Crack!FIC: Fire in the Fields (Dawning Light, Supernatural Style)

[mhalachai]

Fire in the Fields
Dawning Light, Supernatural Style
A Supernatural/Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover
by mhalachaiswords

Summary: Surely dealing with a five-year-old girl, even a psychic one who fell from the sky, should be easier than this.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and Kripke. BtVS belongs to Joss Whedon. No profit has been made from this fic, and the only benefit to me is personal satisfaction and the creative process.
Rating: PG
Words: 1,040
Spoilers: Contain vague spoilers for Supernatural season 2, up to 2x08 "Crossroads".

Note: Crack!fic! This is all houses7177's fault. She answered the question of what movie the title of my last AB/SPN crossover was from (Sin City) and she got to name the prompts for a drabble. She wanted a drabble with Dawn, a flamethrower and a field of cotton. And my brain exploded with the possibilities. So ask yourself this: What would have happened if, in Dawning Light, Dawn had fallen into the Winchester's world instead?

~~~~~~

"I wanna help!"

Sam bit back a groan as he slammed the Impala's trunk. He and Dean had been tracking this demon monster thing for two days, and the last thing they needed right then was the "help" of a five-year-old girl. Especially a five-year-old psychic girl who had fallen on them from the sky, and was being chased by the same demon that had killed Mom and Jess.

Sam shook his head. That didn't even make sense to him.

"You are not helping, now get back in the car!" Dean exclaimed. "I don't need help from some shrimp!"

"I can so help!" As Sam rounded the car, he saw that the scene was developing into his least favorite situation ever. All six feet of Dean towered over little Dawn; Dean had his hands on his hips and Dawn had her arms crossed over her chest, scowling up at Dean. "You keep saying you need more help and you wonder how Sammy is going to be enough and I want to help!"

Dean shook his head. "There is no way in hell I'm letting you go out in that field with a flamethrower! Get in the car!"

Dawn narrowed her eyes, and said in that too-old sarcastic voice, "Yes, Dad."

There was nothing Sam could do. Yes, they'd told Dawn to refer to Dean as her father when they were in town, to avoid suspicion of the locals, but she'd never made any indication of wanting to call him anything but Dean (or 'Jerk-face') on the road. But none of that explained why Dean's spine stiffened, why his jaw clenched or his hands balled into fists.

Dean hadn't moved towards her in any way, but Dawn gasped and skittered backwards, her shoulder hitting the Impala as she tried to get away from Dean.

Fuck! Sam went down on one knee and caught Dawn gently. "Dawn, it's okay," Sam said. "It's okay."

Dawn curled into Sam's shoulder, putting him between her and Dean, and Sam hated it. Hated knowing that Dawn was reacting to whatever horrible, tangled thoughts were in Dean's head, hated knowing that there was nothing any of them could do to stop their thoughts and fears from falling down onto Dawn.

Dean was breathing heavily. After a moment, he grabbed the flamethrower off the car's hood and stalked off into the darkness. "Sam, stay with her," Dean ordered.

Sam wrapped an arm around the trembling child at his side. "Shh, Dawn, it's okay," he said, lifting Dawn up. He leaned against the side of the car and settled Dawn under his jacket. "Dean wasn't... I mean, he wouldn't--"

"I know that." Dawn sniffled, loud in Sam's ear. "Why is he so sad when he thinks about your daddy?"

Sam tightened his grip around Dawn's legs. "No reason."

Dawn sniffled again, softer this time. "Liar."

In the cotton field, the flamethrower burst to life, accompanied by a loud shout of "Oh yeah! Take that, bitches!"

Sam watched the bursts of flame rise above the field, lighting up the night with the glowing embers of the cotton bushes. The glowing red field took on the appearance of a swatch of glowing brimstone, surrounding Dean. Sam shuddered.

"It's okay," Dawn said, patting Sam's sleeve. She yawned, settling down to watch Dean torch the cotton field that had been planted over the old Civil War battlefield. "I know why he got mad at me."

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked. He should have known better, but he was too curious about Dawn and what she could do, to let it go. "Why's that?"

Dawn was silent for a minute. "You gotta promise to not tell anyone," she finally said. "It's a brother-secret, not any other kind."

"Okay, I promise," Sam said. What on earth could Dawn be talking about?

Dawn snuggled deeper under Sam's jacket. "He misses his daddy," Dawn whispered. "And he doesn't understand how anyone can be a dad when everything's so scary, and he doesn't think his dad was so scared all the time but he'll never get to ask and it's all his fault and he's sad and he thinks you hate him for it."

Sam blinked. While he tried formulate an answer to what Dawn had just told him, the flamethrower turned off and Dean slowly made his way back over to the car.

"Hey, kid," Dean said. His voice was like Dad's had been, on the sole occasion that Sam had heard John Winchester apologize to his sons for anything. "Sorry about the... uh..."

"It's okay," Dawn said. "I miss my mommy too." She sat up on Sam's arm. "And Sam promised that you'd braid my hair tomorrow."

Even in the faint light, there was no mistaking the death-glare Dean shot at Sam.

"Dude, no! She's kidding," Sam said, as Dawn started to giggle. "You're a troublemaker."

"And he said we could listen to K-Fed in the car," Dawn sing-songed.

Dean pointed a sooty finger at Sam. "Man, you're so riding in the backseat."

Dawn kept giggling as Sam pushed off the Impala. "Do you think you got it?" he asked.

"Yeah." Dean set the flamethrower down and began to disassemble it. "One pissed off ghost, all Cajun style. Check."

"Can I burn the next one?" Dawn asked.

"No!" Sam and Dean said as one.

"The last thing we need is a five-year-old pyromaniac on our hands," Dean added. "It's bad enough you can read minds, we don't need you doing it with fire."

"Ooh, can I be a flaming psychic?" Dawn bounced on Sam's arm. "Fire is cool!"

Dean paused in his disassembly of the flamethrower. "I was never this bad."

"You were totally worse," Sam said.

"But I couldn't read minds." Dean gave Dawn a half-smile, an apology if there ever was one.

"You were worse. You memorized an entire Zeppelin album in Latin and used the lyrics to ward off an evil spirit when you were twelve," Sam pointed out.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, that was pretty fucking cool, wasn't it?"

"Language!" Dawn sang out, and Sam sighed. Yeah, just another day with a five-year-old psychic girl.

He was starting to forget how things had been before Dawn dropped into their lives, and he wasn't all that upset about it.

Comments

[mhalachaiswords.livejournal.com]

Hee. And you know, if you can pull off that "locking me in the basement" thing, go ahead. Anything to not be *here* anymore doing this hellish job. Oh, work.

Writing mini!Dawn in weird situations is just fun.