(no subject)
Title: Ready and Willing
Author: Belah
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 for violence and mild language.
Spoilers: Up to 3.10.
Summary: A re-write of sorts of Dream A Little Dream of Me. Dean still faces himself in his mind, but Sam, Sam gets a little look inside his brother’s dreams.
Warnings: Violence, language and light references to Wincest.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with anything pertaining to Jared or Jensen, Sam and Dean, or anything else Kripke and his brilliant mind possesses--but you can't blame a girl for dreaming. I did however watch the last part of the episode a million times over to use the dialogue from Dean and Dean in this fic, so that part was very borrowed from the episode. No financial profit is made from this work.
“What the hell?” Dean stopped; the trees suddenly wallpaper in a dilapidated motel. His eyes searched frantically for his younger brother, making his way down the hall and frowning as the door at the end opens itself.
“Jeremy?” He asked, watching the light switch on and off. No, not Jeremy, his hair’s too short-shoulders too broad.
He blinked several times, watching as his own face turns to gaze up at him-it was like looking into a mirror, only sharper and somehow overly perfect.
“Hey, Dean.”
He tries to steady himself, unsure of what is his mind’s doing and what may be Jeremy’s.
Dean smirked to himself. “Well aren’t you a handsome son-of-a-gun?” He weight shifted from foot to foot.
He other version of himself stared back, meeting green eyes. “We need to talk.”
“I get it. I get it. I’m my own worst nightmare,” he started, pacing to the side of the room, careful to keep his eyes on the mirror copy of himself. “Is that it? Huh?”
The dream copy stood in front of the small desk, slowly moving in time to his pacing.
“Kinda like the Superman 3, junkyard scene; a little mono a mono with myself?”
“Joke all you want smartass, I know the truth. You can’t lie to me,” he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean, circling at the feet of the beds. “I know the truth.”
Dean’s brows furrow in confusion, all motion stopping as he stands with his back to the desk.
“How dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. And I know how you look into a mirror,” he paused, brows rising. “And hate what you see.”
Dean choked back the truth, ignoring it inside his double’s words. “Sorry pal, it’s not gonna work. You’re not real,” he scoffed, shoulders shrugging.
“Sure I am.” His patented smirk reflecting back at him. “I’m you.”
“I don’t think so.” Warmness pooled in his gut, as he tightened the pull of his lips. “See, this is my siesta, not yours. All I gotta do is snap my fingers,” another smirk, “and you go bye bye.” He lifted his left hand, fingers moving against each other, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Nothing.
He frowned in confusion, repeatedly snapping his fingers-annoyed by the lack of reaction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” his double responded, voice even and calm. “Neither are you.”
A soft creak and a loud bang. The door was shut and Dean realized that he was trapped, his doppelganger standing between him and his only visible means of escape.
“Like I said,” a sawed off was raised in front of his face. “We need to talk.”
--
"Dean? Dean wake up..." Sam reached over, hand finding his brother's shoulder only to find himself thrown out of the Impala and onto the cold dirt road.
"Dea-" he started, stopping to look up at Jeremy. He was wearing Dean's clothes, his jacket. Sam felt his temper flare as he reached up only to find his hands and legs bound like Jesus on the cross.
"So you're supposed to be our messiah?"
Sam froze, open mouth and growled. "Who are you?"
"A psychic, like you." Jeremy smiled, turning his back. "But let’s not talk about me; let’s discuss this marvelous labyrinth of Dean's brain..."
Sam blinked and Jeremy was gone, instead replaced with Dean. His arms and legs were freed and the Impala was next to them.
"Dean!" he shouted, hand clapping on Dean’s shoulder.
"I told you, I'd rather die..."
"Dean, what're you talking about?"
His brother seemed to be looking beyond him. And Sam turned, his eyes widening at the sight. Fire and ash and rotted earth. "Dean what happened?"
Green eyes brimming with tears, "You did. You killed them, all of them and I couldn’t stop you." He collapsed to his knees. "You did it for me, I begged you not to, but you did. And I couldn't, I can't..."
--
“I mean, you’re going to hell, and you won’t lift a finger to stop it.” It scoffs. “Talk about low self esteem. Then again, I guess it’s not much of a life worth saving-”
“Wake up, Dean. Wake up,” his mantra, eyes fixated on his copy.
