SN Fic: Dreamscape
x-posted on supernaturalfic
Title: Dreamscape
Author: Trystan
Rating: same as the show; some strong language
Category: AU (different from The Shadow out of Time)
Characters: the Winchester family
Spoilers: scenes from “Pilot,” “Phantom Traveler,” “Bloody Mary,” and “Asylum.”
Author’s Notes: AU. Thanks to diamondback158 for the beta-read, ideas and great suggestions; and acostilow for encouragement. Inspired by the First Wave episode, “Susperience” (2x04); title inspired by flowerii
Summary: Just your average family: mom, dad, two sons...and some good old-fashioned demon ass-whooping.
I’ll take the chance before the chance has gone
You never know when it’ll be your last...
And god only knows all the places I’ve been,
But I love this life that I’m living in.
I won’t look back to regret yesterday;
We’re not handed tomorrow,
so I’ll live for today.
~ 3 Doors Down, ©2005
Mary Winchester hummed and smiled as she took a steamy pot roast from the oven and placed it on a trivet to cool. John and the boys were due back from their business trip any moment now. Boys. She smiled to herself. They were taller than her now, Dean being the shorter of the two at 6'1". True, Dean was 27, but Sam was four years younger, and at least three inches taller.
Mary worried about the three of them every time they left the house, but one of them would always call when they were almost home. Tonight was no different, Mary thought, getting out the dishes to set the kitchen table. They'd lived in Lawrence, Kansas ever since Sam was a baby, and although there were rumors of various haunted places in the city, Mary wouldn't change it for the world. As long as the evil stays out there, Mary thought, offering a silent prayer that her husband and sons never brought their work home with them.
~*~
On this particular Friday night, less than a half an hour after Dean had called her, as Mary put the last covered dish on the table, she heard the front door open, and voices speaking excitedly in the foyer. There was some scuffling, as jackets were hung up, and weapons returned to the case in the hall.
The footfalls and voices of the three men followed them into the kitchen.
"Hey mom," Sam said, going over to Mary and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Dean had sat down, but when Sam was seated around the table next to him, Dean looked up and smiled. "Hey, Mom." Mary smiled at her eldest, but her eyes were only for John. He was clean-shaven, and embraced her in a bear hug, and kissed her passionately.
"Dinner's getting cold," she whispered against his cheek.
"No it's not, you just put it there," he smiled back at her. Mary and John took their places at the table, and a Winchester family dinner commenced.
~*~
There was a great deal of panic, Sam could tell that much from the jumbled thoughts in his head. What exactly was happening was hard to tell. They were on an airplane. Odd, since Dean hated to fly. But Sam didn't see Dean in the commotion. Sometimes, Sam thought he could see Dean in these surreal dreams. A figure stood at the back of the plane, and opened the airlock hatch. Wind whipping about him, and wreaking havoc on the passengers and the insides of the plane, the figure turned to face Sam.
Its eyes were solid black.
Sam gasped and sat up in his bed. He looked around at his room, and the sense of comfort it brought him. Since he was on the road with his father and brother most of the time, the little comforts of home were always reassuring. Although he was 23 and still living at home with his parents -- hell, Dean was 27 and still lived with Mom and Dad -- but it wasn't like he'd tried.
When Dean finished high school, he'd started working full-time with their Dad. When Sam finished high school, he applied to all the colleges that looked like they might have a course of study that appealed to him. He was accepted to the University of Kansas, right in Lawrence, and both parents agreed he could live on-campus. But in the time he was there, he hadn't found a major he was happy with. He'd tried history, archeology, biology, engineering, languages -- Mom and Dad had taught him and Dean Latin when they were kids -- but there never seemed to be a class in Paranormal Studies, Urban Legends 101 or Advanced Exorcising 301. Sam never graduated, and instead, withdrew before his senior year was over, moved back home, and joined the family business.
He knew his mom was not happy with that decision, as she had been Sam's biggest advocate. She would have rather seen her younger son graduating with a college degree, rather than joining the family business with his father and brother.
The dreams had started about five years ago, the summer before Sam moved into the dorms.
They were on a job, in New York City, when the first one woke Sam up sweating in the middle of the night. The flashes were vague, and he'd seen a woman, with blonde hair splayed out...on the ceiling, where some demon had her pinned. The woman looked so much like Mary, he had called his mom until she woke up and answered the phone, reassuring him he was dreaming.
He'd never told Dean or his dad about the dreams.
~*~
Dean Winchester had ambitions to be a great ball player. At least he did when he was a kid. As he got older, he read ghost stories, moreso to annoy Sammy (although Dean enjoyed the stories immensely), but wasn't that what big brothers were supposed to do?
When Dean was ten, he'd seen a story in the local paper about a house down the road from them that was supposed to be haunted. Dean had told his parents he was going out to play some ball, but instead he took his bat and went to that old, boarded-up house and stood outside, just looking at it. When nothing howled at him, and the shutters didn't fly open, Dean went inside.
Inside the musty old house, he found another little boy, crying. He missed his mom and sister, but he couldn't get out into the backyard to be with them. At first, Dean was confused at this, but the more he talked to the boy, he realized the house really was haunted -- by the spirit of the boy who only wanted his mom.
Dean guessed the boy to be about ten as well, but the ghost seemed much wiser. The spirit told Dean to find where the body was buried, salt and burn the bones, and then the spirit would be set free. Dean hated to have to do what he was asked, because he'd lose a friend. While he'd only been talking to the ghost for a few hours, when you're a kid, everyone is your best friend after only a short time.
Dean promised he would try his best, and when he went home that night, he told his parents over dinnertime.
"There's no such things as ghosts, Dean," his father had purposely lied, trying to talk his elder son off this path.
"John..." cautioned Mary.
"What? I'm only telling him -- "
"I know what I saw, Dad," Dean interrupted.
"Tell me exactly what you saw and heard," his father asked him.
Dean, surprised his father would entertain this childish notion, did. After a thoughtful moment, John got up, saying "I'll be right back" in a hushed tone.
Sam ate his chicken nuggets quietly, watching the entire exchange.
John was gone for less than a minute, and he returned with a battered notebook held closed with a leather strap. He undid the strap and carefully leafed though the pages. Dean leaned over to see, but could only make out odd shapes and drawings. Finally, John looked up at his older son.
"Your ghost friend was right. He's a 'wandering spirit,' and that's the only way they can truly be at rest," he told Dean.
"That's what I want to do. I want to help him," Dean said.
John closed his journal.
"Then that's what we'll do after dinner," John said, smiling.
~*~
John Winchester had always believed in the paranormal. So when his friend Missouri Moseley -- who advertised herself as a psychic, but was so much more -- had asked him to help her perform an exorcism, John gladly volunteered. He worked with Missouri, and freelanced in paranormal investigation, until that year Dean was ten. John had always kept a diary of all the spirits, ghosts and demons he'd encountered.
