The Sleeper In Me - Chapter One
Title: The Sleeper in Me
Rating: Will be NC-17, but for now, PG for language
Spoilers: Season 4 of Supernatural
Warnings: Language
Genre: Thriller
Summary: Dean wakes up everyday to the same sinking feeling. That the woman who has haunted his dreams dreams isn't just some part of his imagination, but something more.
Disclaimer:I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
“Dean.”
The hotel room was just like any other of the hundreds that they had stayed at. It was a small two-bed room with inane patterns on the wall, an out of date phone, a bathroom, and a television. Something that Sam and Dean Winchester had become accustomed to calling “home”. They lived in a different room almost every night. This particular one was in Colville, Idaho.
“Dean.”
It had housed the two men for three nights now, and with the maid service declined by request, it looked like it. The clothes strewn on the floor, the small dining table cluttered with open and closed books, and the small sink cluttered with empty beer bottles looked like they hadn’t moved for days. A few Styrofoam cups that once held coffee sat stagnant on the counter top and the two men’s bags that seemed to hold their lives were at the foot of each full sized bed.
“Dean!”
Sam’s side of the room was significantly cleaner. The tall man was dressed, and clearly getting ready to hit the road, but his brother obviously had a different idea. That idea was to sleep in, again. For the past three days Sam had started to become worried. Dean had slept more than they both usually did in two weeks combined. Even if they had the time, they usually couldn’t stay in bed for more than five hours. Through out their lives, they’d been trained like marines. Their bodies weren’t used to so much time for rest. Dean’s actions were far out of character, and abnormal. The last time Sam even considered sleeping in, was when he was still with Jess, living comfortably in his apartment away from the life that he’d despised since he could remember. That was four years ago. Four years that to him, felt like ten. Four years ago, Jess died. Murdered by the things that he’d been running from his entire life; it’s what spiraled him back into the family business. Before letting the sense of nostalgia overtake him, Sam shook his head out of it, and focused back on his slumbering brother.
Four times he’d tried to get his brother up, and Dean hadn’t moved a muscle. His breaths were slow and even, and aside from the occasional moan that Sam would rather not think about, Dean looked peaceful. It was almost enough to persuade Sam to just let his sleeping dog of a brother lie. Until he remembered that this had been ongoing for three days. After the third attempt to get his brother up, Sam decided to take the liberty to use the ‘any means necessary’ tactic. This method included throwing Dean’s very heavy duffel (that Sam had taken the liberty to pack) filled with a total of four pistols, a shotgun, and a change of clothes in the center of his back. The sleeper finally stirred with a grunt, and not nearly as big of a reaction as Sam was hoping for but the mission was accomplished, anyway. He stood there, with a half amused smile on his face when his big brother laid an annoyed sleepy glare at him in a position that looked entirely too uncomfortable. Sam was unmoved. He finished packing the rest of his things in his hand, while simultaneously smiling and nodding his head toward Dean.
“Come on, man. You’ve slept eight full hours for the past three days. Normally we’d have been on the road five hours ago. Let’s go.”
Dean pushed the duffel off his back to the side of the bed and sat up; taking his time to stretch what seemed like every muscle in his body, he groaned in pleasure as his muscles loosened out. The undershirt that he had on for the night was barely crumpled from the lack of movement from the previous night’s rest. The hem had rolled enough to show a little bit of bare white skin just above the shorts.
“I’m goin’, alright? Dammit, Sammy. We get the chance t’ actually sleep for once, and all you wanna do is work.”
Dean leaned his torso over the bed, stretching his back one more time. A beat later, he stood up slowly as if he had no energy to move and walked in the bathroom. As the door shut behind him, he could faintly hear his brother start grumbling about the job of a little brother and the very obvious stomping toward the door that led outside into the all too bright morning.
“If you’re not out in five, you’re walking to the diner, dude.”
Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked in the mirror. What stared back at him were dark circles, and a tired sun kissed face. What stared back at him was someone who hadn’t slept for days.
“Yeah, yeah, Sammy. I’m freaking going.”
The heavy door to the room closed shut with an adjoining laugh that came from his brother. Five minutes wasn’t enough time for him to pull himself together. The sluggish movements weren’t theatrical. Shit, he was still tired. How many hours did Sammy say he slept? He couldn’t remember. Hell, he’d swear it was the dreams that kept him up at night.
…Which was the theory he’d been aiming at for three days.
Dean’s hands met his face, and with a swift motion, he ran them up and down a few times to wake himself up. He turned on the faucet that produced cold, chilling water, and splashed it on his face, feeling his skin tighten, and the wakening chill running down his body. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep him going for the day, but it was enough to mask to his brother. At least until a pot of coffee ran through his veins. For the first time in a long time, Dean wasn’t hungry. All he wanted was coffee, or more sleep. More dreams and a better god damn memory.
