up before the dawn - SN/Taken crossover fic - PG
Title: up before the dawn
Fandom: “Taken”/“Supernatural” crossover
Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun. Title from “ Amarillo Sky” by Jason Aldean.
Warnings: spoilers for entirety of “Taken” and the “Supernatural” pilot, as well as the episode "Something Wicked"; unapologetic run-on sentences; rampant misuse of and
Pairings: none
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 1313
Point of view: third
Notes: thanks be to
smilla02for my newfound Eric Close addiction.
More notes: The timelines may not actually mesh, but just don’t look too closely.
A few weeks after Sam left, Dean found himself in Seattle with no memory of how he got there. He was in his car, parked in front of a McDonald’s, and the last thing he remembered was driving behind Dad on their way to Tallahassee. And it had been night.
But the sun was high in the sky and his watch said it was just after noon, and the Needle in the distance said he was now in Seattle, Washington-even though the last thing he remembered was driving east, crossing the Florida state line.
So he got out of the car and entered the McDonald’s, checked the date: seven days gone from his memory. An entire week blank.
He sat at a table and searched through his pockets-he had everything. His wallet, his jackknife, that scrap of paper with Maggie the Friendly Waitress’s number. All his credit cards were there, all his cash, his most recent fake ID.
So how the hell did he go from Florida to Washington and lose seven fucking days?
-
After eating a Big Mac he didn’t really taste, Dean went back to his car, searched her top to bottom, looking for any shred of evidence, any clue. But there was nothing. He found his cellphone in the trunk, completely dead. Of course. Dean just stared into his trunk for a moment, dumbfounded beyond belief, and then he saw a pay phone. He called Dad but Dad didn’t answer and that worried him, so then he tried Pastor Jim but instead Callie’s Dog Grooming answered, and that totally weirded him out. So he dialed every single number he knew and no one picked up. Some had new names and some didn’t exist and Dean was quickly approaching fucking terrified.
Finally he dialed Sam with shaky fingers. And he got a voicemail telling him to leave David Barnett a message and Dean gently placed the phone back on the cradle and walked to his Impala and sank into the driver’s seat. He sat there staring at nothing, lost and alone, and he’d never been so scared in his life, not even when that fucking striga tried to suck the life out of Sammy, or when Dad came home three days late with no word, or when that fucking psycho in Wyoming had him cornered and Dad was knocked out and Dean’s arm was broken and Dean knew that look in the bastard’s eye didn’t bode well.
Dean had no idea what to do or where to go or how to possibly start looking for a way home. Some things were the same-like McDonald’s and the Needle-and reading over the paper, he’d seen that it was the same news, mostly. So how everyone he knew didn’t exist was really freaking him the fuck out.
Without knowing why, he raised his head and saw a little girl run by, with a posse of adults on her tail. The brief glance showed her frightened face, and Dean’d always hated it when kids were in danger. So he started his car and he followed them, and luckily he’d lived in Seattle for a few months and he still had a mental map of the place. Unless, of course, the layout of the city had changed from his world to this one.
But on the off-chance it hadn’t, Dean quickly figured out where Blondie would appear and he went there, waited. She rushed out of the bushes and ran to the back door, opened it, leapt in.
“Stay on the floor,” he commanded and pulled away, rejoined traffic.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He looked in the rearview, not even knowing what he should be searching for. “Did they hurt you?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she replied. “But my mom is in danger.” Her voice was still soft and it tugged at every protective instinct he had.
“Where is she?” Dean turned off the main highway, heading for where Dad had a bolt-hole.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Blondie said and Dean glanced over his shoulder, met her large blue eyes. “This isn’t your world.”
“Tell me about it,” Dean muttered and stopped in front of a-hunting store. Dad’s bolt-hole was a hunting store in this fucked-up world? Dean couldn’t hold in the laughter and he sank down in his seat, covering his face with his hands.
“It’ll be alright,” Blondie told him, crawling over the seat and sitting shotgun. She touched his shoulder and continued, “You’ll get home. Sam’s safe; I know it.”
He raised his head and looked at her. “Who are you?” he asked gently, sure beyond doubt she was more.
“Allison Clarke,” she answered. “But I go by Allie.”
He held out a hand and said, “Dean Winchester. I go by Dean.”
“What are you seeing?” He studied her face. “When you look at me, Allie, what do you see?”
She reached out to touch his cheek, traced her finger along his jaw. “You,” she responded. “I see you.”
Allie pulled back and sank into the seat. He nodded, watched her for a moment. “Where do you need to go?”
She smiled again and told him, “I had a good feeling about you.”
-
Dean followed her directions and pulled into a parking lot down the street. “You sure I shouldn’t go with you?”
She nodded. “Everything will work out, Dean,” she assured him, sounding far older than she looked. “Don’t worry about me. You’ll go home soon.”
He got out the car and walked around the front, opened the door for her. As she got out, she said, “You’ll save them both, when the time comes. Don’t give up, Dean.” He leaned down and gently wrapped his arms around her. She kissed his cheek and repeated, “Don’t give up.”
When he straightened, she gave him one last brilliant smile and hurried off; he watched her go, knowing something was changed. If it was in her world or his, though, he couldn’t be sure.
As he turned to get back in the Impala, he felt eyes on him, so he spun around, pulling out his gun. A man stood a few feet away, hands held in front of him, placatingly.
“I am no threat,” he said calmly, gaze blue and sincere. “I only want to thank you for helping Allie.”
Dean noticed his eyes were identical to the little girl’s. “What are you to her?” he asked.
The man smiled. “I am her great-grandfather.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, but kept his thoughts to himself. This guy didn’t feel dangerous and Dean didn’t feel like shooting, so he tucked his gun away.
The guy stepped forward and said again, “Thank you for helping Allie. I knew you were the one.”
And just like that, all of Dean’s instincts shrieked and he went for his gun and then white light blinded him-
-
-and he shot into consciousness with a choked-off yelp.
“Dean?” Dad called from the bathroom. “Everythin’ alright in there?”
Taking a moment to inspect himself, Dean answered, “Yeah. Weird dream, that’s all.”
“Okay. Get your ass in gear then. I want to get to Atlanta soon as possible.” Dad’s voice was gruff, but Dean heard the concern in the words.
Damn Sam and his abandonment. If he had any idea what he’d done to Dad… but all anger and hurt paled beneath Dean’s pride. His baby brother got a full ride to Stanford.
Dean forced himself out of the bed and got ready for the day. For some reason, he felt the pressing need to call Sam. With a swift glance at the closed bathroom door, he pulled out his cell and hit Sam’s speed dial, waited through the five rings to Sam’s voice mail, and relaxed when Sam said, “Leave a message. I’ll get back to you.”
Dean didn’t say anything, just closed his phone and finished dressing.