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Title: Dämonenkönig
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: T
Word Count: 1164
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW. Der Erlkönig poem belongs to Goethe and the Erlkönig music belongs to Schubert.

Summary: "Come on, buddy boy, come away with me. We can have all kinds of fun..."



AN:
I mean, come on. How can any Supernatural fan read the lyrics or poem and NOT think of the Winchesters? Go and have a looky-loo here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JS91p-vmSf0

All the thanks to BookwormBaby2580, for sharing her new music knowledge with me and planting this little seed, and then fixing my writing so that it's readable. AND for the perfect title!

... o)> ...



The night was eerily quiet and dark. The strange weather front had caused unexpected clouds, and there were no stars to be seen. Not one twinkle. The preternatural mist seemed to travel with intent through the air, leaving behind moisture on the strip of potholed asphalt, which glistened when the moon briefly peeked out, only to be covered hastily again, as if the clouds didn’t want it to see what was taking place below.

Slowly, a rising roar seemed to break through the stillness, growing louder and louder, until twin points of light broke through the mist. A great black car was speeding through the night, going much faster than was safe in such hazardous conditions. If anyone had been around to catch a glimpse inside the car, they would only have seen a harried looking man, glancing frequently in his rear-view mirror, and sometimes over his shoulder, to peer down the road behind him.

Inside the car, however, there were three people. The two young brothers were not yet old enough for their heads to reach past the windows, but they were there nonetheless. The youngest boy was seated in the middle of the long front bench seat, his father on his left and his older brother on his right, cocooned between the two of them—something precious to be cushioned from the bumps of life. He was snuggled up as close as he could get to his father, who smelled comfortingly of old leather and aftershave. His feet were pulled up on to the seat, and his brother’s hand was on his sneaker, gently stroking the skin of his ankle where the hem of his hand-me-down jeans had ridden up a little.

“Don’t be scared, Sammy. It’s just a spooky kinda night. That’s all.” The oldest boy, pitifully young in age, yet world weary in his soul, tried to soothe his brother. He had after all, been made caretaker of baby Sam when he was just four years old and he took his responsibility very seriously. Nevertheless he looked to his father for reassurance. The man returned his eldest son’s look worriedly.

“Dean’s right, kiddo. There’s nothing to be scared of.” He moved his right arm around his baby boy’s shoulder and gave him what he hoped was an encouraging squeeze.

Sam shuddered, and John Winchester — for that was the man’s name — felt it through every fiber of his body. “But I saw him, Dad. I saw him riding next to the car. He had, like, a long jacket flying out behind him, and something on his head like — like those hats in the gangster movies Dean likes.” Sam closed his eyes. He didn’t want to accidentally look out of the window and see the scary man again.
“There’s nothing out there, Sammy,” John said, looking nervously out the windows and in the rear-view mirror again. “It’s just the mist.” He shared another anxious glance with Dean.

“Yeah, Sam, it’s just funny shapes in the mist. You know, like that game we play with the clouds?” Dean hoped his brother couldn’t hear his voice shaking.
Sam nodded against his dad’s side, but remained unconvinced, Dean could tell.
Then, over the roar of the car, Sam heard a voice.

“Come on, buddy boy, come away with me. We can have all kinds of fun. You’re my favorite Sam. I have very special plans for you.”

Sam gasped and closed his eyes tighter. “Did… did you guys hear that?”

John pressed his foot down harder on the throttle and Dean shuffled closer to Sam. “Just the wind, Sammy,” he muttered, while grabbing on to his dad’s arm. Dean was, after all, very young himself, and not yet ashamed of needing his dad’s comfort.

“Sammy. Saaaaaamy! Come and play with us Sammy! I have a daughter, Meg, and she’s just dying to meet you. She plays the best games, Sam, and she wants to play with you.”

The car hit a pothole, and when the jolt caused Sam’s eyes to fly open, he thought he caught a glimpse of a lady, with short blonde hair and a very hard face pressing against the car window. But that couldn’t be, with how fast his dad was driving. He gave a little start and Dean squeezed his calf. “What is it Sammy?” Dean didn’t really want to know, but sometimes his mouth said things before he decided it should.

“N— Nothing. Thought I saw something. Dee, I don’t feel so good.” Sam’s voice was getting weaker.

“It’s just shadows from the willow trees on the side of the road, kiddo,” John told him. “Dean, give your brother some soda, there’s still some in that bottle.” He nodded toward the foot-well on the passenger side of the car. Dean bent down and reached around blindly before he felt the bottle. He twisted off the lid, and lifted the bottle to his little brother’s mouth.

“Drink some Coke, Sam, it’ll make you feel better.” Dean didn’t think that was true, but he always did what his dad told him.

“Sammy! Sammy boy! You’re my favorite. Come play with us a spell. You wouldn’t want me to hurt you, would you now?”

“I’m scared, Dee. I’m really scared.” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper as he closed his eyes again, and Dean felt a tear escape down his own cheek.

John was fairly flying now. “It’s fine, Sam. It’s all gonna be okay. See? There’s a motel just a few miles ahead. We’re stopping there for the night.”

John screamed into the motel parking lot. He handed Dean his sawed-off and hurried into the office to get them a room. Dean didn’t think his dad had ever managed to check them in so fast. The next thing he knew, John had yanked the door to the Impala open and had pulled Sam into his arms. While he carried the small boy to their room, he shouted instructions to Dean to grab the emergency duffle. Dean did as he was told, leaving everything else in the car’s trunk, and scrambled into the room behind John. As soon as the door was closed, Dean started laying down salt lines while John laid his youngest boy on the bed.

“Sam? Sam, can you hear me kiddo?” Dean had never heard John sound so frightened, and a chill ran through him when his dad looked toward him, eyes wide. John wasn’t supposed to get scared. He was the grownup, the protector, the superhero. But Dean knew John was scared now.

He rushed over to the bed, and put his hand on Sam’s arm. “Sammy? You okay?” Dean shook his brother’s arm a little.

Sam was still. Too still. He was breathing, but shallowly. Dean looked at his dad, and saw the exact moment all the blood drained out of John’s face. He looked back down at his brother.

Sam had opened his eyes. And Dean was terrified.

Because his baby brother’s eyes were yellow.









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