Vision - One (1/15)
Spoilers for season four, episode 19, "Jump the Shark."
Fall 2002. Windom, Minnesota.
It can’t be real. This is a joke. It’s a prank.
He is not seeing this.
He stays parked down the street for hours upon hours, waiting for him to come out again. There’s no sign that he’s even noticed, though. No one sees him here.
He’s not missed or taken into account.
He tries not to think about what Sam would do. And the kid would do something, wouldn’t be content to just sit here in the car, waiting. Sam wouldn’t watch. He’d go in and demand answers.
He’d ask the tough questions. Sam would.
But he’s not Sam. He’s not his father, either.
And he’s not that boy who lives in that house down the street, who lives with his pretty, blonde mother. He’s not the one with the fuckin’ picket fence standing watch over the green-ass lawn.
He’s not the one with a home.
But this kid is, Sammy too, and so, apparently, is Dad. He’s at home now, with this family of his. He has his pretty wife, his pretty breathing wife, and his happy, smiling, laughing infant of a son. The kid’s a fucking target just waiting to be hit, getting off the school bus with his book bag and trapper keeper and sneakers, for Chrissake.
It’s getting dark, and the old man still hasn’t stepped outside the house since he went in this morning. They’re probably sitting down to dinner right about now. The three of them are enjoying actual homemade meatloaf, maybe, with green beans and mashed fucking potatoes. The woman probably made a pie. Dad loves pie.
He knows tailing him was a bad idea now, just like he always knows: too late. It’s too fucking late now, isn’t it? He starts the Impala, and the roar of the engine is deafening in the stillness of this street. It’s a nice neighborhood. He swerves out into the street loudly, as loudly and obnoxiously as he can, hitting the gas and pressing it down nearly to the floor. He guns it past the perfect house, with its wind chimes and potted plants that get watered every day. He does not even glance at the lit windows of the place as he passes by.
He threw out Sam’s number the day the kid's roommate gave it to him. He left behind that stupid blue blanket that he remembered having for forever in some motel out west when he was seven.
Looks like it’s time again.
Dean knows how to cut ties.
He’ll just never work close to Minnesota ever again. It’s past time he switched to a new phone anyway, and a new number won’t be that much of a difference in the long run. He used to have six numbers in his ‘Contacts’ list. Last year, it was cut down to four. Three months ago, he took off another one.
Pastor Jim and Caleb are good men, good hunters, but he doesn’t care what they think. Dad can tell them whatever reason he wants to as to why he isn’t there anymore. Dean knows how to hunt by himself.
He knows how to fight, how to fuck, and how to survive.
He knows when to cut his losses and cash in his chips.
He knows when he’s been replaced, and damned if he’s going to stand by and watch some punk ass kid get a happy ending, with John Winchester in the role of devoted father.
It’s not until he’s in Illinois that Dean realizes he’d been crying.
Vision - Two
Fall 2002. Windom, Minnesota.
It can’t be real. This is a joke. It’s a prank.
He is not seeing this.
He stays parked down the street for hours upon hours, waiting for him to come out again. There’s no sign that he’s even noticed, though. No one sees him here.
He’s not missed or taken into account.
He tries not to think about what Sam would do. And the kid would do something, wouldn’t be content to just sit here in the car, waiting. Sam wouldn’t watch. He’d go in and demand answers.
He’d ask the tough questions. Sam would.
But he’s not Sam. He’s not his father, either.
And he’s not that boy who lives in that house down the street, who lives with his pretty, blonde mother. He’s not the one with the fuckin’ picket fence standing watch over the green-ass lawn.
He’s not the one with a home.
But this kid is, Sammy too, and so, apparently, is Dad. He’s at home now, with this family of his. He has his pretty wife, his pretty breathing wife, and his happy, smiling, laughing infant of a son. The kid’s a fucking target just waiting to be hit, getting off the school bus with his book bag and trapper keeper and sneakers, for Chrissake.
It’s getting dark, and the old man still hasn’t stepped outside the house since he went in this morning. They’re probably sitting down to dinner right about now. The three of them are enjoying actual homemade meatloaf, maybe, with green beans and mashed fucking potatoes. The woman probably made a pie. Dad loves pie.
He knows tailing him was a bad idea now, just like he always knows: too late. It’s too fucking late now, isn’t it? He starts the Impala, and the roar of the engine is deafening in the stillness of this street. It’s a nice neighborhood. He swerves out into the street loudly, as loudly and obnoxiously as he can, hitting the gas and pressing it down nearly to the floor. He guns it past the perfect house, with its wind chimes and potted plants that get watered every day. He does not even glance at the lit windows of the place as he passes by.
He threw out Sam’s number the day the kid's roommate gave it to him. He left behind that stupid blue blanket that he remembered having for forever in some motel out west when he was seven.
Looks like it’s time again.
Dean knows how to cut ties.
He’ll just never work close to Minnesota ever again. It’s past time he switched to a new phone anyway, and a new number won’t be that much of a difference in the long run. He used to have six numbers in his ‘Contacts’ list. Last year, it was cut down to four. Three months ago, he took off another one.
Pastor Jim and Caleb are good men, good hunters, but he doesn’t care what they think. Dad can tell them whatever reason he wants to as to why he isn’t there anymore. Dean knows how to hunt by himself.
He knows how to fight, how to fuck, and how to survive.
He knows when to cut his losses and cash in his chips.
He knows when he’s been replaced, and damned if he’s going to stand by and watch some punk ass kid get a happy ending, with John Winchester in the role of devoted father.
It’s not until he’s in Illinois that Dean realizes he’d been crying.
Vision - Two