Sweet Dreams
Disclaimer: I know, I know. I don't own them and if I break them, I'll have a ton of rabid fans after me!
A/N: I love, love, love Dream a Little Dream of Me. I'm still trying to wrap my head around all the implications of Dean's dream and maybe that's why I felt compelled to write a second tag. I've never written more than one tag for an episode, but this one just begs for more attention.
I'm the only one who proofread this one, so any mistakes and missteps are mine.
oooOOOooo
Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living - Anais Nin
oooOOOooo
Dean's eyes opened; at least he thought they did. He couldn't see anything in the complete blackness in which he found himself. No light and no sound; if he hadn't been able to feel the hard surface on which he lay, he might have thought he was in some kind of sensory deprivation tank. Hey, he'd seen Altered States on some cable movie channel. It had freaked him the hell out, too. But he had more immediate problems to deal with; like, where was he?
He carefully moved his hands over where he lay and determined that he was on a wooden floor. It felt like wood anyway. He couldn't find any walls within his reach, nor could he feel anything restraining him. But he couldn't see anything. He thought he was alone, but he couldn't sense the size of the room he was in. Was he even in a room? Could it possibly be this dark outside? He couldn't see anything above him; no stars, no clouds, nothing.
He lay as still and quiet as he could; listening intently. Nothing. Unless you counted the pounding of his heart which he was sure could be heard in the next county; where ever the hell that was. Dean was scared and he didn't like being scared. Fear really pissed him off; especially his own. If he was scared, he wasn't in control. If he wasn't in control, anything could happen. He didn't like that one damn bit. And where the hell was Sam?
Okay, Dean thought as he tried to calm himself. What was the last thing he remembered? It took him a few minutes, but memories began to come to him. He and Sam had just finished someth- oh yeah, they'd taken Bobby back home after he'd been released from the hospital. The doctors hadn't been able to explain his coma, but it's not like some jackass using dream root was gonna show up in any test.
The dream root….did that crap have side effects? Was this a dream? If he was, it sucked. Where was the hot chick or….damn, Sam had been traipsing through his head when he'd seen Lisa. Stupid picnic. Was that wine she offered him? Dean shuddered involuntarily. At least Sam hadn't given him any crap about that. That wasn't what he wanted, anyway. Not really. Sure, it would be cool to have a kid and he'd really liked Lisa, but what the hell was that picnic about?
Stop it, Dean, he told himself silently. You've got to figure this out.
Okay, so he and Sam had taken Bobby home and figured they'd stay for a couple of days; try to track down Bela. Bitch took the Colt….
Another stupid move on my part, Dean thought. I never should have opened the damn safe with her in the room. She saw the Colt and couldn't resist….I keep making stupid mistakes around her. She's hot, no doubt about that, but the bitch ain't right and I gotta be smarter.
Could this somehow be related to Bela? Dean wondered. No, we hadn't found her yet. 'Course that doesn't mean she hasn't found us, but she has the Colt, so why would she come looking?
Dean continued to slow his breathing and work on the control he needed to get himself out of the situation. Sam had been working hot and heavy on the computer trying to get a lead. Bobby had asked a friend who lived near Bela to check out her apartment. Both seemed to be dead ends. Dean remembered he'd done a lot of pacing, some ranting, weapons cleaning and car maintenance. And the absolute last thing he remembered was going to bed the second night in South Dakota.
So, this was a dream. Dean was about to snap his fingers, but suddenly remembered his last dream. The one he'd had when Sam came along for the ride. After they saw Lisa.
"I get it. I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare. Is that it?" Dean had asked this after entering a room where he'd found himself sitting at a desk.
"Joke all you want, smart ass," the other Dean had said. "But you can't lie to me. I know the truth. How dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror… and hate what you see."
"Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work. You're not real."
"Sure I am," said his dream self. "I'm you."
"I don't think so. Cuz see, this is my siesta. All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye."
He'd snapped his fingers, but nothing had happened.
Shit, Dean thought. I don't want to do this again. Please.
"Dean."
He heard the voice and felt cold. It couldn't be.
"Dean."
Dean slowly sat up and it got a little lighter.
"Come on, a little more."
The darkness faded more and he could see his surroundings a little better. It looked like one of the deserted places where he and Sam had squatted in recently. He realized he was now sitting against a mattress thrown up against the wall, but he didn't remember moving. Hesitantly, he looked around again and when his eyes landed on the woman sitting in a wooden chair across the room, he felt a lump in his throat.
She smiled at him and a million memories he shouldn't be able to remember flashed through his head; being held by her, being tucked into bed, sitting on her lap in a rocking chair….He remembered her soft voice and the gentle scent of her perfume.
"Mom," he breathed.
"I think we need to talk."
Dean flashed back to the other dream. The door to the room he'd entered slammed and locked.
