[SPN] Moments of Transition, 1/1
Title: Moments of Transition
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean
Spoilers: Vague AHBL/season 3
Summary: Dean ends up in the Waiting Room.
Author’s Notes: This combines two universes I’ve written: The Deconstruction of Falling Stars, Confessions and Lamentations and Passing Through Gethsemane on the one hand, and The Waiting Room, The Dogs of War and Shutdown on the other. For a challenge in my head to write fic using Babylon 5 episode titles. It seemed like a plan.
Hell had come to get him, and Dean Winchester had gone willingly. It hadn’t hurt, not like he was expecting. Maybe the pain came with resisting. Or maybe it came later. Later than this, anyway. Dean hadn’t quite been expecting this. It was a waiting room. He didn’t think it was an actual waiting room in an actual place. This was gonna be some kind of freaky metaphysical thing, he could tell. He wondered where the hell fire was.
The door opened, and the two hellhounds who had collected him from the side of the road wandered in. Seeing him, they came over to where he sat, his feet fidgeting with the scuffed linoleum.
“Hey there,” opened one. “Folks here looking after you all right?” Huh. Who knew the hell hounds had manners? Actually, who knew the hell hounds could talk?
“Uh, yeah. I’m just, y’know, waiting.” The other hell hound nodded solemnly.
“It’s all the paperwork, dude. Hereafter’s got bureaucracy like you would not believe.”
“It’s those damn fool administrators,” complained the first hell hound, settling himself on the seat next to Dean’s and pulling his cap low over his bristling forehead. “Can’t be just havin’ us do our jobs. Hell, no! They’ve gotta have things signed in trip-li-cate, and filed in a bunch of different places.”
“Now c’mon, boys, you leave Dean be!” The receptionist, who had been monitoring the conversation from her desk, sashayed over, casting a blinding smile on Dean. “Jed, I’ve had Dolores from Dispatch in my ear wanting to know where you are.” The hell hound with the cap started grumbling about being under constant surveillance, but the other one just - was that blushing? Was that what a blushing hell hound looked like? Huh.
“Dolores was asking… she wanted to know… Y’know what, Mort, I think I might just groove on down to Dispatch, see what’s got her all worked up. Later!” He disappeared. Mort tugged his cap again and shook his head.
“Damn idiot. Like any fool couldn’t tell what’s got Dolores all riled up.” He shook his head a little more, and then turned to Dean. “I gotta say, Dean, I’m glad we finally ended up with you.”
“Hey listen, man, wish I could say likewise, but…” Mort flapped a paw.
“Aw, I know. But you’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble, boy, and I for one am relieved that it’s all been sorted out. Now, it’s kinda hard, I know, but Candace here’s goin’ to write up yer paperwork, and I’ll take ya Downstairs.” The receptionist, whom Dean assumed to be the Candace writing up his paperwork, appeared again, clutching a file and looking a little apprehensive.
“Hey, Mort? About that paperwork?”
“Shucks, Candace, you finished with that already?”
“Yeah. About that.” She held out the file. It was the simple buff kind, thick with paper. The only noticeable feature was a large white sticker on it. Dean had no idea as to its significance, but it seemed as if Mort did.
“Goddamnit! Candace! When did this happen? Why can’t those meddlin’ lawyers keep their fingers out of my business?” He jumped to his feet, and flung his cap on the floor. Candace smiled sympathetically and patted his arm.
“It’s tough luck, Mort. I’m real sorry.”
“Well, hell.” He scowled at Dean. “You’re the bane of my life, boy. Bane. Of. My life.” He left, grumbling. Candace sat down in his place, and patted Dean’s knee.
“Don’t you pay no attention to Mort. He’s been having a bad year.”
“It doesn’t seem like I’m his favourite person right about now.”
“Oh, he’s just ornery. You’ve been causing no end of trouble down with the hell hounds.”
“Well, I am deeply sorry to hear that.” Dean’s voice was dry, and Candace giggled.
“Anyway, Mort’s mad cuz your case has gone up for special consideration.”
“Spec- I don’t… What’s that?” Candace arrayed herself more comfortably, cleared her throat, and dragged her spectacles down from where they rested on top of her vertiginous hairstyle.
“Well, as I’m sure you know, Dean, when you finalized the Soul Exchange Compact with Toby, aka “The Crossroads Demon”, pursuant with section two of the Crossroads Deal Protocol of 1124 AD, and amendments thereof ratified in 1547, 1649 and 1903, you agreed that you would give up your soul in exchange for your brother’s,” she checked her notes, “Samuel Winchester’s life. That’s correct?” She raised her gaze expectantly, and Dean looked at her blankly.
