SPN/DOH: "Dreamin'"
I wasn't really sure what else to do with this, so with a little encouragement from maveness, I decided to put it here. See? There are benefits to the journal.
Category: Supernatural and Dukes of Hazzard (the series)
Title: Dreamin'
Summary: In his dreams, the adventure continues.
Notes: AU for general premise on DOH; AU post-"Skin" on Supernatural. Probably also not the most realistic thing I ever wrote.
Dean jerked awake out of a dream, a beautiful, vivid, intensely real dream, the only kind he had anymore--a dream of Sam and Dad and the Impala, hunting and the wide-open world.
But Sam was dead and Dad was missing and the Impala was gone, lost in some impound yard and probably auctioned off years ago, when she was no longer needed for evidence. The stuff in the trunk was in an evidence locker somewhere--they'd taken everything from the salt to Dad's journal and created a fairy tale that added years to his already-stiff sentence.
"Again?" asked a voice from the bottom bunk, the harsh Southern twang of his cellmate, who'd been here for Dean's entire lifetime and who was the only one in the whole prison who hadn't given him a hard time since his arrival. Dean was reasonably sure he'd been put in this cell because the warden figured Shiner was the only one who had the patience for his attitude. Plus, it kept Dean from annoying the guards in solitary into a murderous rage.
It hadn't been so bad, really. They talked cars a lot (the old man had been a racer and a moonshiner, hence the nickname, though Dean wasn't sure which had landed him in prison) and Shiner's family sent him care packages to kill for--care packages he didn't mind sharing, and his cousin (or something--Dean's eyes had glazed over midway through the family tree, which he wasn't entirely sure forked) made fantastic cookies. Plus his overexaggerated sense of family meant he'd convinced his family to more or less adopt Dean, never mind the murder conviction.
They said he could tell when somebody was lying to him just by looking. If he vouched for people, the guards tended to back off. And he'd vouched for Dean within a week of getting his new cellmate. He was the only one who believed that Dean hadn't killed Sam.
"Sorry," Dean said automatically. He reached up and found his face wet, and used the thin blanket to scrub at his face. Great. Crying in his sleep. Again. This was getting embarrassing.
"It's all right," came the answer from the darkness--more words than he usually said, this late at night. "I used to have them too."
"Not like this," Dean muttered, and rolled over, only to have Shiner laugh at him.
"So real you think you're home?" he asked. "Having adventures you never had? Find your daddy in those dreams?" Dean blinked at the darkness above his bunk. "Everybody with a conscience has those, Winchester. Especially if--well, if it was somebody you were close to."
"How long did you have them?"
The answer didn't come immediately. "You don't stop having them," Shiner finally confessed. "Not until you start believing you deserve being here."
"You still--"
"Innocent men don't sleep well in prison," came the sardonic response.
Dean snorted. "True enough." The bunk creaked as Shiner rearranged himself in bed. "Who was it?" Dean asked quietly.
There was a long, long silence. "My cousin," Shiner finally said. "Accident. Wrong place, wrong time, same's it always was. Load of bad shine exploded. Wasn't even ours, we were trying to get rid of it for a family friend. Plus we wound up crossing the county line, got caught by the wrong people--violated our probation. My uncle, the one who raised us, he didn't blame me, nobody did, but...."
I should've been driving. Dean heard those words as clearly as if Shiner had said them. They had their own incarnation in his head: I should've gotten there quicker. If he had, the shapeshifter wouldn't have killed Sam, wouldn't have gone on a killing spree wearing Dean's fingerprints and DNA, wouldn't have let himself get caught and leave a signed confession before escaping a regional FBI office.
Dean was dozing off when his cellmate's voice cut through the darkness again. "Quit calling me 'Shiner,'" he ordered. "Name's Luke."
Category: Supernatural and Dukes of Hazzard (the series)
Title: Dreamin'
Summary: In his dreams, the adventure continues.
Notes: AU for general premise on DOH; AU post-"Skin" on Supernatural. Probably also not the most realistic thing I ever wrote.
Dean jerked awake out of a dream, a beautiful, vivid, intensely real dream, the only kind he had anymore--a dream of Sam and Dad and the Impala, hunting and the wide-open world.
But Sam was dead and Dad was missing and the Impala was gone, lost in some impound yard and probably auctioned off years ago, when she was no longer needed for evidence. The stuff in the trunk was in an evidence locker somewhere--they'd taken everything from the salt to Dad's journal and created a fairy tale that added years to his already-stiff sentence.
"Again?" asked a voice from the bottom bunk, the harsh Southern twang of his cellmate, who'd been here for Dean's entire lifetime and who was the only one in the whole prison who hadn't given him a hard time since his arrival. Dean was reasonably sure he'd been put in this cell because the warden figured Shiner was the only one who had the patience for his attitude. Plus, it kept Dean from annoying the guards in solitary into a murderous rage.
It hadn't been so bad, really. They talked cars a lot (the old man had been a racer and a moonshiner, hence the nickname, though Dean wasn't sure which had landed him in prison) and Shiner's family sent him care packages to kill for--care packages he didn't mind sharing, and his cousin (or something--Dean's eyes had glazed over midway through the family tree, which he wasn't entirely sure forked) made fantastic cookies. Plus his overexaggerated sense of family meant he'd convinced his family to more or less adopt Dean, never mind the murder conviction.
They said he could tell when somebody was lying to him just by looking. If he vouched for people, the guards tended to back off. And he'd vouched for Dean within a week of getting his new cellmate. He was the only one who believed that Dean hadn't killed Sam.
"Sorry," Dean said automatically. He reached up and found his face wet, and used the thin blanket to scrub at his face. Great. Crying in his sleep. Again. This was getting embarrassing.
"It's all right," came the answer from the darkness--more words than he usually said, this late at night. "I used to have them too."
"Not like this," Dean muttered, and rolled over, only to have Shiner laugh at him.
"So real you think you're home?" he asked. "Having adventures you never had? Find your daddy in those dreams?" Dean blinked at the darkness above his bunk. "Everybody with a conscience has those, Winchester. Especially if--well, if it was somebody you were close to."
"How long did you have them?"
The answer didn't come immediately. "You don't stop having them," Shiner finally confessed. "Not until you start believing you deserve being here."
"You still--"
"Innocent men don't sleep well in prison," came the sardonic response.
Dean snorted. "True enough." The bunk creaked as Shiner rearranged himself in bed. "Who was it?" Dean asked quietly.
There was a long, long silence. "My cousin," Shiner finally said. "Accident. Wrong place, wrong time, same's it always was. Load of bad shine exploded. Wasn't even ours, we were trying to get rid of it for a family friend. Plus we wound up crossing the county line, got caught by the wrong people--violated our probation. My uncle, the one who raised us, he didn't blame me, nobody did, but...."
I should've been driving. Dean heard those words as clearly as if Shiner had said them. They had their own incarnation in his head: I should've gotten there quicker. If he had, the shapeshifter wouldn't have killed Sam, wouldn't have gone on a killing spree wearing Dean's fingerprints and DNA, wouldn't have let himself get caught and leave a signed confession before escaping a regional FBI office.
Dean was dozing off when his cellmate's voice cut through the darkness again. "Quit calling me 'Shiner,'" he ordered. "Name's Luke."