fic: it's the sudden stop at the end (1/1, pg-13)
title: it's the sudden stop at the end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
rating: pg-13
characters/pairings: Dean, mentions of Sam & Jess
word count: 1,055
notes: yet another AU skrewt that mauled me when I should be...well doing whatever you do when Winchesters haven't hijacked your brain. another short Pilot re-write, but I'll won't ruin the twist I put on it this time.
so I pretended up a person who was fittin in
and now you think this person really is me and I'm
Dean's dreams start in New Orleans.
There's a girl he doesn't know pinned to the ceiling, all blonde hair and wide, wide eyes. Her white nightgown clings dark and wet to her stomach. Flames dance around the curve of her hip, the curls of her hair against the plaster. She 's trying to say something; Dean can almost make out the words, can almost understand. If he could just hear her over the roar of the fire. It's something important. He reaches toward her and the flames lick against his hand. She wants. She wants him to...
He jerks awake morning after morning with smoke clinging to his clothes, his hair. No matter how many showers he takes, he can never get the smell off his skin. He tries calling his dad, but all he gets is a busy signal. Dean wants to know what the hell is going on; his dad won't answer him and every night he falls asleep and dreams of fire.
The sooner he finishes with this voodoo gig, the better.
He keeps the pedal to the floor all the way to Stanford. He promised himself he would leave Sam alone, let his brother have that Joe College normal life. But right now, Dean needs Sam. To help him find their father. To tell him he's not crazy.
Dean breaks into his brother's apartment for the first time in two years. Sam catches him -- that's my boy, Dean thinks -- but then the light flicks on.
"Sam?"
Dean can count the times he's been this freaked out on one hand. Most of those times were because of Sammy, and Dean figures he really shouldn't have expected this to be any different. Because the girl standing in Sammy's apartment, the one his brother looks at like she's the most important thing in the world, Dean's seen her dying for days.
He tells Sam about their dad's last job. As much as he knows, or has figured out, anyway. He doesn't breathe a word about fire or Jessica. Doesn't even glance back up at the apartment while they're out by the car. Dean figures if he can just get Sam to come with him, if they can just find their dad, then somehow all this weird shit will stop.
Hell, it's not like Sam would believe him anyway. He'd probably tell Dean to get his head examined. Or to get the fuck out of California. Dean can't risk it, not after he's come this far. Not after Sam's actually agreed to come with him. And it's just some freaky nightmares.
Dean just needs to keep his head together. They'll head to Jericho and find Dad and everything will be fine. Fine, damnit.
The dreams don't stop with Sam in the next bed. Hell, they get worse. Now he knows who the girl is, knows how she smiles out of the corner of her mouth, knows how she looks at his brother like Sam is her very own Prince Charming. The flames burn hotter; a drop of blood drips from the dark stain of her nightgown to land on his face.
Dean is thankful that he learned to check his screams a while ago. He looks over at his brother. Sam is fast asleep, curled in on himself like Dean remembers him doing as a kid.
The next night isn't any better. But Dean learns that even when he falls off the bed trying to escape the dream-fire, Sam still doesn't wake up. It's almost enough to make him hate Sam. Just a little.
Jericho gets added to the list of towns Dean hopes to keep in his rearview mirror. He tries their dad's phone just once, right after they stop to pick up their junk from the motel. John doesn't pick up; Dean wasn't expecting him to. He closes his eyes and leans back against the car. He's lost his dad and he's losing Sammy again. Dean doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do.
Sam makes noise about driving straight through to Stanford. We can take shifts. I promise not to wreck the car. Monday, Dean. I have to be back. Dean doesn't fight him. A small, small part of him is glad. This way, he'll have less time to think. He won't have to sit up tonight and know that in the morning his brother will be gone. Dean slides into the driver's seat and starts the car.
He drives until his eyes get heavy and then switches off with Sam. But he makes Sam stop at the very next gas station and Dean loads up with an extra large coffee, Mt Dew, and even a pack of those caffeine pills designed to give you a heart attack. Just because he's not driving doesn't mean he's gonna close his eyes. He might end up twitching, but at least this way he can spend one night without seeing his brother's girlfriend burn.
He's a big boy, he should be able to let it go. But not a mile down the road and Dean can't shake the fear roiling in his gut. Just bad dreams. 'S all they are. He turns the car around anyway. Presses his foot down a little harder on the gas.
Dean gets back just in time to haul Sam out of the apartment, fire already licking hungry and hot at their clothes. He curls his fists in Sam's jacket and tries not to think of Jessica, pinned to the ceiling. He holds tight to his brother through the fire trucks and the ambulance and the body bag. Dean's scared to death that if he lets go, even for a minute, Sam will try to follow after her. And that is something Dean cannot live with.
That night it's Sam who wakes up screaming. He ends up on his knees over the toilet. Dean presses a hand between Sam's shoulder blades, wishes he didn't know that it could have been different. All he had to do was say something. Anything. Jess could be alive right now.
Dean grabs one of the little plastic cups off the sink and fills it with water from the tap. Almost drops it when Sam whispers, "It's my fault. I let her die."
Sam's wrong. Because this? This is all on Dean.