“Er, yeah. I guess. I didn’t know it got quite so technical.”
“Oh, we’re very clear on the rules and regulations here in the Hereafter,” she assured him.
“That’s just great. Look, Candace, I appreciate everyone being so… nice, but I made a deal, Sam’s safe, I’m here, so… let’s just, y’know, get on with it. Take me to Hell. Or whatever.”
“Oh, Dean!” Her expression changed, and he looked at her, ever so slightly alarmed.
“Yeah?”
“That is just the sweetest… Oh, darlin’, that’s what the SC hearing is for. Sacrificing yourself for your family… well, that gets looked on pretty favourably by the guys upstairs. And I gotta tell, there’s one heck of a lobby rooting for you. Those guys have really been putting the pressure on the Administration.”
“Lobby?”
She smiled, and patted his cheek. “I think you know who.”
“Dad?” His voice was almost disbelieving. “M-mom?”
“And a whole heap of others. Look, Dean,” she leaned forward confidingly, “I shouldn’t say this - I mean, I’m supposed to stay neutral, an’ all - but I reckon they’ve got a good chance of invalidating that pesky contract.”
Dean’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward in his turn. “Invalidating it? That would be… No, wait! They can’t do that!”
“What? Why not?” Candace looked confused. “Dean, this is a good thing. Unless you want to spend the rest of eternity in Hell? And trust me, honey, you really don’t want that!”
“Sam. What about Sam?”
“Nothing will happen to Sam. I prom--” The telephone rang, and she broke off, shooting a sympathetic glance at Dean before returning to her desk. Dean couldn’t hear her side of the conversation, but it only lasted a couple of minutes. She scribbled in his file for a few moments, then handed out a sheet of paper with a flourish. It was pink, the bottom from a pile of triplicate paper, faint grey marks instead of the firm black strokes that covered the yellow sheet on top of his file.
“You need to go hand this to the Recording Officer,” she said, waving it at Dean as he didn’t take it. “He’s right down the hall.”
Dean took the pink paper gingerly. “What is it?” Candace smiled, wide and genuine.
“Dean, sweetheart, it’s your ticket home.”
Author: chaletian
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Characters: Dean
Spoilers: Vague AHBL/season 3
Summary: Dean ends up in the Waiting Room.
Author’s Notes: This combines two universes I’ve written: The Deconstruction of Falling Stars, Confessions and Lamentations and Passing Through Gethsemane on the one hand, and The Waiting Room, The Dogs of War and Shutdown on the other. For a challenge in my head to write fic using Babylon 5 episode titles. It seemed like a plan.
Hell had come to get him, and Dean Winchester had gone willingly. It hadn’t hurt, not like he was expecting. Maybe the pain came with resisting. Or maybe it came later. Later than this, anyway. Dean hadn’t quite been expecting this. It was a waiting room. He didn’t think it was an actual waiting room in an actual place. This was gonna be some kind of freaky metaphysical thing, he could tell. He wondered where the hell fire was.
The door opened, and the two hellhounds who had collected him from the side of the road wandered in. Seeing him, they came over to where he sat, his feet fidgeting with the scuffed linoleum.
“Hey there,” opened one. “Folks here looking after you all right?” Huh. Who knew the hell hounds had manners? Actually, who knew the hell hounds could talk?
“Uh, yeah. I’m just, y’know, waiting.” The other hell hound nodded solemnly.
“It’s all the paperwork, dude. Hereafter’s got bureaucracy like you would not believe.”
“It’s those damn fool administrators,” complained the first hell hound, settling himself on the seat next to Dean’s and pulling his cap low over his bristling forehead. “Can’t be just havin’ us do our jobs. Hell, no! They’ve gotta have things signed in trip-li-cate, and filed in a bunch of different places.”
“Now c’mon, boys, you leave Dean be!” The receptionist, who had been monitoring the conversation from her desk, sashayed over, casting a blinding smile on Dean. “Jed, I’ve had Dolores from Dispatch in my ear wanting to know where you are.” The hell hound with the cap started grumbling about being under constant surveillance, but the other one just - was that blushing? Was that what a blushing hell hound looked like? Huh.
“Dolores was asking… she wanted to know… Y’know what, Mort, I think I might just groove on down to Dispatch, see what’s got her all worked up. Later!” He disappeared. Mort tugged his cap again and shook his head.