…She was blonde and beautiful.
Three days. For the past three days the same woman had haunted his dreams like some sweet, sweet addicting plague. He’d only been with her for three days, and in dream world, he couldn’t even fathom how long that’d been. A week? A day? Time never mattered with dreams. Without the clock when he woke up the next morning, Dean wouldn’t be the wiser if he’d been told that he’d had a power nap for twenty minutes. God knew that’s how he felt anyway. Sam had to have suspected something going on by now, he thought to himself. He hadn’t really commented much on it, outside of the minor complaints of being late. Dean decided to keep it to himself to spare the embarrassment of explaining that a beautiful woman in his dream was keeping him sluggish and grumpy. After all, she was just a woman in his dream.
He knew what she looked like as much as he knew the back of his hand. He could recall the way her smile brought about a tiny laugh line on the left side of her mouth. With eight or so years, it’d be a beautiful constant reminder that she’d lived with a little bit of light in her life. The way her flush always started with her neck and worked its way down slowly like an ever cooling candle wax; the way that flush made a man wait before it hit home with the most amazing glow. It always made it to her cheeks last. It made her look far more stone than she was. It took great patience, but eventually, the final result was more worth it. He could recall her with the same exact detail, all the way down to the small freckle that sat on the back of her hand and the smile….that smile. Dean knew the moment that he laid eyes on her, he’d never seen her before in his life outside of the dreams; never passed her on the street, never spoken a word to a woman remotely like her - he was sure of it. Someone as perfectly created as she was he’d remember.
So where the fuck did she come from? Every single time he woke up, he’d want to go back to sleep. It was where she was. He couldn’t explain the need to be there, or the need to be so alert. The only logical explanation that stayed with him was that she was gorgeous- but there was no woman who ever had that much of an affect on him, that much of a pull. A part of him wanted desperately to escape this reality and replace it with the one his mind had apparently created. The conversations that took place in his dreams were hard to remember. He knew that there was so much his mind would lock away after crossing over into the other reality. He’d be damned if he could remember everything. All he knew was that she made him smile. And he wanted her. Whoever she was, she was important. That much he was sure about.
Forward to Chapter 2
Rating: Will be NC-17, but for now, PG for language
Spoilers: Season 4 of Supernatural
Warnings: Language
Genre: Thriller
Summary: Dean wakes up everyday to the same sinking feeling. That the woman who has haunted his dreams dreams isn't just some part of his imagination, but something more.
Disclaimer:I own nothing. Buffy is the property of Joss Whedon, Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke. If those two wrote together it'd a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
“Dean.”
The hotel room was just like any other of the hundreds that they had stayed at. It was a small two-bed room with inane patterns on the wall, an out of date phone, a bathroom, and a television. Something that Sam and Dean Winchester had become accustomed to calling “home”. They lived in a different room almost every night. This particular one was in Colville, Idaho.
“Dean.”
It had housed the two men for three nights now, and with the maid service declined by request, it looked like it. The clothes strewn on the floor, the small dining table cluttered with open and closed books, and the small sink cluttered with empty beer bottles looked like they hadn’t moved for days. A few Styrofoam cups that once held coffee sat stagnant on the counter top and the two men’s bags that seemed to hold their lives were at the foot of each full sized bed.
“Dean!”
Sam’s side of the room was significantly cleaner. The tall man was dressed, and clearly getting ready to hit the road, but his brother obviously had a different idea. That idea was to sleep in, again. For the past three days Sam had started to become worried. Dean had slept more than they both usually did in two weeks combined. Even if they had the time, they usually couldn’t stay in bed for more than five hours. Through out their lives, they’d been trained like marines. Their bodies weren’t used to so much time for rest. Dean’s actions were far out of character, and abnormal. The last time Sam even considered sleeping in, was when he was still with Jess, living comfortably in his apartment away from the life that he’d despised since he could remember. That was four years ago. Four years that to him, felt like ten. Four years ago, Jess died. Murdered by the things that he’d been running from his entire life; it’s what spiraled him back into the family business. Before letting the sense of nostalgia overtake him, Sam shook his head out of it, and focused back on his slumbering brother.