“I mean, after all you got nothing outside’a Sam.” It stopped it’s motion. “You are nothin’. You’re as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”
Dean stopped, wetting his lips and desperately tried to extinguish the growing frustration pooling in his gut. “That’s not true,” he replied, a plaster smile forced on angered cheeks.
“No? What’re the things you want? What’re the things that you dream?”
Flashes of Sam, of skin and flesh and heat shift behind Dean’s eyes as he stares down his subconscious.
“I mean your car, that’s Dad’s. Your favorite leather jacket? That’s dads. Your music; dad’s.” It stopped, head tilting in question. “Do you even have an original thought?”
Dean forces a smile, a laugh-his fear and anger growing inside of him.
“No,” it replies for him. “All there is, is to watch out for Sammy.” It’s voice shifted slightly, “Look after your littler brother, boy.”
Dean could feel his palms start to sweat, tight fists forming at his sides as he bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.
“You can still hear your dad’s voice in your head,” it lifted the shotgun, tapping to his temple. “Can’t cha? Clear as a bell.”
Dean’s gaze remained fixated on his other self, carefully watching, hating that deep down-deep down he knew it was… “Just shut up.” He managed to keep his voice calm as he spoke, head shaking in response.
“I mean, if you think about it, all he ever did was train you.” It moved closer, eyes and nose a breath from Dean’s. “Boss you around.”
It paused.
“But Sam… Sam he doted on. Sam he loved.”
He could feel the heat spilling over his skin. “I mean it, I’m getting angry.”
“Dad knew who you really were. A good solider and nothing else.” Lips curled in a cruel smirk. “Daddy’s blunt little instrument. Your own father didn’t care whether you lived or died, why should yo-”
“Son of a bitch!” He growled, finally feeling the tense coil in his body snap. He surged forward, slamming himself into the desk.
Years of torment, of guilt and anger and frustration began to pour out before he could stop it, reign in his emotions. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”
His dream self pushed off of the desk only to be kicked back followed by a blow to the face.
“All that crap he dumped on me about protecting Sam, it was his crap,” he panted. “He’s the one that couldn’t protect his family.” A double blow to the face with the sawed-off. “He’s the one that let mom die.” He growled low in his throat. “He wasn’t there for Sam, I always was. He wasn’t there, I didn’t deserve what he put he put on me, and I don’t deserve,” he aimed at his double’s chest. “To go to hell.” His finger curled pulling the trigger.
--
"Dean what did I--?"
His brother was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.
"See what you're destined for, Sammy?"
He spun to face the owner of the voice, seeing Jeremy before him and swung his fist, hitting air as form vanished.
Thick laughter bubbled over his skin. "This is my world Sammy."
"Don't call me, Sammy."
"Sam. See what you'll become? Even Dean knows what you are, what's inside of you." Jeremy reappeared with a smirk. "But there's more for you to see..."
--
“Jeremy?” He asked, watching the light switch on and off. No, not Jeremy, his hair’s too short-shoulders too broad.
He blinked several times, watching as his own face turns to gaze up at him-it was like looking into a mirror, only sharper and somehow overly perfect.
“Hey Dean.”
He tries to steady himself, unsure of what is his mind’s doing and what may be Jeremy’s.
Dean smirked to himself. “Well aren’t you a handsome son-of-a-gun?” He weight shifted from foot to foot.
He other version of himself stared back, meeting green eyes. “We need to talk.”
“I get it. I get it. I’m my own worst nightmare,” he started, pacing to the side of the room, careful to keep his eyes on the mirror copy of himself. “Is that it? Huh?”
The dream copy stood in front of the small desk, slowly moving in time to his pacing.
“Kinda like the Superman 3, junkyard scene; a little mono a mono with myself?”
“Joke all you want smartass, I know the truth. You can’t lie to me,” he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean, circling at the feet of the beds. “I know the truth.”
Dean’s brows furrow in confusion, all motion stopping as he stands with his back to the desk.
“How dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. And I know how you look into a mirror,” he paused, brows rising. “And hate what you see.”
Dean choked back the truth, ignoring it inside his double’s words. “Sorry pal, it’s not gonna work. You’re not real,” he scoffed, shoulders shrugging.
“Sure I am.” His patented smirk reflecting back at him. “I’m you.”
“I don’t think so.” Warmness pooled in his gut, as he tightened the pull of his lips. “See, this is my siesta, not yours. All I gotta do is snap my fingers,” another smirk, “and you go bye bye.” He lifted his left hand, fingers moving against each other, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Nothing.
