SPN WarVerse Epilogue:
By: sifi
OOooOO
My name is Dean Winchester and there's something wrong with my life. Not anything monstrous or anything. Maybe not even something all that important but yeah, even if it's not important, it's important y'know?
See, I'm a hunter just like our father was. Instincts are the one thing a hunter can't afford to ignore and mine are telling me something isn't right, is maybe, in fact a long way away from right. I'll figure it out though.
Who's we? We is me and my little brother Sam. He's four years younger than me and pretty much a mopey ball of emo. He's always hated the hunting life.
What's to like right? Crappy roach filled motels, every meal adding to the eventual death by stroke or heart attack, well you can eat healthy, Sammy's proof of that, but what's the point? I mean live healthy so you can die nasty? No thanks. I'll enjoy my bacon cheeseburgers and hope to go out like a hunter should, taking down something evil and maybe saving someone in the process. After all, it's what we were raised to do.
But there are women. Lots of 'em. Course it helps I'm a good lookin' guy. Sam's not bad, but he's more of a 'connection' kinda guy. Me? I'm a 'let's get off together and go our separate ways' kinda guy, hey I'm not a dick, I mean where's the fun if the chick isn't having any y'know? Sometimes though you run across a different kind of chick. A girl. The kind you almost wish you could come back to some day. I hate it when that happens. It hurts. Yeah. It hurts.
Look at him curled on his side, his knees accordion-folded up into his chest, I can't help but remember a time when the nickname 'runt' was appropriate. That was a long time ago though. Kid shot past me by the time he ran away to college. Yeah, he had to run away to go to college. I told you, he always hated the hunting life, but dad wasn't exactly sympathetic, hell no, not John Winchester. Last thing anyone could call him was sympathetic. In fact, he was frequently a downright bastard. And I used to worship every breath he took. Hmmm I wonder how I realized he was just a pathetic, flawed, lost son of a bitch doing the best he could to teach his kids the best he knew how, to stay safe in a world most folks can't acknowledge and stay sane. Course no one ever accused us of being sane.
Anyway, getting back to Sam, the kid well... he's not really a kid anymore. He's twenty nine and an easy four inches taller than me, makes me look friggin average height! Little bastard! (As a big brother it's my God Given right to always refer to him as a 'little' bastard!) Not to mention the 40 lbs of pure muscle he's got on me. I'd hate to come across him in a dark alley as something he was hunting. I can't help smiling at him though. Whatever else he does, he makes me proud to call him my brother. Believe it or not, I'm pretty sure I've actually told him that once or twice. Something deep inside tells me so even though I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be like me to come out and say it. Huh.
So, getting back to this weird feeling in the pit of my guts here, I think it's what woke me up.
"What's wrong with you?" Sam asks cracking an eye open at me.
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Dude, it's just another hangover you'll get over it. Take some aspirin and go back to bed." He groans. Seriously, he used to be such a cheerful baby, content, smiley, genuinely happy at least sorta, until that Christmas anyway. The one where he found dad's journal and learned that monsters are real and that Santa Claus was a myth (I told him that part. I still regret it a little, but I always told myself I'd never lie to him so when he asked, I just couldn't y'know?).
"Did I drink last night?" I ask cause I really can't remember (which oddly only seems to happen if I don't drink... weird). Seems like I should taste it in the back of my throat or something if I drank, let alone the dozen or so it'd take to give me a hangover Sam would notice.
"You drink every night... just about." Finally he sits up and scratches his head looking around. "You cleaned up?"
"I just woke up, there's no empties." I point to the table and the pizza box with the waxy looking gobs of cheese hardened to the inside and the three big-toe sized cockroaches waving their antenna's around, probably signaling to the other roaches to come out and join the harvest.
"Remember to shake out your shit I don't want those bastards in the car."
"I see 'em." He nods looking around, "So what's got your shorts in a bunch at..." he squints at the clock, yeah he's gonna need glasses one day too. I'm not sure he even knows I wear 'em once in a while, they're just over the counter magnifiers but they help after a long day of research, "5:27 a.m."
