Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable. I have no money either so there. Hah.
Set after Devil's trap so there are some spoilers for the first series. Dean's been in a coma for a year, John's left to "End it" and Sam has been sticking close to Dean. What's Dean missed in his sleepy state and what's that tiny little secret that he's managed to keep from the rest of the Winchester family?
He knew that he was dreaming. There was that weird floating feeling that was just not normal.
He stood in the middle of a park, a normal park that could be found anywhere over the world. Kids swinging, shouting, laughing. Sun ridiculously bright and something casting shadows over where he stood and watched.
He turned around at the sound of a familiar voice calling him. The kid was about eight, staring at the happy scene in longing. The floppy hair and already slightly gangly limbs were almost as familiar as his own face.
Little Sammy, staring at the kids ahead of him, clearly wanting to join in. likely to whine about it whenever they were alone in whatever dump was this weeks home. And, behind his little brother he saw a younger version of himself. There was no longing, only a hunted suspicious look on his face. A wary look that softened ever so slightly when he glanced at his brother.
But they stood at the edge, always at the edge.
The sound of metal splitting, screaming. The flash of sirens and the unnatural light that they cast. Too much blood coming from the front of his beloved car and unmoving silhouettes that should be moving but remained utterly still.
He was back at that park again, the sound around him dimming as he lost himself in the longing look cast at the playing kids.
He turned around at the sound of that particular voice.
Blond hair that was ruffled in the wind, huge hazel eyes that took in everything with curiosity and excitement. A face that was so young, and so painfully innocent.
"James?" he whispered unsure what to believe, knowing for sure that this had to be a dream.
The boy stared up at him with delight. "Your ok"
Curious Dean pulled a face at his boy "What do you mean"
"Dad you've been unreachable for a year"
Dean starred down at the kid speechless. This was just a dream right?
The Park was gone and once again there was a flicker of pain. A beeping that would not leave and such an unbearable ache. He was thirsty, lips wouldn't move, his throat was like paper.
Something had to be holding him down, preventing movement.
God it hurt.
He didn't want this to hurt.
The skies began to darken.
He looked about for James, desperate to find his boy.
"James" he yelled searching in the darkening light.
"Sam?" he whispered.
The sirens were there whirring and complaining.
There was blood dripping down the wall in front of him.
Not a wall. The back of a chair.
A dark head of hair that was above him and the skin that was coated in blood. He couldn't move. He had to move. God damn it his brother was lying far too still. Had to know. But he couldn't move. Couldn't even tilt his head to see if his dad was as unresponsive. Couldn't form the words that might shake them awake.
He switched his gaze to the window on Sammy's side. If he could have he would have jumped in shock. There stood a man, clearly possessed if the eyes where anything to go on. Staring. Just standing and watching.
Watching the Winchesters die.
Not all of them though. That was the secret that he kept buried deep. Not all the Winchesters. The last of that line was far from here, probably tucked up in bed.
Probably cursing his absent father.
At least he was alive to do so.
The sirens faded to a beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
His eyelids were so heavy.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
His body was screaming with dull agony. Fresh waves that throbbed all the way form head to toe.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.
Sam. He tried so desperately to form the words, to know if his brother was there. He had to tell him. To tell him that he l worded him.
To tell him that he needed to leave now, because if he was dying then someone needed to keep an eye on his boy.
Someone that he could count on.
And that might keep Sam from their fathers path, that destructive vengeful I don't give a crap about anything else path.
So he had to wake up, cause if he didn't then his brother would fall and his son could follow.
He had to wake up.
But god it hurt.
That bitch of a demon was gonna pay for this.
If he could…sit up.
Quicken his heart beat.
Flick a finger.
There he twitched an eye lid. Flickered his nose . Swallowed.
He managed to part his lips, to take in a deep breath that hurt his raw throat.
Swallowed again. Made some noise that sounded like a gasp and a sigh rolled into one. Managed to tilt his head to the side.
