Post by Dean Winchester on Jan 26, 2016 14:48:40 GMT -5
ooc; SEASON FIVE. EPISODE SIXTEEN.
Dean felt the extra presence in the room. Even though he and Sam had rolled into their current motel room and fallen asleep only a few hours ago, and he'd been out cold, his senses were always on high alert. So, still half asleep, one hand sort of subtly slid under his pillow for the protection of his usually placed gun. Only to find his fingers grasping at cold cotton with no weapon. "Looking for this" came a snide voice, followed by the unmistakable click of a clip being ejected from a gun. Dean opened his eyes, slowly rolling over onto his back to get a look at the room at large. Sam was sitting up on his own bed, hands in the air, gun pointed at him by a black mask wearing stranger. A second black mask wearing stranger was pointing a second gun in Dean's direction after having tossed Dean's now empty gun aside. Dean half-yawned, not appearing fazed by the situation they found themselves in. "Morning."
"Shut up" snarled the one pointing a gun at him. "Hands where I can see them." Finishing the yawn, Dean lifted his hands, then straightened up even further into a seated position, squinting at the mask wearers. Something about the one who'd spoken's voice was familiar. "Wait a minute. Is that you, Roy?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It is, isn’t it. Which makes you Walt." He inclined his head at the other one. "Hiya Walt." There was a pause and then Roy and Walt lifted their masks to prove Dean right. "It don't matter" Walt replied indifferently. Dean studied their aggressors with a dry smile. "Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?" Ignoring Dean, Walt addressed Sam with venom in his tone. "You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?" Sam paled. "Who told you that??" Walt ignored the question. "We ain’t the only hunters after you. We just happened to find you first." He pumped his shotgun. "See you in the next life." "Hear me out" Sam rushed to beg, hands still up. "I can explain, okay? Please." Dean's heart was in his throat throughout this little exchange. And then, just when it seemed Walt might agree and let Sam talk, he simply lifted the gun a smidge higher, aiming for Sam's heart, and fired twice. Feeling physically ill, his heart erupting in pain and shock, Dean took an automatic step away from the bed towards his brother but Roy shifted to get in front of him, gesturing with the gun for Dean to sit back down. "Stand the hell down" he ordered. Dean lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, eyes still on Sam's motionless body, completely numb, blood frozen solid in their veins.
"Shoot 'im" came Walt's command from across the room. Roy hesitated. "Killin’ Sam was right but Dean…" "He made us and we just snuffed his brother, you idiot" Walt reminded him sourly. "You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester’s on your ass, ‘cause I don’t. Shoot 'im." Dean slowly turned to face Roy, his expression murderous. "Go ahead, Roy, do it" he allowed in a low, challenging voice. "But I’m going warn you, when I come back...I’m going to be pissed." He shifted on the bed so he and Roy were looking straight at each other and opened his arms wide, giving him a clear shot to the heart. "C’mon! Let’s get this show on the road." Roy continued hesitating. Fed up with waiting, Walt rolled his eyes, stepped in front of Roy and fired.
Everything went black.
~~~
Dean opened his eyes. He was sitting in the driver's seat of the Impala on a long black, dark road. Getting out of the car and stretching, he heard a noise back by the trunk and went to investigate. "Come on Dean, let's go!" Sam...a teenage version of Sam...was holding a box of firecrackers, grinning broadly. "Sammy?" Dean blinked a few times curiously as Sam rushed off into the open field they were parked next to. "Weird dream." Dean shrugged and tailed after his brother. "Got your lighter" Sam called over one shoulder, placing the box on the ground, preparing it. Dean pat down his jacket pockets, feeling something hard in one of them and reaching in to grab it. The lighter he surfaced with was an old favorite of his that he'd been missing for years which he immediately voiced aloud. "Whoa, I haven't seen this in years." "Fire 'em up." Sam backed away from the box as Dean bent down to light two of the fireworks in quick succession. They shot from the box, lighting up the night sky with a blaze of colors and noise. "I remember this" Dean exclaimed suddenly. "It’s Fourth of July, 1996." John had been off on a hunt and the boys, bored, had driven to the outskirts of the town they'd been crashing in, found this field and, as he recalled, ended up setting off so many fireworks they burned a good portion of the field to rubble. But they'd had a blast doing it. As was evident by Sam's next beaming comment of "Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean. This is great." He flung his scrawny arms around Dean's waist, enveloping him in a deep hug. Dean hadn't realized how much he missed Sam being this way. Young, carefree, innocent. Before all the demon blood and apocalypse crap. Before everything started spiraling downward. It actually gave him a literal heartache to think about.
After he'd managed to squeeze out a quick, pained smile, Sam let go of him and raced back towards the box of remaining fireworks with Dean's lighter, setting them off all at once. "Fire in the hole" he shouted eagerly, spinning around with his arms wide beneath the glowing firework-strewn sky. Dean observed with a fond smile. Suddenly, the loud fireworks banging became much louder. Violent. And with each new addition, Dean flashed back to the image of a gun in his face. An image that felt very familiar, though he couldn't pinpoint why. And when the series of flashbacks had subsided, the fireworks and Sam are both gone. Dean furrowed his brow. "Sam??" The empty field stared back at him.
