All's Right With the World, 2/?
Mar. 2nd, 2007 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaletianTitle: All’s Right with the World, 2/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters, Pairings: Dean, Sam
Summary/Notes: Dean Winchester’s life is pretty close to perfect. He has a loving family, a nice house, a great career. He had to sell the Impala when his daughter was born, but hey, you can’t have everything. But what he can’t work out is why he is having freaky dreams about hunting ghosts and crap like that with his little brother.
It happens again three days later. Dean’s been good to his word, and driven to see Sam, and they’re just out in the yard, barbecuing their lunch, with Jess, Sam’s girlfriend, reading some chicklit crap under the tree. Everything’s cool. Everything’s normal.
“Dean, you gotta come with me!” Dean looks at Sam, perplexed.
“Come where?”
“Now, Dean!” There’s something pulling at his arm, pulling hard and it won’t let go, and everything’s dark and fuzzy and all can Dean is feel Sam pulling him along, and then Sam’s voice is shouting.
“Dean! What’s wrong, man?” And Sam looks pretty freaked, which isn’t that surprising, because Dean’s just pushed him away so that he nearly fried himself on the grill.
Sam gives Dean a beer, and Dean tells Sam about the recent weirdness, and they both laugh at the idea of being demon hunters, because they would have *loved* that as kids, instead of their boring middle-class existence in the middle of nowhere. And Sam glosses over the whole thing, but Dean can see that underneath the laughing and the cracks at Dean’s cooking, Sam’s worried. And Dean’s worried too, because he’s a doctor and he knows that this – whatever *this* is – is not normal.
He thinks maybe if he concentrates hard enough, it will stop. If he focuses on real life, the weirdness will just disappear down the back of his mind and never bother him again, like that ten bucks that falls down the back of your sofa and you never see again. And then Dean wishes he hadn’t picked that simile, because only that morning he had been retrieving Amy’s favourite plastic duck, and had come across the ten bucks he had lost the week before. It had been right there the whole time.
But he tries, anyway. Concentrates on his wife and his child and his job and his perfect life. And everything’s fine. He helps kids at the hospital, and laughs and looks kinda sheepish one of the nurses says he’s got the makings of the best paediatrician she’s ever known. He plays with Amy when he has the time, and kisses Kate at night. He even manages not to think too much about the Impala. He visits his parents, and cries uncle when Mary whoops his ass at Scrabble. Medical jargon is forbidden. He says that’s cheating, but he won’t argue with his mother. He hangs out in the garage with his father, and they fix the engine of some wreck John rescued from the scrap yard.
Everything’s fine, and Dean relaxes. He’s on call, and someone pages him from the ER. A kid’s been in a fire, and they want a paediatric consult. He goes down, and he’s helping with the kid – the little girl – and all of a sudden his arm’s on fire – actually on fire, he swears it, and it hurts so bad he thinks for a minute he might pass out, and he tries not to panic, but shit that hurts, and he can see the marks blossoming on his forearm and – and he’s fine. Except that pretty much everyone in the ER is staring at him like he’s an escapee from the psychiatric ward, and Dean wonders if they’re right because there’s not a scratch on him.
He changes in the locker room, and he’s staring at himself in the mirror when Jack, the attending, comes in. He’s going to have a Talk, Dean recognises the look from when Claire-from-Ohio was coking herself up every morning. And Dean knows this is important, knows that his career rests on convincing Jack that he’s not going psycho, but he can’t concentrate. All he can see is scars that aren’t there, that have never been there. There’s no reason for there to be a scar just there, across his chest, but he knows, somewhere, that it should be there. A mark on his shoulder. A jagged cut still visible on his belly. They’re not there; there’s nothing there; it’s just crazy talk.
“You OK, Dean?” Jack asks, and Dean wants to laugh, and say yeah, it’s just… just… and there’s nothing coming, because what the hell excuse is there for thinking your arm is on fire, except maybe some kind of stupid prank, and Jack’s not going to fall for that. And for a moment Dean’s tempted to try, to see how far he can bullshit his way out of it, how much he can make Jack buy, and then he’s a little shocked, because he’s not that guy. He’s never been that guy. So he tells the truth, and it feels strange and right at the same time.
“I don’t think so.”
