spn fic: Make Everything Change (R, het, Dean/Jess)
Title: Make Everything Change
Author: mellaithwen
Rating: R
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester/Jessica Moore.
Word Count: 3, 577
Chapters: One shot.
Disclaimer: I wish....
Warnings: Five AU's, het (but mainly gen) one has a character death. two are crossovers (gilmore girls & dark angel if you must know...)
A/N: You know when a little voice is saying “Uh...you’ve taken it too far now,” but you haven’t slept in a really long time so you keep going anyway? Yeah. If I say it's crack does that excuse it? :) to the wonderful
pixel_0on her birthday until I can get the first fic finished for her :) un-beta'd, all mistakes are mine.
Summary: Five ways Dean wasn't with Jess when the Universe was oh-so-Alternate.
*-*-*
-
1.
-
“If you just quit your hand wringing and open yourself up you have no idea what you can do! The learning curve is so fast it’s crazy. The switches that just flip in your brain. I can’t believe I just started out having dreams...”
The first thing Sam does as the world’s ending is make sure Jess finds Dean. When time starts again, in this new world he’ll sought out to create, in this new world that won’t go to hell; he’ll change it. A war that won’t come to pass because it’ll be different this time, no Winchesters involved. He’ll make sure of it.
He’ll take himself out of the equation, no second son, no little brother. Jess won’t die just like Dean won’t hunt and he’ll protect her; he’ll save her if fate still has a hand in her untimely demise.
Everything changes.
A sleek black car is driving down a back road when the tyres rush over a small patch of ice. It’s enough to send the car careening off the side of the road as the driver tries desperately to right and straighten the wheels too late; muttering about the screwed up Midwest as the car’s front end impacts with a tree.
Everything goes dark...
-*-
Dean Winchester doesn’t believe in ghosts, or demons, or that the things that go bump in the night are anything more than childish fears of the dark. But he does believe in fate. He believes he chose this road as opposed to the busy main route out of Lawrence for a reason. He believes he was meant to swerve and avoid that patch of black ice, if only to see another car that wasn’t so lucky.
He slides down the side of the embankment and climbs in through the passenger side. He lifts fallen blonde curls to get a better look at the driver and she moans at the slight touch on her warm skin.
“Miss?” He asks, flipping his phone open and dialling 911. “Are you okay?” He can see a trail of blood blossoming down the side of her face but the seatbelt’s keeping her upright and he’s hoping it kept her safe. “Can you hear me? Miss?”
Just as he gets her attention his phone call’s answered. He rattles off what he knows and where he is to the emergency switchboard, smiling at the confused driver, hands outstretched as a calming gesture. A brisk tone on the other end tells him to keep her awake and that the ambulance is on its way.
When he turns back her blue eyes are staring in confusion.
“Hey, uh, the hospital said to keep you awake so...don’t go to sleep, okay?”
“What...I...” Each blink seems to take an age as she tries to hear above the ringing in her ears. She can’t see the bumper for the tree...
“Your car skidded off the road; do you remember where you are?”
She thinks for a moment, before groaning. “Kansas.”
“No place like home.”
“You’d know, Dorothy. Pass me your ruby slippers...already; I have...places to be.” She groans at the pounding in her head.
He barks a laugh as he tries to get a better look at her. “It’s Dean actually.” He smiles. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“My head...” Her head sways but he intercepts with a cool hand on her warm neck.
“Woah, I know you wanna go to sleep, but you can’t okay, just keep talking.”
“My knight in shining armour.” She whispers, vision too blurred to see Dean smile.
“Wouldn’t that make you the damsel in distress? And I thought I was Dorothy.”
“You know, I think...you’re...more of a…Toto.”
“A girl with wheels like these doesn’t strike me as someone who needs rescuing too often.” He smiles, whistling in appreciation.
“Oh god the car. My dad’s gonna kill me.” She tries to get up but Dean stops her.
“Woah, hey, slow down, you hit your head pretty bad, stay still.”
She leans back as instructed, relaxes in his hold and blinks repeatedly to just see.
“How bad is it?”
“You’ve probably got concussion-oh, you meant the car.” He smiles mischievously. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen a lot worse.”
“Yeah? Got a habit of being around car-crashes?”
“Sort of,” he smiles. “I run a body shop a couple miles from here, give you a good deal.”
“You better.”
“Hey, I could have kept driving.”