- end
author: acidquill
disclaimer: don't own em
rating: pg-13
characters/pairings: Dean, mentions of Sam & Jess
word count: 1,055
notes: yet another AU skrewt that mauled me when I should be...well doing whatever you do when Winchesters haven't hijacked your brain. another short Pilot re-write, but I'll won't ruin the twist I put on it this time.
so I pretended up a person who was fittin in
and now you think this person really is me and I'm
Dean's dreams start in New Orleans.
There's a girl he doesn't know pinned to the ceiling, all blonde hair and wide, wide eyes. Her white nightgown clings dark and wet to her stomach. Flames dance around the curve of her hip, the curls of her hair against the plaster. She 's trying to say something; Dean can almost make out the words, can almost understand. If he could just hear her over the roar of the fire. It's something important. He reaches toward her and the flames lick against his hand. She wants. She wants him to...
He jerks awake morning after morning with smoke clinging to his clothes, his hair. No matter how many showers he takes, he can never get the smell off his skin. He tries calling his dad, but all he gets is a busy signal. Dean wants to know what the hell is going on; his dad won't answer him and every night he falls asleep and dreams of fire.
The sooner he finishes with this voodoo gig, the better.
He keeps the pedal to the floor all the way to Stanford. He promised himself he would leave Sam alone, let his brother have that Joe College normal life. But right now, Dean needs Sam. To help him find their father. To tell him he's not crazy.
Dean breaks into his brother's apartment for the first time in two years. Sam catches him -- that's my boy, Dean thinks -- but then the light flicks on.
"Sam?"
Dean can count the times he's been this freaked out on one hand. Most of those times were because of Sammy, and Dean figures he really shouldn't have expected this to be any different. Because the girl standing in Sammy's apartment, the one his brother looks at like she's the most important thing in the world, Dean's seen her dying for days.
He tells Sam about their dad's last job. As much as he knows, or has figured out, anyway. He doesn't breathe a word about fire or Jessica. Doesn't even glance back up at the apartment while they're out by the car. Dean figures if he can just get Sam to come with him, if they can just find their dad, then somehow all this weird shit will stop.
Hell, it's not like Sam would believe him anyway. He'd probably tell Dean to get his head examined. Or to get the fuck out of California. Dean can't risk it, not after he's come this far. Not after Sam's actually agreed to come with him. And it's just some freaky nightmares.
Dean just needs to keep his head together. They'll head to Jericho and find Dad and everything will be fine. Fine, damnit.
The dreams don't stop with Sam in the next bed. Hell, they get worse. Now he knows who the girl is, knows how she smiles out of the corner of her mouth, knows how she looks at his brother like Sam is her very own Prince Charming. The flames burn hotter; a drop of blood drips from the dark stain of her nightgown to land on his face.
Dean is thankful that he learned to check his screams a while ago. He looks over at his brother. Sam is fast asleep, curled in on himself like Dean remembers him doing as a kid.
The next night isn't any better. But Dean learns that even when he falls off the bed trying to escape the dream-fire, Sam still doesn't wake up. It's almost enough to make him hate Sam. Just a little.
Jericho gets added to the list of towns Dean hopes to keep in his rearview mirror. He tries their dad's phone just once, right after they stop to pick up their junk from the motel. John doesn't pick up; Dean wasn't expecting him to. He closes his eyes and leans back against the car. He's lost his dad and he's losing Sammy again. Dean doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do.
Sam makes noise about driving straight through to Stanford. We can take shifts. I promise not to wreck the car. Monday, Dean. I have to be back. Dean doesn't fight him. A small, small part of him is glad. This way, he'll have less time to think. He won't have to sit up tonight and know that in the morning his brother will be gone. Dean slides into the driver's seat and starts the car.
He drives until his eyes get heavy and then switches off with Sam. But he makes Sam stop at the very next gas station and Dean loads up with an extra large coffee, Mt Dew, and even a pack of those caffeine pills designed to give you a heart attack. Just because he's not driving doesn't mean he's gonna close his eyes. He might end up twitching, but at least this way he can spend one night without seeing his brother's girlfriend burn.
He's a big boy, he should be able to let it go. But not a mile down the road and Dean can't shake the fear roiling in his gut. Just bad dreams. 'S all they are. He turns the car around anyway. Presses his foot down a little harder on the gas.
Dean gets back just in time to haul Sam out of the apartment, fire already licking hungry and hot at their clothes. He curls his fists in Sam's jacket and tries not to think of Jessica, pinned to the ceiling. He holds tight to his brother through the fire trucks and the ambulance and the body bag. Dean's scared to death that if he lets go, even for a minute, Sam will try to follow after her. And that is something Dean cannot live with.
That night it's Sam who wakes up screaming. He ends up on his knees over the toilet. Dean presses a hand between Sam's shoulder blades, wishes he didn't know that it could have been different. All he had to do was say something. Anything. Jess could be alive right now.
Dean grabs one of the little plastic cups off the sink and fills it with water from the tap. Almost drops it when Sam whispers, "It's my fault. I let her die."
Sam's wrong. Because this? This is all on Dean.
- end