He frowned in confusion, repeatedly snapping his fingers-annoyed by the lack of reaction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” his double responded, voice even and calm. “Neither are you.”
A soft creak and a loud bang. The door was shut and Dean realized that he was trapped, his doppelganger standing between him and his only visible means of escape.
“Like I said,” a sawed off was raised in front of his face. “We need to talk.”
--
"Sammy?"
He looked up, again meeting his brother's brilliant green eyes. "I, oh god, thought I lost you." Hungry lips captured his, biting more than kissing. Calloused fingers searched over his body, under his shirt to the scar and Sam froze.
Dean's lips stilled against his before pulling away as if burned. "Oh god, Sam-" he fumbled over his words, eyes looking anywhere but at Sam.
Sam was in shock vaguely registering the cabin... "You sold your soul," he whispers.
Dean stops floundering for words and looks wide eyed to his younger brother. "How did you?"
He stepped closer, his lips hovering over Dean's. "You saved me, traded your life for mine... why Dean?"
Dean shivered at the closeness, his eyes falling shut. Long lashes fanned freckled cheeks and a soft sigh filled the silence. "I couldn't live without you. I need you Sam. I love you-more than I should."
--
His eye’s snapped back open, black pools where emerald had once shimmered. Blood was splattered over his chest and lips, crimson stark against pale flesh. “You can’t escape me Dean, you’re gonna die.” It growled, lunging forward and cause Dean to take a step back in surprise. “And this, this is what you’re gonna become.”
--
Sam felt the faintest brush of lips against his own before the world flashed again and he was strapped back to the ground, crucified in front of the smug son-of-a-bitch who dared mess with his brother's head.
"I told you, this is my world."
Sam paused and looked up. "Because of the dream root..."
"Yeah."
"Well you're forgetting something," he smirked from the ground.
"What's that?"
"I took the dream root, too." Sam replied focusing on the image of Jeremy's father.
--
"What’d you see?"
Sam shrugged, shifting from one foot to the other. "Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. What about you, you never said.”
Dean shrugged. “Nothing, was looking for you the whole time.”
Author: Belah
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 for violence and mild language.
Spoilers: Up to 3.10.
Summary: A re-write of sorts of Dream A Little Dream of Me. Dean still faces himself in his mind, but Sam, Sam gets a little look inside his brother’s dreams.
Warnings: Violence, language and light references to Wincest.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with anything pertaining to Jared or Jensen, Sam and Dean, or anything else Kripke and his brilliant mind possesses--but you can't blame a girl for dreaming. I did however watch the last part of the episode a million times over to use the dialogue from Dean and Dean in this fic, so that part was very borrowed from the episode. No financial profit is made from this work.
“What the hell?” Dean stopped; the trees suddenly wallpaper in a dilapidated motel. His eyes searched frantically for his younger brother, making his way down the hall and frowning as the door at the end opens itself.
“Jeremy?” He asked, watching the light switch on and off. No, not Jeremy, his hair’s too short-shoulders too broad.
He blinked several times, watching as his own face turns to gaze up at him-it was like looking into a mirror, only sharper and somehow overly perfect.
“Hey, Dean.”
He tries to steady himself, unsure of what is his mind’s doing and what may be Jeremy’s.
Dean smirked to himself. “Well aren’t you a handsome son-of-a-gun?” He weight shifted from foot to foot.
He other version of himself stared back, meeting green eyes. “We need to talk.”
“I get it. I get it. I’m my own worst nightmare,” he started, pacing to the side of the room, careful to keep his eyes on the mirror copy of himself. “Is that it? Huh?”
The dream copy stood in front of the small desk, slowly moving in time to his pacing.
“Kinda like the Superman 3, junkyard scene; a little mono a mono with myself?”
“Joke all you want smartass, I know the truth. You can’t lie to me,” he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean, circling at the feet of the beds. “I know the truth.”
Dean’s brows furrow in confusion, all motion stopping as he stands with his back to the desk.
“How dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. And I know how you look into a mirror,” he paused, brows rising. “And hate what you see.”
Dean choked back the truth, ignoring it inside his double’s words. “Sorry pal, it’s not gonna work. You’re not real,” he scoffed, shoulders shrugging.
“Sure I am.” His patented smirk reflecting back at him. “I’m you.”