Four times he’d tried to get his brother up, and Dean hadn’t moved a muscle. His breaths were slow and even, and aside from the occasional moan that Sam would rather not think about, Dean looked peaceful. It was almost enough to persuade Sam to just let his sleeping dog of a brother lie. Until he remembered that this had been ongoing for three days. After the third attempt to get his brother up, Sam decided to take the liberty to use the ‘any means necessary’ tactic. This method included throwing Dean’s very heavy duffel (that Sam had taken the liberty to pack) filled with a total of four pistols, a shotgun, and a change of clothes in the center of his back. The sleeper finally stirred with a grunt, and not nearly as big of a reaction as Sam was hoping for but the mission was accomplished, anyway. He stood there, with a half amused smile on his face when his big brother laid an annoyed sleepy glare at him in a position that looked entirely too uncomfortable. Sam was unmoved. He finished packing the rest of his things in his hand, while simultaneously smiling and nodding his head toward Dean.
“Come on, man. You’ve slept eight full hours for the past three days. Normally we’d have been on the road five hours ago. Let’s go.”
Dean pushed the duffel off his back to the side of the bed and sat up; taking his time to stretch what seemed like every muscle in his body, he groaned in pleasure as his muscles loosened out. The undershirt that he had on for the night was barely crumpled from the lack of movement from the previous night’s rest. The hem had rolled enough to show a little bit of bare white skin just above the shorts.
“I’m goin’, alright? Dammit, Sammy. We get the chance t’ actually sleep for once, and all you wanna do is work.”
Dean leaned his torso over the bed, stretching his back one more time. A beat later, he stood up slowly as if he had no energy to move and walked in the bathroom. As the door shut behind him, he could faintly hear his brother start grumbling about the job of a little brother and the very obvious stomping toward the door that led outside into the all too bright morning.
“If you’re not out in five, you’re walking to the diner, dude.”
Dean ran a hand through his hair and looked in the mirror. What stared back at him were dark circles, and a tired sun kissed face. What stared back at him was someone who hadn’t slept for days.
“Yeah, yeah, Sammy. I’m freaking going.”
The heavy door to the room closed shut with an adjoining laugh that came from his brother. Five minutes wasn’t enough time for him to pull himself together. The sluggish movements weren’t theatrical. Shit, he was still tired. How many hours did Sammy say he slept? He couldn’t remember. Hell, he’d swear it was the dreams that kept him up at night.
…Which was the theory he’d been aiming at for three days.
Dean’s hands met his face, and with a swift motion, he ran them up and down a few times to wake himself up. He turned on the faucet that produced cold, chilling water, and splashed it on his face, feeling his skin tighten, and the wakening chill running down his body. It wasn’t nearly enough to keep him going for the day, but it was enough to mask to his brother. At least until a pot of coffee ran through his veins. For the first time in a long time, Dean wasn’t hungry. All he wanted was coffee, or more sleep. More dreams and a better god damn memory.
…She was blonde and beautiful.
Three days. For the past three days the same woman had haunted his dreams like some sweet, sweet addicting plague. He’d only been with her for three days, and in dream world, he couldn’t even fathom how long that’d been. A week? A day? Time never mattered with dreams. Without the clock when he woke up the next morning, Dean wouldn’t be the wiser if he’d been told that he’d had a power nap for twenty minutes. God knew that’s how he felt anyway. Sam had to have suspected something going on by now, he thought to himself. He hadn’t really commented much on it, outside of the minor complaints of being late. Dean decided to keep it to himself to spare the embarrassment of explaining that a beautiful woman in his dream was keeping him sluggish and grumpy. After all, she was just a woman in his dream.
He knew what she looked like as much as he knew the back of his hand. He could recall the way her smile brought about a tiny laugh line on the left side of her mouth. With eight or so years, it’d be a beautiful constant reminder that she’d lived with a little bit of light in her life. The way her flush always started with her neck and worked its way down slowly like an ever cooling candle wax; the way that flush made a man wait before it hit home with the most amazing glow. It always made it to her cheeks last. It made her look far more stone than she was. It took great patience, but eventually, the final result was more worth it. He could recall her with the same exact detail, all the way down to the small freckle that sat on the back of her hand and the smile….that smile. Dean knew the moment that he laid eyes on her, he’d never seen her before in his life outside of the dreams; never passed her on the street, never spoken a word to a woman remotely like her - he was sure of it. Someone as perfectly created as she was he’d remember.
So where the fuck did she come from? Every single time he woke up, he’d want to go back to sleep. It was where she was. He couldn’t explain the need to be there, or the need to be so alert. The only logical explanation that stayed with him was that she was gorgeous- but there was no woman who ever had that much of an affect on him, that much of a pull. A part of him wanted desperately to escape this reality and replace it with the one his mind had apparently created. The conversations that took place in his dreams were hard to remember. He knew that there was so much his mind would lock away after crossing over into the other reality. He’d be damned if he could remember everything. All he knew was that she made him smile. And he wanted her. Whoever she was, she was important. That much he was sure about.
Forward to Chapter 2