SN Fic: The Journal

Mar 07, 2006 18:30

x-posted. lots
Title: The Journal
Author: Trystan
Rating: NC-17, Adult
Category: Canon, pre-series; season 1
Characters: Dean, OFC; Sam, (John)
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Spoilers: Skin, Route 666
Author’s Notes: Per Eric Kripke from the Paley Festival (March 2006), in the Pilot, Sam is in the beginning of his junior year, therefore having started Stanford in the fall of 2003. Beta-read by acostilow and lady_aurora.
Short Disclaimer: only the OFC is mine. Sam and Dean are not, although goddess knows i wish Dean was. (full credits are at the end)
Summary: At the scene of a “mysterious” fire, Dean receives an unexpected journey to his past through a very revealing journal - and Dean knows this fire wasn’t just another “mystery.”

Make the most of your life
Don’t keep the pages clean
~ Uriah Heep, ©1980







Dean and Sam Winchester watched as firefighters quenched the blaze consuming the top floor of the apartment house across the street. It had been three years since Dean had first been here, but right now, he wasn’t ready to tell Sam that. The Winchester motto was to never tell anyone what they did - who would believe they were hunting demons, ghosts and supernatural evil? These were the creatures of nightmares and urban legends.

And they were real. A demon had killed their mother when Dean was four; Sam just an infant. John, their father, had taught them how to hunt when they were still little, ever searching for the demon that had killed Mary Winchester. And just after this past Halloween, the same demon had killed Sam’s girlfriend Jessica the same way. What was the connection here? Sam glanced over at Dean, who was leaning against the driver’s door of his Impala. He was the first to break the silence between the brothers.

“Dean, I talked to one of the firemen. What he told me - it sounded like what happened to Jess and Mom.”

Dean flashed a glance at his younger brother, but continued to watch the blaze as it was doused with powerful surges of water.

“Dean?” Sam tried again. “Want to tell me about it?”

“Not really,” Dean muttered.

A firefighter, clad in full gear, approached the brothers. He held a metal box.

“Which one of you is Dean?” he asked in a no-nonsense tone.

“I am,” Dean said, turned to look at the man. The visor on his helmet was up; his face was weathered and covered with soot. He opened the box, and handed Dean a parcel from inside. It was wrapped in some sort of cloth, with a label which read:

“If the fire consumes all, deliver this package to Dean. He will, undoubtedly, be in the crowd that the fire brings. Fare thee well. ~ J.”

It was an uncanny choice of wording, and sent shivers down Dean’s spine. Slowly unwrapping the package, Dean almost dropped the book that was wrapped in the grimy cloth. It was a journal, and Dean recognized the symbol on the front. The same protection symbol he wore around his neck.

He quickly rewrapped the book, knowing who the journal’s author was, and the reasons for the tag on the wrapper. Suddenly, Dean felt sick to his stomach. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“You all right, there, Dean?” Sam asked, concern etching his younger brow. Dean picked his head up, looked at the journal he was clutching, and then looked up at Sam. Not trusting his voice he nodded. He cleared his throat.

“You, uh, go see what else they can tell you. I’m gonna... um, sit here in the car for a few minutes,” Dean said, standing up and opening the car door. Sam nodded, knowing that his brother apparently had some different demons to deal with than they were used to hunting. He went off in search of the firefighter in charge.

Dean slid behind the wheel of the car, and propped the book up on it. She had believed, he reflected, opening the front cover. The publisher had imprinted a “This book belongs to” on the inside front cover, and she had childishly written “the future Jen Winchester” in her neat handwriting. He smiled, but it was bittersweet.

They hadn’t really “broken up,” but as Dean’s “job” required extensive traveling, they’d drifted apart. Dean had actually promised he’d come back for her someday, but in the meantime, they could keep in touch, and he had kept her number in his cell phone. From time to time, they’d send each other text messages, but even over the last two years, they too diminished. By the time Dean had gone to Stanford to tell Sam about their father’s disappearance, he and Jen had even stopped texting.

He’d met Jen three years ago, just after Sam had left for college. But after Jen, he’d thought he’d be able to trust someone if they loved each other enough, despite the family rule. When Cassie had scoffed at him, he swore he’d never open up to anyone, ever again.

But to Jen, and in a time that seemed like someone else’s life, he could tell anything. He’d seen her writing in this very book, in the very apartment that was now smoke and ash. He traced her handwritten name on the title page, drew an unsteady breath, and turned to the first page.



