(This happens after the finale of season 10 after The Darkness is released out into the world. This is obviously not going to happen, but it's pretty much my imagination going wild. The character introduced is completely made up by me, she's not really based on any other character. She's just a character I've been thinking about, like a lot, recently. Please review. I've never done something like this before…be gentle, but honest. Thanks )
Chapter 1
Lightening rockets from the sky and shoots into the ground. It breaks apart the ground in a circle. The lightening stops. Dean looks at Sam and Sam looks back. They quickly get into the Impala and slam the doors. The ground shakes and rumbles. Breaking open, a giant dark cloud flies out. The smoke fans out into a dome like shape, spreading out further and further. The dark clouds rushes towards them at a powerful speed, taking everything down.
"Go Dean, go!" Sam shouts at his brother.
Dean puts the car into reverse and backs into a pot-hole filled with water. Dean tries to shift his car in a different gear, but nothing happens. They're stuck. Dean and Sam look on and all they can do is sit and watch as the black smoke over takes them.
The Darkness rumbled around the Impala. It scratched at Baby's paint and tried to rip the doors off. It roughly pushes the car back, taking Baby's passengers with it. Dean and Sam are knocked around, jerking back and forth. Dean reaches out and takes Sam's arm. Sam takes Dean's hand and looks at him. He tries to mouth something to his brother. The car is torn away from the ground and slams into a couple of trees. The Impala is smashed in half, the front end is crumbled and half of it stands up straight. The back-end is laying upside down, a steel beam sticking out.
The Darkness settles. The ground stills. Smoke rises from the engine from Baby. Dean kicks the door open and falls out. He lies on his back and watches the smoke in a blurry haze. The black of The Darkness and the blue of the sky mingle together as if it were a Van Gogh painting. The earth wouldn't stand still, but that didn't stop Dean from flipping over on his stomach.
Sam is hanging half way out of the back end of the Impala, dangling there limply. Dean looks under Baby and reaches his hand out to his brother.
"Sammy," Dean chokes out. "Sammy, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
"Sam- ugh gah," Dean coughs up blood and it splatters upon his face.
Dean's head falls down and he wheezes. He needs to get up. He needs to get up and go over to Sam. Sammy needed him. Sammy…
Dean's thoughts start to fade, as well as his eyesight. Before he passes out, he hears a crunching sound, as if someone was walking towards him. The footsteps stop near him. Someone's hands flip him over onto his back. His eyes roll around. Those green eyes settle on eyes that almost matched his, but there was something pure about them. He felt a light cool hand on his forehead. Something warm moved from his head and smoothed its way down him. He closes his eyes and lets that magic, it was nothing he's felt before, do whatever it's meant to do.
The hand leaves his forehead, but the warmth stays and even intensifies. He hears footsteps again. Dean uses whatever energy he has left to turn his head and look. The figure crouches down and places their hand down on Sammy's chest.
Dean tries to call out Sam's name, but all that comes out is a gurgle. He hears a sharp intake of breath and sees Sam's chest moving. The figure goes back to Dean. The figure crouches down.
"He'll make it Dean. I promise you. He'll make it and so will you," the figure whispers in his ear. "It's time to go home now."
Dean closes his and lets unconsciousness take over.
Dean tries to roll his head from side to side. It's too hard. It feels like something his holding his head in place. He squeezes his eyes shut. Even the dim light coming through his eyelids made it feel like a billion pinpricks where stabbing his eyes. With whatever strength he could muster up, Dean flips to his side and pushes himself up. Dean's upper body flops forward, chest touching knees.
What the hell, Dean thinks to himself.
With a groan, he lifts his upper body, so he's sitting straight. He puts his hand up to his forehead. Rattling his brain for what he remembers last, Sam being impaled, Dean jerks his head up. Sam. I have to get to Sam. Pushing himself up, his weak legs buckle and Dean falls forward. He uses his arms as a support system to get his body to lean against the wall. He takes a couple of shaky steps. He makes it his bedroom door. Half turning his body, he looks both ways down the hallway.
Nothing.
Turning completely into the hallway, he makes his way down. He has to stop every once in a while to regain his breath, but he continues to moving. Finally, he makes it to the doorway that leads into the main room. Dean stops.
"Aye know aye promised ye aye wouldn't call ye, but…" a female voice, with an Irish lilt, carries over to him.
Dean turns his head to look. A short woman, maybe in her late twenties, was sitting in a chair, facing away from him. She has longish, brown hair, waving past her shoulders. She stands up and turns so that Dean can see her profile. There's a nice that flows from her forehead to her chin, with a small dent at the beginning of her nose, as if she were born with it. Her lips are drawn in a tight line, listening to words she probably didn't want to listen to.
"Aye know why ye're doing this…"
…
"Aye can protect ye better if…"
…
"Gael!"
…
"Wait! No! Don't!"
The woman pulls the phone from her and shoves it into her jean short pockets. She sighs and runs her fingers through her long, brown hair.
Dean reaches into the back of his pants and pulls out his gun. The female stops. Slowly turning to him, she says, "Hello Dean."
Dean levels the gun to her face. "Who are you?"
The female puts her hands up in mock surrender. "My name is Maire (My-rah)."
Dean cocks his gun. "You have three seconds to tell me what the hell is going on before I kill you."
Her greenish eyes, with gold mixed in, turns hard. "Firstly, ye don't have strength to keep that gun held up. Secondly, that's no way to thank ye're savior."
Raising her eyebrows, she smirks.
Dean's arms drop down, his gun clattering to the ground. Maire runs over and picks up the gun. She uncocks it and puts it on a nearby table. Before Dean collapses to the ground, she catches and helps him sit on the ground. She takes her hands and cups his face. The billions of needles, which quadrupled in his time of real light, slowly ebb away. However, a small needle stays behind and keeps poking right behind his eyes. Dean prefers that way more.
Maire pulls her hands away and checks his eyes and pulse.
"For a man who had enough internal bleeding to fill up a pool tube, you've healed quite nicely."
Maire rocks back on her heels.
"What about Sammy?" Dean rubs his forehead.
"He's in a coma." She stops to see how Dean reacts. He stops rubbing his forehead and looks up at her, worry filling those green, green eyes of his. "But, for someone who was impaled, he too, is healing quite well."
The way her accent elongates the vowels, makes it very difficult for Dean to understand what she's saying.
"What?"
"Ye're. Brother. Is. Fine." She pronounces each word slowly.
"What happened?" Dean askes, now able to hold himself up.
Maire shrugs. "Ye both died."