand grabs his as he reaches for the blanket. She’s surprisingly strong for someone who doesn’t look as though she can 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 makes a face. In one motion, he yanks his hand free and pulls down the blankets. He manages to get a hand on her nightgown before she starts clawing at him. He pulls up, exposing her white skin, but no wound. “Nothing.” She scratches him and he yanks his hand away, watching her face contort in pain as his elbow hits her hip. He pulls the nightgown up higher and finds an angry, festering wound high up on her thigh, almost to her hip.
A strangled scream comes out of the old woman and she begins to shake. A keening whine escapes her throat and Sam points his gun at her. “Dean, I think she’s changing.”
Dean jumps back as her nails grabbing his arm grow long and sharp, and she snarls. Wrenching his arms out of her grip with a strangled curse, Dean attempts to draw his gun up. The move throws him off balance and he trips on the knitted rug on the floor, falling to the floor.
The old lady snarls at him, fangs glistening as she prepares to pounce.
“Sam!”
Sam hesitates only a second before he squeezes the trigger, once, twice, three times into her chest, hitting her heart on the second bullet. She falls into a heap of tangled limbs on the bed.
“You okay?” Sam asks as he helps Dean off the floor.
“Yeah,” Dean says. He looks down at the bed. “Man, that is so messed up.”
“Yeah,” Sam says quietly. “We should torch the place, Dean.”
Dean nods, making for the front door quickly. “Yeah. We should.”
It’s an old house, dry and easy to burn.
Sam doesn't say anything as they hike back towards the car
“Hey…you okay?” Dean asks as they get into the car.
There’s a bitter edge to Sam’s laugh. “Just fine.”
Dean stays quiet as he starts the engine.
They’re a couple miles down the highway as he finally figures out what he wants to say. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
“What?” Sam asks, bewildered.
“Fucking Little Red Riding Hood,” Dean says with a short bark of a laugh. “Back there. You know, wolf in grandma’s house, dressed up as grandma herself.”
There’s a reluctant smile tugging on Sam’s mouth. “Huh, guess it was. Literally.” He shakes his head. “Our lives-”
“Are fucked up.” Dean finishes.
Sam nods.
“Where to?” Dean asks. “Your choice, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t answer immediately. Finally- “East. I don’t know where, just… drive East.”
Dean drives into the night, towards the sunrise.
Author:
amcharaSummary: It's too soon, after California, after Madison, after everything. But they're Winchesters and they get the job done.
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Belongs to Kripke, not mine
Original story: Grandma's House by
amara_mNotes: Spoilers up to Episode 2.17, "Heart". Thanks to my my roommate, for offering to help out in beta-ing, even though she normally has nothing to do with this whole fanfic thing.
It’s too soon after California.
***
“The hearts are missing?” Dean asks, bending down to look at the mess of flesh that had once been a man.
“Yes.” The answer comes from the coroner, quick and sure.
Sam takes a deep breath. “And what do you think caused his death?”
The coroner shakes his head slowly, “If we were closer to the mountains, I’d say mountain lion. But there hasn’t been any sighted in this area, near on ten year. But the hearts missings, now…” his voice lowers. “That’s strange.” He straightens up and clears his throat. “But unless there’s been a feral rottweiler on the loose, I don’t know what else it could be. So, I’m writing mountain lion on the report and informing the local ranger staff.”
He eyes them. “I doubt this is a matter for the police any longer, as you can see.”
Hearing the dismissal, Sam jerks his head at Dean, who’s still looking at the cadaver as if it could come back to life at any moment. “Let’s go.”
***
“We can leave,” Dean says, as they sit in the Impala in the hospital’s parking lot, drinking weak coffee. “Hell, you heard the coroner say it himself- it could’ve been a mountain lion.”
“Dean,” Sam’s voice is soft. “The lunar cycle fits. And the hearts…”
“We can still…” Dean says hastily, but he stops as he sees Sam’s face. “We can… I don’t know, call Ellen, maybe she’ll be able send some hunter down to take this one.” There’s a catch in his voice, a pleading tone that he knows he’s using too damn often, lately. He hears it. Sam hears it.
Sam’s eyes narrows and he shakes his head. “And what- leave town, leave it up to chance that someone else will have the skills to kill it? Likely dooming some people in town who’s only bad luck will be to live here and come across it tonight?”
Sam sets his cup down with more force than necessary on the dashboard. “There’s three days left in this lunar cycle. No other hunter is gonna have the chance we have.”
“We can stop it, Dean” he says.
Dean stares ahead, not answering. Finally, there’s a small nod and he starts the car. “If that’s what you want, Sammy.”
“Dude, I’m not made of glass,” Sam snaps.
“Forget it,” Dean says, and he slips Metallica into the tape deck as they head down the highway to the Motel 8 a couple miles back.
***
They’re in the wrong end of the street when they hear the screams.
When they finally get there, it’s already gone, leaving its broken toys bleeding out on the cold asphalt.
“Hey, shhhh, it’s okay,” Dean tells the girl as she clutches at his arm. She wheezes and gurgles as the blood from her shredded throat soaks down onto her Hello Kitty jacket. Her sparkly-blue nails dig into his skin as she begins to panic, struggling to breathe. Dean whispers useless lies about how it’s going to be all right, as the light slowly fades from her eyes.