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters, Pairings: Dean, Sam
Summary/Notes: Dean Winchester’s life is pretty close to perfect. He has a loving family, a nice house, a great career. He had to sell the Impala when his daughter was born, but hey, you can’t have everything. But what he can’t work out is why he is having freaky dreams about hunting ghosts and crap like that with his little brother.
It happens again three days later. Dean’s been good to his word, and driven to see Sam, and they’re just out in the yard, barbecuing their lunch, with Jess, Sam’s girlfriend, reading some chicklit crap under the tree. Everything’s cool. Everything’s normal.
“Dean, you gotta come with me!” Dean looks at Sam, perplexed.
“Come where?”
“Now, Dean!” There’s something pulling at his arm, pulling hard and it won’t let go, and everything’s dark and fuzzy and all can Dean is feel Sam pulling him along, and then Sam’s voice is shouting.
“Dean! What’s wrong, man?” And Sam looks pretty freaked, which isn’t that surprising, because Dean’s just pushed him away so that he nearly fried himself on the grill.
Sam gives Dean a beer, and Dean tells Sam about the recent weirdness, and they both laugh at the idea of being demon hunters, because they would have *loved* that as kids, instead of their boring middle-class existence in the middle of nowhere. And Sam glosses over the whole thing, but Dean can see that underneath the laughing and the cracks at Dean’s cooking, Sam’s worried. And Dean’s worried too, because he’s a doctor and he knows that this – whatever *this* is – is not normal.
He thinks maybe if he concentrates hard enough, it will stop. If he focuses on real life, the weirdness will just disappear down the back of his mind and never bother him again, like that ten bucks that falls down the back of your sofa and you never see again. And then Dean wishes he hadn’t picked that simile, because only that morning he had been retrieving Amy’s favourite plastic duck, and had come across the ten bucks he had lost the week before. It had been right there the whole time.
But he tries, anyway. Concentrates on his wife and his child and his job and his perfect life. And everything’s fine. He helps kids at the hospital, and laughs and looks kinda sheepish one of the nurses says he’s got the makings of the best paediatrician she’s ever known. He plays with Amy when he has the time, and kisses Kate at night. He even manages not to think too much about the Impala. He visits his parents, and cries uncle when Mary whoops his ass at Scrabble. Medical jargon is forbidden. He says that’s cheating, but he won’t argue with his mother. He hangs out in the garage with his father, and they fix the engine of some wreck John rescued from the scrap yard.
Everything’s fine, and Dean relaxes. He’s on call, and someone pages him from the ER. A kid’s been in a fire, and they want a paediatric consult. He goes down, and he’s helping with the kid – the little girl – and all of a sudden his arm’s on fire – actually on fire, he swears it, and it hurts so bad he thinks for a minute he might pass out, and he tries not to panic, but shit that hurts, and he can see the marks blossoming on his forearm and – and he’s fine. Except that pretty much everyone in the ER is staring at him like he’s an escapee from the psychiatric ward, and Dean wonders if they’re right because there’s not a scratch on him.
He changes in the locker room, and he’s staring at himself in the mirror when Jack, the attending, comes in. He’s going to have a Talk, Dean recognises the look from when Claire-from-Ohio was coking herself up every morning. And Dean knows this is important, knows that his career rests on convincing Jack that he’s not going psycho, but he can’t concentrate. All he can see is scars that aren’t there, that have never been there. There’s no reason for there to be a scar just there, across his chest, but he knows, somewhere, that it should be there. A mark on his shoulder. A jagged cut still visible on his belly. They’re not there; there’s nothing there; it’s just crazy talk.
“You OK, Dean?” Jack asks, and Dean wants to laugh, and say yeah, it’s just… just… and there’s nothing coming, because what the hell excuse is there for thinking your arm is on fire, except maybe some kind of stupid prank, and Jack’s not going to fall for that. And for a moment Dean’s tempted to try, to see how far he can bullshit his way out of it, how much he can make Jack buy, and then he’s a little shocked, because he’s not that guy. He’s never been that guy. So he tells the truth, and it feels strange and right at the same time.
“I don’t think so.”
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no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 03:42 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing. Definitely following this now :o)
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 03:46 pm (UTC)except in another world he IS. this is still really interesting, and i'm also curious why dean is having the visions and no one else is, and why now.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-02 07:22 pm (UTC)