“Nah, wouldn’t be much...of a heartland if you left people...stranded on the side of the road, now would it?” Her sentenced is stuttered by clenching teeth. Her headache’s fast becoming a migraine.
“And where do you hail from, miss...?” Dean distracts her.
“My name’s Jessica-”
The sirens approach cut their conversation short-too short-and the paramedics shoo Dean out of the way to get to their patient. As she’s lifted gently on to a stretcher and taken in to the back of the ambulance she sees him waiting still. He can’t see her through the one sided glass but he waves anyway.
“What’ll happen to my car?” She asks, almost drunk with concussion as the paramedic sitting with her checks her over.
“It’ll get towed. There’s a local body shop a couple miles from here, you’ll be able to find it there. Can you take a deep breath for me, Jessica?” He asks, listening to her heart.
She smiles and does as she’s told.
-
2.
-
Every day is a different day, every year a different year. Every existence different from the last. The smallest grain of change, even if everything else is identical, that grain's always going to be there, different; changing. There’s always something new.
This time? It’s a change of plans, big plans, end the world and stand victorious kind-of plans. Batting for the other team, tactical advantage, change, change, change.
When Dean gets to his brother’s apartment where he’s been staying for the past couple days he doesn’t see the trail of yellow dust leading out the open window. He calls out to his brother as he hears the shower in the distance. At least he hopes its Sam. He’s already walked in on Jess twice and she’s getting suspicious.
He smiles as he leans back against the bed, twitching at a stray drip. A leak that he’ll no doubt have to fix himself.
Another.
What the hell?
“No!” He screams at the sight because it’s wrong and it’s horrific and suddenly he’s jumping up off of the bed and reaching for his brother. “No, Sam!”
Sam blinks as his skin catches fire and droplets of blood fall on to Dean’s shoulders. His little brother’s stomach is a mess; a gaping wound and there’s no coming back from it but Dean’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.
“Sam!”
The flames jump out at the older hunter, burning his hands and arms as he tries to find purchase among the smouldering ash. Flames like tidal waves of burning sulphur push him back as he inhales the thick dark smoke billowing around them.
He hears someone call out his name in the distance. Oh god. Call out Sam’s name.
Dean coughs, chokes, can’t breathe, can’t breathe. Sam, Sam, Sam.
“Sammy!” He barely whispers as the heat and smog and fire suffocates him. Hands grab him, fingers take hold of his arms, and nails dig through his shirt as he’s pulled away. He fights back, fights to get back, back to his brother. The whole room’s on fire but all he can see is Sam. Sam staring, Sam bleeding, Sam burning.
“No!” Dean struggles before another intake of black smoke starves him of air once more. Can’t...can’t...Sammy, no.
He can hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind as the fire overhead illuminates the blonde curls of his rescuer.
“Mom,” he whispers, “...Sammy...”
He falls limp in her arms as she carries him out to the front lawn. The windows explode and she shields him from the shower of glass with her thick leather jacket.
When he comes to, she’ll keep him from doing something stupid. She’ll hold him back when all he wants to do is run into the building and save his little brother. Or worse, run into the building and burn up to avoid a life without Sam.
She’ll blink back her own tears and hand him his gun. She’ll say “You know what’s next. We’ve got work to do,” and he’ll nod solemnly while inside he’s screaming.
“How long?” He’ll whisper.
How long was I out? How long until the pain stops? How long until this all ends? How long did you know we were hunters? How long were you waiting outside for that demon to attack? How long have you been hunting the same evil sons’ of bitches that we have? How long? How long?
“Long enough.” She’ll say, re-loading her shotgun with some weird herbal buckshot full of voodoo crap that he won’t even begin to comprehend.
He’ll fill his with rock salt and she’ll smile at the idea though she’s not tried it herself. Months will pass by and hell, Dean might even start to laugh again. A small and timid smile they’ll both share when their fingers brush past one another reaching for the colt they fought for together.
Fingers that brush by forearms, past shoulders, curving around the neck until their hands are grasping each others hair and they might not be smiling now but they sure are happier than they were a few months ago.
When the demon comes for her, for getting in the way of another Winchester, Dean’ll be there, waiting. When she grits her teeth as she’s lifted off the ground, Dean’ll stay back, waiting, waiting for the perfect moment ‘cause damn it he won’t waste this for shit.
He thinks of Mom, he thinks of Sam, he thinks of his father still missing and Jess’ face grimacing in pain.
His finger pulls the trigger without hesitation and before Yellow Eyes has even hit the floor he’s catching Jessica in his arms.