The single defining moment had been when he was in the Marines. He'd been to Vietnam, and his party was ambushed. The enemy had killed everyone, except -- miraculously -- for John, who'd taken a deep breath and dived into the marsh where they were encamped.
Under the murky water, as he fought for breath, a young woman shimmered and appeared before him. Wordlessly, she covered his mouth with hers and offered her breath to him. He began feeling light-headed, and the woman released him gently and pointed to the surface. John knew she was telling him the enemy was gone.
Before he returned to the surface however, the woman beckoned him close again, and this time, when her mouth met his, it was in a kiss, and words floated into his mind. He couldn't make sense of everything she said.
"John Winchester...not your time yet...blessed... Mary... sons... special." She broke the kiss, and was gone.
John returned to the surface to the gruesome sight of his company, but kept that underwater memory with him. After he'd returned, he met a lovely young woman in line -- of all places -- at the supermarket; he nearly collapsed. It was the woman from the marsh.
No, she was human. John fell in love with her. And her name was Mary.
So when young Dean wanted to help the boy in the old house at the end of the road, John knew the time had come. To teach his sons everything he knew.
"Why can't we have a normal family business?" Mary had asked, "selling furniture, or being the local -- I don't know -- mechanic or something? You're handy with cars," she'd tried to reason.
"Dean has my thirst for that sort of stuff," John said. "You've seen all he reads these days are those paperback horror novels. And he's ten, and can still see ghosts. Most kids stop seeing them younger than Sammy."
"Is there really that much strange stuff here in Lawrence?" Mary asked, concerned for her husband's safety.
John thought a moment. "Big enough town, really. Yeah, probably. I'm sure any business trips would only be daytrips, Mary," John smiled at her, and then kissed her.
John spent his time at the library, learning all he could about exorcisms, and warding and binding spells, and brought home whatever books he could without drawing too much attention to his subject matter. Dean greedily read all the books John borrowed or purchased from the used bookseller in the city.
When Sam was ten, he'd heard the same story about the haunted house from the kids at school. They always teased him about being chicken to go in there. But Sam -- remembering how brave Dean was at the same age -- took their challenge, and, shouldering his school backpack, confidently marched into the house.
The first thing Sam noticed was the house was quiet. There were no creaky stairs or rattling windows. The second thing he noticed was there was a great sense of peace inside. Sam had taken off his book bag and sat on the floor. He reveled in the sacred space the house had created that he'd almost forgotten the kids out on the front yard.
Picking up his bag again, he calmly walked outside again.
"What happened to you? You were in there a long time," one of the kids teased.
"That old house isn't haunted," he said, wondering if he should tell the kids the truth. In the end, he decided against it, figuring they'd call him weird for having a brother who talked to ghosts.
~*~
Dean woke at Sam's gasp. That first night Sam was away in the dorms, Dean had moved his bed on the wall that his room shared with Sam's. He'd be hard-pressed to admit it was because he missed Sam, so he told himself it was good to rearrange the furniture every once in a while?
Why hadn't he known Sammy was dreaming? he mentally kicked himself. Dean had known about the dreams since Sam woke that night in New York City. Sam would never have told Dean, and Dean wasn't one to press the issue. So Dean figured Sam didn't say anything because the youngest Winchester probably thought that no one would believe him. Or maybe that they would, and that might have been what Sam was afraid of.
So Dean taught himself to concentrate on Sam before falling asleep. At first, there was nothing but static, but gradually he reached out and touched thoughts. He knew they were Sammy's because they were filled with different facts that usually corresponded to what ever Sam was studying at the time.
One night, when Sam was in his second semester, it was Dean who sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. He reached under his pillow, and felt his hunting knife there, and was able to breathe again. But he couldn't shake the images of a smashed mirror, him and Sam bleeding from the eyes, each helping the other leave a dark antiques store.
It was a surreal dream, as though he watched himself and Sam as an outside observer. For the briefest of moments, Sam had lifted his head, aware there might have been another presence in the dream that was not him, the dream Dean; or the malicious spirit that Dean felt. But it was only for a moment. Dean wondered if Sam had even suspected what it was.
For the next several months, Sam had nightmares only once or twice a month, but Dean was relieved of that. While Dean could connect with the complex thoughts of the calculus equations in Sam's dreams -- not that Dean knew what he would even do with a calculus equation -- the intellectual dreams didn't usually wake him up. It was the series of pictures flashing, and the intense evil behind the emotion of whatever spirit was attacking Sam, that took its toll on Dean.
Fortunately for Dean, these occurred at most twice a month. But why did Sammy have these dreams now? They started right before Sam went to college. Was all of the University of Kansas haunted?
When Sam started his sophomore years, the nightmares came several times in the month, and one month there were three days in a row where both Winchester boys woke up gasping for breath at the same time, miles away from each other.
The worst was the flash Dean saw of the woman wearing white pinned to the ceiling by something that Dean was certain was Hell itself. The nightmare showed him -- for just an instant -- the woman's face. And that instant was burned into Dean's mind.
He woke in a cold sweat and automatically reached for his knife. Shaking with fear, he forced himself out of bed and padded down the hall to his parent's room. He'd glanced at his clock, which glowed 3:30 a.m. at him in red numbers. Quietly nudging the door open with his toes, he peered into the room. Both parents were sleeping, snuggled close together. Drawn by the memory of the vivid nightmare, Dean's eyes strayed to the ceiling. He sagged in relief against the bedroom door to see it was just a ceiling.
He didn't get back to sleep that night.
Dean threw himself into his work to take his mind off of Sam's nightmarish visions. Only that vision of his mom haunted him, and John and Mary became very worried. Dean was, after all, 23, living with his parents, hunting ghosts and spooks. John had spoken with him about taking some time off, but Dean would hear nothing of the sort. If there were people in trouble, Dean needed to help.
Mary had suggested seeing a doctor about his sleeping problem, and knew nothing of her younger son's dreams, knew nothing of Dean's connection with Sam through those dreams. Mary's concern was from a mother's love of her sons. Dean knew she wouldn't understand.
The nightmares came with the same frequency during the next two years. Dean had exhausted all of his father's books, the library's resources, and not even Missouri could provide an answer for why Sam was having these nightmares.
One night after he and Dad had returned home after a trying -- but successful -- business trip to quell a particularly violent poltergeist, John said good night to an obviously preoccupied-Dean. John had known there was something on his eldest son's mind. And John knew if his son was anything like he was, Dean wouldn't give it up until he solved the mystery.
Dean sat at the kitchen table into the early morning hours, looking at every demon, spirit, poltergeist, fiend, imp, gremlin, and even angel they'd ever tangled with. And there was a lot of material there. He was looking for a pattern. Why Sam?
Exhausted, at five in the morning, Dean stumbled upon the answer. Demons didn't need a reason. Evil never needed a reason to toy with you. Dean, Sam, and their father had been helping people who found themselves in paranormal and supernatural situations they needed help getting out of for 15 years. The Winchesters had been killing these bogeymen for a long time, and some of them were probably pretty pissed at them.
