Fic: Some Things are Not Meant To Be

Author: Duckie
Disclaimer: me no own Supernatural, Kripke does
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1.035
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam
Warnings: umm… no beta?
Summary: A woman gives some money to Dean to back-off from a job.
A/N: written for Saturday picture challenge at spnwriterlounge


“Please,” Mrs. Sheppard whispered softly as she pressed the crisp banknotes on Dean Winchester’s palm.

Dean frowned then chuckled. Without fail, the feel of money against his skin gave him a tingle of pleasure all over his body as it always did. He always welcomed cash, preferably without having to do so much as lifting a finger to get it. But this was… this was…

“Ma’am,” he put his voice back into serious business tone, “do you realize that you have just bribed a federal agent? By law…”

Mrs. Sheppard put her delicate finger on his mouth, silencing him. “I know the law,” she nodded, her voice had gotten even softer as if she was afraid the walls would actually listen to what she was talking about. “I know the law,” she repeated, then she lowered her eyes. “But let’s keep this between us.”


Dean took a deep breath. “I can’t…”

Mrs. Sheppard lifted her face again and looked him straight in the eyes. “Please, Agent Harris. I understand that it probably is not enough, but that’s all I have with me now. I can go with you to the ATM now to get some more, if you want.”

Dean was speechless. When he managed to find his voice again, he tried to say, “No, Ma’am…”

Mrs. Sheppard smiled and it broke Dean’s heart. “Thank you.”

Still, she waited until Dean slipped the money into the breast pocket of his well-pressed suit jacket before turning around and leaving Dean at the porch of his house.

* * *

The money was spread on the coffee table of the motel room and Sam looked at them thoughtfully.

“We can’t do that,” he said, probably for the seventieth time in the last thirty minutes.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged. He was pouring coffee. “Tell me what should I do.”

“You can go back to Mrs. Sheppard’s house and tell her that you can’t accept the money,” Sam said.

“I’ve tried to do that.” Dean sipped his coffee. “And failed. You wanna do that?”

“Dude, if she pays you for exterminating ghosts, I still think that’s fine. But she gave you money to stay away from the house that’s clearly haunted and disturbing the neighbourhood. The moral of our job is…”

“Dude, I know the moral of our job,” Dean cut him in impatiently.

“Then, return the money already!” Sam snapped.

Dean slammed his body on the sofa next to Sam. The money on the table was practically gleaming, like a strip dancer in glowing beaded g-string, teasing the last resort of his conscience. One thousand and two hundred dollars. In a job that paid them nothing, the money could go a long way on food, beer, gas and ammo.

Still, it didn’t feel right. Dean hustled pool and bet poker to get some hard cash and although he cheated to win sometimes, at least he put some efforts on that. This money, this money he got for not doing anything, for backing out of the job he had been holding on for his entire life, for doing the opposite from what he had been thought.

“Can we keep the money but still salt and burn the house?” he asked.

Sam gave him a look that suggested that he was completely out of his mind.

* * *

They were deep into the haunted house when Sam asked, “Have you returned the money yet?”

Dean was glad that he was walking behind Sam and the house was totally dark, save for their flashlights, that Sam couldn’t see his expression. “Yes,” he said firmly.

“You lied,” Sam muttered, although he didn’t sound angry.

“I don’t,” Dean replied lightly. The money was burning inside the back pocket of his jeans as he spoke.

“Dean.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I went to her house, okay? She was not there. So what was I supposed to do? Leave the money under the mat at the porch?”

“Yeah, you could do that actually.”

“What if it’s stolen and Mrs. Sheppard thinks that I still have the money and stay away from this house? I’ll return the money later when we finish.”

“I’ll drive you,” Sam said flatly.

“I’m offended,” Dean snapped.

Sam stopped, his body stiffened. “Did you hear that?” he hissed.

Dean tilted his head, listening. He caught the sound of the wind outside the house, and he heard a chant. Clearly a chant. A woman’s voice. “Mrs. Sheppard,”he said.

“Top floor,” Sam jerked his head towards the stairway.

* * *

They found Mrs. Sheppard in the attic, there was a symbol on the floor and she was sitting right outside the circle of the symbol. Sam startled her with “No, no, no, you can’t do this!” that she broke the chant and looked at Sam with tears rolling down her cheeks from the corner of her eyes. “You don’t understand,” she said. “He’s all I got left.”

Neither Sam nor Dean could explain to Mrs. Sheppard why she shouldn’t summon the ghost of a dead person, because the ghost of her grandson showed up suddenly and he went berserk the chant was broken in the middle. He grabbed Mrs. Sheppard by her throat and ripped it off.

At the end, they couldn’t save Mrs. Sheppard, so, after exorcising the ghost, they salted and burned Mrs. Sheppard’s body, then the entire house to make sure that the ghost didn’t come back and the symbols Mrs. Sheppard drew on the floor couldn’t be used anymore.

Back in the motel, Dean took his clothes off and tossed them away as he usually did and went straight to sleep, exhausted. It was not until mid-day the next day when they did the laundry that Sam fished the money out of his jeans pocket.

Dean only shrugged. “She’s dead,” he said.

Sam pocketed the money.

Later, he donated the money to the first orphanage they passed.

“You’re such a saint, it sucks,” Dean mocked him as he climbed into the Impala outside the orphanage.

“No, it’s not for me,” Sam shook his head. “It’s for Mrs. Sheppard.”

Dean only snickered and started the engine so they could do to the next destination without wasting the daylight.

* * *
~end