Careful What You Wish For
(exsisto curiosus quis vos opto)
Summary:
Thanks to a cursed wishing well and a bad case of I Must Protect Sammy, Dean Winchester is about to spend a week finding out seven ways his life could have been different. WIP, dean-centric
Disclaimer:
I claim only the words here and a few random OCs; all credit for the amazing Dean and Sam Winchester go to Kripke.
Author's Note:
Not my usual style but I'm enjoying it anyways. I hope you will too. I used an online Latin translator for the minimal Latin phrases in here, so sorry if it's wrong for those who might actually speak Latin itself. I suppose this is on the crack!fic side of things, but I also am trying to add as much depth to it as I can. On a random side note, this is officially THE longest prologue in the history of prologues (well, at least in the history of MY prologues).
I'm hoping for seven chapters, complete with prologue and epilogue. Key word: hoping. This is a complete WIP, so reviews, advice, and suggestions are gratefully accepted and needed!
For Grace—
She's been regretting the day she got me into this fandom of sheer brilliance since day one. Trust me, she has to put up with a lot of fangirl squeeing from me.
("So like there's these two hot guys who are brothers and they go around and kill ghosts and
stuff, and no seriously, you should totally watch it." )
ooo
Prologue
Dean Winchester has seen and heard a lot of fucked-up shit—he is, after all a Winchester—but even for him, this is completley, unbelievably, dude-you-cannot-be-serious, what-sort-of-crack-are-you sniffing, frickin' weird.
"Are you serious?"
"Deadly," Sam says grimly, looking up at him resolutely.
"A cursed wishing well?" Dean runs a hand across his face, and winces because seriously. These days it's never a plain old poltergeist or textbook evil spirit he can shoot full of rock salt or burn the bones of; it's always something completley random, like a demigod with a sense of humor or a psycho clown-thing on a killing spree.
"Yeah," Sam sighs. "I know."
"What—what does it do? Drown people or something?"
"No. It doesn't even do its victims physical harm, as far I can tell. Apparently it's really old and local legend says it was dug way back during the Salem witch trials—and that it was owned by a witch named Selenamaridra Jackson."
"…Dude, who names their kid Selenamaridra?"
"Focus on the bigger picture for me Dean," Sam says irritably. "It messes with people's heads or something because supposedly anyone who makes a wish at it goes schizo for a week."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like their personalities change every day for seven days," Sam explains. "Like, they talk about things that have never happened, don't remember certain people or details…just generally lose it. Then after the week is up, they're back to normal but seriously freaked out. Some commit suicide, others leave their husbands or wives …" Sam looks up. "It's really strange. They never explain why, never seem to quite recover. There've been seven documented cases in the last eight months alone—the doctors think it's a recurring brain virus or something weird like that. They even quarantined the town for a little while back in '98."
"A cursed wishing well?"
"Yep."
"A cursed wishing well that induces schizophrenia?"
"You got it."
"…I hate my life."
--
Fairview, New York
Dean likes little towns.
For one, everybody knows everybody, which means there're more sources for information. People are generally friendly and helpful, and if they aren't, they at least have a comfy motel or decent diner with a hot waitress or two.
Fairview's typical and homey in an almost cheesy way, nestled in rolling green hills with a quaint little main street and plenty of chatty locals.
When the boys had asked around, they'd discovered that five of the last "victims" were gone: three dead and two missing. The two remaining are teenagers, juniors at Fairview High, who'd apparently visited the wishing well on a dare and neither are talking much, or even at all. Thankfully, they have plenty of worried friends, all of whom responded almost as soon as Sam had caught them on their way out of school. They've taken the Winchesters to a little diner with some weird Greek name Dean can't pronounce and now the three of them are surveying Dean and Sam worriedly from across the table, each firmly gripping a mug of coffee.
"You say you're from the CDC?" a blonde called Kaye Nelson with grey eyes and a suspicious frown clarifies.
"We're investigating the situation," Sam explains calmly, smiling reassuringly. "We thought we'd start by talking to friends and family. Now, we understand that the virus seems linked to an old well?" Allie Thomas, tall with thick dark hair and freckles, shudders.
