Wish To Dream
So I was bored and have been watching Supernatural for the past few days. And what springs of it? A fanfic! Woohooo. Here it is. Have at it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the character of Meg Horowitz. The Winchester boys don't belong to me...but if they did, Lord have mercy on 'em. Oh, I also don't get paid for this...Strictly for fun. Don't sue me, pwease?
And I even made a purdy banner.
"Breakfast, honey," he heard a sweet voice call out from down the hall. Dean smiled as he made his way down the hall, catching sight of his silver wedding band in the mirror. He smiled yet again, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen to size up his exceptionally beautiful wife.
Even he had to admit that she wasn't the type he usually fell for. All his life, he remembered choosing the typical blonde-haired, blue-eyed, real man's dream with legs that went on for days and a list of bedroom buddies that was probably even longer. He was king of the one night stands- until that solo mission in '08 that turned his world around.
That's when he met her- the last girl he'd ever kiss. And it scared the hell out of him. Long, sleepless nights with only her face running through his mind, her voice echoing in his ears. He watched her affectionately, adoringly in their kitchen an remembered the first time he'd ever seen her. She had been a graduate student then, or maybe fresh out of college. He was never really sure. He had sat in on a lecture concerning local spiritual folklore at the college. He had expected to gain some wisdom for the hunt from some elderly, tweed-clad professor. Instead, he stumbled on her, Meg Horowitz. Their eyes met once during her speech and he distinctly remembered not wanting to look away from those fiery green eyes. She had easily turned her head away, however, leaving Dean a bit disappointed. He had at least hoped for a stutter or two. He was used to his power, that effect on women.
He got nothing, and for him, it was a definite turn-on. He felt dozens of eyes on him in the giant lecture room, but he was watching her. Through the whole lecture, there was a secretive, knowing smile gracing her face, but at the grimmest parts, the smile faded and a haunting darkness crept into her eyes. He realized that she spoke because she knew- evil had darkened her doorstep before.
As she walked around the room, short, red curls bouncing and her hands behind her back, her eyes found his again. The lecture was over.
"Any questions?" she asked and he finally caught the accent. A Southern girl. That was pretty fitting, considering he was in Georgia. 'Snap out of it, Dean', he told himself. This girl was clearly throwing him off. And nothing distracted Dean Winchester.
"Yeah," he spoke up, giving her his winning smile, the one that made most girls melt on sight. She stood firm, merely looking back, but her eyes were aglow with amusement. "You giving this lecture again?"
She sized him up with one look and then gave a slight nod. "The local library. 6:00." Her words were sharp, precise, and sparking chills all down his spine.
"No one else?" she asked, turning away from him again. "Alright, guys. You know the rules. Two pages, typed. Tomorrow. Dismissed."
The crowed dispersed and she walked to her desk, gathering all her notes and things. Dean walked up behind her, glad for the chance to explore the playing field, as he liked to call it. She was a tough one to crack, he knew, but he loved a challenge. That thought quickly fled.
"Can I help you?" she asked, whirling around on him, a small smile curving her lips.
He stared for a moment, seeing her up close. "New in town. Reporter for the Herald Tribune. We're doing stories on hauntings in small towns."
Dean fought hard to hold her gaze as she looked into his eyes. A few seconds passed, and then she said flatly. "Liar. Try again."
He was stunned. Only Missouri Mosley, the psychic, and his brother, Sam, could see through his lies. And sometimes, he could even fool them.
"Private investigation of a personal nature. I'm collecting history for a novel."
"Better," she said, green eyes dancing with emerald flames. She liked these sort of games, he guessed. "One more shot? The truth."
"I'm a hunter here to smoke that son of a bitch." The words spilled out before he knew what happened. It was all in her eyes, drawing the truth from him. And it felt perfectly natural. Reason set in. He started to stutter, began to panic, but it all melted away as the sight of her warm, welcoming smile. His secret was safe. With that smile, she extended her hand. He had just given away the big family secret and surprisingly, she hadn't called him crazy. It was as if hunters just strolled through here at their leisure all the time. Or maybe it was just her and the pure heart he felt when he looked at her.
He took her hand and shook it, relishing in the feel of her creamy, soft, ivory skin.
"Meg Horowitz." Her voice broke his thoughts that he knew were erupting from a brain much farther south.
"What?"