There were dream-demons toying with them: they'd started with Sam, and Dean walked right into the ambush. Damn them.
Solution found, Dean was too tired to care the books were strewn all over the kitchen table. It was five in the morning, he'd been up all damned night. He wearily ascended the stairs, slogged into his room, and literally crashed, fully dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, into his bed.
He saw Sam in an old, boarded-up building. A hospital of some sort. The musty smell meant they were in the basement. Dean saw himself facing an angry, shotgun-wielding Sam... who wasn't Sam. His presence was all wrong. There was something evil at work here. Dean saw Sam and his dream-self arguing, but there was no sound, only the hatred coming from the evil presence inhabiting Sam. It occurred to Dean if that old wives' tale was really true, that if you die in a dream, do you die in real life?
Sam pointed the shotgun at the dream Dean, and told him to step away from the door he was trying to uncover. Instinctively, Dean wanted to run into the dream and slap some sense into Sam. But he couldn't. Sam thought Dean didn't know about the dreams. Dean knew exactly what was happening, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Sam looked up, wiped some blood from under his nose, and for just a moment, sensed another presence. But this benevolent feeling wasn't enough to distract the possessed younger Winchester. He turned back to Dean.
"Dean," he hissed. The dream Dean turned and looked into the rifle. Sam's voice was deadly calm. "Step back from the door." Dean stood up and faced his brother.
"Sam, put the gun down," Dean tried to reason with an insane brother.
"Is that an order?" Sam was smug.
"What are you gonna do, Sam? That gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me," the dream Dean pointed out. The observer Dean could only watch in horror as the scene played out in Sam's dreamscape.
And then Sam did pull the trigger, the rock salt hit Dean in the center of his chest, and was knocked backwards and crashed through the wooden door.
Dean gasped and sat up in bed.
Across town, Sam sat up in his bed, sobbing softly.
Sam's only consolation was that he had known Dean had been in the dream with him. Dean knew about the dreams. But how long had he known?
That next day was when Sam withdrew from his classes at the university and moved back home. And the dreams stopped for a while.
~*~
When Saturday morning came, and the sun touched the horizon, it was as if all the memories the brothers had shared of their most recent hunt were erased. Breakfast was cheerful, with talk of what was planned for that day.
"Thought I'd email a few people from school," Sam said, around a bite of scrambled eggs.
John, scouring the news section of the morning paper, looked up. "Why would you want to do that? You haven't been there in a year."
"They're my friends. I'm just keeping in touch."
John raised his eyebrows. Sam understood the warning.
"No, they don't know what we do. They think I do computer networking or something."
"I need a nap," Dean mumbled, poking at his hash browns.
John looked thoughtfully at Dean, and nodded knowingly. Hunting the paranormal took a lot out of a man.
Mary looked over at him from her place at the table where she was reading her part of the morning paper and drinking a cup of coffee. It had been almost a year ago when Mary had found papers and notes on the kitchen table and chairs, that she'd remembered Dean pouring over. As she was straightening them, she sat down at the table and found herself intrigued by what her older son was researching. She never told her husband or sons that she'd saved a few of the pages, and still looked at them frequently.
"Still having that...sleeping problem?" she asked Dean diplomatically. Sam looked across the table at Dean, and their eyes met. It was in that one look the younger brother gave the older that told Dean that Sam knew. His brother knew about the dreams.
Dean moved his potatoes around some more. "I'm all right, Mom." He looked up at her then, and her expression told him his mother didn't believe him in the least. Funny that.
The afternoon found the brothers relaxing on the couch watching the University of Kansas Jayhawks beating the opponent of the week on the football field. Sam had to remind Dean many times throughout the game they were rooting for the team wearing crimson and blue.
"Ah, I could never get into this game anyway," Dean said, standing up. "Sorry, bro."
As Dean left the TV room, he put his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder. He rested it there for a moment, letting Sam know he would be there for him, awake or dreaming.
~*~
Dean awoke shortly after midnight to hear Sam moaning softly on the other side of the wall. This was a different kind of dream, Dean realized. Quietly getting out of bed, Dean padded across his room, out in the hall, and quietly opened Sam's door. Sam was twisting about on the bed, lost in whatever it was he was dreaming about.
Almost instantly, John and Mary were next to Dean, concern visible on their faces.
"What is it? What's going on?" Mary asked, her voice shaky.
"Something's got him, Mom. Some kind of dream demon," Dean explained, watching his brother turn his head away from something the others couldn't see. "Dad, when was the last time you hypnotized anyone?" he asked, recalling some entries in his father's journal about hypnosis.
"Not for a while, why?"
"I gotta go in there and get him out," Dean said. John and Mary exchanged glances, and looked at Dean.
"I know what I'm doing," he said looking at them carefully. Evil had crossed the Winchester threshold.
Dean entered the room, and took Sam's desk chair and put it next to his bed. John and Mary followed, also bringing in chairs. Dean sat in the desk chair, and faced his father, opposite him. Dean took a deep breath, and relaxed.
"If it looks like it's getting bad, Dad, you gotta bring us both out of it, okay?"
"I wish you'd let me do this, Dean."
Dean hesitated. Was now the time to tell them? Was it even his place to say? They were Sam's dreams, and Sam's dreamscape Dean was about to enter.
"I can do this, Dad. I have to."
John knew better than to argue, and began to lull his son to sleep. Mary sat near the desk, facing John. She memorized every word John spoke, and was carefully reciting them to herself.
~*~
Sam was fending off a humanoid demon that looked like a reject from a bad horror movie. It was when the demon began changing shape Sam knew he was dreaming. Or having a nightmare. The rational part of his mind was telling him it was only a dream, and that he'd wake up in his own bed in Lawrence. But something was keeping him here. He wasn't even in Kansas anymore. And the demon was as ugly as Toto was cute.
Remembering some of the dream-lore his father had taught him, Sam convinced himself his kicks were three times stronger than when he was awake, his punches were lethal. But the demon took everything Sam gave it, and kept coming for more.
A weapon, he thought. A shotgun, loaded with buck shot. The conjured shotgun appeared in his hand. He aimed and shot it at the demon.
The demon looked at the hole in its abdomen, and Sam watched in horror as the hole closed before his eyes. Shit. And then the demon charged him. Although Sam was ready for him, there was suddenly someone else there, felling the demon with a sweeping kick.
Dean? Sam asked. He seemed to be hearing it in his head, instead of aloud.
Sammy, Dean confirmed, also heard as if a thought.
Wha -- what the hell are you doing here? Sam was startled, he didn't even know what question to ask.
Thought you could use a little help.
Sam indicated the demon, only now there were two demons. Yeah, thanks, brother. And I mean that, Sam added at Dean's look.
To fight his demon, Dean conjured his hunting knife, and a double-barreled shotgun. One barrel had rock salt, the other had buckshot. One can dream, after all, right? Dean thought.