"Maybe a dream?" I shake my head unsure. This is sooo weird! We don't talk dreams, not unless they're his visions s'been a while since he had one though, ever since I killed old yellow eyes in the cemetery and set dad free from hell, but that's a whole other story.
"Nightmare?" he asks shoving off the bed and waddling stiffly toward the bathroom. He does that y'know, waddles till his kinks smooth out. I think we both do actually, maybe it's part of the life, maybe it's the mileage like Indy says.
"I don't know, it didn't feel like a nightmare but it felt wrong man. Stressful, like something we shouldn't be doing, or shouldn't have to do, or..."
"So we were both in your dream? What were we hunting?" he asks from the dark. Neither of us wants the lights on yet, it's too early I mean hell, the sun's not even awake yet.
"We weren't, I think we were being hunted."
He leans back and looks out at me, our eyes find each other even in the darkness. "You heard me." I say.
"Well, it's not that odd, every hunter gets hunted once in a while. Do you know by what?"
That's where I get all sticky inside. My lungs have suddenly shrunk, my heart starts to trot and as embarrassing as it is to admit, even to myself, I think I'm about to crap my jammies. I'm only thirty three. When I picked Sam up from Stanford, ripped him out of the life he was trying to build, (one that would have taken him away from me, left me all on my own, maybe to turn out worse than Rufus, he'll I'd've been dead within a year if he hadn't come with, I would've made sure of it.) I was twenty six. Where the hell did the last seven years go?
"Dean?"
"Mm," something's stuck in my throat. I don't wanna answer him. I mean I really don't... ahh shit, there's that volcanic flow of lava right down my intestinal tract. Nope, this isn't gonna wait. I leap out of bed, shove Sam from the bathroom and slam the door just in time. I hate it when this happens. Maybe I did drink last night. I feel around inside my head but there's no ache. I taste my mouth but there's no sour sting. This isn't right.
"Jesus dude what the hell?" Sam calls from outside the door as I explode in the darkness.
"Bad Sam. Big evil, big bad evil... yed times ten thousand." I groan.
"Are you shittin' me?" he asks then mutters, "Sorry."
That's one of Sammy's best qualities if you ask me, not that he takes responsibility for the sun rising and setting, but he doesn't think of his sensitivity as a weakness. Thank God for that cause dad sure didn't have anything to do with it, if it'd been up to him me and Sam'd be just a couple of robots working by some odd conglomeration of rote and either deduction or induction, whichever would be weighed to be appropriate for the moment. I gotta stop watching Bones I think as my body finally stops exploding. I haven't felt this bad since the impala got t-boned, or since I realized dad traded his soul for my life. Stupid ass hole.
I haven't felt this bad since the impala got t-boned, or since I realized dad traded his soul for my life. I think knowing it's not right. It's the truth, but it's not right. "Sam?"
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I think, "When was the last time either of us was sick or wounded?" Finally my body's done. I turn on the fan but not the light, wash my hands, splash around a bit and step on a crispy big-toe sized body that squishes crunchily under my bare foot. Is crunchily a word? "Sick." But I scrape my foot clean and really don't care as I leave the bathroom closing the door behind me and make sure to shake out the sheets before I hop back in bed.
Sam's sitting on his with the laptop throwing a ghostly glow on his planes and angles, but he's wearing his, 'I'm thinking' face. I can't help but smile as it turns into his, 'That can't be right' face.
"So? When?"
"Aside from the normal..."
"Choking, partial concussions and shit... I'm talking about something near death or at least hospital worthy."
He shakes his head, reaches down and tosses me a water from his bag. At the edges of the window the sky is lavender. Yeah I know, I shouldn't know that color but to hell with it, I can even identify periwinkle if I'm pressed. Sue me.
"Well there was..." he stops and tilts his head to the side, scratching just above his temple. It makes him look like a kid trying to puzzle out something sticky. "No..." he cocks his head to the side, "I don't know, I think it was when the impala got t-boned." But there's something in his expression that I know.
"What?" I ask. I want to know but I don't wanna lead him.
"It's gonna sound really weird Dean."
"That's okay."
"It doesn't feel right. I'm gonna turn on the light."