2003, 4 July
Dear Diary,

Got this journal over at that new bookstore on the corner. I love the symbol on the front, some sort of protective symbol, but it doesn’t say what country or what culture. That’s odd. But now that I have this thing, I might actually write in it regularly. Yeah, right.

Can I just say, I hate working at the diner? My job sucks, but I need this job. We were busy early in the day, but towards nightfall, the pace slackened a little. Around closing time, three guys came in and sat in one of the booths all the way in the corner.

Jackson - Ted Jackson is my boss - made me go over and see if they wanted anything. I was working the counter that night, like I always do. Sheesh. So I went over to them - I could tell they were engrossed in something important - and the oldest of the three waved me off. But one of the younger ones ordered a cup of coffee, and to just bring the cream and sugar on the side. I have no idea why I even remember that.

The three guys sat in the both a long time. We’d closed and locked up, but the rule is, if there’s still customers past closing time, we have to let them finish. Only the guy who’d ordered the coffee had ordered a refill. The other two seemed to just sit and glare at each other.

Fortunately, it was Jackson who was the one who’d told them they’d been there well past the time we’d closed, and that they had to leave. When they left, I could have sworn the one who’d ordered the coffee smiled at me. I pretty much melted at his smile.

And I got to see some of the fireworks that night too.



30 October
Dear Diary,

Oh. My. God! That guy from over the summer - the one who’d ordered the coffee and smiled at me? - he came back in the diner tonight! I excused myself to hide in the bathroom to compose myself, but I knew Jackson would get suspicious. And they were at one of my tables tonight! He was there with the older man, who I think was his father.

I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the diner was small enough, it was inevitable. The younger one was Dean, and the older one - John - was his father. They were arguing about something, but it was actually a quiet argument, the kind you have when you know you could be overheard? I did catch a few words, like “demon” and “legend,” though, and that got my curiosity up.

Granted, I’m only 20, and I didn’t go to college or anything, but growing up in a small town, you see things, hear rumors, and tell lots of stories. When I was a kid, I loved to tell ghost stories to my friends. I never believed they were true, until one time when we were all in 9th grade, when we’d read the story of Bloody Mary. Maria, who was just as skeptical as me, invited us all over for a sleepover on a Friday night. We were only 14, what did we know? On a dare, Maria chanted Bloody Mary’s name three times into the bathroom mirror. Nothing happened that night, and the next day - Saturday - we all hugged and giggled, and went home.

On Monday at school, we’d learned that Maria had died over the weekend. They’d told us it was some freak aneurysm or something, but me and everyone else who had been over just that weekend suspected otherwise. Oh wow, that’s the first time in the past six years I’d even thought about Maria.

While all my other friends - all three of them, I’d always joked, I never had many friends - had gone to college in big cities and rarely came home to even visit, I started working right after high school. I lived with just Mom, as Dad died when I was little. I was only six, but I still remember him clearly. He was a truck driver, and I remember Mom holding me and crying when the policeman had told us his truck had collided with a drunk driver. I don’t remember much after that.

But tonight, as I watched Dean with his father, I could tell they were arguing over something important, something they were both missing. I’d remembered when they were there over the summer, there was another young man with them, probably Dean’s brother. One of the things we - well, I guess you could call Beth my “friend from work” - liked to do was to “read” the customers, and try to guess who they were, why they were at the diner, what their story was.

Beth thought they were hit men, on the run from a botched job. I thought Dean and John were easy to read. They were searching for something, but I didn’t know what. Something that had disrupted their lives. I thought back to the younger guy with them, and (here I flipped back to the entry from July), the father and the younger one just sat and stared at each other. I’m pretty good with ages, and over the summer, the younger one looked to be about college age. My guess was the younger one went off to school without his father’s blessing.

It was Dean who came to the register to settle the bill for dinner, and he handed me a credit card. I looked at the hard-to-pronounce last name on the card, the first name that was not Dean, and thought back to what Beth had suggested. I looked up into Dean’s hazel eyes, and almost in a trance, scanned the fraudulent card through anyway.

“You have to work tomorrow night?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I’d replied back, but I’d remembered my schedule without looking at it. I have to look at my schedule for the next day when I clock out, otherwise I just forget it. But I remembered Halloween’s schedule, and that I needed to get candy for the kids. Mom would be at work. Waitressing seems to run in the family, but Mom worked at one of those all-night places across town. She wouldn’t be home until breakfast on the 1st. “But I’m only working until 5,” I added hastily.

