“Would you put that thing away?!” Frank hissed. “What is it with you Winchesters and wanting to shoot me? I swear to God, every time I turn around one of you is holding a gun on me, and I’m not even the psychotic Hardy!”

“Geez, excuse me for thinking ‘homeland security’,” a rather sheepish looking Dean quipped even as he shoved the gun into the waistband of his track pants and pulled the shirt down to cover it. “I was taking a piss when I heard something….You’re not a very stealthy detective are you?” He grinned at Frank’s scowl.

“Bite me,” Frank ground back and then paused. “Wait a sec – you took a gun to the bathroom with you? What were you expecting? That the toilet paper’d be possessed or something?”

“Toilet paper?” Dean asked, aghast. “What’s that?”

Frank just shook his head and tried to keep the wisp of a smile off his face. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Why, thank you,” the older man gave a little bow and then became serious. “Mind me asking about your late night stroll?”

The sleuth chewed his lip for a moment as he glanced at the back door. He sighed and then ran a hand through his dark hair. “The backyard gate was banging so I thought I’d close it. I had thought that maybe the latch had come undone or something…”

“But?” Dean pressed, knowing there was more; his own gaze flickered to the door.

“But it wasn’t undone….The hardware’d been busted off.” Frank regarded the demon hunter. “Deliberately.”

Dean didn’t ask how the young detective knew, trusting Frank’s instincts on this. “Not a great night for the Hardys then….First slashed tires and now a broken gate? You kids got your own nasties haunting your asses?”

“Well,” Frank hedged. “Let’s just say that there are certain types of people who mightn’t be too disappointed if anything happened to us.”

“Ah,” the hunter nodded in understanding. “And maybe even a few who might not mind being behind one of those ‘anythings’?”

The dark haired Hardy shrugged. “Yeah. Pretty much so.”

“Well, that sucks,” Dean summed it up and then rubbed a hand across his face. “So what do you want to do?”

Frank looked shocked that Dean was deferring to him but the way the older Winchester figured it, this was Frank’s house and Frank’s family. So it was Frank’s call.

“I don’t know,” the dark haired teen said after a few moments. “The house alarm was off—”

“So someone could have gotten in,” the hunter finished grimly.

For a moment neither young man said anything and then Frank sighed and started to ask:

“Hey, Dean…” The sleuth shifted a bit awkwardly; Dean held up a hand waving off the rest of the request.

“You don’t even need to ask. I’ve got your back,” the older Winchester promised.

Frank flashed a quick grateful smile and then glanced around the kitchen, “Let’s check out the basement first.”

Dean nodded and followed the older Hardy hoping that the Hardys’ troubles were what was niggling him…he just wasn’t sure though whether it being ‘people’ trouble made things better or worse.

Rock salt only repelled certain kinds of evil.

He thought about his brother but was confident that Sam would be all right for a few minutes longer. A confidence bolstered by the hunting knife still safely stowed away beneath his pillow.

Dean’s pillow. Dean’s knife. Dean’s habit…

And if there were any kind of trouble, Sam would look to his brother first, and in place of Dean, the kid would go for the knife.

There actually was some benefit to the way their father had raised them….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Sam woke with a start, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

Bolting upright, he stifled a groan as his bruised ribs screamed at him, protesting any kind of movement. Wincing, he gingerly wrapped an arm around his midsection and glanced around the dimly-lit room. “Dean?” he called out quietly when he didn’t see his brother.

A gazillion painted faces smiled at him and he shivered, unnerved. The ceramic collection was downright freaky as they cast little doll shadows around the lamp-lit room.

Sliding his bandaged hand beneath his brother’s pillow, Sam took comfort in the feel of the cold steel. Wherever Dean had gone, he hadn’t left him unprotected. Maybe a bathroom run?

Listening intently as the wind buffeted the house, the sixteen year old couldn’t place his finger on exactly what it was but he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

Every hair on his body tingled with charged electricity as his hazel eyes darted around the room, trying to ignore the dolls, but he kept getting drawn back to them—

Slowly pushing the blankets off his long legs, Sam pulled the knife out from beneath the pillow and started to stand up…

“Hello?” he called out, still keeping his voice low. “Who’s there?” The young hunter wasn’t sure if he wanted anyone to answer or not.

Approaching the collection, Sam reached out with a trembling hand; one of them had been knocked over—

And then he recoiled, stumbling over his feet and landing hard on his ass as the mocking face of a clown doll loomed in front of him.

“NO!” he yelled, staggering to his feet and bolting towards the door and then into the hall. Slamming the door shut, he pressed his back against it for a moment, trying to catch his breath. The doorknob twisted behind him and he whirled around, his eyes wide and the knife held out in front of him—

“Sam?” Laura’s sleepy voice startled him. “Are you okay?”

He looked at her and then back at the door. The knob was no longer moving. Before he could say anything, the sound of pounding feet heralded Dean’s arrival.

“Sam!” he shouted, his gun drawn, and Frank right behind him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam managed hoarsely, not wanting to say anything in front of the Hardys.

Laura’s eyes widened, her gaze going from Sam’s knife to Dean’s gun, and finally landing on her oldest son. “Frank,” she said, her tone cool, her manner unflappable, “Is there something you want to tell me about your new friends?”

“Uh,” Frank gaped at his mother for a moment and then blinked, “No. Not really...”

The pretty blond raised her eyebrow in disbelief.

“Well,” her son tried again. “The gun isn’t loaded with bullets.”

“It isn’t?” Laura glanced at the gun.

“No it isn’t. It’s loaded with salt – it won’t hurt anyone,” Frank didn’t’ sound convincing in the least.

“Rock salt,” Dean felt the need to correct. “And I’ll have you know a chest load hurts like a bitc – I mean it hurts a bit.” He gave Laura his most charming smile.

Sam tried to hide the knife, and succeeded in jabbing himself in the finger with it.

Dean gave him a disbelieving look and snatched it from him, bringing Laura’s attention back to the knife.

“Oh and I suppose that’s a rubber knife then too?” she challenged and the younger Winchester couldn’t help but feel she was enjoying watching them squirm.

“Oh no,” Dean ‘helped’ again. “It’s real. Sam, show her your finger—” he snatched the younger teen’s hand quickly and added, “and not that one!”

“Okay, you know what?” Laura rolled her eyes and sighed. “It is way too late for this. So I’ll cut you another break,” she stared at her son pointedly, “you have until morning to get your stories straight—” she paused and glanced around. Sam did too and only then realized that someone was missing—

“Where’s Joe?” Laura asked, voicing the very same thing the younger hunter was thinking.

Frank and Dean looked around now too. That was an excellent question. He should have come downstairs by now to see what all the commotion was about…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

“NO!”

Sam’s outcry yanked Joe from his sleep and he was on his feet and headed towards the hall on instinct – not even fully awake yet.

He never saw the shadow until it was too late and after a brief struggle, he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Joe had one final fleeting thought.

God…I hate chloroform.

…

The unconscious teen was unceremoniously dragged back into his own room. The door was closed. The lock locked.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank got to Joe’s room first. As he tried the door, Laura wrinkled up her nose. “What is that smell?”

Inhaling deeply, Sam looked at Dean, horrified—

Smoke.

Dean made for the door but Frank was faster. One powerful kick from the black-belt, and the door was off its hinges.

“Oh my God!” Laura’s eyes widened in fear – Joe’s room was on fire!

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hardy boys fan fiction