Title: Dream a Little Dream
Characters: Sam and Dean
Episode: What is and What Should Never Be
Word Count: 1000
A/N: There's a line toward the end when Dean is forced to make a decision that I just couldn't get out of my head, and thus, I wrote this.
---And read the first line, cause that about sums up what the fic is...---
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Dream a Little Dream
I'll die. The Djinn will drain the life out of me in a couple of days.
But in here. With us. It'll feel like years.
On the day Dean Winchester dies, he's outside in the pristine, green lawn tending to the garden along side his wife Carmen. She's beautiful even with sweat glistening on her forehead and dark strands of hair sticking to her sun-drenched face.
So beautiful, in fact, that he can't help but stare, or wrap his arm around her, drawing her close for an impassioned kiss. The sound of their youngest's disgusted opinion of their public affection is the only love song flitting across the light summer breeze. The curves of the couples' lips turn upward; the emotions of belonging and love soon replaced with abundant laughs and one final peck on the cheek.
And then Dean is up, chasing his Matthew, with mother's hair and his smile, around the yard. The young boy shrieks and calls out for older brother to save him from the infamous Daddy Dunk he knows is going to land him in the outdoor pool on this summer day if he's caught.
His eldest is on the porch the second Dean's arms wrap around Matthew's tiny waist and sweep the little boy up, holding him against his chest. Matthew is caught, and knows it as he calls out for his older brother's help.
David, with his father's eyes and mother's laugh, appears from nowhere and attacks Dean from behind. Long arms latch hold of his father's leg. He refuses to let go even through the fierce laughter that breaks through his mother as she watches Dean struggle to trudge both boys toward the pool.
Dean's eyes are glinting with mischief as he kisses the top of Matthew's head and the boy cries out in a fit of giggles as his body submerges under the cool chlorinated water seconds later. David's next, and knows it as he scrambles to get away, but Dad's holding strong and with a laugh the eldest expertly shifts his weight and topples into the water, pulling Dean to join them in the pool.
On the day Dean Winchester dies, he's swimming with his sons and thinking of how he can't imagine life without them. He's splashing water to the soft, snickering chides of his gorgeous wife about how much its going to cost to refill the pool and the boisterous laughs of his sons as they try to dunk him again.
He's smiling so hard the laugh lines revealing his age ache painfully as he dries off with a full body shake. His boys mimic the action in childish glee as the water droplets fly forever in the summer heat to become forgotten mist.
On the day Dean Winchester dies, he's standing on the porch, drink in his hand and then, suddenly he's not. He's on his back, the warming beer sinking into his faded tee as his arm throbs and his chest aches. He thinks this is all too familiar, and yet it's different.
It's his beautiful Carmen's face he sees peering over him, lips moving quickly to offer encouragements and frantic orders for his David to no longer dwell in childish laughter, but become a man and call for help. Its his sweet Matthew's tears that spill into his neck as the little boy seeks his father's comfort amidst the confusion only to be pulled away and made to stay back as the ambulance crew comes rushing to his aid.
On the day Dean Winchester dies, they are too late. But it's the tear-streaked faces of his family he sees as his vision turns to black and a weary smile that crosses his face breaking the voyage of his own tears as he fades away.
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On the day Dean Winchester truly dies, he's hanging by chafed wrists bound by rope in a forgotten warehouse. The glaring heat of a single, incandescent light bulb shines down on his ashen body slowly draining out precious blood through the pin prick in his neck. His hair is matted to his face and his eyes rolled back in a blissful catatonia.
There's a deep scream, piercing and desperate, that reaches Dean's ears. Trembling arms reach around him, lift him up, and pull his close to the chest of his rescuer as pleas to stay and wake up, dammit repeat themselves endlessly.
It's Sammy, with Mom's smile and Dad's eyes, whose raw voice and tender touch calls out to his older brother. He needs Dean, with Mom's hair and Dad's will, to simply give him that infamous cough, groan, and proof of life the youngest is all too familiar with these days filled with tears, blood, and loss.
Dean's eyes are vacant as Sammy strokes the top of his head, and he feels the first few drops of cool water splash across his forehead. For a moment, Sammy disappears with a warrior's cry of pain and anger that is echoed by a tremendous howl of death as the hunter seals victory.
And then, Sammy won't let go. He's holding fast, and Dean is pulled into the dampness of heartache and brokenness as his weight is shifted expertly and he rests bonelessly against his brother.
On the day Dean Winchester truly dies, he's in his Sammy's arms, gripped so tightly his chest aches painfully. His whole body shakes as his brother trembles, and he's drenched in the crystal tears that don't disappear and don't stop. They sink into his faded tee amidst frantic orders of please, no, and Dean. He thinks this shouldn't feel okay, but yet, it does.
On the day Dean Winchester truly dies, he doesn't see anything. But he feels the constant movement of his Sammy's lips offering apologies and promises. It's the sobbing sound of adulthood, and the heavy burden of anguish that stain Dean's neck as Sammy seeks comfort from the harsh world they have been forced into since forgotten childhood.
On the day Dean Winchester truly dies, Sammy is too late. And it's his tear-stained face that stares down at his dying brother hoping for a sign, but receives only blankness and silence in return.
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Thanks for reading!