“Can I pick you up for a party tomorrow night?” He smiled at me, and I nodded. My mouth had gone dry, and I had to swallow a few times before I could trust myself to speak.

“Costume party?” I asked. Well, that was silly. Of course it was.

“Yeah, but you don’t need a costume. You look fine just as you are.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. You want to meet me here, or my place?”

“I’m not gonna have to go through your parents or anything, am I?”

“Nah. Dad died 14 years ago, and Mom starts work at 11, so she’ll be sleeping by the you come by.” I watched his eyebrows raise when I told him about Mom. I knew he wanted to say something. But a look came over his face, and all he did say was,

“I’m sorry about your dad. My mom died 18 years ago. Pretty crappy.” He took the receipt and started to go back to the table, but then came back and gave me the receipt, with the back facing up.

“I’ll need your address. I’ll stop by about 7?”

My mouth dry again, I nodded, and wrote down my address for him. When I was done, and I watched him go back to the table, I saw his father shaking his head at him, disapprovingly. I wondered what that was all about, but I forgot all about it and Beth and I squealed like high school freshmen, excited about a first date.



31 October, morning
Dear Diary,

Just a quick entry: I’m going as a ghost. Not any ghost… ever hear that story of a guy who picks up a hitchhiker and takes her home, only to have her father tell him that his daughter died, like 20 years ago? I’m going as the girl. It is Halloween after all.

Dean seems like the kind of guy not to wear a costume. That’ll be fine by me. Last night, Beth hugged me when we left work, and reminded me she had her two days off the 31st and the 1st, and I could tell her all about it on the 2nd. That I will. I can’t explain my attraction to Dean, and I have no idea why he was attracted to me.

Oh well, time for work.



5 November, morning
Dear Diary,

It’s been a couple of busy days. Oh boy, I have a lot to catch up on. I’m off from work today and tomorrow, and that’s a good thing. Dean’s been here just about every night since Halloween. He wasn’t really amused at my costume at first, but I think he was all right with it by the end of the party. And Dean? He was Nigel from Spinal Tap! Ok, so he didn’t have the hair, but he had the guitar, and he could play too!

Actually, Dean’s here right now, still sleeping. I haven’t the heart to wake him up, he looks so peaceful. I’m laying on my stomach, propped up on a pillow stuffed underneath me. There’s a space between the pillow and the headboard. After a while it gets uncomfortable, but I can look slightly to the side and see Dean.

Ok, the party. It was at some guy’s house, that Dean didn’t even know, and even though there was alcohol, Dean was cool that I was only 20. Turns out, he’s only like three years older than me. There were lots of kids there, most went to school at the local college, and since we didn’t know anyone, ended up leaving early, and going back to my place.

Sometime after I turned 18, Mom had said I could stop hiding my boyfriends from her, she knew they slept over. So I wasn’t worried about if Dean was still there in the morning when she came home. We staggered to my front door, laughing about something silly from the party. When I opened the door and pushed it into the room, Dean leaned against the door jamb behind me. I held the screen door open in silent invitation, and he followed me in.

It was awkward at first, like we weren’t sure what to do. But I’d been on dates before, and I was certain Dean had been too, just not with each other. Finally, he just pulled me to him and kissed me. His lips were soft, as I’d suspected they would be, and I kissed him passionately back.

We undressed on the way to the bedroom, and I tried to remember I’d have to pick up the clothes before we actually went to sleep. Mom thought that was kinda rude, leaving dirty laundry as a trail to the bedroom. But with Dean kissing me, all rational thought went right out of my head.

Shedding whatever clothes that we happened to still be wearing, except for a necklace he was wearing but I couldn’t tell what it was, he pulled me down on my bed on top of him. His hands roamed and caressed me everywhere - and I mean everywhere - and I straddled him, and was pleasantly shocked he’d guided me right where he could easily enter me, and when he did - oh, I swear, I nearly came right then, and then practically swooned, which I’d never done before.

We made love slowly, and it was almost like torture for me - I like the fast-paced, body-slamming hot sex most of the time, but in this case, I made an exception. I could feel energy winding up inside me, coiling tighter. Dean pulled me to him, kissed me, and with a low growl, rolled us over together.

His hard, pounding thrusts pushed me into the bed, but I didn’t care at that point. That coiled energy finally snapped, and I screamed his name over and over. I think I came first, but I don’t think that really matters anyway. After we caught our breath, we curled up together, my back pressed against his front - spooning, I’ve heard people call it. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and put the other arm up under his head. I sleep like that sometimes.