Returning to the Impala, Dean rested his clasped hands on its roof, thinking. "Dean." A sudden familiar, yet scratchy and staticy, voice spoke his name. It seemed to be coming from inside the car so Dean leaned down to peer through the open driver side window. "Cas?" "Yeah, it's me." The voice was coming from the radio. Dean sighed, opened the car door and got back inside. "You gotta stop poking around in my dreams" he informed the angel patiently. "I need some me time." "Listen to me very closely" Castiel explained intensely. "This is not a dream." Dean looked left and right, taking in his surroundings. "Then what is it?" Castiel's staticy voice was somber. "Deep down you already know." Dean flashed back upon the images of the gun again, seeing it more clearly this time. He exhaled slowly. "I'm dead."
"Condolences" came Castiel's relatively insincere confirmation of this fact. Dean looked around again, slower this time. "...where am I?" Castiel did not mince words or waste time. "Heaven." "Heaven" Dean echoed blankly, having a hard time processing this. "How I get to Heaven??" "Please, listen" Castiel begged, ignoring the question. "This spell, this connection, it’s difficult to maintain." "Wait." Dean had a sudden horrible lurch of the stomach, ignoring Castiel right back. "If I’m in heaven, then where’s Sam?" "What do you see" Castiel wanted to know. "What do you mean, 'what do I see'?" Dean gave the radio a puzzled look. "Some people see a tunnel or a river" Castiel explained hastily with great impatience. "What do you see?" "Nothing." Dean stared through the windshield at the long stretch of dark pavement. "I mean, my dash" he amended. "I’m in my car. I’m on a road." "Alright. A road. For you it’s a road. Follow it, Dean. You’ll find Sam." The radio began crackling, breaking up. "Follow the road" Castiel finished before the radio went dead completely.
Fastening his seat belt, Dean started up the Impala's engine and followed the road as instructed. He'd been driving for about ten minutes when a large cream colored Victorian house rose out of the darkness just up ahead. Cutting the engine, Dean climbed the stairs, edged open the door and followed voices to the living room where a long rectangular table was set up extravagantly for thanksgiving. Sam was sitting between a young girl flashing a braces-filled smile at him adoringly and a middle-aged man in a tie asking him questions about where he was from and what his father did for a living. Sam was answering each question with eager politeness, sounding much like a dork actually. "Wow." Dean leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused at the sight.
"Just wow."
Dean felt the extra presence in the room. Even though he and Sam had rolled into their current motel room and fallen asleep only a few hours ago, and he'd been out cold, his senses were always on high alert. So, still half asleep, one hand sort of subtly slid under his pillow for the protection of his usually placed gun. Only to find his fingers grasping at cold cotton with no weapon. "Looking for this" came a snide voice, followed by the unmistakable click of a clip being ejected from a gun. Dean opened his eyes, slowly rolling over onto his back to get a look at the room at large. Sam was sitting up on his own bed, hands in the air, gun pointed at him by a black mask wearing stranger. A second black mask wearing stranger was pointing a second gun in Dean's direction after having tossed Dean's now empty gun aside. Dean half-yawned, not appearing fazed by the situation they found themselves in. "Morning."
"Shut up" snarled the one pointing a gun at him. "Hands where I can see them." Finishing the yawn, Dean lifted his hands, then straightened up even further into a seated position, squinting at the mask wearers. Something about the one who'd spoken's voice was familiar. "Wait a minute. Is that you, Roy?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It is, isn’t it. Which makes you Walt." He inclined his head at the other one. "Hiya Walt." There was a pause and then Roy and Walt lifted their masks to prove Dean right. "It don't matter" Walt replied indifferently. Dean studied their aggressors with a dry smile. "Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?" Ignoring Dean, Walt addressed Sam with venom in his tone. "You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?" Sam paled. "Who told you that??" Walt ignored the question. "We ain’t the only hunters after you. We just happened to find you first." He pumped his shotgun. "See you in the next life." "Hear me out" Sam rushed to beg, hands still up. "I can explain, okay? Please." Dean's heart was in his throat throughout this little exchange. And then, just when it seemed Walt might agree and let Sam talk, he simply lifted the gun a smidge higher, aiming for Sam's heart, and fired twice. Feeling physically ill, his heart erupting in pain and shock, Dean took an automatic step away from the bed towards his brother but Roy shifted to get in front of him, gesturing with the gun for Dean to sit back down. "Stand the hell down" he ordered. Dean lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, eyes still on Sam's motionless body, completely numb, blood frozen solid in their veins.