"That thing is so creepy," she confides. "I swear to God, it's what's driving people insane."
"So you think the well is doing it?" Dean asks, just to be sure. Lena Scott, who's got beaded braids, dark skin, and a pretty face, frowns at him.
"Damn straight we think it's the well," she says irritably. "Kristen and Derek were fine one day and the next they were completely different people. Kristen used to never shut up, now she doesn't say a word and she's lost so much weight they've got her in the hospital…and Derek just sits in a chair in his room and stares at nothing and babbles about some woman in green."
"Did they ever act like themselves again?" Sam asks, obviously puzzled. "Our records of previous victims indicate they all seemed to regain their true personalities again." Dean snorts. Sam can sure talk fancy when he has a mind to.
"Well," Kaye says uncertainly, "we knew when they were…you know, back, or whatever. Kristen called me about a week after she first got sick in tears and said she was so sorry, she didn't know what had happened."
"Derek came over and he just started freaking," Allie recalls, her face sad and worried. "Kept talking about missed opportunities and stuff, but he was…you know, Derek."
"What did they act like while they were…uh, psycho or whatever?" Dean asks and Sam elbows him sharply.
"They weren't psycho," Kaye snaps defensively, while Allie scowls and Lena eyes him angrily asking,
"What did you say your name was again?"
"Don't mind Dr. Mitchell. He's just a trainee along for observation," Sam cuts in abruptly, trying to calm the waters. "What were your friends like when they were ill?" Lena snorts, but grins.
"You're the brains of this operation, eh?" she asks, and Sam bites back a smile as Dean makes an indignant noise. "Yeah, well, it was different every day, just like the others who caught this weird thing. One day Kristen came to school and she was…smart."
"What?"
"Well, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but Kris was always sort of ditzy, you know? She didn't ever apply herself and just kind of slacked off. But this one day, right, she comes in and she's answering all these questions right and paying attention in class and aceing tests." Kaye shakes her head. "And then the next day nobody saw her at all and at first her mom thought she'd been kidnapped because she kept seeing some weird guy hanging around her house, but then the next day she shows up with her hair dyed black and chains on her jeans."
"That must have been really upsetting," Sam says sympathetically. "What about Derek?"
"It was a lot like Kristen," Allie says simply, shrugging half-heartedly. "He and Kris were—are—dating and for a day he seemed positive that he was dating...well… me." She sighs sadly. "Then the next day he didn't talk to us at all, didn't seem to know any of us, and the day after that he just was…gone. Vanished without a trace."
Sam and Dean exchange puzzled glances.
"Do you think it would be possible to talk to either of them?" Dean asks.
"Were you even paying attention at all?" Lena demands. "Kristen is hooked up to machines in the hospital and won't even say a word to her own mother!"
"We're sorry," Sam says, "but it's extremely important the CDC gets the facts as first-hand as possible if we can work towards a diagnosis or cure."
"Derek talks," Kaye says softly. "You might be able to get something out of him."
"Kaye," Lena says sharply, narrowing her eyes at her friend.
"Everything he says these days is total ludicrous," Allie says firmly. "And I don't think he's quite up to visitors."
"What if he talks, though?" Kaye asks, folding her arms. "I mean, you guys are trying to stop this disease thing, right?"
"Of course," Sam says.
"This is our most important case right now," Dean adds helpfully, just 'cause he feels like he should say something that doesn't remotely piss off these kids/hurt their feelings/make them suspicious.
"I think they should talk to him," Kaye says to her friends. "Al, Len, come on. This might be able to help!"
"Well…" Lena says dubiously. "…I guess there's no harm…"
"Only if Derek's parents say it's okay," Allie says at once, looking a bit queasy. "He's really been worrying us all lately."
"We completley understand," Sam says sincerely.
They all sit there for a few awkward moments of silence until Dean pipes up,
"So we going to go see the kid or what?"
--
"I'm glad the CDC is finally looking into this," Mrs. Warren, Derek's mother says as she leads the Winchesters and Lena, Allie, and Kaye up the stairs. "I can't tell you how many times I've called. We're very concerned about the well."