-
3.
-
There’s no window in this cold room and the only light is from the flickering lamp overhead. Dancing shadows keep him company as he lies back against the hard cot. Tiny springs burrow into his spine...and yet, it’s the most comfortable he’s been in a long time. Alone in this room, he feels relief.
But the freedom of being allowed out of the barracks is quickly diminished by voices outside the door. The guard and a female; his breeding partner.
He sees a flash of blonde locks in the small window before the door’s opened and she lets herself in.
“X5 - 492.” She greets in a no-nonsense tone that’s a complete contrast to her kind eyes. He sits up promptly, straightening his torso at the sight of her in his doorway. Her long hair is tied back in a hasty bun. It’s longer than regulation but she’s got a hand in every deal going around here and can charm her way out of anything. If she wants to keep her hair long all she has to do is point out the practicality of hiding her barcode on missions and the authorities roll their eyes; forced to agree.
She’s not completely unfamiliar to him at all; he’s seen her in training with the rest of her unit. Their laps around the facility have overlapped from time to time but they’ve never spoken or shared anything more than a rudimentary glance.
“Call me Dean,” he grins, flirtingly, “and you are?”
Her eyebrows shoot up and for a moment the male super-soldier wonders if he’s made a grave mistake. He’d rather not go through any more psy-ops to prove he’s loyal and to have blown it on such a flippant-
“As in, James?”
The worry washes away as she circles the small room and tells him about her last lesson in popular culture.
“492, rebel without a cause.” Her eyes look him up and down as she walks, swaying her hips, hidden by her khaki-trouser uniform. “Dean.” He likes it more now that she’s said it aloud.
“You never answered my question. What’s your name?”
He never used to give a damn about names, never used to give a damn about anything, but the more time spent on the outside world on missions, the more he sees a world so different to his own. No, he only started to care about names when he realised he’d had hundreds but none of them really his own. When his last target bled all over his family’s living room and begged to know the name of his attacker...
“My designation is X5-482, I never thought about a name.”
“You should, you’re too pretty to be described with numbers.”
“Oh really?”
“How about Blondie?” He smiles mischievously. Footsteps approach and as the guard looks through the small window in the door, X5-482 pounces and keeps the prying eyes fooled as they both land on the “bed” with a slight oomph.
“No way.” She mutters, so close that he can see straight through her crystalline blue eyes. He watches her watching him. Feels her body atop his, just as she feels his beneath hers.
His fingers brush the ends of her long blonde locks while their lips lock and names flash by in his head. None of them fit, they’re not right, they’re not her...
“Jessica,” he breathes, teeth bared in a wide grin. That’s it.
“Hmm, Jessica...I like it.” She smiles as their bodies begin to move in tandem. Nails bite into his shoulders and hold on to his back as they do more than carry out their copulation orders.
-*-
The alarms blare and they both stand to attention despite the minutes they’ve spent in the limbo of insubordination; of names and feelings and long glances that are for anything but the benefit of Manticore.
“What’s going on?” Dean calls through the door to the guard looking left and right at the red lights at each end of the corridor. Dean knocks again. “Hey!”
Jessica’s hand on his arm slows his beating heart as she sidles forward to the glass. “Can you open the door for a second? We need to know what’s going on.” Her voice is clear and crisp and calm and the door starts to open at her request.
...But stops midway as the static over the radio calls for al the guards attention.
Dean’s halfway out when the guard thrusts a tazer into his ribs. The X-5’s reactions are fast but not fast enough. With his senses dulled by the blaring noise, he can’t avoid the crackling electricity rushing through skin and tissue until his body’s shaking with the effort of trying to breathe.
Darkness creeps as he’s caught between the door and frame. He can’t escape the weapon being jammed into his ribs and he can’t risk pushing back into the room and risk stranding him and Jessica.
“Destroy all evidence of the project.” A voice over the radio continues as Jess reaches out for the tazer with one hand and pushes Dean out into the corridor with the other.
Her fingers grab the baton and twist; throwing it out of the guard’s hand and across into the room with them. Using the door to her advantage she pulls the guard’s wrist forward until she hears the man’s shoulder collide with the heavy steel. Crunch. He falls to the ground in agony just as Dean’s eyelids begin to flutter closed.
“No,” she calls, hoisting him up from where he lay and slapping his cheek. “You have to stay awake; we need to get out of here now.” The no-nonsense tone is back and Dean’s too out of it to see the concern in her blue eyes. He hears the order and obeys.
