A.N. Slightly different to my usual style (I hope) but not too way off. Aiming to post at least once per week.
Spoilers : Vague reference to S6 Ep:9 Clap your hands...
Disclaimer : Clearly I have no official tie to Kripke's Supernatural what-so-ever. I don't have his genius for a start :(
It was too late for Sam, and so the wish Dean would have made had he
known, he made for the others, hoping it might keep them safe at night.
A WISH TO A CHILD
PROLOGUE
-o-o-o-
Dean Winchester loved the night. The air was somehow clearer, he could breathe easier, for some reason he could run faster and his senses were always at their sharpest at night. He could walk the quite streets and not feel afraid as he silently passed rows of darkened homes, the inhabitants fast asleep, unaware of the Hunter walking along the deserted sidewalk. Now and then he'd see a house with one upstairs light still on, and he would smile. Most times, he knew, inside those particular houses, tucked up in bed would be a child who needed a light left on to keep the terrors of the night at bay Sensible kid He always made a wish when he saw those single hallway lights still on, and it was always the same wish; that the child inside may never come to realise that those things which haunted them within their dreams were very, very real.
-o-o-o-o-
C1
-o-o-o-
Come away, oh human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping, than you can understand. Yeats.
-o-
Dean hadn't been able to sleep. He'd tried the usual, simple breathing techniques that were supposed to encourage a feeling of calm. Muscle relaxing exercises to try relieving the restlessness he felt throughout his whole body. Counting dead Wendigo. Tuning into and focusing on the soft sound of his brother's breathing. None of these were working for him that night. He'd considered searching for a case on Sam's laptop, but knew that the light from the screen and the sound of himself hitting the keyboard might well serve to disturb Sam's sleep. The case they thought they had found turned out to be a bust and, with nothing else on the horizon, Dean was feeling like he was all dressed up with nowhere to go. Outside the night sky was clear of cloud and a hunters moon shone down, highlighting the dusting of early spring frost that glittered on the body of the Impala parked opposite Dean and Sam's room. Dean glanced over to where Sam still slept soundly, and then down at himself dressed in his usual sleepwear of joggers and tee. With a small shrug, Dean padded across to his bed, retrieving his boots and yesterday's socks from where he had dumped them on the floor at the side of his bed.
-o-
Grabbing his room key and shucking on his jacket, Dean dropped his cell in one pocket and, ever the Hunter, the Glock at his back. A final look at Sam, ensuring his brother hadn't been woken by his moving around the room, Dean let himself out. Locking the door behind him, he stepped away from it and paused. Closing his eyes, he felt the cold of the night air touching his face. He took a slow, deep breath, taking in the clean, crisp scent; his breath forming a curling cloud as he exhaled. Randomly choosing a direction, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and began walking, enjoying that sense of being the only person in the whole world to be out and about.
-o-
Having no other purpose than to walk off his restlessness, Dean entertained himself looking at the houses he walked past, trying to decide which one he would choose for himself and Sam to live in. Some were, he felt, too big and imposing for just the two of them. He also discounted any that had an unfenced and open front lawn. A couple he threw out because of the busily planted frontage, neither he or Sam were keen gardeners. Although he wondered if that would alter, were it their own garden space? Dean grinned at the instant image of Sam, complete with flower patterned rubber household gloves and a wooden trug hanging over one arm, wandering around pruning dead rose heads with his manly pair of clippers.
-o-
Every now and then he spotted a family style house with the upstairs landing light turned on. And each time without fail, Dean made his wish on behalf of the child who was, hopefully, sleeping peacefully within. Although he had been walking for half an hour or so, diverting down the occasional side alley, or on a whim choosing to wander along a different street or down an alternative avenue, Dean was unconcerned, knowing he would have no difficulties finding his way back to the motel. His accurate sense of direction had always been one of his innate gifts and had come in extremely useful on a number of hunts, when he and Sam had managed to get turned around whilst chasing after some supernatural creature or other. Even when hunting through unfamiliar territory, Dean could rely on that sense of direction to keep them on the right track when the sky was heavy with cloud cover, or they had no map to follow. Looking at his watch, Dean decided to head back to the motel and try to get some sleep before daylight harassed the dark of the night away.
-o-
He was less than five minutes into the return journey, when his attention was attracted by a noise like breaking glass. The crisp night air could be misleading, making sounds originating some distance away seem like they were occurring within mere yards of the listener. Most people might be fooled, but not Dean. He was already running, guessing that he had a distance of roughly a quarter of a mile to cover, when the unmistakeable sound of a baby's cry started, and was then abruptly cut short, as though a hand had been put over the baby's mouth, thereby quelling the infant's squalls.
-o-
A baby! Dean's concern flared higher, now joined and given backup by rising anger and, somehow, his speed managed to increase still further. His mind focused on the baby and what might, or might not, be happening on the next street, Dean abandoned all caution, heading toward a narrow cut-through that connected the street he was on, to the one where the baby's cries had sprung from. Although there was no further sound, every instinct screamed to him that something was wrong; something was dreadfully wrong! And Dean was determined to find out what.
-o-
Turning onto the path that was cast into shadow by the high wooden fence bordering it on either side, Dean's heart leaped when he saw a short, dark figure scampering swiftly down towards him, a baby sized bundle in it's arms.
-o-
Skidding to a halt, Dean reached for his gun at the same time that he shouted to the on-coming figure.
"Hold it right there pond scum! Or I swear I'll shoot both your knees out!"
The figure slowed by a fraction. White eyes with a small black dot of a pupil set into a large, melon shaped head, narrowed as it weighed up the threat blocking it's exit. The figure changed pace, moving at a freakishly fast run straight for Dean. No longer able to risk shooting, Dean saw the closing figure let go of the baby with one hand, raising that same hand it unfurled a long, gnarled finger and pointed directly at the Hunter. There was no sideways option open, and going backwards wouldn't serve to move Dean out of the thing's line of sight, forcing Dean to take the only evasive manoeuvre left to him. He had to go forward and down. With a sudden and startling turn of speed, the Hunter executed a graceful swan dive to the ground.
-o-
Dean's intention to roll, grab the little guy's legs and yank him down to the ground to subdue the thing never happened. The crackle and buzz of static electricity filled the air, and piercing waves of lava hot agony speared the length of Dean's spine, temporarily nullifying his ability to either cry out in pain, or to breathe. He desperately wanted to curl up into a ball and hold on to himself until the pain passed, but there was no response from his body other than a weak, fish like, flapping of his arms and the turn of his head. Helpless, Dean watched as the creature turned to look at him, before raising one oversized hand and giving a slow wave, then blinking out of existence.
-o-
Sam's dream was rudely interrupted by the intrusive sound of his cell's ring tone. Refusing to open his eyes, Sam reluctantly stuck a hand out from the warmth of the bedclothes and began to pat around on the top of his bedside cabinet, annoyed when his phone stopped ringing before he found it. Sam decided to let his voicemail deal with the call and retracted his hand back into the warmth, wondering if he'd be able to pick up the dream where it had left off? The sound of his ring tone a second time, dragged a groan out of him. Irritated, Sam opened one eye, successfully managing to grab the phone this time.
"Uh huh?"
"Sam?...S'at you?"
"Um...Yeah...Hold on..."
Sam frowned in the confusion of being hauled unwillingly awake, and turned his head to stare at his brother's empty bed.
"S'm? Y'there?"
"Yeah, er...How come you're not in your bed?"
"Couldn't sleep. ... There's bin a thing...C'n you...Y'know...Come get me?...Can't geddup."
-o-o-o-o-
Thank you for reading