I turned to face him, and kissed him again. I felt him press against me, another tremor passed though my body, wanting more.

“Can I interest you in staying the night?” I asked.

He mumbled something, and then rolled away from me, but a moment later he returned, and was holding his open phone, and entering a text message.

“Sure, I can stay. If you want me to,” he added, and kissed my hair.

“Well that was a smart-ass comment,” I said.

He closed his phone. “You asked a stupid question.” And he pushed himself up, leaned over me, and gave me another kiss.

That was the night of the party. As I’m writing this just now, I looked up, and saw his hazel gaze watching me write. Guess he’d woken up while was writing this.

I’m finishing this entry after something very interesting happened. He silently reached his hand out, as if to ask if he could see the journal. I picked up my pen, and he picked the notebook up from the bed. He didn’t read it, but rather put his finger on the page where I was just writing, and carefully closed the book. He looked at the front cover for a moment, and then opened the book again, and gave it back.

He showed me something - just a moment ago, and I have no idea why I hadn’t noticed it over the past few days. I should have. He wears an amulet on a chain around his neck. (Come to think of it, I had noticed he wears it, but I just never noticed what it was, and I didn’t do the girl thing and ask. And when he was on top when we’d made love, the amulet was against his back, so it wouldn’t hit me.)

The picture on the front of my journal is the same as his amulet.



5 November, afternoon
Dear Diary,

We had another awesome morning, making love again. But just now, Dean got an important phone call from his dad, and had to go. He promised he’d be back later.

Anyway, mom came home the morning after the party, and met Dean for the first time, while Dean was wearing a t-shirt and his boxers and drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I was just wearing my nightshirt. Mom looked right at Dean, and then told me that on no uncertain terms that I shouldn’t let this one go.

I laughed, but Dean didn’t look amused. He just shook his head, and turned back to his coffee. Mom headed off to bed then. I’d contemplated telling Dean he could stay at the house while I was working, but that might have been a little weird - I was working the dinner to closing shift, and Mom went in again at 11 that night.

Dean saved me from my thoughts when he asked me what time did I have to be at work, because he had some work to do for his dad that afternoon. I sighed in relief. I was curious about what he did, but I didn’t ask him. Not then, anyway, cause he got this mischievous look on his face, and a glint in his eyes.

He led me back to my bedroom, and we made love again, but this time was certainly a first for me - I certainly didn’t want to be screaming so my mother would hear. Instead, I think I shredded his back with my fingernails.

As we lay there facing each other, still entwined in the afterglow, I found myself talking about growing up with just Mom, and before I knew it, I found myself telling him about Maria back in high school. When I was finished the story, he had gone really still, and was quiet, watching me, and stroked my cheek. He got this weird, faraway look on his face, and was strangely silent for several more minutes. Finally, he took a deep breath, and told me about his mom and how she died.

Laying there, in the warm bed, my head resting on his warm chest, I was suddenly chilled. My heart ached for him, and I really wished there was something I could say. I did say “I’m sorry,” but somehow, it just seemed wimpy.

That entire shift at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dean and our time together so far, and that he was coming by the house after work again. I was pleasantly surprised that I managed to get all my orders right that night, and that Jackson didn’t yell at me at all.

When I pulled up my driveway that night, and saw Dean leaning against the Impala, waiting for me, my heart soared, my body throbbed for him, and I was horny. I was glad Mom was working the overnight shift this week.

Not even making it to the bedroom, we got as far as the living room, and we pulled off our clothes, and furiously and frantically fucked - yes, fucked - hard, fast and furious - like bunnies - on the couch, the floor; against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist. Our bodies pulsed and clashed and slammed, until I thought the house would actually fall down around us. We did wander back to the bedroom eventually, made love this time, and fell asleep in each others arms. My last thought that night before I drifted off to sleep was that I was very lucky to have met Dean.

He’s back... I’ll write more later.



5/6 November
Dear Diary,

Wow, that was intense. But more later. It’s like 2 in the morning, and I’d promised myself I’d write the rest of the last few days. The morning of the 2nd, I awoke to Dean talking softly on his cell phone. He told the person on the other end “I’ll see you later,” closed his phone, and kissed me gently.

“I have to go, my dad and I have a job today.”

I sat up and started to say something, but he silenced me with another kiss. “We’ll talk when you’re done work tonight. I’ll be waiting for you,” he said. He got out of bed and dressed quickly. I watched him dress, and then he kissed me again, and left. I heard the car start up, and pull out of the driveway. I sighed, stretched liked a contented cat, and went back to sleep.