"Like I said," the other Dean said. "We need to talk. You're going to hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it. Talk about low self-esteem. Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving. I mean after all, you got nothing outside of Sam. You are nothing."
Dean shook his head and looked back to his mother. She was wearing the same white nightgown she'd been wearing the night she died. The same one she'd been wearing when he and Sam had gone back to Lawrence and saw her in their old house.
"How?" was all he could manage.
"Didn't your dad always tell you that anything is possible?" she smiled at him.
"But I thought….Lawrence….you and that poltergeist…."
Mary walked across the room and settled on the floor next to him. She reached for his hand and Dean suddenly felt warm and….whole.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were growing up," she said, her expression dismal.
"It wasn't your fault."
"It wasn't your dad's, either."
"All that crap he dumped on me about protecting Sam? That was his crap! He's the one who couldn't protect his family! He's the one who let Mom die!"
Dean didn't respond and he looked away.
"There was nothing your dad could do, Dean. It was already too late when he got upstairs. Even if he'd been there right away….there was nothing he could do."
Dean felt tears sting his eyes as he remembered the site of his mom on the ceiling before his father put baby Sammy into his arms. He heard his father's voice telling him to take his brother and run….
"Dean, you have to believe me, sweetheart. Your dad did everything he could and there was just no way to stop it."
"I tried so hard to do what he wanted me to," Dean whispered. "I learned how to take care of Sam; I learned how to use the weapons….I trained and learned Latin. I wanted to be just like him, but nothing was ever enough. I wasn't enough."
"That isn't true, honey. Your dad," Dean heard his mother sigh and he turned toward her. She looked as if she was lost in thought, but a moment later she squeezed his hand and smiled at him. "He was a hard man when I met him. Being in the military….being a Marine, no less, isn't something a man forgets. But I saw that gentle heart and I fell in love with him."
Dean waited when Mary paused. She wiped away a tear a moment later.
"He was so happy the night you were born," she continued. "You were two weeks early and we hadn't quite finished the nursery. He'd worked hard to finish painting, but the garage was busy and he was putting in a lot of hours there, so he was behind. I still remember his face when he held you for the first time. He was so happy; so full of love for you."
Dean fought back the tears as he listened to his mom's soft voice.
"The doctor decided to keep us in the hospital for a couple of days and when we went home, the nursery was finished. Your dad had finished painting, ventilated it somehow so it didn't even smell like paint. He'd arranged the furniture the way I'd told him I wanted it and everything was perfect. He couldn't wait to get home from work every evening. He completely took over; he'd bathe you, get you ready for bed. He rocked you….I don't think any man has ever loved a son like your father loved you."
"But then Sammy came along," Dean said sadly. "And you died."
"All there was; watch out for Sammy! Look out for your little brother, boy! You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, clear as a bell….I mean think about it. All he ever did was train you. Boss you around. But Sam; Sam he doted on. Sam he loved."
"He didn't stop loving you, Dean. He might have lost track of it now and then, but he never stopped. I'm not going to make excuses for him. Believe me, I'm plenty mad at him for some of the things he did. But he had his reasons, honey. At first, he was scared. He didn't know what he was up against, but he figured it had something to do with your brother because it happened in his nursery; over his crib. He was afraid that the thing that had killed me would come for Sammy. He didn't love your brother more than he loved you. It's just that he didn't think you were targeted and he thought Sammy was."
Dean didn't remember it happening, but he realized he was lying on his side with his head in his mom's lap. He could feel her hand gently caressing his face. This is what he should have had growing up; his mom's love and tender nature. He didn't deserve the drill sergeant his father had become. He'd been just a kid, too, like Sammy. He wasn't much older than Sam, but he'd been treated so differently than his brother.
"You know, Sammy doesn't remember things quite the same way as you do. He doesn't remember John doting on him; Sam remembers John riding his ass. He remembers your father being as hard on him as he was on you. In fact, his memory is that your father was harder on him."
"I never minded looking out for Sam," Dean said quietly. "It was just hard sometimes. And it got scary. When Dad would leave us in a motel or some crappy apartment, I was always afraid something would happen that I couldn't handle. I love him, Mom. I love Sammy. I love him more than –"
"Than you love yourself. I know that, Dean. And Sam knows it, too. It bothers him because he sees the person you really are; the good man you've become. He sees all of the good things you've done and he so desperately wants you to see that, too."
"Joke all you want, smart ass, but you can't lie to me. I know the truth. How dead you are inside. How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror… and hate what you see."
"Dean," Mary continued. "I'm so sorry for what your father did. He's sorry, too. He never meant to make you feel unloved and he never meant to make you feel like you didn't matter. He just didn't see what was happening, baby. He was so focused on finding the demon and learning all he could about how to kill it. He wanted to find a way to stop it before it came for your brother and all that fear just took over."
