Author Notes ~ I realize I haven't updated anything since Spring Break, but in my defense, I did kinda warn that, that would happen. Updates will most likely resume during my Summer Vacation. ;D This is just a little something I've been writing since I first saw Season 2 Episode 1 'In my time of dying'. While watching I thought, 'Why didn't Dean try to move anything else?' Because I knew I would've. So hence, this was born. I don't know how long it'll be, I do know it will be at least two chapters so... Enjoy? :D
Warnings ~ I'm rating this 'M' just in case. Be prepared for anything, my fellow fic readers. o_o
Summary ~ 2.01 AU - In my time of dying - Dean does more than just break a glass.
P.S. ~ Um, this particular fic isn't Slash (At least I don't think so) But I am working on a Michael/Dean... :3 As ofknow it is my pride and joy because I'm hoping it will be my first good one-shot. (And first good Smut and nothing but, kinda a PWP but with a bit more emotion. x3 )
They were arguing again. They're voices raised, practically yelling, and of all the places, of all the times. Dean could hardly believe his ears. Did they even care that he was lying helpless a few rooms down? That he may not ever wake up? That there was something in the hospital out to get him? That he was standing right there!
It frustrated him more than anything.
"You know what? You care more about killing this demon then you do your own son!"
'C'mon guys, don't do this.' Not now, not when he needed them to be strong. He was scarred. He was defenseless. He needed them.
"Do not tell me how I feel! I am doing this for Dean!"
"How? How is revenge going to help him? You're not thinking about anybody but yourself! It's the same selfish obsession!"
'Please don't do this!' he wasn't just defenseless and scarred… He was alone. He could see that now. Sammy and dad… they were too engulfed in their own arguments to even notice his presence. He knew they could if they only tried. Please try harder! I can't handle this by myself!
"Oh that's funny, I thought this was your obsession too. This demon, it killed your mother, it killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be part of this hunt! Now if you killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened!"
"It was possessing you, it would have killed you too!"
"Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now!"
'Shut up, both of you! Stop it already!' He could have just left the room entirely, but he wanted the illusion of being near them; fill the empty void that seemed to be getting bigger and bigger by the second. His fear and panic was growing steadily along with their voices, he just wanted it to stop. For them to stop.
"Go to Hell…"
"You know what, I should have never have taken you along in the first place. I knew it was a mistake!"
That was it, he had, had it with the both of them, he had it with the fear, the panic, the emptiness. The hole in his gut quickly filled with rage. Among his mixed emotions he felt tiredness as well power; a strange combination, but Dean didn't even give it a second thought. His body was nothing but action, his mind focused on furry.
Sweeping his arm across the hospital tray, Dean flung a glass of water toward the adjacent wall. It shattered loudly, startling the yelling men, causing them to look where the broken glass fell and where a puddle quickly formed.
The sight might have been comical (Sam and John's mouths hanging open, shock plastered on their faces) if Dean didn't know he was wearing the same expression.
A witty comment came to mind, but he was too distracted to even care at the moment.
He had just moved something.
If he could do it again, maybe he could get the message through to the two bickering half-wits that he was there, that he was listening; that he needed their help.
As his father and younger brother eyed each other in both startled curiosity and shock, Dean set to work to find something else to move.
A pen.
Dad must have been writing earlier, a pen rested on his bed side table.
Maybe he could… pick it up?
Reaching out for it, he was disappointed to find it slipped right through his fingers. Again, he felt a rush of emotions run wild through him:
He was disappointed that even after just finding a way to get a message to his dad and brother, the chance had slipped away.
He was scarred because it meant he was still very alone with whatever was killing people in the hospital.
He was furious at the hopelessness of the situation.
And the emptiness had returned, along with the fatigue.
…But then, so did the feeling of power. Pure, humming something just vibrating beneath his skin.
He looked over at his brother, who was fixing to leave while giving his father a cold glare, the former returning it without a second thought.
What? A glass goes flying and no one even comments on the strangeness of it? Not even a sliver of hope it could be me?
The anger out ways everything now and the power skyrockets; curious and tempted, Dean out paces his brother to the door. Grabbing the knob, he uses all he's got to slam the thing shut.
And to his surprise, it actually works. He looks up at his brother and father expectantly. If they don't take the hint now, then they obviously have worse head trauma then what he was first led to believe.
To his relief, they get the point.
"Dad…" Sam mumbles, looking toward his father as if he had all the answers. He usually did, but not this time. "D- Dean! Dean, is that you?" Sam frantically looks around the room, as if the door shutting suddenly meant he could make a physical appearance.
Sadly he couldn't, and Dean didn't want to waste any of the power he felt at the moment on something so futile.
It's his dad who speaks next, gruff and somewhat stupefied. "Dean, son, if you can hear me… Can you make a sign? Tell us that you're here?"
At the words, Dean is over joy. He's not entirely sure what it is, seeing as Sammy had just done the same thing, but his father recognizing his presence, even if it was too blunt to be ignored, was comforting.
I'm not alone…
The joyful, bubbly feeling soon turns to even more power, it's like emotion is a ghosts steroid. Looking around the room frantically, Dean searched for another way to reach out to what little family he had left.
He looked at the pen incredulously. It hadn't worked the first time he tried, but he did just kind of move a door. Which seemed to be a lot more work than picking up a pen, so he tried.
It didn't work again.
Brow furrowed, he looked at Sam and dad's faces to see them begin to lose hope. He had to act fast! Please, please work!
Giving up on lifting the pen, Dean gave it the same treatment he had the glass cup: flinging it across the room.
Sam flinched this time, the pen had almost hit him, though had missed by an inch or two and instead slammed against the window near the door, dropping to the floor, loud in the dead silent room.
Sam's face broke out into a sad smile, his gaze shifting across the room; unsure as to where his brother was exactly.
"Dean…" his father was still staring at the pen, his eyes glazed over, a small smile threatening to show. He had barely muttered Dean's name, he had hardly caught his father saying anything at all.
But that was okay, because now he knew he wasn't alone. Whether they could see him or not, they knew he was there, they knew to not stop trying, and for now, that could be enough, this could be okay. Because amongst the bitterness, the sadness, the anger that threatened to eat him whole, the loneliness had dissipated. It was gone. He felt whole again.
And that would be enough.
That would be okay.
Review? It may or may not move things along. Truthfully, my muse is all over the place, so ya never know. XD