imagine
It had been a couple of weeks since his dad had been missing, a couple of days since Dean was sure he was dead. Now, with no other relative or even friend, Dean had parked outside of his younger brother's dorms at Stanford. He reprimanded himself for not eating properly since the time his father had disappeared-how else was he supposed to keep up his strength-and stopped at a fast food joint on his way towards here. California just had the best burgers, although their french fries were a bit on the bland side. Though, those were made up by the girls down at the beach and so forth; Dean didn't know how reliable they were as a long-term companion or as a partner, but having no brains didn't affect him-as long as they were easy on the eyes. Or easy in bed. Preferably both.
The hunter sighed, finished his soda, and aimed a well-balanced shot towards the trashcan with the can. The aluminum landed with a satisfying, ringing thump as it landed inside the larger metal can. He scoffed at himself. Here he was, thinking about how to get girls into bed with him while his brother was safely in college, studying away for his future. He always knew that Sammy was going to achieve more, better things than him. He wondered if Sam was just always bound to a different fate and lifestyle than others from hunter families, himself included. He tried to imagine himself sitting at a desk for even an hour straight, a stranger blabbing on about one particular subject that would will most likely not affect his life later on, not to mention the paperwork later one and then the studying, and then the tests. He shuddered. Oh well, Dean thought as he finished his cheeseburger. Higher education wasn't for everybody.
Cleaning himself up, he wiped off the crumbs and grease with a napkin before throwing it into the nearby cupholder as a temporary trash can. He would throw it away. Eventually. He breathed deeply through his nerves, calming himself before he went to see his younger brother, practically raised as his son, whom he hadn't made contact with for a couple of years. Would Sam even recognize him? Would Dean be able to recognize him? Dean himself become more lean within the year, and walked a bit differently due to the various injuries that he suffered throughout the numerous hunts he had gone on. He wondered if his father and he were simply not meant to be. Certainly, they worked together, but as they spend the years in a small, confined space...it was really, only their main objective that kept them together. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," his father used to say. Dean thought the world was more of a palette of grays and hues that varied depending on the situation, the time, the feeling. Even their motives were different: John wanted to get revenge on his wife but Dean didn't really know how to do anything else, this was his life. Shaking his head, he dispelled of his continuously wandering thoughts and got out of the car, making sure that his baby was all locked up and secure before walking towards the little steps that led up to the building.
He stared at the little white button for a while before bringing his index finger up to poke at it. He remembered a time when he was hunting a werewolf (which turned out to be a pack) that had slaughtered multiple cats of an old lady that lived above a small, family bakery. She was nice but her dozens of cats weren't as friendly. He probably should dedicate an entire page in his notebook (or his father's, depends on how you look at it) for her: Cat lady in Louisiana. You can't get weirder than Louisiana. Shaking his head yet a second time, he cleared his thoughts and steeled his will. Memories of his nerd brother came to mind as he continuously pressed the white button that made that little, annoying 'bzzzz' sound. The scrawny boy that loved to read books half his body weight. The little boy that didn't understand why his father hated the world so much. The young adult, slightly short of a man, that wanted to pave a path for himself. He pressed the button yet once again.
Dean felt it before he saw it. It was like that "sixth sense" that everyone believed was bullshit, but once you get into enough fights and risky situations, you knew when something bad was about to happen. But everything, literally everything around him, was progressing at a much-too-quick rate within the split second after he felt the rumbling and the shaking and the fear. He barely managed to cover his ears before a bright white light blinded him-a noiseless flash-and an invisible being violently forced him off of his feet and onto his back on the hard concrete road. Dazed, he managed to crawl over debris and broken glass towards Baby, distantly hearing a scream through the ringing in his ears. His head cleared a bit as he managed to touch the worn and frayed rubber of her tires, and at that moment there was only one thought going through his head, one word that mattered:
"Sam!"
Blissful nothing.
a world