“Damn idiot. Like any fool couldn’t tell what’s got Dolores all riled up.” He shook his head a little more, and then turned to Dean. “I gotta say, Dean, I’m glad we finally ended up with you.”
“Hey listen, man, wish I could say likewise, but…” Mort flapped a paw.
“Aw, I know. But you’ve caused us quite a bit of trouble, boy, and I for one am relieved that it’s all been sorted out. Now, it’s kinda hard, I know, but Candace here’s goin’ to write up yer paperwork, and I’ll take ya Downstairs.” The receptionist, whom Dean assumed to be the Candace writing up his paperwork, appeared again, clutching a file and looking a little apprehensive.
“Hey, Mort? About that paperwork?”
“Shucks, Candace, you finished with that already?”
“Yeah. About that.” She held out the file. It was the simple buff kind, thick with paper. The only noticeable feature was a large white sticker on it. Dean had no idea as to its significance, but it seemed as if Mort did.
“Goddamnit! Candace! When did this happen? Why can’t those meddlin’ lawyers keep their fingers out of my business?” He jumped to his feet, and flung his cap on the floor. Candace smiled sympathetically and patted his arm.
“It’s tough luck, Mort. I’m real sorry.”
“Well, hell.” He scowled at Dean. “You’re the bane of my life, boy. Bane. Of. My life.” He left, grumbling. Candace sat down in his place, and patted Dean’s knee.
“Don’t you pay no attention to Mort. He’s been having a bad year.”
“It doesn’t seem like I’m his favourite person right about now.”
“Oh, he’s just ornery. You’ve been causing no end of trouble down with the hell hounds.”
“Well, I am deeply sorry to hear that.” Dean’s voice was dry, and Candace giggled.
“Anyway, Mort’s mad cuz your case has gone up for special consideration.”
“Spec- I don’t… What’s that?” Candace arrayed herself more comfortably, cleared her throat, and dragged her spectacles down from where they rested on top of her vertiginous hairstyle.
“Well, as I’m sure you know, Dean, when you finalized the Soul Exchange Compact with Toby, aka “The Crossroads Demon”, pursuant with section two of the Crossroads Deal Protocol of 1124 AD, and amendments thereof ratified in 1547, 1649 and 1903, you agreed that you would give up your soul in exchange for your brother’s,” she checked her notes, “Samuel Winchester’s life. That’s correct?” She raised her gaze expectantly, and Dean looked at her blankly.
“Er, yeah. I guess. I didn’t know it got quite so technical.”
“Oh, we’re very clear on the rules and regulations here in the Hereafter,” she assured him.
“That’s just great. Look, Candace, I appreciate everyone being so… nice, but I made a deal, Sam’s safe, I’m here, so… let’s just, y’know, get on with it. Take me to Hell. Or whatever.”
“Oh, Dean!” Her expression changed, and he looked at her, ever so slightly alarmed.
“Yeah?”
“That is just the sweetest… Oh, darlin’, that’s what the SC hearing is for. Sacrificing yourself for your family… well, that gets looked on pretty favourably by the guys upstairs. And I gotta tell, there’s one heck of a lobby rooting for you. Those guys have really been putting the pressure on the Administration.”
“Lobby?”
She smiled, and patted his cheek. “I think you know who.”
“Dad?” His voice was almost disbelieving. “M-mom?”
“And a whole heap of others. Look, Dean,” she leaned forward confidingly, “I shouldn’t say this - I mean, I’m supposed to stay neutral, an’ all - but I reckon they’ve got a good chance of invalidating that pesky contract.”
Dean’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward in his turn. “Invalidating it? That would be… No, wait! They can’t do that!”
“What? Why not?” Candace looked confused. “Dean, this is a good thing. Unless you want to spend the rest of eternity in Hell? And trust me, honey, you really don’t want that!”
“Sam. What about Sam?”
“Nothing will happen to Sam. I prom--” The telephone rang, and she broke off, shooting a sympathetic glance at Dean before returning to her desk. Dean couldn’t hear her side of the conversation, but it only lasted a couple of minutes. She scribbled in his file for a few moments, then handed out a sheet of paper with a flourish. It was pink, the bottom from a pile of triplicate paper, faint grey marks instead of the firm black strokes that covered the yellow sheet on top of his file.
“You need to go hand this to the Recording Officer,” she said, waving it at Dean as he didn’t take it. “He’s right down the hall.”
Dean took the pink paper gingerly. “What is it?” Candace smiled, wide and genuine.
“Dean, sweetheart, it’s your ticket home.”