WHO THE HELL.... AU: Walking Nightmare 1/1
SUMMARY: How the events of "Who The Hell..." came to be. Written for the "caught in a robbery" square of my hc_bingo card.
Life had become a waking nightmare for Dean Winchester. Because, due to a cruel twist of fate, he wasn't Dean Winchester any more.
The Trickster had locked Dean's brother Sam into a Groundhog Day type of time loop that had lasted for a long time, but only for one day to Dean. "Dude," Dean had asked on Wednesday, startled when his little brother had surged out of bed and caught him into a huge hug. "How many Tuesdays did you have?"
Sam's voice had been clogged thick with unshed tears. "Enough." And he had been twitchy and on edge until they left Broward County and the damnable Mystery Spot far, far behind.
Dean had thought that had been the end of it.
Except that Sam hadn't seemed to recover. He grew more and more short-tempered and irritable - as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And then, one morning, Dean woke up and Sam was gone.
And he stayed gone.
Not answering his phone. Not checking his email. Just....gone.
And the brat had taken the Impala.
Dean's first thought had been "Oh, no, Meg got him again...." until he had calmed down and remembered that the first reputable place they'd found outside of Florida, he and Sam had gotten anti-possession sigils literally tattooed onto their chests.
No, this was something else. But what?
Twenty-eight days after he vanished, with only four months left to go before Dean was taken to Hell, Dean got his answer. He hadn't moved from the motel room, in the hopes that Sam would come back. He had taken the motel room key with him, after all.
Dean came out of the shower, drying his hair, just in time to hear the click of the motel room lock. The door swung open - and Dean's world shattered and never truly formed right-ways-up again.
Sam had buzzed his hair. He was in painted-on jeans and a tight t-shirt and a leather jacket. His walk was all wrong - like he was compensating for bowed legs. He was all attitude and snark.
But when he called Dean "Sammy" was the instant that Dean knew his little brother had gone insane.
The next eight weeks were excruciating. In order to keep blinding headaches from incapacitating his brother, Dean realised he would have to pretend to be Sam. So he set about doing it.
Dean did the computer work. He bought Western shirts one half size smaller. He learned to eat salads without gagging. He learned to speak softer and higher and how to activate and openly use puppy-dog eyes. He learned how to say "Jerk" to his brother without stuttering it out. He learned how to sit in the passenger seat and navigate.
And all the time, his hair - blond without the products to make it spike - grew onto his forehead and over his ears.
Dean tried and tried to get Sam to go to Bobby's. Maybe there would be something there that could help his addled brother. Especially once Dean's deal came due. Leaving his brother would be bad enough. Leaving him in this state....
Dean hoped something at Bobby's could help. But so far, Sam wouldn't go.
Stopping for gas in Bismarck, they were still bickering about it when they walked into the attached convenience store to get some snacks for the road. "Seriously, dude," Dean was saying. "We're so close, it wouldn't--"
His words were choked off when searing fire ripped through his abdomen. He heard Sam's screamed, "SAMMY!" and belatedly realised he had been shot.
"....what the hell...." he gasped as his knees slowly buckled.
What seemed like forever but was really only a few moments later, the perpetrators of the failed robbery of the convenience store were shot in the legs and writhing on the floor. Sam shoved his gun back into his waistband and dragged his injured brother to the Impala.
"Hang on, Sammy," he panted even as Dean held a bunched-up shirt to his wound. Sam drove like a mad man, dialing with one hand. "Bobby, we're heading your way!" he barked to what was clearly the voicemail. "We need help - Sammy's been shot!" He dropped the phone on the seat between them. "Hang on....we'll be at Bobby's soon. You'll be okay!"
Dean leaned back against the seat and couldn't help the smile that touched his lips despite the pain. They were heading to Bobby's.
Which meant that Sam would be okay, too.
END
Life had become a waking nightmare for Dean Winchester. Because, due to a cruel twist of fate, he wasn't Dean Winchester any more.
The Trickster had locked Dean's brother Sam into a Groundhog Day type of time loop that had lasted for a long time, but only for one day to Dean. "Dude," Dean had asked on Wednesday, startled when his little brother had surged out of bed and caught him into a huge hug. "How many Tuesdays did you have?"
Sam's voice had been clogged thick with unshed tears. "Enough." And he had been twitchy and on edge until they left Broward County and the damnable Mystery Spot far, far behind.
Dean had thought that had been the end of it.
Except that Sam hadn't seemed to recover. He grew more and more short-tempered and irritable - as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
And then, one morning, Dean woke up and Sam was gone.
And he stayed gone.
Not answering his phone. Not checking his email. Just....gone.
And the brat had taken the Impala.
Dean's first thought had been "Oh, no, Meg got him again...." until he had calmed down and remembered that the first reputable place they'd found outside of Florida, he and Sam had gotten anti-possession sigils literally tattooed onto their chests.
No, this was something else. But what?
Twenty-eight days after he vanished, with only four months left to go before Dean was taken to Hell, Dean got his answer. He hadn't moved from the motel room, in the hopes that Sam would come back. He had taken the motel room key with him, after all.
Dean came out of the shower, drying his hair, just in time to hear the click of the motel room lock. The door swung open - and Dean's world shattered and never truly formed right-ways-up again.
Sam had buzzed his hair. He was in painted-on jeans and a tight t-shirt and a leather jacket. His walk was all wrong - like he was compensating for bowed legs. He was all attitude and snark.
But when he called Dean "Sammy" was the instant that Dean knew his little brother had gone insane.
The next eight weeks were excruciating. In order to keep blinding headaches from incapacitating his brother, Dean realised he would have to pretend to be Sam. So he set about doing it.
Dean did the computer work. He bought Western shirts one half size smaller. He learned to eat salads without gagging. He learned to speak softer and higher and how to activate and openly use puppy-dog eyes. He learned how to say "Jerk" to his brother without stuttering it out. He learned how to sit in the passenger seat and navigate.
And all the time, his hair - blond without the products to make it spike - grew onto his forehead and over his ears.
Dean tried and tried to get Sam to go to Bobby's. Maybe there would be something there that could help his addled brother. Especially once Dean's deal came due. Leaving his brother would be bad enough. Leaving him in this state....
Dean hoped something at Bobby's could help. But so far, Sam wouldn't go.
Stopping for gas in Bismarck, they were still bickering about it when they walked into the attached convenience store to get some snacks for the road. "Seriously, dude," Dean was saying. "We're so close, it wouldn't--"
His words were choked off when searing fire ripped through his abdomen. He heard Sam's screamed, "SAMMY!" and belatedly realised he had been shot.
"....what the hell...." he gasped as his knees slowly buckled.
What seemed like forever but was really only a few moments later, the perpetrators of the failed robbery of the convenience store were shot in the legs and writhing on the floor. Sam shoved his gun back into his waistband and dragged his injured brother to the Impala.
"Hang on, Sammy," he panted even as Dean held a bunched-up shirt to his wound. Sam drove like a mad man, dialing with one hand. "Bobby, we're heading your way!" he barked to what was clearly the voicemail. "We need help - Sammy's been shot!" He dropped the phone on the seat between them. "Hang on....we'll be at Bobby's soon. You'll be okay!"
Dean leaned back against the seat and couldn't help the smile that touched his lips despite the pain. They were heading to Bobby's.
Which meant that Sam would be okay, too.
END