"We hear there's a sort of a legend about it," Dean cuts in, trying to sound as sardonically amused as possible. "Something about a curse?"
"All nonsense," Mrs. Warren dismisses. "I'm certain there must be a parasite in the water or something of the sort; I've been saying that well should be destroyed for years now." She pauses at a door at the far end of the upstairs landing, knocking on it. "Derek?" she calls. "Derek, sweetie, you have visitors!"
No answer.
Briskly, Mrs. Warren swings the door open and ushers them all in, saying,
"Look, your friends are here! And these two nice gentlemen are from the CDC; they're going to see if they can figure out what's wrong with you."
Dean peers through the gloomy late afternoon light that fills the room and spots a broad shouldered and yet strangely gaunt-looking kid with red, curly hair sitting hunched in a chair by a bay window.
"He doesn't talk too much lately," Mrs. Warren whispers sadly to Sam and Dean as the three girls hurry forward to their friend, chattering with a forced sense of cheerfulness.
"We'll be as quick about all this as possible," Sam says. "I understand your son being interrogated is probably the last thing you want for him right now." Mrs. Warren sighs.
"If there's anything—anything—you can do for him," she says quietly, looking quite suddenly on the verge of tears, "then please. Ask all the questions you need to."
"Mrs. Warren, I promise you," Dean says, taking a step forward, "we are going to help your son. We'll find whatever it is that's made him this way and he'll be okay again, no matter what it takes. I swear." He's peering at her intently, his hand on her arm, and she looks up at him, hiccupping slightly. Dean can see Sam staring at him curiously from the corner of his eye, and promptly withdraws his hand, falling back a step and folding his arms self-consciously. God Sam, I am begging you. No chick-flick moments.
"Thank you," she offers quietly. Then, quickly composing herself, she turns to the girls and calls, "I could use a little help in the kitchen, you three. Would you mind helping me get Dr. Anderson and Dr. Mitchell some iced tea?"
"Sure, Mrs. Warren," Lena answers at once, glancing significantly at her friends. All of the women troop out of the room, Kaye closing the door softly behind them.
"Dean," Sam says in a low voice at once, turning to his older brother.
"Leave it, Sam," Dean sighs. "I just feel sorry for her, all right? I know what it's like to want to save your family."
There is a pause, and then Sam heaves a sigh of his own.
"Okay," Sam says at last, and then straightens up and transitions seamlessly into doctor mode. "Derek?" he asks, walking across the room so he can see the teen properly. "Derek, I'm Dr. Anderson. Dr. Mitchell and I just want to ask you a few questions, okay?"
Slowly, Derek looks up at them, his eyes hollow.
"Are you going to fix me?" he whispers plaintively.
"We're going to try," Sam says firmly, then gestures to a chair near Derek. "May I?" The kid shrugs and Sam sits, then jerks his head at Dean, who moves to sit in the other chair. "Derek, can you tell us about what happened to you?"
Derek swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and turns to look out the window.
"You won't believe me." His voice is barely more than a whisper. "Nobody will."
"Give us a whirl," Dean suggests, leaning forward. Derek shakes his head vehemently.
"No."
"Derek, we can't fix you if we don't know what's wrong with you," Sam says softly, his puppy dog eyes full of sympathy and kindness. "Just talk to us."
"I'm-I'm crazy," Derek says uncertainly, looking from Dean to Sam desperately. "Everybody says so. I hear Dad telling Mom they should check me into the psych ward…Kristen's nearly comatose…Allie thinks I'm a raving lunatic…" At this, Derek bites a lip and squinches his eyes shut, an attempt at warding off tears.
"We'll believe you, dude," Dean says seriously. "Honest. We know you're not crazy."
"How?" Derek demands.
"What, you think we don't see the connection with all of these cases?" Dean shoots back. "Anyone who makes a wish at the well gets sick." Derek eyes him.
"I thought Mom said you were doctors."
"Tell us about what happened to you," Sam implores, choosing to ignore Derek's comment. "We won't repeat what you say to us." Derek stares at them, and then his gaze drops.
"It was my fault," he says abruptly. "My idea."
"What?"
