Fic: The Sleeper in Me - Chapter two. (Dean/Buffy)
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 be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
The horn of the impala blared telling Dean that his five minutes were up, and he was probably running over his allotted time. The blare snapped him back into present reality, where he sighed, and threw another splash of water on his face. A minute later, Dean grabbed his stuff to head out on the road. Sam had found an alleged job on the other side of the state. All they needed was a smidge of probable cause for something so close. A few unexplainable deaths did the trick. He stepped out of the bathroom, and did a triple scan of the room that they’d lived in. He made sure that everything they owned was out of the room, and that anything that’d be short of suspicious was disposed of. His father taught the boys well. Anything that could trace back to them was never seen. Triple checking was something that they were accustomed to; if they didn’t, it’d sit in the back of their minds until it did. Some people would call it mild obsessive compulsive. The Winchesters called it being smart and tactfully careful. It was etched in their brains, and would remain there for the rest of their lives. As Dean wrapped his hand around the brass door handle and turned, he let the light back into the room. As it poured over him like a flood, he squinted at the instant tired headache combined with the lack of adaptation from the environment. It was agonizing. He could see the car a few yards away with his brother already inside, sitting in the passenger’s seat with his seatbelt on, and the radio blaring. For the first time in a very long time, he’d hoped Sammy wanted the privilege to drive so he could take a nap. As he made his way to the car, and opened the driver’s side door of his baby, there was one thing that was sitting in the back of his mind that he couldn’t stop thinking about. Like an unfinished book that was never meant to be finished, or a cliffhanger of a wonderful movie. That woman sat in the back of his head. He needed to be awake for the drive, but he turned down the radio, which clearly piqued his little brother’s attention. Evidently, Sammy decided to let it go, because not a word was said on their way to the diner, and by the time the second hour had passed, Dean was on autopilot, driving with his second nature rather than with his full attention. The therapeutic drone of Led Zeppelin in the background had pushed Dean into an almost catatonic state that had him trying to recall the conversation from his dreams that seemed more real to him than his day to day activities did. Sam was asleep in the passenger’s side. He had to be, because the silence between the two brothers for more than two hours could only really be explained by sleep.
“It means something to me, Dean. I mean something. I know it. I have to exist, because if I don’t, what’s the point? .....I have to.”
It was the only sentence he could remember her saying. He could remember the desperation in her tone. The flush gone from her face, she looked like a five year old drowned out by two hundred unfamiliar people. She looked alone and lost.
He’d remember than innocence, that desperation, and that blind hope forever.
~ ~
~ ~
Dean had his hand on the doorknob, and turned it slightly to the right. Not a noise came from the action, so he turned it a little more, which created the same result. It was perfect. Dean would be able to slip in the office the same way he slipped in the building; unnoticed, and unsuspected. John Winchester had taught his boys well in the arts of getting somewhere with general public none the wiser. Rule number one was to always have your gun cocked in any situation, and to have it at the ready before you decide to make any large movements. It’s always better to have a fall back plan. The second it takes to cock a gun could be that one second of your life where you should have been prepared. The hunter aspect in Dean was always far more prominent than the normal citizen in him. He was on the job, and he was heavily armed, prepared for everything.
Within a few seconds, Dean had slipped into the room with nary a sound, and had the door closed behind him like he’d never been on the other side. He leaned his back against the wall inching away from the door before setting his feet and keeping his gun parallel to his face. So far so good. He’d taken a few beats to try and determine whether or not he’d created a stir, or if there was something in the office with him. Those two beats revealed that the security guards for the floor were on their nightly rounds, as he could faintly hear the muted conversation, and relaxed tone of the two unsuspecting men. Their footsteps crescendoed, and brought about an eerie echo to the pitch black room. The conversation had the guards occupied, as they clearly were more interested in it than in their surroundings. Their voices slowly started to fade away down the hall and around the corner. Dean let out a breath of relief, and calculated in his head with the size and the space of the building, the two men wouldn’t make it back around for at least another forty-five. After another couple of seconds, his mind focused back on the task at hand. Rule number two: the less people involved - the better. As important as it was to get the information as fast as possible, it was more important to do it without the interaction of people. They made things more complicated, and they put themselves at high risk. The rules that the Winchesters used were simple, and they were pivotal to their survival. Those rules helped to form and mold them into the best hunters that they were capable of being. Those rules had kept them alive this long.
The windows in the office were of no use to aid in natural light when the moon was covered by thick clouds that had been filled with rain all day. The cold rain had stopped some hours ago, but the damp air, the clouds that impeded the moon, and the cool nature had remained. The room was pitch black, and as far as Dean could tell, it was also empty. The echo from the footsteps a minute ago helped to establish that theory. Even though the prospect of an actual threat being in the room had left with the security guards, the gun remained cocked, and in proper position if needed. Dean inched along the wall feeling for a light switch. He treaded carefully so he wouldn’t hit any furniture if his theory was wrong. Finally, after a few more blind tactics, his hand reached the electrical switch on the wall. He pressed fixture, and watched the light fill the room. The hunter stood there dumbfounded on what was revealed, though the smile that slowly crept on his face made him look like he’d opened a mysterious box with a delightful present inside.
“Damn.”
Onward to Chapter 3.