"Shoot 'im" came Walt's command from across the room. Roy hesitated. "Killin’ Sam was right but Dean…" "He made us and we just snuffed his brother, you idiot" Walt reminded him sourly. "You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester’s on your ass, ‘cause I don’t. Shoot 'im." Dean slowly turned to face Roy, his expression murderous. "Go ahead, Roy, do it" he allowed in a low, challenging voice. "But I’m going warn you, when I come back...I’m going to be pissed." He shifted on the bed so he and Roy were looking straight at each other and opened his arms wide, giving him a clear shot to the heart. "C’mon! Let’s get this show on the road." Roy continued hesitating. Fed up with waiting, Walt rolled his eyes, stepped in front of Roy and fired.
Everything went black.
~~~
Dean opened his eyes. He was sitting in the driver's seat of the Impala on a long black, dark road. Getting out of the car and stretching, he heard a noise back by the trunk and went to investigate. "Come on Dean, let's go!" Sam...a teenage version of Sam...was holding a box of firecrackers, grinning broadly. "Sammy?" Dean blinked a few times curiously as Sam rushed off into the open field they were parked next to. "Weird dream." Dean shrugged and tailed after his brother. "Got your lighter" Sam called over one shoulder, placing the box on the ground, preparing it. Dean pat down his jacket pockets, feeling something hard in one of them and reaching in to grab it. The lighter he surfaced with was an old favorite of his that he'd been missing for years which he immediately voiced aloud. "Whoa, I haven't seen this in years." "Fire 'em up." Sam backed away from the box as Dean bent down to light two of the fireworks in quick succession. They shot from the box, lighting up the night sky with a blaze of colors and noise. "I remember this" Dean exclaimed suddenly. "It’s Fourth of July, 1996." John had been off on a hunt and the boys, bored, had driven to the outskirts of the town they'd been crashing in, found this field and, as he recalled, ended up setting off so many fireworks they burned a good portion of the field to rubble. But they'd had a blast doing it. As was evident by Sam's next beaming comment of "Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks, Dean. This is great." He flung his scrawny arms around Dean's waist, enveloping him in a deep hug. Dean hadn't realized how much he missed Sam being this way. Young, carefree, innocent. Before all the demon blood and apocalypse crap. Before everything started spiraling downward. It actually gave him a literal heartache to think about.
After he'd managed to squeeze out a quick, pained smile, Sam let go of him and raced back towards the box of remaining fireworks with Dean's lighter, setting them off all at once. "Fire in the hole" he shouted eagerly, spinning around with his arms wide beneath the glowing firework-strewn sky. Dean observed with a fond smile. Suddenly, the loud fireworks banging became much louder. Violent. And with each new addition, Dean flashed back to the image of a gun in his face. An image that felt very familiar, though he couldn't pinpoint why. And when the series of flashbacks had subsided, the fireworks and Sam are both gone. Dean furrowed his brow. "Sam??" The empty field stared back at him.
Returning to the Impala, Dean rested his clasped hands on its roof, thinking. "Dean." A sudden familiar, yet scratchy and staticy, voice spoke his name. It seemed to be coming from inside the car so Dean leaned down to peer through the open driver side window. "Cas?" "Yeah, it's me." The voice was coming from the radio. Dean sighed, opened the car door and got back inside. "You gotta stop poking around in my dreams" he informed the angel patiently. "I need some me time." "Listen to me very closely" Castiel explained intensely. "This is not a dream." Dean looked left and right, taking in his surroundings. "Then what is it?" Castiel's staticy voice was somber. "Deep down you already know." Dean flashed back upon the images of the gun again, seeing it more clearly this time. He exhaled slowly. "I'm dead."
"Condolences" came Castiel's relatively insincere confirmation of this fact. Dean looked around again, slower this time. "...where am I?" Castiel did not mince words or waste time. "Heaven." "Heaven" Dean echoed blankly, having a hard time processing this. "How I get to Heaven??" "Please, listen" Castiel begged, ignoring the question. "This spell, this connection, it’s difficult to maintain." "Wait." Dean had a sudden horrible lurch of the stomach, ignoring Castiel right back. "If I’m in heaven, then where’s Sam?" "What do you see" Castiel wanted to know. "What do you mean, 'what do I see'?" Dean gave the radio a puzzled look. "Some people see a tunnel or a river" Castiel explained hastily with great impatience. "What do you see?" "Nothing." Dean stared through the windshield at the long stretch of dark pavement. "I mean, my dash" he amended. "I’m in my car. I’m on a road." "Alright. A road. For you it’s a road. Follow it, Dean. You’ll find Sam." The radio began crackling, breaking up. "Follow the road" Castiel finished before the radio went dead completely.
Fastening his seat belt, Dean started up the Impala's engine and followed the road as instructed. He'd been driving for about ten minutes when a large cream colored Victorian house rose out of the darkness just up ahead. Cutting the engine, Dean climbed the stairs, edged open the door and followed voices to the living room where a long rectangular table was set up extravagantly for thanksgiving. Sam was sitting between a young girl flashing a braces-filled smile at him adoringly and a middle-aged man in a tie asking him questions about where he was from and what his father did for a living. Sam was answering each question with eager politeness, sounding much like a dork actually. "Wow." Dean leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed, amused at the sight.
"Just wow."