"Look, man," Derek says in faint annoyance, meeting Dean's curious eyes, "d'you wanna hear this or what?"
"Sorry. Go on."
"I dared Kris to go and make a wish at the well," Derek continues, "'cause she's always been scared of it, you know? It was just—it was stupid. We knew we weren't supposed to be there because of the…the others…but I thought it was all just a load of bull." He inhales shakily. "So she said she'd go, but only if I went too."
"And what happened then?" Sam prompts when Derek goes silent.
"I…well, Allie, Kaye, and Lena were hanging out with us that night. We were just…having a couple beers, telling ghost stories and stuff by the creek. It was so…so normal." His voice breaks and he catches himself, coughing loudly. "So after Kristen and I decided to go through with the dare, they said they'd wait for us. The creek is just down the hill from the well, so we went up there, and Kris walked over to the well and…well, I guess she made her wish. I was standing behind her…and the water was just so clear, you know? So beautiful. I couldn't help but wish something, too."
"Why?" Sam asks, now thoroughly engrossed. "Did you see something in it, hear something? A message, maybe?"
"No," Derek says, eyeing Sam suspiciously. "No…it just was nice. Made me think about stuff I wanted…"
"What'd you wish for?" Dean asks.
"I…" Derek stares at them, gulping. "Okay, you promise you won't tell?"
"Promise."
"I'd been thinking about breaking-up with Kris," he murmurs. "We're pretty different people and…I was wondering what it would have been like if I'd never gone out with her."
"That's it?" Dean snorts. "Kid, you're only…what, sixteen, seventeen? This isn't marriage we're talking about here."
"You don't understand," Derek says tightly. "She was my friend before she was my girlfriend. I've seen guys break her heart before and she doesn't deserve it." He shakes his head rapidly. "So, yeah, anyways, I guess that was my wish."
"And then what?" Sam asks.
"Well, nothing weird happened, so Kris and I headed back to our friends. We went home later that night and then…the Green Lady came to see me."
"The Green Lady?"
"Yes," Derek says faintly. "She…I don't really remember. She put her hand on my forehead and just…I don't know. But she did this—all of it."
"What did she do, Derek?" Sam is on the edge of his seat, frowning deeply, brow furrowed.
Derek shakes his head.
"She says I'm not supposed to tell," he says, clenching his hands. "I can't tell anyone. It's a burden I have to bear myself, she says."
"No, Derek, it isn't," Sam assures him. "We want to help. Please, let us."
"I can't tell you what I saw," Derek says in a panicked sort of voice. "I…I want to but I can't. I…I…" The color drains from his face and Derek suddenly chokes violently, gasping for air. "She won't let me," he manages in a strangled voice, pain etched on his face.
"Okay, okay!" Dean says loudly, hand dropping to his gun in case things get really ugly. "Don't tell us, Derek. It's fine."
Immediately, the kid's color returns (what little of it he has left), and he exhales raggedly.
"You should go," he says abruptly. "You—you should…nobody can help me, all right? Nobody." Sam exchanges a glance with Dean, and they both stand.
"We'll help you, Derek," Sam says, laying a comforting hand on the kid's shoulder. "I promise."
In response, Derek shudders.
--
"Dean, this is a stupid idea," Sam says for the hundredth time. They're trudging up the hill, guns shouldered, and Dean has a plan.
"This is the only way," Dean says. "Sam, this is a textbook curse, okay? The Green Lady is obviously the one who cast it—we can bargain with her when her spirit appears. Either that or shoot her full of rock salt."
"I just think we should be a little more logical about this," Sam says. "Maybe if we bless the water in the well, you know, make it holy…"
"That won't clear up a curse," Dean says simply. "There are only two ways to get rid of it: setting the cursed item on fire or finding the one who cast the curse and learning from them how to break it. I dunno how many times you've tried to torch a frigging well, Sammy, but something tells me it might be harder than it looks."
"All right, all right," Sam pants as they reach the top of the hill and the infamous wishing well comes into sight. "Look, how do we know this won't just backfire on us?"
"We don't. This is all I got, Sam, all right? Maybe this Green Lady will be reasonable."
