Author's Note: This is set in an alternate universe. Dean and Sam are Hunters, which are people that have the ability to enter other people's dreams to extract information, dream speak, etc. Not an Inception AU, but kinda similar.
So far this fic is coming in at just under 50,000 words, and I have plans to take it to at least a 100,000. I will try to update regularly. Know that the M rating will come into play more in the later chapters. There are mentions of suicide and other things that might be triggering, so know that. Also language and sensuality. I will put a note before the chapters that really deserve the M rating.
Let me know what you guys think!
Dean took a slow breath, clearing his head. He looked up slowly, eyes scanning the building before him. It was a simple extraction, just a tiny thought, but it was vital that they got it.
The building was old, very old. Dean shook his head as he walked into it. He was used to better worlds than this. But then again the subject wasn't ever trained, Dean could hardly expect him to have the skill that took years to acquire.
Dean made his way to the elevator of the building. It was an old style cage lift, complete with a sliding gate. Dean slipped inside, taking care to slowly slide the gate back into place as he thumbed the top floor button.
The lift took off with a lurch and Dean stumbled a bit, cursing under his breath. His quick eyes watched the floors that he passed. Most were empty aside from the occasional furniture piece draped with a white sheet.
The lift finally clambered to a stop, metal screeching as the wheels and pulleys shifted to a stop. Dean slid the gate open, one hand going to his concealed gun. He relaxed slightly as he stepped out into a quiet room. It was empty aside from a chair which sat in the middle of the room, its back to Dean.
Dean inched slowly up to it, fingers tensing over his gun again. He drew the gun slowly, checking his breath as he did so. There was someone here, he could sense it, years of training and missions alerted him to the presence of another consciousness in the room.
He leapt in front of the chair, gun raised, finger tensed over the trigger, the barrel pointing into the smirking face of Azazel.
The man's lips curled into a smile as he said softly, "Dean, so good to see you again."
"Shut up you damn son of a bitch," Dean hissed, pressing the gun between Azazel's eyes
Azazel just grinned wider. "You know she begged me not to kill her. I can still hear her screams. Music to these old ears."
"I said shut up." Dean dug the gun harder into Azazel's head.
"She was so young, so pretty. And she had so much potential."
"Shut up."
"She almost gave it to me you know," Azazel mumbled, leaning away from Dean's gun ever so slightly, "She was so close to giving it up, but then your idiot of a father had to go and ruin everything, didn't he?"
"Shut the hell up!" Dean cried.
His finger twitched over the trigger. He could shoot, he could put a bullet through Azazel's head right here, right now and watch in satisfaction as the blood dripped from his temple. But it would mean nothing, not in this reality.
Azazel smiled again, a cruel, unforgiving smile. "You can't kill me and you know it."
Dean angled the gun so that it was positioned under Azazel's chin. Azazel's breathes were steady. He looked Dean in the eyes, the sickly yellow fixed to the bright green.
"Just do it, Winchester," he hissed.
Dean's hand shook slightly and he was so close, so close to pulling the trigger and sending Azazel's brains into the air. At least he could have the satisfaction of killing Azazel here, even if he couldn't in real life.
"Do it," Azazel commanded again.
The gun pressed harder into Azazel's chin for a moment, and then Dean pulled it back, aiming it under his own chin instead. He fixed Azazel with a bright eyed gaze that made the man shift uncomfortably in the ratty chair, and then Dean pulled the trigger.
Dean woke with a start. He sat up, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling of the pod he was in. He laid back down, breathing slowly, letting his mind catch back up with his body. He could still feel the coolness of the gun in his hand, but when he looked down it was just his empty hand, shaking slightly as he raised it in front of his face.
The pod lid lifted with a sudden hissing noise and Dean peered up into the face of Jo. She had worry etched on her delicate features and judging by the bags under her eyes, she had waited up the entire time Dean had been Hunting.
"Did you get it?" she asked as he sat up.
"No," Dean growled, swinging his legs over the side of the pod.
"No?"
"There were complications."
Dean didn't allow her to question him more. He slid off the raised platform and limped out of the room. He could feel Jo's eyes following him, but he didn't care. He needed a cold beer and something to take his mind off his failed mission.