A second later we're both squinting, I got my hand over my eyes.
"What's that?" he asks pointing at me.
Oh shit...friggin roaches! I flap the sheets and start swatting at myself and shaking my head, it's a girlie reaction I know, but man I friggin HATE roaches! But it's not like there was a lot of choice when we pulled in this morning, I could hardly see straight. What time did we pull in? But I don't remember. "Hey, when did we pull in?" I ask.
My eyes can't help but lock on something. Something odd. It's on my left hand. On my ring finger. "What the fuck?!" I bark, yeah it really comes out like that, and pull it off.
I turn on my own bedside light and hold it underneath. It's pretty. Smokey gray, tungsten carbide, but where does the red come from? It's smooth and glassy and perfect and it looks like its somehow breathing, like it's alive.
"Lemme see." Sam asks holding out his hand. Strangely enough I'm reluctant to flip it to him. I don't want to let it go.
He rolls his eyes and comes to me. "It's beautiful."
"Yeah." I hand it to him but can't take my eyes off it as he tests its fit over his fingers one at a time. Oddly I'm relieved when it doesn't fit any of them right.
"Where'd you get that again?" he asks.
I shake my head, I've always had it. "I think I've always had it."
"Did Cassie give it to you?"
A laugh bubbles up out of my chest, so THAT's what it feels like. "No friggin way dude, very not that woman's style."
Sam shakes his head and his face gets that 'lemon pucker' look I first saw when mom tried to feed him pureed beets for the first time. You've always been more into salt than sweet.
"What?" I ask, I love the way his mind works even if I do wind up feeling inadequate. Wow it really sucks to acknowledge that your own baby brother makes you feel inadequate, in ANY capacity. But I'm not dumb, or something inside says I'm not, or I could be smarter than I think I could be. It doesn't matter. What matters is I've got my very own Professor Peabody right here with me and together we're a helluva team.
He shakes his head but give it a second, he'll spill, he always does.
"It's weird. I'm trying to think..."
"Don't strain yourself." I can't help myself, my mouth has always tried to hide it when my guts don't feel right. "Sorry."
He shakes it off like he always does. God thank you for giving me Sam as a little brother and not some self righteous dick.
"Think backwards Dean, everything we've done since dad died. The Croatoan virus, Gordon, zombie girlfriends, tulpa's, werewolves, the devils gate..."
"The Devil's gate!" that hit something in my head! Maybe it's cause where I finally put a bullet in that yellow eyed son of a bitch and set dad free! Whatever he might've been he didn't deserve to go to hell! All of a sudden I can't breathe again. My stomach clenches and I launch myself off the bed again.
Visions of Sam turning blue over the course of days, laying still, stony, DEAD! My mind screams at me. Yeah laying dead on a filthy mattress it breaks my heart to lay him on but I can't let him go. I can't. I just... can't.
Retch explodes out of me, shit I wish I had something to puke up!
"Dean?" Sam asks from the door. He steps in and turns on the lights.
"You were dead Sam! You were fucking dead! I couldn't stop it... I couldn't... but..." I can't catch my breath.
"Hey hey, easy Dean. Easy." He drops to my side and drops an arm across my back. "It's okay, it's okay. You made a deal, with the crossroad demon remember? You brought me back remember?"
Oh shit! Another rope of spew hits the water, I hate this, I hate feeling weak, I hate casting doubt on Sam's perception of me. I hate giving him reason to think less of me. I nod. I remember.
"Yeah. Yeah. I remember..." I breathe and finally settle on my heels. "Sam?"
"Yeah?"
I turn and look into his eyes after wiping my mouth clean, I can feel water dripping out of my eyes as dread fills every corner I have. "Something's wrong Sam. Something is really really wrong!"
He swallows hard and nods. His huge hand feels hot and sweaty against my back but right now I wouldn't trade it for a second, I'll take any kind of comfort I can get right now, even if it comes from the one person I'm supposed to take care of. "Yeah. I think you might be right."
OOooOO
Tbc
Please R&R
A/N I know it's only an epilogue but I just want to close out my little warVerse well. Please let me know ... Thanks. A Loohht.
sifi