Backward to Chapter 1.
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 be a beautiful thing. But they haven't, so you have me.
The horn of the impala blared telling Dean that his five minutes were up, and he was probably running over his allotted time. The blare snapped him back into present reality, where he sighed, and threw another splash of water on his face. A minute later, Dean grabbed his stuff to head out on the road. Sam had found an alleged job on the other side of the state. All they needed was a smidge of probable cause for something so close. A few unexplainable deaths did the trick. He stepped out of the bathroom, and did a triple scan of the room that they’d lived in. He made sure that everything they owned was out of the room, and that anything that’d be short of suspicious was disposed of. His father taught the boys well. Anything that could trace back to them was never seen. Triple checking was something that they were accustomed to; if they didn’t, it’d sit in the back of their minds until it did. Some people would call it mild obsessive compulsive. The Winchesters called it being smart and tactfully careful. It was etched in their brains, and would remain there for the rest of their lives. As Dean wrapped his hand around the brass door handle and turned, he let the light back into the room. As it poured over him like a flood, he squinted at the instant tired headache combined with the lack of adaptation from the environment. It was agonizing. He could see the car a few yards away with his brother already inside, sitting in the passenger’s seat with his seatbelt on, and the radio blaring. For the first time in a very long time, he’d hoped Sammy wanted the privilege to drive so he could take a nap. As he made his way to the car, and opened the driver’s side door of his baby, there was one thing that was sitting in the back of his mind that he couldn’t stop thinking about. Like an unfinished book that was never meant to be finished, or a cliffhanger of a wonderful movie. That woman sat in the back of his head. He needed to be awake for the drive, but he turned down the radio, which clearly piqued his little brother’s attention. Evidently, Sammy decided to let it go, because not a word was said on their way to the diner, and by the time the second hour had passed, Dean was on autopilot, driving with his second nature rather than with his full attention. The therapeutic drone of Led Zeppelin in the background had pushed Dean into an almost catatonic state that had him trying to recall the conversation from his dreams that seemed more real to him than his day to day activities did. Sam was asleep in the passenger’s side. He had to be, because the silence between the two brothers for more than two hours could only really be explained by sleep.
“It means something to me, Dean. I mean something. I know it. I have to exist, because if I don’t, what’s the point? .....I have to.”
It was the only sentence he could remember her saying. He could remember the desperation in her tone. The flush gone from her face, she looked like a five year old drowned out by two hundred unfamiliar people. She looked alone and lost.
He’d remember than innocence, that desperation, and that blind hope forever.
~ ~
~ ~
Dean had his hand on the doorknob, and turned it slightly to the right. Not a noise came from the action, so he turned it a little more, which created the same result. It was perfect. Dean would be able to slip in the office the same way he slipped in the building; unnoticed, and unsuspected. John Winchester had taught his boys well in the arts of getting somewhere with general public none the wiser. Rule number one was to always have your gun cocked in any situation, and to have it at the ready before you decide to make any large movements. It’s always better to have a fall back plan. The second it takes to cock a gun could be that one second of your life where you should have been prepared. The hunter aspect in Dean was always far more prominent than the normal citizen in him. He was on the job, and he was heavily armed, prepared for everything.
Within a few seconds, Dean had slipped into the room with nary a sound, and had the door closed behind him like he’d never been on the other side. He leaned his back against the wall inching away from the door before setting his feet and keeping his gun parallel to his face. So far so good. He’d taken a few beats to try and determine whether or not he’d created a stir, or if there was something in the office with him. Those two beats revealed that the security guards for the floor were on their nightly rounds, as he could faintly hear the muted conversation, and relaxed tone of the two unsuspecting men. Their footsteps crescendoed, and brought about an eerie echo to the pitch black room. The conversation had the guards occupied, as they clearly were more interested in it than in their surroundings. Their voices slowly started to fade away down the hall and around the corner. Dean let out a breath of relief, and calculated in his head with the size and the space of the building, the two men wouldn’t make it back around for at least another forty-five. After another couple of seconds, his mind focused back on the task at hand. Rule number two: the less people involved - the better. As important as it was to get the information as fast as possible, it was more important to do it without the interaction of people. They made things more complicated, and they put themselves at high risk. The rules that the Winchesters used were simple, and they were pivotal to their survival. Those rules helped to form and mold them into the best hunters that they were capable of being. Those rules had kept them alive this long.
The windows in the office were of no use to aid in natural light when the moon was covered by thick clouds that had been filled with rain all day. The cold rain had stopped some hours ago, but the damp air, the clouds that impeded the moon, and the cool nature had remained. The room was pitch black, and as far as Dean could tell, it was also empty. The echo from the footsteps a minute ago helped to establish that theory. Even though the prospect of an actual threat being in the room had left with the security guards, the gun remained cocked, and in proper position if needed. Dean inched along the wall feeling for a light switch. He treaded carefully so he wouldn’t hit any furniture if his theory was wrong. Finally, after a few more blind tactics, his hand reached the electrical switch on the wall. He pressed fixture, and watched the light fill the room. The hunter stood there dumbfounded on what was revealed, though the smile that slowly crept on his face made him look like he’d opened a mysterious box with a delightful present inside.
“Damn.”
Onward to Chapter 3.
Backward to Chapter 1.