"Did he make a deal with the demon?" Dean asked.
He felt his mom's hand hesitate for just a moment.
"Yes," she whispered. "His life for yours. He couldn't let you die bec—"
"Because he needed me to protect Sam."
"Before Dad died he, he told me something. Something about you."
"What? Dean, what did he tell you?"
"He said that he wanted me to watch out for you. Take care of you."
"He told you that a million times."
"This time was different. He said that I had to… save you."
"Save me from what?"
"He just said that I had to save you. That nothing else mattered. And that if I couldn't. I'd…"
"You'd what, Dean?"
"I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy."
"No," Mary protested softly. "He didn't want his first born son to die. He only had enough time for one play and he couldn't screw it up. That's why he didn't call anyone or ask for help. He had one chance to save his boy and he had to take it."
"Before….before he died," Dean said, having a hard time forming the words. "He said he was proud of me."
"He was."
"But then he said that I might have to kill Sammy. Who lays that kind of crap on their kid, Mama?"
"He was almost out of time, baby. He never wanted to have to tell you that, but he had no choice because he wasn't going to be around to take care of things. If there had been any other way…."
"When I made the deal to save Sammy….I'd die for him, Mom. I would. In a second, but –"
"You were willing to go to Hell for him, I know that. But when you made the deal, you thought your dad was there, too; you wanted to be with your father."
Dean glanced up at his mother and saw the knowing look on her face. He turned away, holding some of the nightgown material in his fist.
"I didn't want Sammy dead, but I don't want to become a demon. Is Ruby right, Mom? Will that happen to me?"
"I don't know, Dean."
"Is this a dream?" he asked after a few moments of silence.
Dean heard his mom laugh softly. "I'm not sure how to answer that question. You're asleep, but this is real."
"Why didn't Dad come to tell me this stuff?"
"You tell me."
"I miss you."
"I miss you, too. But I look in on you when I can."
"Even after what happened in our old house? With the poltergeist?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" she asked, still caressing his face.
"You've seen Dad?"
"Mmm-hmm. That's how I know a lot of this stuff. We're together, sweetie."
"I'm glad. But…."
"What?"
"I miss you and I wanted to see you, but Dad….It should be him telling me this."
"Dean."
Dean sat up, looking at his father. He'd always seemed larger than life; even now he loomed over his oldest son. John sat down next to Dean and the young man had a sudden flash of sitting on the couch between his parents, watching something on TV.
"Everything your mom told you? It's true, son. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I did. I never meant to hurt you. You were always so strong, so brave. I just forgot you were a little boy and I'm sorry."
Dean looked at his father. He saw the tears as they rolled down his dad's face.
"Dad…."
"I am so proud of you, son. You became the man I wanted you to be. A good man. Strong. And a good brother to Sammy. But son, you've got to find a way to feel something. Your life is just as important as anyone else's; it's as important as Sammy's. You don't deserve to die. You don't deserve to go to Hell. And I'm sorry if I made you feel like you did."
Dean didn't know what to say. So many thoughts were rolling around in his head; he almost felt dizzy.
"We don't have much time left, son," John said a moment later.
"Is there a way out of this deal, Dad?"
John nodded, putting an arm around Dean's shoulders. "I think so."
"Can Ruby help?"
"That I don't know. Use her for information, but don't trust her."
"Yes, sir."
John stood up and held out his hands to his wife and son. They stood together in the middle of the room, none of them wanting the moment to end.
"I love you, son. And I'm proud of you."
"I love you, too, Dad."
"And hey, that leather coat? It looks better on you than it ever did on me," John pulled Dean into a tight hug. "Take care of it."
Dean smiled to himself and held onto his dad.
"Do me a favor," Mary said when she hugged Dean a moment later. "Talk to your brother. It would mean so much to him and I know it would help you, too."
Dean held her close. "I'll try."
John took Mary's hand and they turned toward their older son. Mary put a hand on his cheek before stepping away.
"Hey, Dean?" John asked, a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"Watch out for Bela, huh? You and your brother; you're smarter than that." John smiled at him.
oooOOOooo
"Dean?"
He opened his eyes, hearing his brother's voice. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, a hand on his shoulder.
"Sammy….? What's going on?"
"You were talking in your sleep, dude. You okay?"
Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah….I was dreaming, I guess. What did I say?"
Sam shook his head. "I couldn't understand the words, but you don't usually talk in your sleep. Do you remember the dream?"
Dean realized that he did and he was hit with a wave of emotion. Sam must have seen something on his face because he reached out and put a hand on the older man's shoulder.
"I'm okay," Dean said, but he didn't push his brother away. He looked into Sam's eyes. "I was talking to Mom and Dad."
"Yeah?" Sam asked quietly.
Dean nodded. "I want to talk to you about it. And….and what happened when you went into my other dream. Let's see if Bobby's got some beer."
fin