"My name," she said and chuckled, withdrawing her hand. "It's Meg Horowitz."
He gave a nod. "Dean. Dean Winchester," he said and saw a sparkle of recognition in her eyes. In his mind, that usually meant that he had slept with her sister or roughed up her brother and was accompanied by the standard, "Oh, hell...".
"What?" he asked her, finally choosing to acknowledge the look.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, giving her head a slight shake, as if to clear her thoughts. "I just...I know the name. Mysterious fire in Lawrence, Kansas. Three survivors, sons, Dean and Sam Winchester, and father, John Winchester. I was a bit of a supernatural pyrotechnic. Still am. Fires of unknown origin fall right along with malevolent spirit and glowing eyes..." She had purposefully left out his mother. And she was thoughtful to boot.
"Right," he said, swallowing hard and not starting when she laid her hand on his arm in condolence. As subtly as she had done it, she withdrew it slowly, giving him a soft glance.
"And now you're a hunter," she said matter-of-factly. Acceptance. Puzzled the hell out of him. "How can I help you, Dean?"
There were no more questions, no awkward glances. She helped him in every way she could, getting him access to the most classified public records, not to mention the best food joints in town. She gave him a place to stay, the spare bedroom of her parent's home, saying he was an old friend from early college years. Apparently, she had traveled.
She knew her way around the town and the people, and got it all with a smile. Her professor gave over ancient chronicles and real estate agents offered up long forgotten floor plans without a second thought. Just on her honest word. Dean was amazed by her for the majority of his stay. And the rest? All confusion. At the end, it turned out to require nothing more than a simple exorcism and then, as always, he would be on his way. But for once, he really didn't want to go.
It was a late night for them. Dean and Meg were at the library alone, doing last minute research for the final step to rid the town of the ghost. Meg had promised to lock up, so the elderly woman handed over the keys.
Now, Meg was in an overstuffed chair with her legs draped over the arm, chewing on a pencil and thumbing through a book of history on the haunted plantation- their target. Recent construction had awoken a particularly nasty spirit, hell bent on revenge.
Dean was watching her. Again. Unable to tear his eyes away.
"What is it, Dean?" he heard her ask and watched as she lifted her head, red hair falling down in her eyes. Her eyes locked with his. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe or process a rational thought. Movement was all he had. He rose and walked to her, then dropped to his knees in front of her. She watched him and his lips found hers. Not another word was spoken. It was all felt, in their kiss, in the sensation of his hands on her skin, her delicate caresses to every inch of him. Undying, unbreakable love.
And as they lay on the floor of the library, her head on his chest and his arm around her, he whispered the conviction to her.
He finally took in a breath when he heard the sacred words returned. That had been it for him. After the exorcism, he hung it up. He found his place. Sam was away at college, Dad was long gone, and finally....finally, Dean wasn't alone.
A simple ceremony a few years later sealed the deal. Sammy had been right. He had met the one who made him doubt it all, who made him want to settle down. Dean had succumbed to true love, to soul mates, to normal. And he was happy. He hated when Sam was right, still. Normal wasn't so bad after all.
Her soft voice brought him back to the present as he walked over to his wife.
"What is it, Dean?" she asked, sensing him like only she could. Since that first day when they had looked into each others eyes from across the crowded lecture room. But even this time, he surprised her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck slowly. He smiled against her as the small gasp faded into a soft series of giggles. He went for the kill, nuzzling her neck. He knew his wife and her secret- she was extremely ticklish.
"Dean!" he heard her say before the world around him began to fade. He tried desperately to cling to it, to hold her tighter in his arms, bolting upright when he heard another voice, deeper, sterner. Not Meg's.
"Dean, man, wake up!" It's your turn to drive!" his younger brother, Sam, exclaimed, eyeing Dean as he pulled over on the edge of a narrow stretch of road.
"I'm fine," Dean said gruffly before Sam could even ask as he switched side with Sam, flooring it out onto the deserted highway.
There was silence for miles before Dean heard Sam's voice, quite and guarded. "Who's Meg?".
Dean smiled wryly and did a double take when he passed the "Welcome to Georgia" sign.
"I wish I knew, Sam," he said, abnormally thoughtful and with a hint of regret as he remembered the already fading green eyes. He checked the map, turning a corner, heading for small town Georgia with a secret, but already denied hope in the back of his mind. It couldn't be.
"I wish I knew..."