What was that? Sam asked, misunderstanding Dean's thought as part of a conversation.
Nothing, Dean directed towards Sam. Dean looked at the demon -- now it had leather skin and black bat-like wings -- through the sights on the shotgun, and an idea came to him. He pictured the demon blown apart, and with that thought, fired both barrels. The explosion rocked the grey-colored dreamscape, and the demon was blown to pieces.
Whoa, Dean, how the hell did you do that? Sam was visibly impressed.
Just thought about what I wanted to happen, Dean explained.
As Sam was about to aim his shotgun at the remaining demon, it replicated again. But this time, it was Sam who destroyed it. The demons kept replicating so there was always two of them.
This time, when the second one appeared, neither brother saw it, until Dean looked up. This one had red skin and black leathery wings, but its face was somewhat pleasing, if you liked that sort of color.
From its vantage point above, the demon flew directly at Dean. He stood his ground, but only until the demon was right above him, and long lethal claws unsheathed, slashing at him. Dean fell to the ground, covering his head. His skin was saved, but his shirt didn't fare nearly as well.
Each brother took his turn at eliminating a demon, until Sam had an idea.
What if we aim at the same time? he suggested.
Together, the same thought on both minds, the brothers aimed at both demons. For the tiniest of moments, there were no demons, and Dean was ready to wake up and get the hell out of there. The two demons reappeared in front of the brothers, giggling as children are wont to do, and were approaching the brothers too quickly.
One of the demons advanced on Dean, and he pulled out his knife and decapitated it. At the same time, Sam fired buck shot at the other demon. They waited a moment, and sure enough the demons reappeared. One grabbed Sam in a chokehold and lifted him into the air. Dean had the angle, so he shot at it. Sam fell to the ground and lay there for a moment.
Dean had to catch his breath. With the demons replicating at this rate, they'd sooner die of exhaustion before defeating these creatures.
Damn, those bastards are strong, came Sam's tired words. Dean, I'm exhausted. Just let them take me. You get out of here, this isn't your dream.
Can't do it, Sammy, Dean shot back. We gotta get back up and shoot them down again, We'll get it right.
When? Sam asked. When we're too tired to stand? Those things are gonna kill us!
Dean kept a cautious eye on the demons, to make sure they didn't ambush the mortal humans they were toying with.
Sammy, we've been doing this for how long? Dean asked rhetorically. There's bound to be a pissed-off demon or two. We can't show them defeat. Too easy that way. You gotta get up, man.
There was truth in Dean's words, Sam knew, and he forced himself to stand. Sam brought into his arsenal a broadsword. In one of his more memorable semesters, he'd taken a course in Japanese sword fighting, and even had his own katana from the class. And as Dean said, it was the belief you put behind the action.
Sam turned towards Dean, and slashed the demon advancing on him in two. Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed with his little brother. And then the demons were attacking again.
Do you feel it? Dean suddenly asked, lazily shooting his demon -- again.
Sam looked at Dean, but aimed his rifle at the other demon. What?
The evil. This place is saturated with it. I don't know why I didn't sense it before.
You still talk to ghosts, Dean?
Yeah.
How long you been dreamwalking?
Since right after your first dream.<
Shit.
Yeah. Dean was quiet a moment. They were still taking turns killing the demons, knowing this was designed to tire them out. The very thing that was happening to them. Wait, Dean's thought was hesitant, searching for something. Someone's here, he realized.
Dad?
Can't tell. All I know is it's a good aura.
Both brothers felt the heat, and stood back from a newcomer, wielding a flamethrower. They looked at each other, wondering why they hadn't thought of that. The demons shrieked as the flames licked them. The heat was searing, making the brothers sweat. The dreamscape was suddenly oppressive and unbearable.
Sam! Dean! came a voice. Use rapid-fire on them, while they're weak!
Dean changed his weapon to an Uzi, and fired constantly. Sam used his shotgun, and the rifle Dean had traded for the automatic weapon. All three concentrated on the demons, and sending them back to wherever it was they came from.
When the flames cleared, and the dust settled, the three of them stood looking at the pile of ashes. After a full minute went by with no new demons in the dreamscape, Dean knew, at last, they were done.
Sam and Dean looked at the third person, who was still wearing a welder's helmet.
You were right, Dean, the thoughts were focused on both Dean and Sam, to believe in the action you were taking, that it was the right one. And to never let it waiver. That was the key.
Setting down the now-cool flamethrower, both hands were free to remove the welder's helmet. Sam and Dean looked at each other.
Mom?! they both gasped at the same time.
Dean was the first to wake up. He was stiff from sitting in the chair. He looked to the bed to see Sam starting to wake. Dean looked at his mom, who had woken up just after Dean.
"Mom?" he asked softly. She sat on the edge of Sam's bed, and gently roused her younger son. Sam groggily sat up. He looked at Dean and smiled.
"Thanks," he whispered. He looked at his Dad, who looked back with a very relieved expression. John reached forward and patted each of his sons on a shoulder. Sam sat all the way up, and hugged his mom at the end of the bed.
"Mom," Sam breathed in relief.
"It's over," Mary said, stroking her son's hair and rocking him like she did when he was a baby. "It's finally over."
Returning to his bedroom, Dean felt a draft following him in the hallway. Only when he crawled back into bed, and pulled off his t-shirt, did he realize it was shredded.
~*~
One week later...
Sam felt something wet land on his cheek. He was lying in a bed... or was it? His eyes searched for the source of the wetness, and looked up. In fact, he could really only turn his head from side to side. A woman, hair splayed, contorted, pinned to the ceiling... Sam realized with horror he'd seen this before.
Sam turned his head to look one way. Bars. What the -- ? he raised a hand, and realized something was quite different about that hand. It was a little fist, no bigger than a baby's.
Sam woke, but not sputtering or gasping, as he'd done so many times in the past. He looked over at his desk. A glance at the clock there told him it was just about three in the morning. Snuggling back down under his covers, he was able to sleep the rest of the night through.
...and from somewhere in a dark corner of a dreamscape, came a little child's giggle...Grinning demons, smiling sideways
Laughing in my face;
Here within my troubled sleep,
There's such a lonely place.
Running fast but never moving,
I can't get away...
Strange but realistic objects
Making me their prey.
...
Then it's gone as fast as it came, evil dream;
Changing like the sun turn to rain it would seem..."
~*~
Supernatural Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2006 by Caren Franco
Dean, Sam, John, Mary Winchester and Missouri Moseley were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. Plot pieces from "Pilot," "Phantom Traveler," "Bloody Mary," and "Asylum." Abbreviated excerpt from "Asylum," episode 1.10, written by Richard Hatem ©2005. "Live for Tomorrow" from "Seventeen Days" by 3 Doors Down ©2005. "Dreammare" from "Very 'Eavy, Very 'Umble" by Uriah Heep ©1970.
seriously, the voices are quiet. BUT, i have noticed that ALL of my four fics are "sequel-able"!