"Yeah, screwing people up for life when they make one freaking wish at a stupid well. That just screams reasonable and willing to bargain to me."
"Shut up, loser." Dean turns abruptly, and stares at the wishing well. It looks like…well, like a wishing well, straight out of a Disney movie. It's perfectly circular, made of solid stones and wood that don't seem remotely weathered (another sign of supernatural activity). There's no bucket, nor is there a pulley for it—just a slight wooden overhang over the well. Cautiously, the Winchesters make their way over to it, Dean tightening his grip on his gun more for comfort than anything.
"What's this say here?" Predictably, Sam is surveying the aforementioned overhang. Curling letters are carved into the wood, spelling out a Latin phrase. "Exsisto curiosus quis vos opto," Sam reads aloud. Dean turns to stare at it, too.
"Careful what you wish for," he translates quietly, squinting at it.
"Exactly," Sam agrees. "Jesus, Dean." He sighs wearily, running a hand through his shaggy locks. "You don't have to do this, man."
"Yes I do," Dean says stubbornly. "Look, you already deal with visions and crap, okay? Supposing this goes South—"
"Which you keep promising won't happen," Sam cuts in.
"—I'll deal with it," Dean finishes. "Dude, I'm the big brother here, okay? No way I'm letting you get yourself cursed."
"Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I shouldn't be able to look out for you, too," Sam protests. "I'm not five anymore."
"So?" Dean scowls. "I can't do much to keep you safe, Sammy," he says in a completley different tone, serious and grave. "Let me do this much, okay? You'd be doing me a favor." Sam rolls his eyes, but looks a little less reluctant.
"You know you shouldn't worry about me."
"Tough," Dean snaps. "I'll always worry about you. Now, before we start braiding each other's hair and shit, I think I'll go deal with a curse."
"Fine," Sam retorts. "Just…just be careful, man."
"I'm always careful," Dean says, and with that, he takes a few steps closer to the well, adding, "Don't get near the water, got it? The last thing we need is for both of us to get nailed."
"Okay," Sam agrees reluctantly, and walks a few paces in the opposite direction of the well, even going so far as to sit down cross-legged with his back to it. Dean has thought long and hard about what he'll wish for, and he's already decided that he'll wish for the curse to be over. A back-up plan, he thinks triumphantly, in case the whole bargaining thing doesn't work out right.
Satisfied, he looks down at the cool, dark water, ready to go.
The water is beautiful, just as Derek described. It's clear, looks like it'd be great for a drink on a hot day—and it's also absolutely mesmerizing.
He can feel something taking hold of him from the minute he sees the water, a strange urge compelling him to spill his deepest secrets.
It leads Dean to thinking. What would he wish for, he wonders, if he wasn't going to wish for the curse to end? For Mom and Dad to be alive again? For Sammy to be safe? For the Demon to die?
What do you want most, Dean? a voice in the back of his head whispers. More than anything in the world?
All his life, Dean Winchester has wanted what's best for his dad, for Sammy. He's wanted them to be safe, them to be happy—because without them, Dean is just…well, some punk with an attitude problem. Some lonely, bitter guy in a bar too scared he'll get close to somebody, a player who has a million one night stands because it's easier than getting attached. A loser. Pathetic. Alone.
Without them, Dean is nothing.
What's best for YOU, Dean? the voice prompts. Be selfish. Just this once.
When it happens, the force of it, his wholehearted belief in it, is so strong that even Dean himself is shocked.
I wish I didn't have this life, Dean thinks bitterly. I wish I was normal.
He blinks. Whoa, where did that come from?
As Dean stares down into the well, water that was (up until this moment) perfectly still ripples across his reflection's worried face.
"Shit," he hisses. "Shit!"
"Dean?" Sam calls, standing up. "What's the matter?"
"Dammit, she got me!" Dean yells angrily, stalking away from the well, hand tightening on his gun again.
"What?!"
"I was gonna wish for the curse to be over!" Dean roars. "And dammit, the thing was so strong, I got sucked in."
"You didn't wish for it? You had no control over it?"
"No! That damn Green Lady Selena-what's-her-face is gonna pay, that's for sure."