Holy crap that hurt, burning fire shot up his neck and felt so utterly wrong that for a second he was deluded into believing that he had just broken his own neck.
He nearly sunk under that. Nearly buried himself from that fire. But he'd done this once before. Done it years ago. Ignored what that fire had done, buried part of himself.
And he'd survived.
He'd done it once, he would do it again
He could do it.
He damn well would.
Fury roared through him. If that little bitch actually succeeded in killing his father, his brother, hunting out those kids that were psychic wonders. Found about his boy…
The idea of that killed him. That was what would do him in. if he failed. He was Dean Winchester. Nothing hurt him. He was superman, smart ass and Don Juan rolled into one.
The hell if this would slow him down. More to the point Dean Winchester simply did not loose. Be it at pool or a fight.
There that was his voice. A little cracked true but hell it was his voice. At this point he'd take whatever he could get.
There was a fury of movement from all directions, none that he could make out but he knew that it was happening beyond his heavy lids and dark world.
He knew that something was happening
"Dean? Can you hear me? Squeeze my finger"
For craps sakes, he'd just spoken out loud what more did the kid want, a flippin' foghorn?
Ok squeezing the finger.
Dimly he could hear the words come on come on. Sam was chanting like a cheerleader, he grinned mentally at that image.
Where was Dad?
"D…da…" he grimaced. This was irritating. Beyond words. The thought nearly made him giggle again.
"Dad?…he's fine Dean, he's alive"
…and not here? Huh, couldn't stick around. Pressing issues of some sort.
"Hey son I couldn't stay, had a demon to hunt."
Hell wasn't that basically his line the last time he'd seen James.
Minus the demon thing. The kid really didn't need to know that one.
Sorry? He managed to get that out but not squeeze a finger. Oh this was fantastic. Body wasn't even listening to the mind.
Possession? Was this how it felt like? Was this what Dad had felt like? When he had….
Squeeze that goddamned finger. The voice sounded familiar. Dad in marine mode.
Squeeze that finger now.
He became more aware, could feel the pressure against his palm and the inside of his fingers. Knew it was the hand that he was so familiar with. The same hand he'd grasped when the kid had taken unsteady steps, knocked himself out during training. Screamed with those nightmares.
Like Sammy had done when he'd been a few weeks old. All eyes that kid. Laid in Dean's lap with a pillow to support the precious weight and the blond haired angel hovering around watching her boys to make sure both were all right.
Baby Sammy had squeezed his finger. Hard. Dean remembered being so excited his brother would be strong, be able to play soon. Toss the ball around with him and daddy.
The baby was replaced with another but one that was no less beloved. Solemn expression, considering of the father that had been gone those fist five months. A small smile forming, the squeeze of the finger.
It had melted his heart, the way James had simply settled into his arms, relaxed. Looked so utterly safe and content.
It was all that he'd wanted to give him.
It was what he would give him.
"I wish I had that kind of innocence"
He'd failed Sam, was still failing Sam and he was stepping down that road with James.
Squeeze that hand.
The muscles slowly responded, tightened around the warmth that rested in his palm.
He could squeeze a hand. The idea that it was such a cause for delight was pathetic. He couldn't give a damn. He could squeeze his little brother's finger.
"Dean open your eyes"
Jesus how demanding was he? Open your eyes. Ridiculously simple yet equally ridiculously hard. There was an itchy feeling on his eyes, a feeling like they'd been super glued together. There was a flicker of white. Hospital. Great, that explained the beeping. He hated the beeping. The last time he'd hear that it had been measuring his failing heart.
Though setting off electricity whilst standing in mini pool of water had not been the smartest idea.
Someone else had died for that recklessness, that stupidity.
Someone had died for him and he was not letting that go to waste. Someone had died for him and yet another person had not been given that chance to live, reaper or no.
Open your goddamn eyes.