He sauntered into the kitchen of the base, taking note of the discarded cheeseburger wrappers that littered the counter. He rifled through the fridge looking for anything that he could sink his teeth into. Upon finding a final cheeseburger he let out a sigh of relief, grabbed a beer and then went to slump down in the sole chair at the counter.
The cheeseburger turned out to be crap, but it was still food and it would do. He scarfed it down, taking a swig of the cheep beer with each bite. Damn did he long for decent food, for decent anything actually, for an actual bed and someplace other than this shitty old abandoned warehouse that they called headquarters.
But he shouldn't be complaining. It did the job, hiding them from the prying eyes of the other Hunters who had been trailing them. At least it was big enough to accommodate the pods, which were hell to move around. Dean would much rather sleep on a hard floor than reassemble the pods each day.
He took another long sip of his beer, wincing slightly as the cold liquid ran down his sore throat. He was still hurting since his last encounter with the rival Hunters that they had brushed up against during an extraction.
Dean could still remember the hatred on their smug faces, the way they smiled as they bared down on them. They were unlike anything Dean had ever seen, mostly small in stature, but their minds were a minefield. One misstep and you were rendered unconscious for god knows how long.
Angels they had called themselves. An advanced group of Hunters, an advanced breed. They had been equipped with abilities that Dean had never even heard of before, and when he had gotten in one of their heads...
He shivered and pressed the cool bottle against his forehead. He didn't want to think about that right now. He needed to focus on the mission that he'd voluntarily aborted by putting that bullet through his skull. It was supposed to be a simple mission, they had just needed the location of a collection of African Dream Root. It wasn't what they usually used to dream walk, seeing as it was far too unreliable, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Dean chucked the empty bottle into the sink and headed out of the kitchen, walking slowly. Without intending to, he found himself heading toward a large metal door. He stared at it for a few seconds, contemplating entering, even though he knew what was on the other side. Slowly he pulled the key from his pocket and slid it down the detector.
The door swung inward and Dean slipped into the dimly lit room beyond. There were numerous ratty old beds littered around the room, all empty save for one, which was occupied by a giant of a man. He was laid out upon it in, feet barely dangling off the edge of the cot. His face was pleasant, but there was something eerily unnatural about the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.
Dean shut the door softly and walked over to the man. He brushed the brown hair out of the man's eyes muttering, "You need a haircut, Sammy."
Sam didn't respond, not that Dean had expected him to. Dean sighed and pulled over another bed, sitting down on it so that he could watch Sam. He laced his fingers together and stared at his brother.
Sam Winchester had gone out of commission several weeks ago. Dean remembered it like it was yesterday. The determined look on Sam's face as he told Dean that he had found a way. Dean had suspected something was up right away, but he had let Sam experiment. He had let his baby brother experiment his way into a damn coma.
Dean would never forgive himself, he'd never be able to forget the moment that Sam's eyes closed for the last time. He had tried everything to bring his brother out of his self induced coma, but nothing had worked. Of course it was no normal coma though, it was a dream, Sam had lodged himself in a never ending dream with no possible way of getting out.
Even as Dean peeled back Sam's eyelid he could see the faint glow in his irises. It was something that all Hunters had when they entered the dream state, a sort of mental energy that came out in the form of glowing eyes. It could be a pain at times, like when trying to stay hidden among the shadows of a backstreet. They figured out how to combat it though, mostly through simple things like always carrying sunglasses when they enter a dream state. Some of the more experienced Hunters were capable of hiding it. Dean's father could, although Dean never learned. His father passed soon after his mother was killed by Azazel. John Winchester just plain gave up and took the one way ticket, the one dream that they all avoid. It's the dream that you didn't wake up from, and Dean will never watch anyone enter it again, not after he saw his father go through it, not after seeing the light fade from John Winchester's eyes as he let go of the will to live.
Dean let his eyes travel over Sam's slack face. At first he had thought that Sam had found a way to self administer the one way ticket dream, but as soon as the younger Winchester's eyes had closed it was evident that this was a new sort of dream state. It wasn't death, it wasn't life, it was limbo, an eternal limbo that Sam had willingly entered.