Alrighty. That was fun! Later, folks.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the character of Meg Horowitz. The Winchester boys don't belong to me...but if they did, Lord have mercy on 'em. Oh, I also don't get paid for this...Strictly for fun. Don't sue me, pwease?
And I even made a purdy banner.
"Breakfast, honey," he heard a sweet voice call out from down the hall. Dean smiled as he made his way down the hall, catching sight of his silver wedding band in the mirror. He smiled yet again, stopping in the doorway of the kitchen to size up his exceptionally beautiful wife.
Even he had to admit that she wasn't the type he usually fell for. All his life, he remembered choosing the typical blonde-haired, blue-eyed, real man's dream with legs that went on for days and a list of bedroom buddies that was probably even longer. He was king of the one night stands- until that solo mission in '08 that turned his world around.
That's when he met her- the last girl he'd ever kiss. And it scared the hell out of him. Long, sleepless nights with only her face running through his mind, her voice echoing in his ears. He watched her affectionately, adoringly in their kitchen an remembered the first time he'd ever seen her. She had been a graduate student then, or maybe fresh out of college. He was never really sure. He had sat in on a lecture concerning local spiritual folklore at the college. He had expected to gain some wisdom for the hunt from some elderly, tweed-clad professor. Instead, he stumbled on her, Meg Horowitz. Their eyes met once during her speech and he distinctly remembered not wanting to look away from those fiery green eyes. She had easily turned her head away, however, leaving Dean a bit disappointed. He had at least hoped for a stutter or two. He was used to his power, that effect on women.
He got nothing, and for him, it was a definite turn-on. He felt dozens of eyes on him in the giant lecture room, but he was watching her. Through the whole lecture, there was a secretive, knowing smile gracing her face, but at the grimmest parts, the smile faded and a haunting darkness crept into her eyes. He realized that she spoke because she knew- evil had darkened her doorstep before.
As she walked around the room, short, red curls bouncing and her hands behind her back, her eyes found his again. The lecture was over.
"Any questions?" she asked and he finally caught the accent. A Southern girl. That was pretty fitting, considering he was in Georgia. 'Snap out of it, Dean', he told himself. This girl was clearly throwing him off. And nothing distracted Dean Winchester.
"Yeah," he spoke up, giving her his winning smile, the one that made most girls melt on sight. She stood firm, merely looking back, but her eyes were aglow with amusement. "You giving this lecture again?"
She sized him up with one look and then gave a slight nod. "The local library. 6:00." Her words were sharp, precise, and sparking chills all down his spine.
"No one else?" she asked, turning away from him again. "Alright, guys. You know the rules. Two pages, typed. Tomorrow. Dismissed."
The crowed dispersed and she walked to her desk, gathering all her notes and things. Dean walked up behind her, glad for the chance to explore the playing field, as he liked to call it. She was a tough one to crack, he knew, but he loved a challenge. That thought quickly fled.
"Can I help you?" she asked, whirling around on him, a small smile curving her lips.
He stared for a moment, seeing her up close. "New in town. Reporter for the Herald Tribune. We're doing stories on hauntings in small towns."
Dean fought hard to hold her gaze as she looked into his eyes. A few seconds passed, and then she said flatly. "Liar. Try again."
He was stunned. Only Missouri Mosley, the psychic, and his brother, Sam, could see through his lies. And sometimes, he could even fool them.
"Private investigation of a personal nature. I'm collecting history for a novel."
"Better," she said, green eyes dancing with emerald flames. She liked these sort of games, he guessed. "One more shot? The truth."
"I'm a hunter here to smoke that son of a bitch." The words spilled out before he knew what happened. It was all in her eyes, drawing the truth from him. And it felt perfectly natural. Reason set in. He started to stutter, began to panic, but it all melted away as the sight of her warm, welcoming smile. His secret was safe. With that smile, she extended her hand. He had just given away the big family secret and surprisingly, she hadn't called him crazy. It was as if hunters just strolled through here at their leisure all the time. Or maybe it was just her and the pure heart he felt when he looked at her.
He took her hand and shook it, relishing in the feel of her creamy, soft, ivory skin.
"Meg Horowitz." Her voice broke his thoughts that he knew were erupting from a brain much farther south.
"What?"
"My name," she said and chuckled, withdrawing her hand. "It's Meg Horowitz."
