Dean/Sam/Yellow eyed thing isn't mine. So sad. So true.
I had a dream. I wrote it down. I tweaked it a bit. I like it.
It was four years to the day since Sam had died. Three since he had sent that yellow-eyed son of a bitch back to hell. Two years had passed since he had driven through Texas. It had been one year since he had stayed more than seven hours in a single place. And for the past two hours he had been driving up and down the same road.
Sure, it was slightly stalker-esque to keep this up, but how else was he supposed to see her?
He had spotted her exactly one hour and fifty-three minutes ago climbing up a hill that lead to what looked like some fancy barn pulling a black horse behind her. It was an interesting sight, the horse hadn't wanted to walk forward, and for the three seconds it took to pass the farm, Dean had laughed. It had been awhile since something made him laugh.
Halfway down the road he realized he was going the wrong direction. One hour and fifty minutes into the drive, she had moved closer to the road. Her tall, thin frame was leaned against the white fence, head held to the sun, while water trickled into a trough beside her. She was like that for twelve seconds.
Twenty minutes later he turned around again because, hell, no one knew how to give good directions and the highway was seven miles in the opposite direction. She was on the black horse this time, and for twenty seconds he watched her and the horse fly over about a million different jumps. They were high, too. He had to admire her courage.
A mile from the highway, he turned around again. He had nowhere to be, and driving down the road had proven to be interesting so far. Plus, he would have to fill up the gas tank soon, and there was a station right next to the road. Might as well run this one down.
The first pass she was still riding the black horse. The second she was leading him back up the hill. The third she was on a brown one. The fourth she was waiting for him. She had that no-good-don't-mess-with-me look on her face too, and that was probably what made him stop. That and the fact that she and the damn horse were parked in the middle of the road.
"I knew you'd be back."
It was a stupid phrase. Vastly overused, and incredibly irritating, but true. Very true. He made himself get out of the car, walk the few steps to the side of the horse, and hold out his hand.
Her name was Ella, Ella Hurston, and she wondered if he needed directions or if he was simply attempting turns with his eyes closed.
He smirked and told her that he was running from a pack of vampires, and for some reason they refused to go down her road. She had replied that it was because a pack of werewolves lived around the corner and everybody knew the two were mortal enemies. Her face was so serious that it made Dean wonder if she was telling the truth. But then she had cracked a smile and informed him that the highway was to his right, the town to his left, and he had best choose one because the barn manager had a shotgun and an itchy trigger finger.
So he left, but an hour later he was back, standing in the middle of the road, begging her to go to dinner with him. She told him no, but showed up anyway.
x
It was seven years to the day since Sam had died. Six since he had sent that yellow-eyed son of a bitch back to hell. Five years had passed since he had driven through Texas. It had been four years since Ella had tastelessly shoved cake in his face. And for the past three hours he had been trying to rock Mary-El Winchester to sleep. She was two years old today, and the one woman he loved more than anything else was waiting in the next room.