Summary: The knock that rattled the flimsy front door was unexpected
Disclaimer: This story is intended for entertainment purposes only and provides absolutely no financial compensation. Recognizable characters belong to their prospective owners/writers. Some lines from the show are used either as is or altered to fit the story.
In plain speak: I don’t own anything, just my imagination.
Thanks to MusesInspiration
for the brainstorming and encouragement when my flashdrive ate the original and I had to start over.
My response to a challenge at the LJ The Sarah Connor Chronicles Crossover Community The prompt
A/N: Events take place after T2. John is 11, Sam is 12, Dean is 16. Ghosts vs. Time Traveling Cybernetic Assassins
The knock that rattled the flimsy front door was unexpected and the three of them looked up from their bowls of ravioli in alarm. John sent Dean a look and his eldest son nodded in response, already moving to pull Sam out of his seat and toward the back of the house. John was relieved that Sam hadn't put up a fuss this time. Secure Sammy first if possible, and then assess the threat. The thin walls weren't much protection against non-supernatural threats, but this was the drill.
The knock rattled the door again, and there was an urgency to the sound this time. Dean stood near the hinges of the door and on John's signal, looked through the peephole. He sent John a confused look and peered through the hole again and whispered, "It's that kid from Sam's computer class."
John searched his memory for what Dean might have implied by that phrase and tone and a vague memory stirred regarding a story Sam had told them involving a kid in his class, the FBI and possible charges for hacking into a government site.
A young boy's voice sounded through the door. "Mom, no one's answering."
"You'll have to pick the lock John, I can't do it and we need to get off the street now." The voice that responded to the boy was low and raspy and the person speaking was in audible pain.
John shared a wide-eyed look with Dean and the boy shrugged. He motioned for Dean to open the door and John hid his weapon behind his back as the locks clicked open. The door swung open to reveal a young boy Sam's age crouched over where the deadbolt lock had been, his face tilted up in shock and surprise. Green eyes were wide with fear and the boy’s hands trembled before he shoved the lock-pick tools in his pocket. Fairly certain that their visitors were ghost and demon-free since the HooDoo charm on the newel post was still hanging untouched, John still double checked the salt line across the threshold. A shuddery breath brought his attention back to their guests and John stared down at the boy for a moment before looking at the slumped form of a dark haired woman leaning against the blind side of the doorway. There was blood on the leg of her jeans and one arm of her jacket, and a thin trail of blood leading up to her from the front walk.
"Mr. Winchester, sir, please help us. There'ssomethingafterusanditshotmymomandwecan'tgotothehospital…"
Sammy came barreling out of the back when he heard the boy's voice and he skidded to a stop at the doorway. "Oh my god John, what happened? Is that blood?!"
His voice cracked into the soprano register at the end and John winced at the sound of his youngest son's changing voice. That crack would be good for at least a month's worth of teasing from Dean. John Winchester's thoughts whirled at a frantic pace and he pulled out the flask of holy water and held it out. "Have a drink, son."
"Wha? Y-y-you w-w-want me to drink?"
"Just do it, John, and my dad will let you in." Sam tried to reassure his schoolmate and the young boy snatched the flask and took a big gulp. He tried to hand it back and the elder John shook his head.
"Give your mom a drink too, son."
The boy looked at Sam and his head bobbed so young John tilted the flask into his mother's mouth. She swallowed reflexively with no reaction and John started barking out orders. "Dean, get the bleach and make quick work of washing that blood up. Make sure you sweep out any trace leading to the yard. Ten minutes and back in the house."
John hooked his hands in the woman's armpits and pulled her into the house. As he laid her out on the couch, John addressed his youngest son. "Sam, get the first aid kit and then reset the line at the door." Wide-eyed, Sam dragged his gaze away from the woman and nodded in acknowledgement. "Hold up a second, what's your friend's name?"
Sam looked up at his father with an impish light. "Um, John Browning."
John rolled his eyes at his youngest child’s strange humor and turned back to the woman. He glanced over and young John was seated at the end of the couch, clutching at his mother's feet as he stared at her face, his chin wobbling slightly. The kid looked up, green eyes clashing with his brown and John asked him, "Is your mother injured anywhere else?"
The boy shook his head no and John watched him make a visible effort to regain some kind of composure. It was pretty amazing to watch. Dean had been the only pre-teen with that level of self control John had ever experienced.
"I need to expose her wounds, John." The blood drained out of the kid's face and he hurried to explain. "You can either help me or I'll get Dean."
Browning's features hardened. "I'd rather he not see my mom naked sir. She'll be real pissed if she knew the walking hormone ogled her when she was passed out."
John choked back a laugh at the kid's description of his oldest son. Rude, but pretty accurate. "Well then, let's get her jeans off first since that one looks the worst."
With the kid's help, John got the mother undressed and was relieved to see that both wounds were 'through and throughs' so no digging had been needed. The cleaning had gone fine until he started on her shoulder. Mrs. Browning had a wicked right hook and John knew he'd have a bruise on his cheek by morning. Her son practically sat on her, yelling into her face for a few minutes before she could focus enough to understand that he was only cleaning her wounds. She tried to sit up, but went back down easily. John had asked her name and watched a silent communication pass between son and mother before she answered.
"Well Mrs. Browning…"
"Sarah, call me Sarah. I'm not married."
"Mind telling me what exactly you're running from? Can it track you here?"
Sarah examined him warily and exchanged another conversation filled gaze with her son before answering. "We got away as clean as possible. Ditched the truck in the river when John told me Sam lived this way." She shot him a wry look. "Thanks for patching me up. You should tell your boy those ghost stories aren't real. He's had John salting the windows and doors for a month."
Sam's outraged voice responded. "Ghosts are more real than time traveling cybernetic assassins!"
The resulting chaos gave John Winchester a headache large enough to kill a mule.
Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think.