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Title: Dreamscape
Author: Trystan
Rating: same as the show; some strong language
Category: AU (different from The Shadow out of Time)
Characters: the Winchester family
Spoilers: scenes from “Pilot,” “Phantom Traveler,” “Bloody Mary,” and “Asylum.”
Author’s Notes: AU. Thanks to diamondback158 for the beta-read, ideas and great suggestions; and acostilow for encouragement. Inspired by the First Wave episode, “Susperience” (2x04); title inspired by flowerii
Summary: Just your average family: mom, dad, two sons...and some good old-fashioned demon ass-whooping.
I’ll take the chance before the chance has gone
You never know when it’ll be your last...
And god only knows all the places I’ve been,
But I love this life that I’m living in.
I won’t look back to regret yesterday;
We’re not handed tomorrow,
so I’ll live for today.
~ 3 Doors Down, ©2005
Mary Winchester hummed and smiled as she took a steamy pot roast from the oven and placed it on a trivet to cool. John and the boys were due back from their business trip any moment now. Boys. She smiled to herself. They were taller than her now, Dean being the shorter of the two at 6'1". True, Dean was 27, but Sam was four years younger, and at least three inches taller.
Mary worried about the three of them every time they left the house, but one of them would always call when they were almost home. Tonight was no different, Mary thought, getting out the dishes to set the kitchen table. They'd lived in Lawrence, Kansas ever since Sam was a baby, and although there were rumors of various haunted places in the city, Mary wouldn't change it for the world. As long as the evil stays out there, Mary thought, offering a silent prayer that her husband and sons never brought their work home with them.
~*~
On this particular Friday night, less than a half an hour after Dean had called her, as Mary put the last covered dish on the table, she heard the front door open, and voices speaking excitedly in the foyer. There was some scuffling, as jackets were hung up, and weapons returned to the case in the hall.
The footfalls and voices of the three men followed them into the kitchen.
"Hey mom," Sam said, going over to Mary and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Dean had sat down, but when Sam was seated around the table next to him, Dean looked up and smiled. "Hey, Mom." Mary smiled at her eldest, but her eyes were only for John. He was clean-shaven, and embraced her in a bear hug, and kissed her passionately.
"Dinner's getting cold," she whispered against his cheek.
"No it's not, you just put it there," he smiled back at her. Mary and John took their places at the table, and a Winchester family dinner commenced.
~*~
There was a great deal of panic, Sam could tell that much from the jumbled thoughts in his head. What exactly was happening was hard to tell. They were on an airplane. Odd, since Dean hated to fly. But Sam didn't see Dean in the commotion. Sometimes, Sam thought he could see Dean in these surreal dreams. A figure stood at the back of the plane, and opened the airlock hatch. Wind whipping about him, and wreaking havoc on the passengers and the insides of the plane, the figure turned to face Sam.
Its eyes were solid black.
Sam gasped and sat up in his bed. He looked around at his room, and the sense of comfort it brought him. Since he was on the road with his father and brother most of the time, the little comforts of home were always reassuring. Although he was 23 and still living at home with his parents -- hell, Dean was 27 and still lived with Mom and Dad -- but it wasn't like he'd tried.
When Dean finished high school, he'd started working full-time with their Dad. When Sam finished high school, he applied to all the colleges that looked like they might have a course of study that appealed to him. He was accepted to the University of Kansas, right in Lawrence, and both parents agreed he could live on-campus. But in the time he was there, he hadn't found a major he was happy with. He'd tried history, archeology, biology, engineering, languages -- Mom and Dad had taught him and Dean Latin when they were kids -- but there never seemed to be a class in Paranormal Studies, Urban Legends 101 or Advanced Exorcising 301. Sam never graduated, and instead, withdrew before his senior year was over, moved back home, and joined the family business.
He knew his mom was not happy with that decision, as she had been Sam's biggest advocate. She would have rather seen her younger son graduating with a college degree, rather than joining the family business with his father and brother.
The dreams had started about five years ago, the summer before Sam moved into the dorms.
They were on a job, in New York City, when the first one woke Sam up sweating in the middle of the night. The flashes were vague, and he'd seen a woman, with blonde hair splayed out...on the ceiling, where some demon had her pinned. The woman looked so much like Mary, he had called his mom until she woke up and answered the phone, reassuring him he was dreaming.
He'd never told Dean or his dad about the dreams.
~*~
Dean Winchester had ambitions to be a great ball player. At least he did when he was a kid. As he got older, he read ghost stories, moreso to annoy Sammy (although Dean enjoyed the stories immensely), but wasn't that what big brothers were supposed to do?
When Dean was ten, he'd seen a story in the local paper about a house down the road from them that was supposed to be haunted. Dean had told his parents he was going out to play some ball, but instead he took his bat and went to that old, boarded-up house and stood outside, just looking at it. When nothing howled at him, and the shutters didn't fly open, Dean went inside.
Inside the musty old house, he found another little boy, crying. He missed his mom and sister, but he couldn't get out into the backyard to be with them. At first, Dean was confused at this, but the more he talked to the boy, he realized the house really was haunted -- by the spirit of the boy who only wanted his mom.
Dean guessed the boy to be about ten as well, but the ghost seemed much wiser. The spirit told Dean to find where the body was buried, salt and burn the bones, and then the spirit would be set free. Dean hated to have to do what he was asked, because he'd lose a friend. While he'd only been talking to the ghost for a few hours, when you're a kid, everyone is your best friend after only a short time.
Dean promised he would try his best, and when he went home that night, he told his parents over dinnertime.
"There's no such things as ghosts, Dean," his father had purposely lied, trying to talk his elder son off this path.
"John..." cautioned Mary.
"What? I'm only telling him -- "
"I know what I saw, Dad," Dean interrupted.
"Tell me exactly what you saw and heard," his father asked him.
Dean, surprised his father would entertain this childish notion, did. After a thoughtful moment, John got up, saying "I'll be right back" in a hushed tone.
Sam ate his chicken nuggets quietly, watching the entire exchange.
John was gone for less than a minute, and he returned with a battered notebook held closed with a leather strap. He undid the strap and carefully leafed though the pages. Dean leaned over to see, but could only make out odd shapes and drawings. Finally, John looked up at his older son.
"Your ghost friend was right. He's a 'wandering spirit,' and that's the only way they can truly be at rest," he told Dean.
"That's what I want to do. I want to help him," Dean said.
John closed his journal.
"Then that's what we'll do after dinner," John said, smiling.
~*~
John Winchester had always believed in the paranormal. So when his friend Missouri Moseley -- who advertised herself as a psychic, but was so much more -- had asked him to help her perform an exorcism, John gladly volunteered. He worked with Missouri, and freelanced in paranormal investigation, until that year Dean was ten. John had always kept a diary of all the spirits, ghosts and demons he'd encountered.
The single defining moment had been when he was in the Marines. He'd been to Vietnam, and his party was ambushed. The enemy had killed everyone, except -- miraculously -- for John, who'd taken a deep breath and dived into the marsh where they were encamped.