Dean looks over to Sam, who is standing by the other body.
Sam shakes his head. “He was already dead when I reached him,” he says.
“Did you see which way it went?” Deans asks.
“West, I think.”
They tuck their silver-loaded guns back into pockets and they leave the dead teenagers, sticking to the shadows and back streets while soft snow falls, blanketing the quiet town.
***
It’s the last night, and their last chance. There’s a chill in the early evening air as they walk through the woods. They tracked it to this area the evening before, but hadn’t been able to find anything.
“Dean,” Sam points to the flickering lights up ahead.
No roads, not even a rough path leads to this house.
“Middle of nowhere, guess they don’t like visitors, huh?” Dean says.
“Or else they want an isolated place for a certain time of month,” Sam answers. He stops. “The moon hasn’t risen yet- they won’t have changed yet.”
“Sam, it’s not going to make a difference,” Dean says, wanting to soften the truth. “We’re still going to have to-”
Sam’s mouth tightens. “I know,” he says shortly.
The house- little more than a cottage- is old, but not run-down. The porch is freshly shoveled and the shovel is leaning up against the house, beside the bright red door.
With unspoken signals, they take up their positions. Slowly, Sam opens the door. Dean steps in first, with Sam closely following behind.
“Dude, it’s like a Grandma’s house,” Deans says. Every available surface is covered in pictures, most of them featuring kittens or snow-covered cottages. There’s a plastic wrap over the pink floral couch, with an afghan carefully placed on top.
“Focus,” Sam whispers. “It’s in here somewhere.”
The kitchen space is even smaller than the living room, and its counters are tidy and neat, flower printed canisters and a draining board with a single plate and a glass sitting on it. A tea kettle sits atop an ancient stove.
That leaves only the door on the far side. They both turn to it, Dean counts on his fingers to three. They burst in and stop cold. The tiny room is lit by a single candle on a nightstand by the tiny bed. On the bed, a little old woman blinks back at them.
Dean holds up one hand in hopes of forestalling her scream. “Hey…it’s okay. We’re just looking for…”
“Get out of my house,” the woman snaps. She raises a quivering hand and points at them. “Out!”
“Dean-” Sam’s whisper is soft. “There’s no one else in the house.”
“You think-” Dean’s attention turns from the woman and he gives Sam a horrified look. “This old lady is our wolf? The grandma?”
“Get out of my house!” she repeats.
“No offense ma’am, but no.” Dean steps closer cautiously, his gun leveled. “You sure, Sam?”
“No. But we can check.”
“You gonna shoot an old woman, boy?” she spits at him and he pulls 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 snorts.
“Fine, cover me and I’ll look.” Dean shimmies around Sam and moves closer to the bed. Her hand grabs his as he reaches for the blanket. She’s surprisingly strong for someone who doesn’t look as though she can 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 makes a face. In one motion, he yanks his hand free and pulls down the blankets. He manages to get a hand on her nightgown before she starts clawing at him. He pulls up, exposing her white skin, but no wound. “Nothing.” She scratches him and he yanks his hand away, watching her face contort in pain as his elbow hits her hip. He pulls the nightgown up higher and finds an angry, festering wound high up on her thigh, almost to her hip.
A strangled scream comes out of the old woman and she begins to shake. A keening whine escapes her throat and Sam points his gun at her. “Dean, I think she’s changing.”
Dean jumps back as her nails grabbing his arm grow long and sharp, and she snarls. Wrenching his arms out of her grip with a strangled curse, Dean attempts to draw his gun up. The move throws him off balance and he trips on the knitted rug on the floor, falling to the floor.
The old lady snarls at him, fangs glistening as she prepares to pounce.
“Sam!”
Sam hesitates only a second before he squeezes the trigger, once, twice, three times into her chest, hitting her heart on the second bullet. She falls into a heap of tangled limbs on the bed.
“You okay?” Sam asks as he helps Dean off the floor.
“Yeah,” Dean says. He looks down at the bed. “Man, that is so messed up.”
“Yeah,” Sam says quietly. “We should torch the place, Dean.”
Dean nods, making for the front door quickly. “Yeah. We should.”
It’s an old house, dry and easy to burn.
Sam doesn't say anything as they hike back towards the car
“Hey…you okay?” Dean asks as they get into the car.
There’s a bitter edge to Sam’s laugh. “Just fine.”
Dean stays quiet as he starts the engine.
They’re a couple miles down the highway as he finally figures out what he wants to say. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
“What?” Sam asks, bewildered.
“Fucking Little Red Riding Hood,” Dean says with a short bark of a laugh. “Back there. You know, wolf in grandma’s house, dressed up as grandma herself.”
There’s a reluctant smile tugging on Sam’s mouth. “Huh, guess it was. Literally.” He shakes his head. “Our lives-”
“Are fucked up.” Dean finishes.
Sam nods.
“Where to?” Dean asks. “Your choice, Sammy.”
Sam doesn’t answer immediately. Finally- “East. I don’t know where, just… drive East.”
Dean drives into the night, towards the sunrise.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-22 06:29 pm (UTC)I love it!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-30 01:39 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-24 09:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-04-30 02:05 am (UTC)I kind of liked that line as well. :)