True to my word, I told Beth everything that had happened that day on our break. My shift went quickly, knowing I’d see Dean afterwards. I’m thinking Jackson is wondering what’s happened to me, because he was quite civil to me tonight too.

And true to his word. Dean was again waiting for me. But his shirt was torn and bloody, as was his face, like he’d been in a fight with something with claws. Dean saw the look on my face, and smiled.

“You should have seen the other guy,” he said casually. I smiled. He may have taken a beating but his humor certainly didn’t.

“Come on inside and let’s get you cleaned up.”

In the bathroom, he sat on the closed toilet so I could see and clean the scratches that looked worse than they really were.

“So what did this?” I asked casually. But I’d been re-reading some of the things in this journal, and remembering what he’d told me about his mom, and his reaction to Maria’s story. I had an idea what his “job” was, but I think I wanted to hear it from him.

“Big dog, nasty. Not friendly at all,” Dean started. He looked at me. “Lots of dogs?” I looked at him. He sighed. “Demon this time,” he sighed. “Had knives for fingernails, and had to wrangle it out from under some kid’s bed...” He looked up at me, and saw my “yeah, right” look. “Ok, it was in the kid’s closet,” he admitted with another sigh.

He stilled my hand dabbing a cut at his temple with his, and looked me in the eyes. His green eyes were serious.

“How long have you known?” he asked me.

“Actually I just put it all together tonight. From lots of little things.” I didn’t know if I wanted to tell him about that game Beth and I had played that night, so I stopped there.

“Yeah, me and dad, for the last few months. Sammy was with us too, but then he went away to college, so it’s been hard for me and dad. Sammy hunted with us for a long time, it’s hard to be a two-man team now.”

“Sam’s your brother?” I asked. Dumb question, but Dean just answered it, as if he were somewhere else.

“Younger by four years,” he said. “Dad taught us how to hunt when we were kids. Figured we could help him find the thing that killed Mom.” I was silent. Dean seemed to be on “talk” mode, which I knew didn’t happen all that much. “Sammy was ok with it at first, and then just a few years ago, he started talking about going away to college, to be a lawyer or something. Dad had told him if he was going to go, to just go. And this year he finally did.”

So I was right, remembering what I’d thought about Dean and his dad, and what I’d told Beth. (Flipping back a few pages and quoting here: “They were searching for something, but I didn’t know what. Something that had disrupted their lives. I thought back to the younger guy with them, and the father and the younger one just sat and stared at each other. I’m pretty good with ages, and over the summer, the younger one looked to be about college age. My guess was the younger one went off to school without his father’s blessing”)

But I didn’t say any of that to Dean. That was a strange night: we didn’t make love at all. We just fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Yesterday morning, Dean got a call - from his dad, I’m sure - and had to leave while it was still dark outside. He woke me up to tell me he was leaving, and that he’d be back again when I was done work. I groaned and mumbled something about always doing what his dad told him to do, and the next thing I’d heard was the door slamming shut.

Realizing that was probably not what I wanted Dean to hear before he went to another job, I pulled on one of the flannel shirts I’d snagged from him the other day over my night shirt, stuffed my feet in to slippers, and ran out the door after him. He had just slammed the car door, and was about to turn on the car. I ran over to the window, and he put it down.

“What?” he’d demanded.

“Look, I’m sorry about what I said, I was half-asleep - ” I started.

“Ok, apology accepted, but Dad needs me to meet him now.” He started to roll up the window.

“I know I’ve only know you less that a week, but can’t you tell your Dad you have some where else you want to be?”

“He knows.”

That hadn’t occurred to me.

“I’m sorry,” I started again.

“Ok,” he said again, started the car, put up the window, and backed out of the driveway. I didn’t see him that night after work. I stayed up for a long time, staring at the ceiling, but I had to have fallen asleep.

At some point, I’d rolled over on my side, and rolled into something warm. My eyes snapped open, and then I promptly shut them again, cause the sunlight streaming though my windows was just way to bright at that moment for me. And I’d realized the “warm” that I’d rolled into was Dean. And he was naked. I think that was the only time in my life I squealed.

He kissed me, and then said, “I’m sorry about yesterday morning too. That was dumb of me. But yeah, Dad says jump, I pretty much ask ‘how high.’ But you’re off today, right?” At my nod, he continued. “So, I told Dad to call me if it was an emergency, and I left the phone out on your kitchen table. I thought maybe we could start the morning off properly?” he asked, trailing his fingertips down my jaw and neck. I couldn’t breathe properly for a moment.