“I don’t think so.” Warmness pooled in his gut, as he tightened the pull of his lips. “See, this is my siesta, not yours. All I gotta do is snap my fingers,” another smirk, “and you go bye bye.” He lifted his left hand, fingers moving against each other, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Nothing.
He frowned in confusion, repeatedly snapping his fingers-annoyed by the lack of reaction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” his double responded, voice even and calm. “Neither are you.”
A soft creak and a loud bang. The door was shut and Dean realized that he was trapped, his doppelganger standing between him and his only visible means of escape.
“Like I said,” a sawed off was raised in front of his face. “We need to talk.”
--
"Dean? Dean wake up..." Sam reached over, hand finding his brother's shoulder only to find himself thrown out of the Impala and onto the cold dirt road.
"Dea-" he started, stopping to look up at Jeremy. He was wearing Dean's clothes, his jacket. Sam felt his temper flare as he reached up only to find his hands and legs bound like Jesus on the cross.
"So you're supposed to be our messiah?"
Sam froze, open mouth and growled. "Who are you?"
"A psychic, like you." Jeremy smiled, turning his back. "But let’s not talk about me; let’s discuss this marvelous labyrinth of Dean's brain..."
Sam blinked and Jeremy was gone, instead replaced with Dean. His arms and legs were freed and the Impala was next to them.
"Dean!" he shouted, hand clapping on Dean’s shoulder.
"I told you, I'd rather die..."
"Dean, what're you talking about?"
His brother seemed to be looking beyond him. And Sam turned, his eyes widening at the sight. Fire and ash and rotted earth. "Dean what happened?"
Green eyes brimming with tears, "You did. You killed them, all of them and I couldn’t stop you." He collapsed to his knees. "You did it for me, I begged you not to, but you did. And I couldn't, I can't..."
--
“I mean, you’re going to hell, and you won’t lift a finger to stop it.” It scoffs. “Talk about low self esteem. Then again, I guess it’s not much of a life worth saving-”
“Wake up, Dean. Wake up,” his mantra, eyes fixated on his copy.
“I mean, after all you got nothing outside’a Sam.” It stopped it’s motion. “You are nothin’. You’re as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”
Dean stopped, wetting his lips and desperately tried to extinguish the growing frustration pooling in his gut. “That’s not true,” he replied, a plaster smile forced on angered cheeks.
“No? What’re the things you want? What’re the things that you dream?”
Flashes of Sam, of skin and flesh and heat shift behind Dean’s eyes as he stares down his subconscious.
“I mean your car, that’s Dad’s. Your favorite leather jacket? That’s dads. Your music; dad’s.” It stopped, head tilting in question. “Do you even have an original thought?”
Dean forces a smile, a laugh-his fear and anger growing inside of him.
“No,” it replies for him. “All there is, is to watch out for Sammy.” It’s voice shifted slightly, “Look after your littler brother, boy.”
Dean could feel his palms start to sweat, tight fists forming at his sides as he bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.
“You can still hear your dad’s voice in your head,” it lifted the shotgun, tapping to his temple. “Can’t cha? Clear as a bell.”
Dean’s gaze remained fixated on his other self, carefully watching, hating that deep down-deep down he knew it was… “Just shut up.” He managed to keep his voice calm as he spoke, head shaking in response.
“I mean, if you think about it, all he ever did was train you.” It moved closer, eyes and nose a breath from Dean’s. “Boss you around.”
It paused.
“But Sam… Sam he doted on. Sam he loved.”
He could feel the heat spilling over his skin. “I mean it, I’m getting angry.”
“Dad knew who you really were. A good solider and nothing else.” Lips curled in a cruel smirk. “Daddy’s blunt little instrument. Your own father didn’t care whether you lived or died, why should yo-”
“Son of a bitch!” He growled, finally feeling the tense coil in his body snap. He surged forward, slamming himself into the desk.
Years of torment, of guilt and anger and frustration began to pour out before he could stop it, reign in his emotions. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”
His dream self pushed off of the desk only to be kicked back followed by a blow to the face.
“All that crap he dumped on me about protecting Sam, it was his crap,” he panted. “He’s the one that couldn’t protect his family.” A double blow to the face with the sawed-off. “He’s the one that let mom die.” He growled low in his throat. “He wasn’t there for Sam, I always was. He wasn’t there, I didn’t deserve what he put he put on me, and I don’t deserve,” he aimed at his double’s chest. “To go to hell.” His finger curled pulling the trigger.