Dean couldn't blame him though, because he knew what Sam's dream was. Sam had told him about it in an excited rush many a time. It was a small house, white picket fence, children in the front yard, a family, his family with his late girlfriend Jess. Jess had gone down during an extraction a couple months ago. Sam had shut down, locking himself in his quarters and doing nothing but his experiments. Dean had tried to get him to let go, to talk, anything to bring his brother back, but Sam was adamant that he could find a way to reach Jess.
Sam had a theory that Jess's conciseness had survived, despite the bullet that had ripped through her brain. Dean had told him it was impossible, but Sam wouldn't listen. Dean reckoned that in the end Sam had just gone plain bat shit crazy, settling for the dream instead of reality. Dean had watched as Sam inserted the needle into his arm, eyes wide, mouth stammering nonsense about how he'd cracked the code and how he could bring Jess back. Dean hadn't said anything because he had though it was just another run of the mill dream, that Sam was going to be out for a few hours, then come back and realize that he couldn't save Jess. Dean had even prepared a speech when Sam came out of the dream, a stupid thing about how Sam could give Jess the sendoff she deserved by letting her go. But Sam hadn't woken, he had fallen into the dream coma and Dean had lost him, lost him to the dream that his brother had chosen over him.
Dean wiped a stray tear from his eye as he rubbed circles onto the back of Sam's cold hand. He often came to visit Sam and talk to him, even if he didn't talk back. Dean checked the bags of fluid that were keeping Sam alive, fluffed the pillow behind Sam's shaggy head, and then he launched into a summary of the latest.
"I couldn't get the location of the dream root. Azazel brought up mom and I lost it." Dean chuckled to himself. "Wish I couldn't feel a damn thing during my dream walks. Wouldn't that make it so easy? If you could just get what you needed and not have to deal with anything else, just the information. Hell sometimes I wish I couldn't feel anything at all."
He trailed off as he watched Sam take slow breaths. He looked so peaceful. To the unknowing observer Sam was just sleeping, but not to Dean. This was his Sammy stuck forever in a fake reality and there was no way that Dean could save him. His brother was gone, and Dean still couldn't accept it. That's why Sam was in here, why he was hooked up to a machine, why they had a special ward just for him. It was because Dean couldn't let go, because Dean still had hope that he could save Sammy. It was now that Dean could understand why Sam had fought so hard for Jess. Although Dean wasn't going to lose it like Sam, he was going to stay strong, he was going to bring Sam back.
Dean gripped Sam's hand tightly before leaving the ward. He checked his watch. Two minutes to midnight. The attempted extraction with Azazel had gone longer than he'd expected. At least he could just call it a night and not have to worry about facing Jo, not until morning that was.
He slipped into his quarters and shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. His boots and jeans soon followed. Sitting down on the cold concrete of the ground, he dragged a heavy metal case toward him and opened it. Inside were numerous syringes all filled with clear liquid. He plucked out the one he was looking for and uncapped the needle. He inserted the sharp needle into his arm, grimacing slightly at the small prick of pain. He could feel the drug invading his system, numbing his senses.
The empty syringe was put back in the case, which Dean snapped shut and then stowed under the sleeping bag that served as his bed. He could feel his brain starting to get fuzzy as the drug did its job. He lay back on the floor, the sleeping bag providing little relief from the concrete. He could feel the hard box under his legs and he closed his eyes, waiting for the drug to put him into a dreamless sleep.
Dean slinked through the alley, gun poised, finger tensed over the trigger. He could see the man in front of him look back nervously. Dean ducked out of sight, hand instinctively covering his eyes, even though he had no need. They weren't glowing because this wasn't a dream, this was real.
The man continued down the alley, his pace quickened. Dean followed at a safe distance, gun still drawn, ready for the slightest change from the man. The man rounded a corner and Dean sped up his pace so that he could keep him in his sights. He had to take this guy out, he wasn't going to fail another mission, and he could waste this guy here, because he was in the real world, not a dream. Dean had managed to find him in reality and he was more than happy to put a bullet through his head.
