Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ It Came From Down Under ❯ It Came From Down Under ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: The adorable little fighters of evil that you'll find in this story don't belong to me. Their dad doesn't, either. I'm still trying to decide which fact hurts worse…

 

Setting: Pre-pilot—WAY pre-pilot.

 

Characters: Sam, Dean, and John Winchester

 

Warnings: Wee!Chesters!!!

 

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It Came From Down Under

 

“Okay, dude, looks like that's everything,” John Winchester said, tossing his weapons bag in the bed of his truck and turning back to his son. “I shouldn't be gone later than tomorrow morning—probably a lot earlier. If I'm not back by ten A.M., call Pastor Jim.”

 

Dean looked up at his father and schooled his expression into one of utmost seriousness, carefully hiding his inner back flips. “I know, Dad. Good luck.”

 

“Yeah. Take care of Sammy,” John added, climbing into the truck.

 

Dean waited until the vehicle was in motion before rolling his eyes and turning back toward the apartment building.

 

Sam was watching cartoons when he returned to their tiny apartment, so absolutely absorbed that it was a question whether he had heard John leave at all.

 

“Hey, bro, guess what?” Dean asked, practically bouncing to the small couch.

The six-year-old wrenched his eyes from the TV and said, “What?”

 

“We're on our own tonight.”

 

Sam grinned, showing the gap where he had a tooth missing. “Yay! What're we gonna do?”

 

Dean grinned mischievously. “I'm glad you asked, Sammy,” he said, bending to reach under the couch. He pulled out the white Blockbusters bag he'd hidden there, took out the tape inside, and held it up, grinning like a fiend all the while. “I have a movie for us to watch…”

 

XXX

 

“No! Don't! It's in the sewer! IT IS IN THE SEWER!” Dean shouted, watching the screen in horrified fascination.

 

Next to him, Sam rocked back and forth in his seat, hands writhing in his lap like terrified snakes, gulping at random increments.

 

“You sure you can handle this, kiddo?” Dean asked, trying not to laugh at the sight.

 

“I'm fine,” Sam said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as anything. “I'm fine…”

 

On the screen, the clowns began climbing slowly, creepily, from the sewers, and Sam gasped and hid his eyes behind pudgy little hands and watched the rest of the movie from between his fingers.

 

XXX

 

The apartment was pitched black and blanketed in silence, all the clocks reading 4:17, when a door slowly creaked open. A human-shaped form, a darker spot against the black, stepped into the room, shuffling quietly.

 

It stumbled.

 

CRASH!

 

SLAM!

 

THUD!

 

“WHAT THE—”

 

“AAAAAHHHHH! DEEEEEAN!”

 

Footsteps pounded in the hall, and a light clicked on, revealing John Winchester sprawled on the floor in the midst of a pile of tin pots and pans, his left foot tangled in a broken string, while Sam huddled against the headboard of his bed, clutching the beloved white rabbit he'd owned since he was about five hours old, staring in wide-eyed terror.

 

Dean stared at the scene in front of him, torn between two thoughts.

 

One: How had Sammy managed to booby-trap his room without his big brother's knowledge?

 

And two: He was in so much trouble.

 

XXX

 

“So you mean to tell me,” John said, his every syllable trembling, “that you snuck a Stephen King movie into this house—a movie without an ounce of true fact to it, incidentally—and then proceeded to watch it with your six-year-old­ brother?”

 

Dean shuffled from foot to foot, not looking up from them. “Well…uh…look at it this way. At least he won't try to walk home on his own…uh…ever…”

 

John made a strangled sound, and had Dean looked up in that exact instant, he would have found that his father was trying very hard not to laugh.

 

“Mister, you are grounded until you die.”

 

XXX

 

A few days later, John was making breakfast and Dean was watching TV, when Sam came into the room, clutching his rabbit and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He went to climb up next to Dean, glancing at the TV, on which Ronald McDonald danced, as he went.

 

The next thing Dean and John knew, Sam was fleeing the room, screaming at the top of his little lungs.

 

“IT'S GONNA EAT YOUR FACE! RUN AWAAAAAY!”

 

XXX

 

“I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Man, you still bust out cryin' when you see Ronald McDonald on the TV…”

 

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Author's Note: All right, so it came out more cute than funny, and the quality wasn't great, since I wrote it all in about half an hour while watching Gilmore Girls on DVD. Hope it met your requirements anyways, Ellie!