Under the murky water, as he fought for breath, a young woman shimmered and appeared before him. Wordlessly, she covered his mouth with hers and offered her breath to him. He began feeling light-headed, and the woman released him gently and pointed to the surface. John knew she was telling him the enemy was gone.
Before he returned to the surface however, the woman beckoned him close again, and this time, when her mouth met his, it was in a kiss, and words floated into his mind. He couldn't make sense of everything she said.
"John Winchester...not your time yet...blessed... Mary... sons... special." She broke the kiss, and was gone.
John returned to the surface to the gruesome sight of his company, but kept that underwater memory with him. After he'd returned, he met a lovely young woman in line -- of all places -- at the supermarket; he nearly collapsed. It was the woman from the marsh.
No, she was human. John fell in love with her. And her name was Mary.
So when young Dean wanted to help the boy in the old house at the end of the road, John knew the time had come. To teach his sons everything he knew.
"Why can't we have a normal family business?" Mary had asked, "selling furniture, or being the local -- I don't know -- mechanic or something? You're handy with cars," she'd tried to reason.
"Dean has my thirst for that sort of stuff," John said. "You've seen all he reads these days are those paperback horror novels. And he's ten, and can still see ghosts. Most kids stop seeing them younger than Sammy."
"Is there really that much strange stuff here in Lawrence?" Mary asked, concerned for her husband's safety.
John thought a moment. "Big enough town, really. Yeah, probably. I'm sure any business trips would only be daytrips, Mary," John smiled at her, and then kissed her.
John spent his time at the library, learning all he could about exorcisms, and warding and binding spells, and brought home whatever books he could without drawing too much attention to his subject matter. Dean greedily read all the books John borrowed or purchased from the used bookseller in the city.
When Sam was ten, he'd heard the same story about the haunted house from the kids at school. They always teased him about being chicken to go in there. But Sam -- remembering how brave Dean was at the same age -- took their challenge, and, shouldering his school backpack, confidently marched into the house.
The first thing Sam noticed was the house was quiet. There were no creaky stairs or rattling windows. The second thing he noticed was there was a great sense of peace inside. Sam had taken off his book bag and sat on the floor. He reveled in the sacred space the house had created that he'd almost forgotten the kids out on the front yard.
Picking up his bag again, he calmly walked outside again.
"What happened to you? You were in there a long time," one of the kids teased.
"That old house isn't haunted," he said, wondering if he should tell the kids the truth. In the end, he decided against it, figuring they'd call him weird for having a brother who talked to ghosts.
~*~
Dean woke at Sam's gasp. That first night Sam was away in the dorms, Dean had moved his bed on the wall that his room shared with Sam's. He'd be hard-pressed to admit it was because he missed Sam, so he told himself it was good to rearrange the furniture every once in a while?
Why hadn't he known Sammy was dreaming? he mentally kicked himself. Dean had known about the dreams since Sam woke that night in New York City. Sam would never have told Dean, and Dean wasn't one to press the issue. So Dean figured Sam didn't say anything because the youngest Winchester probably thought that no one would believe him. Or maybe that they would, and that might have been what Sam was afraid of.
So Dean taught himself to concentrate on Sam before falling asleep. At first, there was nothing but static, but gradually he reached out and touched thoughts. He knew they were Sammy's because they were filled with different facts that usually corresponded to what ever Sam was studying at the time.
One night, when Sam was in his second semester, it was Dean who sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. He reached under his pillow, and felt his hunting knife there, and was able to breathe again. But he couldn't shake the images of a smashed mirror, him and Sam bleeding from the eyes, each helping the other leave a dark antiques store.
It was a surreal dream, as though he watched himself and Sam as an outside observer. For the briefest of moments, Sam had lifted his head, aware there might have been another presence in the dream that was not him, the dream Dean; or the malicious spirit that Dean felt. But it was only for a moment. Dean wondered if Sam had even suspected what it was.
For the next several months, Sam had nightmares only once or twice a month, but Dean was relieved of that. While Dean could connect with the complex thoughts of the calculus equations in Sam's dreams -- not that Dean knew what he would even do with a calculus equation -- the intellectual dreams didn't usually wake him up. It was the series of pictures flashing, and the intense evil behind the emotion of whatever spirit was attacking Sam, that took its toll on Dean.
Fortunately for Dean, these occurred at most twice a month. But why did Sammy have these dreams now? They started right before Sam went to college. Was all of the University of Kansas haunted?
When Sam started his sophomore years, the nightmares came several times in the month, and one month there were three days in a row where both Winchester boys woke up gasping for breath at the same time, miles away from each other.
The worst was the flash Dean saw of the woman wearing white pinned to the ceiling by something that Dean was certain was Hell itself. The nightmare showed him -- for just an instant -- the woman's face. And that instant was burned into Dean's mind.
He woke in a cold sweat and automatically reached for his knife. Shaking with fear, he forced himself out of bed and padded down the hall to his parent's room. He'd glanced at his clock, which glowed 3:30 a.m. at him in red numbers. Quietly nudging the door open with his toes, he peered into the room. Both parents were sleeping, snuggled close together. Drawn by the memory of the vivid nightmare, Dean's eyes strayed to the ceiling. He sagged in relief against the bedroom door to see it was just a ceiling.
He didn't get back to sleep that night.
Dean threw himself into his work to take his mind off of Sam's nightmarish visions. Only that vision of his mom haunted him, and John and Mary became very worried. Dean was, after all, 23, living with his parents, hunting ghosts and spooks. John had spoken with him about taking some time off, but Dean would hear nothing of the sort. If there were people in trouble, Dean needed to help.
Mary had suggested seeing a doctor about his sleeping problem, and knew nothing of her younger son's dreams, knew nothing of Dean's connection with Sam through those dreams. Mary's concern was from a mother's love of her sons. Dean knew she wouldn't understand.
The nightmares came with the same frequency during the next two years. Dean had exhausted all of his father's books, the library's resources, and not even Missouri could provide an answer for why Sam was having these nightmares.
One night after he and Dad had returned home after a trying -- but successful -- business trip to quell a particularly violent poltergeist, John said good night to an obviously preoccupied-Dean. John had known there was something on his eldest son's mind. And John knew if his son was anything like he was, Dean wouldn't give it up until he solved the mystery.
Dean sat at the kitchen table into the early morning hours, looking at every demon, spirit, poltergeist, fiend, imp, gremlin, and even angel they'd ever tangled with. And there was a lot of material there. He was looking for a pattern. Why Sam?
Exhausted, at five in the morning, Dean stumbled upon the answer. Demons didn't need a reason. Evil never needed a reason to toy with you. Dean, Sam, and their father had been helping people who found themselves in paranormal and supernatural situations they needed help getting out of for 15 years. The Winchesters had been killing these bogeymen for a long time, and some of them were probably pretty pissed at them.