And not only did we start the morning off properly, we started the afternoon the same way, and last night too. Oh wow, it was really only this morning he showed me the front of my journal is the same as his charm.

It’s late, and I must get to bed - we have a date tomorrow. Today. Whenever!



8 November
Dear Diary,

Bastard.



10 November
Dear Diary,

Six days we spent together, six awesome, amazing days. And we’d spent all of the 5th (which I wrote about a few pages back) and the 6th together, and actually went on a real date to the movies! Some slasher horror flick, which happen to be my favorite kind of movies. The bloodier the better. And I lost track how many times… (Nevermind. I can’t write that now anyway.)

When I left for work the afternoon of the 7th, Dean told me he’d meet me after work at my place again, as he had for most of the previous nights. When I got home, there was no Dean, no Impala. I stayed up waiting for him to show until my mother got home at 8 a.m.

Then I cried myself to sleep until I had to go to work that day. Which explains my previous entry.

I haven’t seen him these last two days. Bastard.



21 November
Dear Diary,

Got a text from the bastard.

Him and his dad are tracking something huge, which is why he had to leave like he did. He says he’s just checking in, like we’re old friends, and we kissed goodbye and said “see you later.”



22 November
Dear Diary,

Another text.

At least he apologized this time, and said when he’s back in town, he’ll stop by the diner.

Yeah, sure.



2005, 3 November
Dear Diary,

Holy shit, it’s been a while, and I’m crying so hard as I read over the past entries, and I know it’s all related. It has to be. My cousin Jess just died in a fire in her dorm at Stanford. And I know I didn’t write the details about how Dean’s mother died, and even though it’s been two years, I still remember it exactly. Oh god, it’s just how Jess died.

I’m crying, I’ll try to write more later.



2006, 9 March
Dear Diary,

Would you believe I read an article that said Dean Winchester was killed in St. Louis, after a string of homicides? I don’t, not for an instant.

Huh, I never did write more about Jess.

Haven’t heard from Dean since that text back in November of … oh crap, I just flipped back, and that was 2003! How sad is this: I still have his number in my phone, along with the text messages he sent. Never deleted them all this time.

Ok, I just sat here and cried for a full minute. I called his cell phone, and the way he answered, I know that he still had my number in his phone too. All I wanted was to hear his voice. I didn’t even say hello, I just closed my phone after I heard his voice.

And then I got real childish, and turned off my phone so I wouldn’t hear him call me back.

Damn it, Dean Winchester. I still love you.



The sound of the passenger door opening brought Dean out of his revelry. He looked at the book, and he realized he was at the end of the journal. He blinked, looked up, and saw Sam sliding into the passenger seat.

Sam looked at Dean, and then at book he’d just closed. He watched his brother wrap the book in the oilcloth, and place his hand on the cover almost reverently. Dean swallowed, and looked up at Sam. He knew his younger brother had something to tell him.

“Fire chief says only the corner apartment was damaged. There was someone inside, a woman, Jen - ” But Dean cut him off.

“Yeah, I know, Sammy.” He indicated the journal on the steering wheel. “I knew her,” he said. Dean reached around to the back seat and pulled his bag forward. He carefully put the journal in the bag, and stowed it on the floor next to Sam’s feet.

“You ready?” Dean asked his brother.

“You wanna talk about it?” Sam asked softly.

“Not particularly,” Dean said, starting the car. He looked over at Sam. “Well, maybe,” he amended. “Someday.”

Sam shrugged and turned to look out the window at the blackened building, but he’d sworn he’d seen a look on Dean’s face - the look of someone who’d been crying.“Strange how laughter looks like crying with no sound
Raindrops taste like tears without the pain.”

***
Supernatural Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2006 by Caren Franco
Only Jen Moore, Beth; and Ted Jackson are original. Beta-read by Lady Aurora and Athena; a few lines written by Athena. Dean and Sam Winchester, Jessica Lee Moore, and Cassie Robinson were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. Nigel Tufnel, from “This is Spinal Tap,” written by Rob Reiner, Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer. Directed by Rob Reiner ©1984. “It Ain’t Easy” from “Conquest” by Uriah Heep ©1980. “Another Rainy Night” from “Empire” by Queensryche ©1990. Dates are referenced from http://winchester-journals.net/timeline.php

i done. don't hurt me too bad. :)
-

pre-series, supernatural

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