Story: "Blurry Future" - Sam, Dean - PG
Title: Blurry Future
Author: Guardian_Erin
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers up to season 5
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: It might have been a dream.
Lucifer is coming
Sam woke up with the message imprinted in his brain like a hot flash from hell. The clarity of it was instantly shattered just by being reintroduced to reality. Everything had seemed so believable that now it crumbled in comparison to the physical world.
The calm, low light from behind the curtains wasn't enough to soothe his nerves. Rather it was the sight of Dean, sleeping so calmly on his stomach, that put Sam at ease. There were no hellhounds… no night terrors from his brother's ordeal in hell. It faded rapidly like some terrible movie that was all show and no substance.
It didn't even make sense, in retrospect. During the dream, it seemed intensely true, but now it almost felt foolish. The British con girl had been too unrealistically charming, too out of line to be believable. The idea of falling for a demon who would possess a virtual corpse now seemed farfetched, even though he had sympathized with her before. An angel, if one existed, would not arrive wearing a trench coat and checking out his brother's ass every five minutes.
In all, the threads unraveled. He didn't want to tell Dean anything about the dream, for more than just the fact that Dean would undoubtedly laugh at all of those happenings.
Lucifer is coming… Lucifer… the strange mental message at the end of the dream mixed in with his guilt-ridden, sweat-drenched dreams about Jessica. He couldn't remember if he had that dream as well, or just remembered it. The trouble was, Jessica had been real. He still hadn't explain his psychic dreams to Dean yet. He'd probably think that Sam was completely nuts. And he'd probably be right. There was no way any other part of that could come true. It was just a nightmare, and Sam needed real proof that some of his dreams weren't dreams at all.
There was still tension, still uncertainty. Sam got up quietly, moving around the room as he mindlessly dressed to examine the room, to make sure things were real, to make sure that Dean was breathing soundly and seemed at peace.
Watching his brother get torn apart… helpless to stop the invisible hounds from tearing apart Dean's chest, ripping him to shreds. He remembered that part in a vague, vivid way. It stuck with him from the time he left the motel room, all the way to the diner, and back to the room again.
Sam picked up coffee and donuts, feeling the need for something sugary, something to take the edge off. Dean loved being treated to - well, any kind of food, actually - and for some reason he wanted nothing more than to hear Dean yammering away like he normally did in the morning, with a mouthful of food.
The jelly doughnuts were a mistake. Sam sat down to eat one before Dean woke up, biting deep into the sweet, golden dough. The gush of red jelly made him pause. It looked nothing like blood, he told himself. Nothing like the sprays of blood when Dean's arteries were torn open.
Sam paused, staring at the slowly oozing gel. He was reminded of that never-ending day where Dean kept dying again and again and again until all Sam could do was wait for Dean to die all over again. Mortality was so frail, he suddenly wasn't sure of himself. How many hunts until one of them lost their luck?
"Dude," Dean's groggy voice came from the bed as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and staring at Sam. "You're up early," he said, his voice guarded.
"Yeah."
"You even sleep?" Dean asked gruffly as he rolled out of bed. Ever the king of subtlety.
"I did," Sam responded, shifting the donut box when Dean approached, knowing his brother would make a grab for it right away.
"One of those nightmares again," Dean said without bothering to really make it a question. He already knew too well what kind of dreams Sam had been having, but there was no way he could know what they really meant. "You wanna tell me about it?"
"Not really," Sam replied simply. His brother wasn't big on feelings, and Sam didn't like the idea of how Dean would react if he told him he thought he was psychic.
"Whatever, dude," Dean told him. "But one of these days you're gonna have to tell me."
"One of these days," Sam repeated, knowing that it would have to be a very important day. "You'll find out eventually."
Author: Guardian_Erin
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Warnings: spoilers up to season 5
Disclaimer: I own nothing
Summary: It might have been a dream.
Lucifer is coming
Sam woke up with the message imprinted in his brain like a hot flash from hell. The clarity of it was instantly shattered just by being reintroduced to reality. Everything had seemed so believable that now it crumbled in comparison to the physical world.
The calm, low light from behind the curtains wasn't enough to soothe his nerves. Rather it was the sight of Dean, sleeping so calmly on his stomach, that put Sam at ease. There were no hellhounds… no night terrors from his brother's ordeal in hell. It faded rapidly like some terrible movie that was all show and no substance.
It didn't even make sense, in retrospect. During the dream, it seemed intensely true, but now it almost felt foolish. The British con girl had been too unrealistically charming, too out of line to be believable. The idea of falling for a demon who would possess a virtual corpse now seemed farfetched, even though he had sympathized with her before. An angel, if one existed, would not arrive wearing a trench coat and checking out his brother's ass every five minutes.
In all, the threads unraveled. He didn't want to tell Dean anything about the dream, for more than just the fact that Dean would undoubtedly laugh at all of those happenings.
Lucifer is coming… Lucifer… the strange mental message at the end of the dream mixed in with his guilt-ridden, sweat-drenched dreams about Jessica. He couldn't remember if he had that dream as well, or just remembered it. The trouble was, Jessica had been real. He still hadn't explain his psychic dreams to Dean yet. He'd probably think that Sam was completely nuts. And he'd probably be right. There was no way any other part of that could come true. It was just a nightmare, and Sam needed real proof that some of his dreams weren't dreams at all.
There was still tension, still uncertainty. Sam got up quietly, moving around the room as he mindlessly dressed to examine the room, to make sure things were real, to make sure that Dean was breathing soundly and seemed at peace.
Watching his brother get torn apart… helpless to stop the invisible hounds from tearing apart Dean's chest, ripping him to shreds. He remembered that part in a vague, vivid way. It stuck with him from the time he left the motel room, all the way to the diner, and back to the room again.
Sam picked up coffee and donuts, feeling the need for something sugary, something to take the edge off. Dean loved being treated to - well, any kind of food, actually - and for some reason he wanted nothing more than to hear Dean yammering away like he normally did in the morning, with a mouthful of food.
The jelly doughnuts were a mistake. Sam sat down to eat one before Dean woke up, biting deep into the sweet, golden dough. The gush of red jelly made him pause. It looked nothing like blood, he told himself. Nothing like the sprays of blood when Dean's arteries were torn open.
Sam paused, staring at the slowly oozing gel. He was reminded of that never-ending day where Dean kept dying again and again and again until all Sam could do was wait for Dean to die all over again. Mortality was so frail, he suddenly wasn't sure of himself. How many hunts until one of them lost their luck?
"Dude," Dean's groggy voice came from the bed as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and staring at Sam. "You're up early," he said, his voice guarded.
"Yeah."
"You even sleep?" Dean asked gruffly as he rolled out of bed. Ever the king of subtlety.
"I did," Sam responded, shifting the donut box when Dean approached, knowing his brother would make a grab for it right away.
"One of those nightmares again," Dean said without bothering to really make it a question. He already knew too well what kind of dreams Sam had been having, but there was no way he could know what they really meant. "You wanna tell me about it?"
"Not really," Sam replied simply. His brother wasn't big on feelings, and Sam didn't like the idea of how Dean would react if he told him he thought he was psychic.
"Whatever, dude," Dean told him. "But one of these days you're gonna have to tell me."
"One of these days," Sam repeated, knowing that it would have to be a very important day. "You'll find out eventually."