Dean took the corner in a slow stride, keeping his back pressed to the cold brick wall. His pulse thudded in his ears. He missed this, being in the real world with an actual gun in his hand, with the truth, no lies, no dreams, just him and his target, simple and pure.
The man stopped under the glow of a lone streetlight. He seemed nervous, fiddling aimlessly with his pocket watch. Dean watched from his place in the shadows. The man seemed to be waiting for something, but what? Dean cocked the gun. He should just end it now, get it over with.
He raised the gun slowly, aiming with the skill of an experienced assassin. He took a steady breath and closed one eye. He wouldn't miss, the bullet would go cleanly though the man's temple and it would all be over, he could return victorious.
Time stood still as his finger tensed over the trigger, his breathing slow, eyes fixed on the man. His muscles tensed, his finger compressing the trigger. Dean pulled down the trigger and watched as the gun sparked and smoked. His quick eyes watched for the impact, but instead of his intended target being hit, several things happened at once.
The first thing Dean noticed was the trench coated figure that appeared out of nowhere, stepping in the line of fire and stopping the bullet, literally stopping. The bullet ceased it's movement as though it were frozen and then it dropped to the ground with a soft clink. Dean's mind was racing a million miles an hour, but there was one clear thought, the fact that this couldn't be reality. But that was impossible.
The person turned slowly and Dean was met with a pair of azure eyes, so bright that Dean's breath hitched in his throat.. He knew right way what this man was. He was an Angel. It was all too obvious by the way he held himself, and by the power that seemed to radiate off him.
Dean started to panic slightly as he realized that he was in the same dream as an Angel. That could only mean one thing, that he was the target of this blue eyed killer. Dean stumbled back as the memories of Jess flooded into his mind. The way that the red headed Angel had brought her down in the dream and how Jess hadn't woken when they had returned to reality. The dark blood that had stained the cushioning of her pod. These Angels could kill in dreams and Dean had a feeling that this Angel had been sent to do exactly that to him.
The Angel took a slow step toward Dean and the Hunter did the only thing he could think of, he turned heel and ran. He made it about two feet before he heard it, the sound of wind rushing around him, and then the Angel was in front of him, staring at him through those bright blue orbs.
Dean had absolutely no idea how these Angels managed to get around so fast in the dreams. It was almost as though they had wings as their namesake did. This particular Angel was one that Dean had not seen before. He hadn't been among the attackers that had jumped them in that dream. This Angel had a handsome face, square jaw, long nose, and a mop of untidy dark hair that stuck out in odd angels. If he weren't here to kill Dean, Dean would have defiantly taken a minute to check him out. Not that he was surprised at the Angel's good looks, all of them seemed to be this way, yet another fact that made Dean suspect that they were genetically altered or something.
The Angel advanced slowly on Dean, reaching out a hand, palm held face up, long fingers ghostly pale in the dark alley. Dean backed away only to run into the wall behind him. He looked around in fear. There was no way out, the Angel had him cornered.
Dean's eyes fixed on the blue and he tilted his chin up in defiance growling out, "Make it quick."
The Angel's brow furrowed and he spoke in a voice much lower than Dean had expected, "I am not here to kill you, Dean Winchester."
"What?" Dean asked, confusion etched into his face.
The Angel's hand inched toward Dean's face and Dean pressed back into the wall, trying in vain to avoid the two fingers that the Angel was holding out. They came into contact with Dean's forehead and Dean gasped aloud as he felt the Angel penetrate his mind. He could feel his memories slipping, information presenting itself to the prying Angel. He couldn't have that. The Angels weren't' going to find out anything from him.
He balled his right hand into a fist and raised it slowly. It was hard with the Angel in his mind, but he managed and delivered a hard punch to the Angel's jaw. The Angel's fingers slipped from Dean's forehead and Dean was in control again.
He bolted forward, taking the Angel down in one swift motion so that he was straddling him, legs clamped around his middle. Dean reached up and pinned the Angel's arms above his head, fingers digging into the man's wrists, leaving marks on the alabaster skin. Dean's other hand went to the special knife that he kept on his person, a jagged thing that he had acquired from a rebel Hunter named Ruby, shortly before he had used it to kill her. It was a rare item in that it could wound within the dream state.