Through the commotion of running soldiers, their age and younger, chased by bewildered guards with tazers held high, Jess and Dean make it out. Scaling the barbed wire fence with bullets firing at their toes, Dean falls early before his feet have caught up. Jess drags him up the incline and once they’re far enough behind the undergrowth of the surrounding woods to stay hidden, they collapse on the wet grass in a heap.
Manticore burns in the distance and the smoke rises up to hide the stars as the two escapee’s stare up in surprise. They don’t know what’s going on, and they won’t know the real details until a week or so of reconnaissance but they know danger when they see it, hear it, smell it.
The sound of rifle-fire can barely be heard but it’s enough to say they shouldn’t stay for too long; even hidden as they are.
“Thanks,” Dean croaks and elaborates as Jessica frowns. “For helping me out back there.”
“No problem.”
“Guess I’m the damsel in distress this time.” He whispers, confused and shaking; his eyes rolling slowly into the back of his head.
She’s about to ask what he means when a spasm of leftover electricity rushes through Dean’s body and he grits his teeth at the pain. Closing his eyes, he feels a soft palm on his cheek, cool and gentle in place of the slap she’d hit him with earlier.
“Usually one hit’s enough to knock someone out fast. I’ve never seen someone hold out that long,” Jess compliments as she stretches out beside him.
“Me either,” Dean laughs, wary and tired as the very early morning dew seeps through his thin shirt.
“I’m impressed.”
He finds her hand between the weeds as his body thrums with adrenaline and the scream for a quick reprieve. He finds it, soft, slender, and holds tight.
When she turns to smile, he’s already out cold.
-
4.
-
Hunting with his family, his baby brother and his father, Dean decides one day that he’s meant for more. He’s covered in gloop from whatever the hell just died on top of him, his only blade stuck in its gut. As Sam lifts him up, grimacing at the stench, John’s lecturing him on everything he did wrong. “You’ve gotta learn, son.”
Yeah, learn. So he takes the definitive step and he works his ass off until his grades are flying up because he finally gives a damn. The acceptable grades in his head increase until he’s never happy but he’s always trying harder.
He only lets it show when he refuses to go on a hunt because he has an exam scheduled in two hours and he won’t be back in time. It’s not mandatory, it’s admissions...
The fight that ensues keeps the family in a stasis of awkward silence for weeks on end. Dean takes the test, and hunts afterwards until his results come through in a big thick envelope. Congratulations, details, form, information. Anything and everything in the palm of his hands. Stanford. Stanford Law, and he’s in and it’s a full ride.
He hides his smile because he knows what this means. It means leaving for school and leaving the hunt that’s consumed his life for well over a decade.
His father’s watching him from the kitchen at the end of the hall and Dean can’t look him in the eye. He never gives his father confirmation, not until his bags are packed and he’s leaving for the start of term on a bus that’ll take him to Palo Alto, CA.
He never sees his father or brother again.
He gets a missed call every now and again, usually from Sam, and usually on his birthday. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he tries to juggle countless books, reference notes and his keys while fumbling for the stupid thing. Never should have set it to vibrate, he mutters as he finally gets hold of it...
...and drops everything else. Books scatter across the path and for the most part, his fellow students leave him there. He’s about to answer the call regardless when a girl trips over one of his books. She doesn’t fall, but she does bend down to help him out.
He switches his phone off, shoves it in his pocket and sticks his hand out in greeting. A match made in clumsiness.
-
5.
-
Four turns of the hourglass in the sky and a few thousand apocalypses later when the world is reborn for the umpteenth time...they meet again.
Dean with a little sister instead of a little brother. Jessica with a short temper, her collar stuck up and her nose in a book.
Her eyes downcast; she isn’t looking where she’s going; she turns corners without a thought. She crosses roads ignoring the blaring horns of cars that nearly hit her. She’s nearly finished the chapter and she won’t put the book down until she’s done.
Her shoulder collides hard with a guy heading in the opposite direction. They’re both knocked off their feet and as they dust themselves off they catch each other’s eye. She sighs in irritation at the lost page of her book as a hand is outstretched in front of her.
“Dean Forrester.” He amends, eyes glittering.
“Jess Mariano.” She replies, taking his hand albeit reluctantly and gripping the spine of her book a little tighter than necessary.
Her hair’s a little darker and his is a little longer, but it’s them.
Life’s funny like that.
-Fin.
*runs away* uh...let me know what you thought? *hides*
.