As a commemoration to my new laptop, Lola, here is the first chapter of what will end up to be a two parter, probably.
Hello :)
Dean stared at the blank page at the end of the ancient book in his hands as his vision faded to black, and his face headed straight for the table's hard, cool surface. He'd been up for days, watching and rewatching videos that told him nothing of what to do next, how to proceed, where to go. Reading and rereading, researched and reresearching, there was absolutely nothing in the fortress that would help him. He had no idea how to help Sam. None. He'd hit dead ends before, but nothing like this. He'd had their father, or Bobby, or Cas. With Sam practically in a coma, even he wasn't available for idea-tossing.
No one. He had no one. Not on that night.
In a way, he'd known that for a long, long time- that he was alone. The life of a hunter was a stereotypically lonely one. He couldn't count how many times he had been called crazy or been hunted by the police. He preferred not to think about it at all, in fact. At some point or another, everyone he had ever become close to was dead, or came near death, because of him. He'd lost everyone he'd ever cared about. He'd watched so many of his friends and family members die at the hands of the demonic assholes his brother had almost eradicated, and his heart darkened more after each and every loss.
He thinks back to when he was just 26 and having fun with it- the job. Saving people, killing things, and loving it. Doing it for his mom. Looking back, he wanted to slap himself. Being a Winchester had been hard shit from the get go, all the way back to November 3rd, 1983, but if he didn't figure out what to do about Sam- and soon- he couldn't be sure how long the living nightmare would last. Demonic trial juice was considerably unpredictable, and Dean couldn't sell his soul. Not again, anyway. The Winchester boys had played with enough souls to last fifteen lifetimes, much less their own.
As he slipped further and further into sleep, his dreams came to him. He had learned long ago how to handle his dreams and nightmares without waking- especially once he had been spending nights in crappy motels with his brother sleeping five feet away. Since the third trial, though, he'd been losing control. Be it because of the lack of sleep, or just the intensity of his problems, he wasn't sure.
In his dreams, he watched Sam die, over and over again. Or Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Cas, Lisa, Ben, or John, but mostly Sam.
His worst nightmares.
But then, he'd wake up. Just as dream-Sam took his last breath, Dean would regain consciousness, only to find that he was living it, live and in person.
He wished that Cas was there, but never prayed for him. He'd had his chances. Over and over and over again,
But on this night, that wasn't what woke Dean from his nightmares.
It was a knock at the door.
K, there you go. I hope to have the next chapter up by tomorrow, if Lola doesn't fail me. (oh and this story is dedicated to my good friend Morgan ( .com) who is on the slow descent into the supernatural fandom)