Dean placed the knife against the pale column of the Angel's throat, pressing just hard enough to draw the thinnest sliver of blood. He could see the fluttering pulse under the Angel's thin skin. At least these guys could get scared, which meant that they were still partially human.
"You wanna tell me why you're here?" Dean asked, knife remaining against the Angel's throat.
The Angel didn't reply. He licked his chapped lips nervously and Dean's eyes followed the pink tongue, slightly disappointed as it slipped back into the man's mouth. Dean shook his head. This was an Angel, he needed to be interrogating this guy instead of noticing the light dusting of stubble that ran over the man's cheeks, and the way the cerulean eyes locked with the olive green of his.
The man's lips parted slowly and Dean watched as he said, "I am under orders."
"Orders from who?" Dean questioned, pressing the knife harder into the Angel's throat.
"My superiors," the Angel stuttered, eyes flicking down to the knife in fear.
"And who might they be?"
The Angel's mouth opened as if he were going to say who, but then he clamped it shut with an audible click and shook his head.
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Can't tell me, huh? Well maybe I could force it out of you."
He angled the knife against the man's cheek, the serrated edge pressed against the skin. Dean dragged the blade toward him slowly, applying pressure so that a thin, deep cut appeared on the man's cheek. The Angel hissed, sucking the air in through his teeth. Dean could feel him shift beneath him, attempting to free his arms from Dean's grasp. Dean held on tighter.
He returned the knife to its previous place at the Angel's neck and said, "Wanna talk yet?"
"I can't tell you anything," the Angel rasped.
"You sure?"
Dean pressed the flat of the knife into the man's vocal chords, electing a choking noise from him. The Angel's eyes went wide and he gasped a few times.
"Please," the Angel choked out.
"Tell me what I want to know!" Dean yelled.
"No!" the Angel screamed, the sound ripped from his throat.
The man's chest heaved underneath Dean, his breath coming out in short gasps. There was a fire in his eyes that Dean had only ever seen when he looked into a mirror. He knew that look, it was the look that Dean often had etched onto his own features. It meant death first.
Dean drew the knife back slightly and the man's eyes darted down to it before going back up to Dean's. Dean knew that he should do whatever it took to get the information. But he couldn't bring himself to puncture any more of the white skin beneath his fingertips.
The Angel followed Dean's movements as Dean slipped the knife into his belt. He climbed off the Angel and then extended a hand to the man. The Angel gripped it tightly and Dean hauled him to his feet. Their hands remained clasped together for the briefest of seconds and then the Angel's hand fell to his side. The blue remained glued to the green however as Dean and the Angel stared at each other. Dean was trying to figure out why he was just letting this guy go, but he couldn't, because all he could see was the pure blue of the Angel's eyes.
The Angel stepped closer, too close. Their breath was mingling and Dean's senses were filled with something pure and heavenly. Dean's eyes fluttered closed as the man's breath ghosted over his lips. For the briefest of seconds Dean thought that he was about to feel the Angel's lips against his, but then he felt the chill of the night air.
He opened his eyes to see the empty alleyway, no sign that there had ever been and Angel in it, other than the fact that Dean's heart was still beating a million miles an hour. He could still feel the warmth of the man's breath against his lips, and then intense blue burned beneath his eyelids as he took a moment to steady himself.
Suddenly someone was on him, yanking his arm up behind his back and pinning it there painfully. He could feel nimble fingers sliding the knife out from his belt and then the cold weapon was at his throat.
A raspy voice hissed into his ear, "You should have killed me when you had the chance."
Dean's eyes went wide as the knife pressed into his neck, drawing blood that dripped down onto his collar. He struggled in the Angel's grip, trying in vain to free himself from the man's strong hands. His movements ceased however as he felt hot breath beating against his neck, right at the spot beneath his ear.
The man whispered something to Dean, lips brushing against Dean's earlobe and making Dean shiver. It was just one word, "Impala."
Dean's mind had a brief second to register the word and then there was a sharp pain in his side and his world went black.