There were dream-demons toying with them: they'd started with Sam, and Dean walked right into the ambush. Damn them.
Solution found, Dean was too tired to care the books were strewn all over the kitchen table. It was five in the morning, he'd been up all damned night. He wearily ascended the stairs, slogged into his room, and literally crashed, fully dressed in his jeans and t-shirt, into his bed.
He saw Sam in an old, boarded-up building. A hospital of some sort. The musty smell meant they were in the basement. Dean saw himself facing an angry, shotgun-wielding Sam... who wasn't Sam. His presence was all wrong. There was something evil at work here. Dean saw Sam and his dream-self arguing, but there was no sound, only the hatred coming from the evil presence inhabiting Sam. It occurred to Dean if that old wives' tale was really true, that if you die in a dream, do you die in real life?
Sam pointed the shotgun at the dream Dean, and told him to step away from the door he was trying to uncover. Instinctively, Dean wanted to run into the dream and slap some sense into Sam. But he couldn't. Sam thought Dean didn't know about the dreams. Dean knew exactly what was happening, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
Sam looked up, wiped some blood from under his nose, and for just a moment, sensed another presence. But this benevolent feeling wasn't enough to distract the possessed younger Winchester. He turned back to Dean.
"Dean," he hissed. The dream Dean turned and looked into the rifle. Sam's voice was deadly calm. "Step back from the door." Dean stood up and faced his brother.
"Sam, put the gun down," Dean tried to reason with an insane brother.
"Is that an order?" Sam was smug.
"What are you gonna do, Sam? That gun's filled with rock salt. It's not gonna kill me," the dream Dean pointed out. The observer Dean could only watch in horror as the scene played out in Sam's dreamscape.
And then Sam did pull the trigger, the rock salt hit Dean in the center of his chest, and was knocked backwards and crashed through the wooden door.
Dean gasped and sat up in bed.
Across town, Sam sat up in his bed, sobbing softly.
Sam's only consolation was that he had known Dean had been in the dream with him. Dean knew about the dreams. But how long had he known?
That next day was when Sam withdrew from his classes at the university and moved back home. And the dreams stopped for a while.
~*~
When Saturday morning came, and the sun touched the horizon, it was as if all the memories the brothers had shared of their most recent hunt were erased. Breakfast was cheerful, with talk of what was planned for that day.
"Thought I'd email a few people from school," Sam said, around a bite of scrambled eggs.
John, scouring the news section of the morning paper, looked up. "Why would you want to do that? You haven't been there in a year."
"They're my friends. I'm just keeping in touch."
John raised his eyebrows. Sam understood the warning.
"No, they don't know what we do. They think I do computer networking or something."
"I need a nap," Dean mumbled, poking at his hash browns.
John looked thoughtfully at Dean, and nodded knowingly. Hunting the paranormal took a lot out of a man.
Mary looked over at him from her place at the table where she was reading her part of the morning paper and drinking a cup of coffee. It had been almost a year ago when Mary had found papers and notes on the kitchen table and chairs, that she'd remembered Dean pouring over. As she was straightening them, she sat down at the table and found herself intrigued by what her older son was researching. She never told her husband or sons that she'd saved a few of the pages, and still looked at them frequently.
"Still having that...sleeping problem?" she asked Dean diplomatically. Sam looked across the table at Dean, and their eyes met. It was in that one look the younger brother gave the older that told Dean that Sam knew. His brother knew about the dreams.
Dean moved his potatoes around some more. "I'm all right, Mom." He looked up at her then, and her expression told him his mother didn't believe him in the least. Funny that.
The afternoon found the brothers relaxing on the couch watching the University of Kansas Jayhawks beating the opponent of the week on the football field. Sam had to remind Dean many times throughout the game they were rooting for the team wearing crimson and blue.
"Ah, I could never get into this game anyway," Dean said, standing up. "Sorry, bro."
As Dean left the TV room, he put his hand reassuringly on Sam's shoulder. He rested it there for a moment, letting Sam know he would be there for him, awake or dreaming.
~*~
Dean awoke shortly after midnight to hear Sam moaning softly on the other side of the wall. This was a different kind of dream, Dean realized. Quietly getting out of bed, Dean padded across his room, out in the hall, and quietly opened Sam's door. Sam was twisting about on the bed, lost in whatever it was he was dreaming about.
Almost instantly, John and Mary were next to Dean, concern visible on their faces.
"What is it? What's going on?" Mary asked, her voice shaky.
"Something's got him, Mom. Some kind of dream demon," Dean explained, watching his brother turn his head away from something the others couldn't see. "Dad, when was the last time you hypnotized anyone?" he asked, recalling some entries in his father's journal about hypnosis.
"Not for a while, why?"
"I gotta go in there and get him out," Dean said. John and Mary exchanged glances, and looked at Dean.
"I know what I'm doing," he said looking at them carefully. Evil had crossed the Winchester threshold.
Dean entered the room, and took Sam's desk chair and put it next to his bed. John and Mary followed, also bringing in chairs. Dean sat in the desk chair, and faced his father, opposite him. Dean took a deep breath, and relaxed.
"If it looks like it's getting bad, Dad, you gotta bring us both out of it, okay?"
"I wish you'd let me do this, Dean."
Dean hesitated. Was now the time to tell them? Was it even his place to say? They were Sam's dreams, and Sam's dreamscape Dean was about to enter.
"I can do this, Dad. I have to."
John knew better than to argue, and began to lull his son to sleep. Mary sat near the desk, facing John. She memorized every word John spoke, and was carefully reciting them to herself.
~*~
Sam was fending off a humanoid demon that looked like a reject from a bad horror movie. It was when the demon began changing shape Sam knew he was dreaming. Or having a nightmare. The rational part of his mind was telling him it was only a dream, and that he'd wake up in his own bed in Lawrence. But something was keeping him here. He wasn't even in Kansas anymore. And the demon was as ugly as Toto was cute.
Remembering some of the dream-lore his father had taught him, Sam convinced himself his kicks were three times stronger than when he was awake, his punches were lethal. But the demon took everything Sam gave it, and kept coming for more.
A weapon, he thought. A shotgun, loaded with buck shot. The conjured shotgun appeared in his hand. He aimed and shot it at the demon.
The demon looked at the hole in its abdomen, and Sam watched in horror as the hole closed before his eyes. Shit. And then the demon charged him. Although Sam was ready for him, there was suddenly someone else there, felling the demon with a sweeping kick.
Dean? Sam asked. He seemed to be hearing it in his head, instead of aloud.
Sammy, Dean confirmed, also heard as if a thought.
Wha -- what the hell are you doing here? Sam was startled, he didn't even know what question to ask.
Thought you could use a little help.
Sam indicated the demon, only now there were two demons. Yeah, thanks, brother. And I mean that, Sam added at Dean's look.
To fight his demon, Dean conjured his hunting knife, and a double-barreled shotgun. One barrel had rock salt, the other had buckshot. One can dream, after all, right? Dean thought.
