Always Bring Your Own Salt

a Supernatural Fanfic by Meghan Brunner

Characters aren’t mine. I’m just borrowing them for fun.

NOTE: Did you know salt has an expiration date? I noticed one on my hand grinder and wondered what’s the point of that? Then I realized the point is probably something like this…

It’s not long. It’s not fancy. But hopefully it’ll make you laugh.

—-

“Was she worth it?” Dean demanded, more than a little annoyed, as he braced his shoulder against the door. It wasn’t going to help for long, but it might buy them a little time.

“Dean, that’s not helping,” Sam snapped. He turned to the idiot tweenager they were trying to protect (this one’s name was Jeff) and tried for a calm voice. Urgent, because there were important issues here, but the kid was already close to losing his shit, and that was the other last thing they needed. “Have you got any salt?”

Jeff glanced around the kitchen, lost, as if he’d been asked to retrieve the Arc of the Covenant. “Salt?” he squeaked, voice breaking. Jesus, the kid hadn’t even sprouted three armpit hairs yet, probably.

“Yes. Salt. Your mom probably cooks with it?”

“Why do you need salt?”

“Just get the fucking salt,” Dean yelled as something big thumped into the other side of the door. He winced.

The thing howled.

So did another… from the other side of the house.

Jeff scrambled around the kitchen, opening every cupboard he could find.  Sam was doing the same. Dean abandoned his post at the door and joined them. Thing would be through in minutes whether he was there or not, anyway.

“Here!” the boy cried triumphantly, holding up a cardboard canister.

Dean snatched it from his hand, ripped open the spout, and started pouring… when a row of printing across the top caught his eye. “Son of a bitch! This expired last year!”

The boy stared at him. “Salt expires? It’s just salt.”

“Oh, sure, that’s what everybody says,” Dean mocked, “and then it’s all ‘Help me, quick, they’re after me!’ when there’s a hellhound about to take a big fat bite out of their ass! You have to keep up with this stuff!”

“Like fire extinguishers?”

“Yes. Like fucking fire extinguishers.”

“Dean! Catch!”

He reached up on instinct at his brother’s call, snagged a hand grinder out of the air. It was one of those fancy-ass pieces of foodie posturing with the pink stuff. “Ain’t nobody got time for that shit!”

“Well, it’s the best we’ve got.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, and started to grind as Sam went back to looking.

“My little sister has one of those lamps with the basket of salt rocks in her bedroom! I’ll go -”

“NO!” the Winchesters chorused.

Sam grabbed the kid by the arm and hauled him back from his attempted dash down the hallway. “You just stay in the circle while we figure this out. I’ll go get the lamp. Maybe we can use it as ammo.”

“My sister’s room’s upstairs, at the end of the hall.”

Sam took off.

“Was she worth it? Your little Susan or Jessica or whoever you made your bargain for? I goddamn hope she was worth it.” Dean repeated from between gritted teeth. Fuck his arm was starting to hurt, and all for what?

Sure, he’d invoked his share of decisions that ended badly, including one that ended with hellhounds, but at least his was for good reason. Not that he was going to let this kid get dragged off. He knew what was waiting for Jeff better than anybody, and no stupid-ass teenager mistake deserved that kind of a punishment.

Jeff looked at him for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said, voice quiet.

Dean stopped grinding and gave him a flat look. “Seriously? Hellhounds were worth -”

“The guy who showed up, he said he could make Dad not drink and beat my mom anymore. He said he could make Dad nice. Could make us a family. And it worked. Even if those things take me… it was worth it.”

Dean just stared.

Son. of. a. bitch.

“We’ll get you out of this,” he said, though fuck if he knew how. They hadn’t had time to hit the Impala for supplies.

“Can’t you hurry it up?” Sam demanded as he dashed back into the room.

“You do it!” Dean snapped. “My arm’s killing me.”

Sam snatched the grinder out of his hand. “That’s it. You’re banned from BustyAsianBeauties dot com for life.”

“Wait!” Jeff said, dashing to the cupboards.

“Dammit, Jeff -”

“But I’ve got an idea!”

***

Dean had never been happier to see a shitty motel room in his life.

Well, okay, maybe the first shitty motel room he’d been in after hell. But after that…

“I still can’t believe that worked,” Sam said, dropping into the chair. “I didn’t even know hellhounds could explode like that.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have mattered if that demon hadn’t been amused enough to let Jeff out of his contract,” Dean pointed out. “Though I guess we make up a canteen of roast beef flavored ramen broth and add it to the arsenal. Who knew hellhounds had a taste for the stuff?”