"Well, we'll wait until tonight and see," Sam says anxiously, peering at his brother. "Are you gonna be okay?"
"I…I just can't believe I thought of that. Of…of all the things to wish for…" Dean trails off, looking worried.
"What did you wish for, man?" Sam asks.
"If I told you, Sammy," Dean says, looking up at his younger brother bitterly, "then it might not come true."
--
Dean awakes with a start at 11:45 pm and sees a dark-skinned woman in deep green robes standing beside his bed, a crafty smile playing across her unearthly beautiful features.
"Hello, Dean Winchester," she says in lilting tones. "I believe you made a wish."
"Dammit," Dean mutters, scrambling out of bed and lunging for his gun. "Sammy—!"
"Now, now, Dean," the Green Lady breathes, moving towards him, "it's just you and me. Only you can see and hear me." Dean's gaze falls to his sleeping brother.
"Okay, look, Selenamaridra," Dean says irritably, "I'm not in the mood for games."
"You know my true name," she says, looking coldly amused. "Very nice, Master Winchester."
"I know about the curse, and the entire reason I made a wish was so that I could stop you," Dean announces, ignoring her. "So you can cut the 'Master Winchester' crap, all right?"
"Why should I be stopped?" The woman holds out slender hands, palms turned upwards. "I do no one harm."
"Like hell you don't," Dean snaps. "The aftereffects of the curse drive them to suicide or insanity, you know that? This afternoon, you were strangling Derek all because he wanted to tell Sam and me about what happened to him. You don't call that harm?"
"I call it intervention," Selenamaridra says, smile unwavering. "The aftereffects are none of my affair, and none of yours, either. Derek is bound by the wish he made to speak of what happened to him to no one until he breaks the curse, just as you shall be."
"Wait just a minute," Dean says, scowling. "I'm here to make a bargain."
"It's not that kind of curse, Dean," Selenamaridra tells him firmly. "Lie back."
"What?"
"Do as I say," she directs, placing a delicate hand upon his shoulder. "Lie. Back."
It's as though a great weight is pressing against him, and Dean is forced back down onto his pillows, despite his struggle.
"You wish that you were normal," Selenamaridra says, "and I understand. You suffer much pain, much more than the average mortal suffers. You have great power, and with it, great responsibility."
"Like Spiderman," Dean quips.
"You are no superhero," the strange woman (spirit?) dismisses. "Only those whose deepest desires consume them are compelled to wish at my well. The rest of the fools make their petty wishes off their own ridiculous free will."
"What are you going to do to me?" Despite himself, Dean is a little scared. He's helpless, pinned to his bed, and his sleeping little brother is oblivious to the drama unfolding in their tiny little motel room. He's alone, and it doesn't look like this is going to be as simple as he hoped.
"Grant you your wish," Selenamaridra offers simply.
"I don't want it granted," Dean says. "I just want you to end your curse so people can get on with their lives."
"I cannot end it." The witch shakes her pretty head. "You will sever all bonds with it when you break it yourself."
"And how am I supposed to do that?"
"It is not difficult," Selenamaridra chuckles. "It is simply a matter of opening one's eyes. Waking up and smelling the pumpkin juice, my mother used to say."
"Will Sam be okay?" Dean asks softly.
"I see only your pending future," the witch responds. "And that information I cannot tell even you. Concerning your wish: you will get your normal life, Dean. One different version of it for seven days."
"But—"
"This will teach you, I think," Selenamaridra interrupts, "to be careful what you wish for."
She lays a hand on his brow, and though his instinct is to protest, to fight, a heavy wave of drowsiness descends on him, and it is as though he is sinking, sinking, into a black abyss.
He reaches out an arm futilely to stop himself, to fight the curse. He promised Mrs. Warren he'd help, promised his brother this wouldn't go wrong. Oh, God, Sam. What if Dean is a complete nutcase for the next week? What if one of his counterparts hurts Sam or scares him…and what if when Dean gets back, he'll be too screwed up from what he's seen to ever go back to his old self again?
Unbidden, his father's face swims before him.
Always protect your brother, Dean. Always keep him safe.
"Sammy," Dean manages to whisper, and then the darkness seems to swallow him whole.