What was that? Sam asked, misunderstanding Dean's thought as part of a conversation.
Nothing, Dean directed towards Sam. Dean looked at the demon -- now it had leather skin and black bat-like wings -- through the sights on the shotgun, and an idea came to him. He pictured the demon blown apart, and with that thought, fired both barrels. The explosion rocked the grey-colored dreamscape, and the demon was blown to pieces.
Whoa, Dean, how the hell did you do that? Sam was visibly impressed.
Just thought about what I wanted to happen, Dean explained.
As Sam was about to aim his shotgun at the remaining demon, it replicated again. But this time, it was Sam who destroyed it. The demons kept replicating so there was always two of them.
This time, when the second one appeared, neither brother saw it, until Dean looked up. This one had red skin and black leathery wings, but its face was somewhat pleasing, if you liked that sort of color.
From its vantage point above, the demon flew directly at Dean. He stood his ground, but only until the demon was right above him, and long lethal claws unsheathed, slashing at him. Dean fell to the ground, covering his head. His skin was saved, but his shirt didn't fare nearly as well.
Each brother took his turn at eliminating a demon, until Sam had an idea.
What if we aim at the same time? he suggested.
Together, the same thought on both minds, the brothers aimed at both demons. For the tiniest of moments, there were no demons, and Dean was ready to wake up and get the hell out of there. The two demons reappeared in front of the brothers, giggling as children are wont to do, and were approaching the brothers too quickly.
One of the demons advanced on Dean, and he pulled out his knife and decapitated it. At the same time, Sam fired buck shot at the other demon. They waited a moment, and sure enough the demons reappeared. One grabbed Sam in a chokehold and lifted him into the air. Dean had the angle, so he shot at it. Sam fell to the ground and lay there for a moment.
Dean had to catch his breath. With the demons replicating at this rate, they'd sooner die of exhaustion before defeating these creatures.
Damn, those bastards are strong, came Sam's tired words. Dean, I'm exhausted. Just let them take me. You get out of here, this isn't your dream.
Can't do it, Sammy, Dean shot back. We gotta get back up and shoot them down again, We'll get it right.
When? Sam asked. When we're too tired to stand? Those things are gonna kill us!
Dean kept a cautious eye on the demons, to make sure they didn't ambush the mortal humans they were toying with.
Sammy, we've been doing this for how long? Dean asked rhetorically. There's bound to be a pissed-off demon or two. We can't show them defeat. Too easy that way. You gotta get up, man.
There was truth in Dean's words, Sam knew, and he forced himself to stand. Sam brought into his arsenal a broadsword. In one of his more memorable semesters, he'd taken a course in Japanese sword fighting, and even had his own katana from the class. And as Dean said, it was the belief you put behind the action.
Sam turned towards Dean, and slashed the demon advancing on him in two. Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed with his little brother. And then the demons were attacking again.
Do you feel it? Dean suddenly asked, lazily shooting his demon -- again.
Sam looked at Dean, but aimed his rifle at the other demon. What?
The evil. This place is saturated with it. I don't know why I didn't sense it before.
You still talk to ghosts, Dean?
Yeah.
How long you been dreamwalking?
Since right after your first dream.<
Shit.
Yeah. Dean was quiet a moment. They were still taking turns killing the demons, knowing this was designed to tire them out. The very thing that was happening to them. Wait, Dean's thought was hesitant, searching for something. Someone's here, he realized.
Dad?
Can't tell. All I know is it's a good aura.
Both brothers felt the heat, and stood back from a newcomer, wielding a flamethrower. They looked at each other, wondering why they hadn't thought of that. The demons shrieked as the flames licked them. The heat was searing, making the brothers sweat. The dreamscape was suddenly oppressive and unbearable.
Sam! Dean! came a voice. Use rapid-fire on them, while they're weak!
Dean changed his weapon to an Uzi, and fired constantly. Sam used his shotgun, and the rifle Dean had traded for the automatic weapon. All three concentrated on the demons, and sending them back to wherever it was they came from.
When the flames cleared, and the dust settled, the three of them stood looking at the pile of ashes. After a full minute went by with no new demons in the dreamscape, Dean knew, at last, they were done.
Sam and Dean looked at the third person, who was still wearing a welder's helmet.
You were right, Dean, the thoughts were focused on both Dean and Sam, to believe in the action you were taking, that it was the right one. And to never let it waiver. That was the key.
Setting down the now-cool flamethrower, both hands were free to remove the welder's helmet. Sam and Dean looked at each other.
Mom?! they both gasped at the same time.
Dean was the first to wake up. He was stiff from sitting in the chair. He looked to the bed to see Sam starting to wake. Dean looked at his mom, who had woken up just after Dean.
"Mom?" he asked softly. She sat on the edge of Sam's bed, and gently roused her younger son. Sam groggily sat up. He looked at Dean and smiled.
"Thanks," he whispered. He looked at his Dad, who looked back with a very relieved expression. John reached forward and patted each of his sons on a shoulder. Sam sat all the way up, and hugged his mom at the end of the bed.
"Mom," Sam breathed in relief.
"It's over," Mary said, stroking her son's hair and rocking him like she did when he was a baby. "It's finally over."
Returning to his bedroom, Dean felt a draft following him in the hallway. Only when he crawled back into bed, and pulled off his t-shirt, did he realize it was shredded.
~*~
One week later...
Sam felt something wet land on his cheek. He was lying in a bed... or was it? His eyes searched for the source of the wetness, and looked up. In fact, he could really only turn his head from side to side. A woman, hair splayed, contorted, pinned to the ceiling... Sam realized with horror he'd seen this before.
Sam turned his head to look one way. Bars. What the -- ? he raised a hand, and realized something was quite different about that hand. It was a little fist, no bigger than a baby's.
Sam woke, but not sputtering or gasping, as he'd done so many times in the past. He looked over at his desk. A glance at the clock there told him it was just about three in the morning. Snuggling back down under his covers, he was able to sleep the rest of the night through.
...and from somewhere in a dark corner of a dreamscape, came a little child's giggle...Grinning demons, smiling sideways
Laughing in my face;
Here within my troubled sleep,
There's such a lonely place.
Running fast but never moving,
I can't get away...
Strange but realistic objects
Making me their prey.
...
Then it's gone as fast as it came, evil dream;
Changing like the sun turn to rain it would seem..."
~*~
Supernatural Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2006 by Caren Franco
Dean, Sam, John, Mary Winchester and Missouri Moseley were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. Plot pieces from "Pilot," "Phantom Traveler," "Bloody Mary," and "Asylum." Abbreviated excerpt from "Asylum," episode 1.10, written by Richard Hatem ©2005. "Live for Tomorrow" from "Seventeen Days" by 3 Doors Down ©2005. "Dreammare" from "Very 'Eavy, Very 'Umble" by Uriah Heep ©1970.
seriously, the voices are quiet. BUT, i have noticed that ALL of my four fics are "sequel-able"!
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