He gave a nod. "Dean. Dean Winchester," he said and saw a sparkle of recognition in her eyes. In his mind, that usually meant that he had slept with her sister or roughed up her brother and was accompanied by the standard, "Oh, hell...".
"What?" he asked her, finally choosing to acknowledge the look.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, giving her head a slight shake, as if to clear her thoughts. "I just...I know the name. Mysterious fire in Lawrence, Kansas. Three survivors, sons, Dean and Sam Winchester, and father, John Winchester. I was a bit of a supernatural pyrotechnic. Still am. Fires of unknown origin fall right along with malevolent spirit and glowing eyes..." She had purposefully left out his mother. And she was thoughtful to boot.
"Right," he said, swallowing hard and not starting when she laid her hand on his arm in condolence. As subtly as she had done it, she withdrew it slowly, giving him a soft glance.
"And now you're a hunter," she said matter-of-factly. Acceptance. Puzzled the hell out of him. "How can I help you, Dean?"
There were no more questions, no awkward glances. She helped him in every way she could, getting him access to the most classified public records, not to mention the best food joints in town. She gave him a place to stay, the spare bedroom of her parent's home, saying he was an old friend from early college years. Apparently, she had traveled.
She knew her way around the town and the people, and got it all with a smile. Her professor gave over ancient chronicles and real estate agents offered up long forgotten floor plans without a second thought. Just on her honest word. Dean was amazed by her for the majority of his stay. And the rest? All confusion. At the end, it turned out to require nothing more than a simple exorcism and then, as always, he would be on his way. But for once, he really didn't want to go.
It was a late night for them. Dean and Meg were at the library alone, doing last minute research for the final step to rid the town of the ghost. Meg had promised to lock up, so the elderly woman handed over the keys.
Now, Meg was in an overstuffed chair with her legs draped over the arm, chewing on a pencil and thumbing through a book of history on the haunted plantation- their target. Recent construction had awoken a particularly nasty spirit, hell bent on revenge.
Dean was watching her. Again. Unable to tear his eyes away.
"What is it, Dean?" he heard her ask and watched as she lifted her head, red hair falling down in her eyes. Her eyes locked with his. He couldn't speak, could barely breathe or process a rational thought. Movement was all he had. He rose and walked to her, then dropped to his knees in front of her. She watched him and his lips found hers. Not another word was spoken. It was all felt, in their kiss, in the sensation of his hands on her skin, her delicate caresses to every inch of him. Undying, unbreakable love.
And as they lay on the floor of the library, her head on his chest and his arm around her, he whispered the conviction to her.
He finally took in a breath when he heard the sacred words returned. That had been it for him. After the exorcism, he hung it up. He found his place. Sam was away at college, Dad was long gone, and finally....finally, Dean wasn't alone.
A simple ceremony a few years later sealed the deal. Sammy had been right. He had met the one who made him doubt it all, who made him want to settle down. Dean had succumbed to true love, to soul mates, to normal. And he was happy. He hated when Sam was right, still. Normal wasn't so bad after all.
Her soft voice brought him back to the present as he walked over to his wife.
"What is it, Dean?" she asked, sensing him like only she could. Since that first day when they had looked into each others eyes from across the crowded lecture room. But even this time, he surprised her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, kissing her neck slowly. He smiled against her as the small gasp faded into a soft series of giggles. He went for the kill, nuzzling her neck. He knew his wife and her secret- she was extremely ticklish.
"Dean!" he heard her say before the world around him began to fade. He tried desperately to cling to it, to hold her tighter in his arms, bolting upright when he heard another voice, deeper, sterner. Not Meg's.
"Dean, man, wake up!" It's your turn to drive!" his younger brother, Sam, exclaimed, eyeing Dean as he pulled over on the edge of a narrow stretch of road.
"I'm fine," Dean said gruffly before Sam could even ask as he switched side with Sam, flooring it out onto the deserted highway.
There was silence for miles before Dean heard Sam's voice, quite and guarded. "Who's Meg?".
Dean smiled wryly and did a double take when he passed the "Welcome to Georgia" sign.
"I wish I knew, Sam," he said, abnormally thoughtful and with a hint of regret as he remembered the already fading green eyes. He checked the map, turning a corner, heading for small town Georgia with a secret, but already denied hope in the back of his mind. It couldn't be.
"I wish I knew..."
Alrighty. That was fun! Later, folks.