--
"Dean what did I--?"
His brother was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.
"See what you're destined for, Sammy?"
He spun to face the owner of the voice, seeing Jeremy before him and swung his fist, hitting air as form vanished.
Thick laughter bubbled over his skin. "This is my world Sammy."
"Don't call me, Sammy."
"Sam. See what you'll become? Even Dean knows what you are, what's inside of you." Jeremy reappeared with a smirk. "But there's more for you to see..."
--
“Jeremy?” He asked, watching the light switch on and off. No, not Jeremy, his hair’s too short-shoulders too broad.
He blinked several times, watching as his own face turns to gaze up at him-it was like looking into a mirror, only sharper and somehow overly perfect.
“Hey Dean.”
He tries to steady himself, unsure of what is his mind’s doing and what may be Jeremy’s.
Dean smirked to himself. “Well aren’t you a handsome son-of-a-gun?” He weight shifted from foot to foot.
He other version of himself stared back, meeting green eyes. “We need to talk.”
“I get it. I get it. I’m my own worst nightmare,” he started, pacing to the side of the room, careful to keep his eyes on the mirror copy of himself. “Is that it? Huh?”
The dream copy stood in front of the small desk, slowly moving in time to his pacing.
“Kinda like the Superman 3, junkyard scene; a little mono a mono with myself?”
“Joke all you want smartass, I know the truth. You can’t lie to me,” he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean, circling at the feet of the beds. “I know the truth.”
Dean’s brows furrow in confusion, all motion stopping as he stands with his back to the desk.
“How dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. And I know how you look into a mirror,” he paused, brows rising. “And hate what you see.”
Dean choked back the truth, ignoring it inside his double’s words. “Sorry pal, it’s not gonna work. You’re not real,” he scoffed, shoulders shrugging.
“Sure I am.” His patented smirk reflecting back at him. “I’m you.”
“I don’t think so.” Warmness pooled in his gut, as he tightened the pull of his lips. “See, this is my siesta, not yours. All I gotta do is snap my fingers,” another smirk, “and you go bye bye.” He lifted his left hand, fingers moving against each other, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
Nothing.
He frowned in confusion, repeatedly snapping his fingers-annoyed by the lack of reaction.
“I’m not going anywhere,” his double responded, voice even and calm. “Neither are you.”
A soft creak and a loud bang. The door was shut and Dean realized that he was trapped, his doppelganger standing between him and his only visible means of escape.
“Like I said,” a sawed off was raised in front of his face. “We need to talk.”
--
"Sammy?"
He looked up, again meeting his brother's brilliant green eyes. "I, oh god, thought I lost you." Hungry lips captured his, biting more than kissing. Calloused fingers searched over his body, under his shirt to the scar and Sam froze.
Dean's lips stilled against his before pulling away as if burned. "Oh god, Sam-" he fumbled over his words, eyes looking anywhere but at Sam.
Sam was in shock vaguely registering the cabin... "You sold your soul," he whispers.
Dean stops floundering for words and looks wide eyed to his younger brother. "How did you?"
He stepped closer, his lips hovering over Dean's. "You saved me, traded your life for mine... why Dean?"
Dean shivered at the closeness, his eyes falling shut. Long lashes fanned freckled cheeks and a soft sigh filled the silence. "I couldn't live without you. I need you Sam. I love you-more than I should."
--
His eye’s snapped back open, black pools where emerald had once shimmered. Blood was splattered over his chest and lips, crimson stark against pale flesh. “You can’t escape me Dean, you’re gonna die.” It growled, lunging forward and cause Dean to take a step back in surprise. “And this, this is what you’re gonna become.”
--
Sam felt the faintest brush of lips against his own before the world flashed again and he was strapped back to the ground, crucified in front of the smug son-of-a-bitch who dared mess with his brother's head.
"I told you, this is my world."
Sam paused and looked up. "Because of the dream root..."
"Yeah."
"Well you're forgetting something," he smirked from the ground.
"What's that?"
"I took the dream root, too." Sam replied focusing on the image of Jeremy's father.
--
"What’d you see?"
Sam shrugged, shifting from one foot to the other. "Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. What about you, you never said.”
Dean shrugged. “Nothing, was looking for you the whole time.”