SPN FIC - "Dean?"
A little bit of a coda to 8.23. A man, a parking lot, and... where do you go from here?
CHARACTERS: Dean (with background Sam and Crowley)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: 8.23
LENGTH: 400 words
"DEAN?"
By Carol Davis
"HEY!" Crowley bellows from inside the dark, abandoned church. "Don't just leave me in here! HEY! Come back here, you useless git! Don't you leave me here!"
Not that a command from Crowley means a whole lot at this point. Dean's not going much of anywhere, not back inside the church or anywhere else, not with the death grip Sam's got on his wrist - which is starting to hurt at an alarming level, one that says all of those small, delicate bones are in imminent danger of shattering.
Inside Dean's jacket pocket, his phone starts to ring.
And overhead, angels are falling.
For years, Cas has told him the heavenly host was never infinite in number - and many of them have been killed in battle, or hand-to-hand, or hand-to-nuke, since the Michael vs. Lucifer extravaganza got started. He'd started supposing there weren't more than a couple dozen angels left.
But there are hundreds of them falling out of the sky.
Thousands, maybe.
And that's just what he can see from here, from the parking lot of a crumbling, forgotten church outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Who knows how many there are altogether, around the world.
Millions???
"Dean?" Sam says in a small voice.
He'd thought Sam was okay. That whatever smackdown the trials had been leveling against Sam's body had… well, stopped. It was only a couple of minutes ago that he thought that. Not hours. Not days. Apparently, he should have known better, because Sam's gone back to looking like death on toast.
And the frigging TELEPHONE keeps on ringing.
Fumbling, he frees it from his pocket, thumbs a button and yelps "WHAT?" into the tiny mike.
"Dean?"
Kevin.
"I'll get back to you," he grunts, and disconnects the call, but the phone immediately starts to ring again.
"Dean?"
Garth.
"Dean?"
Jody Mills.
"Dean?"
Charlie.
Again and again it rings, and rings, and rings. He supposes it ought to be encouraging that so many people he knows and cares about are still freaking ALIVE (and capable of using a telephone), but FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
"Dean? Sam's phone isn't -"
Becky freaking ROSEN?????
With Sam still locked onto his arm, he tips in the direction that will allow him to sit down, which lands his butt in a deep, cold puddle. That figures, he thinks.
And how much worse things will get from here, he can only imagine.
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean (with background Sam and Crowley)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: 8.23
LENGTH: 400 words
"DEAN?"
By Carol Davis
"HEY!" Crowley bellows from inside the dark, abandoned church. "Don't just leave me in here! HEY! Come back here, you useless git! Don't you leave me here!"
Not that a command from Crowley means a whole lot at this point. Dean's not going much of anywhere, not back inside the church or anywhere else, not with the death grip Sam's got on his wrist - which is starting to hurt at an alarming level, one that says all of those small, delicate bones are in imminent danger of shattering.
Inside Dean's jacket pocket, his phone starts to ring.
And overhead, angels are falling.
For years, Cas has told him the heavenly host was never infinite in number - and many of them have been killed in battle, or hand-to-hand, or hand-to-nuke, since the Michael vs. Lucifer extravaganza got started. He'd started supposing there weren't more than a couple dozen angels left.
But there are hundreds of them falling out of the sky.
Thousands, maybe.
And that's just what he can see from here, from the parking lot of a crumbling, forgotten church outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Who knows how many there are altogether, around the world.
Millions???
"Dean?" Sam says in a small voice.
He'd thought Sam was okay. That whatever smackdown the trials had been leveling against Sam's body had… well, stopped. It was only a couple of minutes ago that he thought that. Not hours. Not days. Apparently, he should have known better, because Sam's gone back to looking like death on toast.
And the frigging TELEPHONE keeps on ringing.
Fumbling, he frees it from his pocket, thumbs a button and yelps "WHAT?" into the tiny mike.
"Dean?"
Kevin.
"I'll get back to you," he grunts, and disconnects the call, but the phone immediately starts to ring again.
"Dean?"
Garth.
"Dean?"
Jody Mills.
"Dean?"
Charlie.
Again and again it rings, and rings, and rings. He supposes it ought to be encouraging that so many people he knows and cares about are still freaking ALIVE (and capable of using a telephone), but FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
"Dean? Sam's phone isn't -"
Becky freaking ROSEN?????
With Sam still locked onto his arm, he tips in the direction that will allow him to sit down, which lands his butt in a deep, cold puddle. That figures, he thinks.
And how much worse things will get from here, he can only imagine.
* * * * *