Title: The Picture
Summary: It was just an old magazine ad hidden in Dean's wallet, but it was also so much more...
Warnings: Spoilers for WIAWSNB
Disclaimer: I so want this to happen on the show, but I don't own the show, so I won't hold my breath.
Please review!
The Picture
He wasn't supposed to find it, he was sure of that. It was supposed to be hidden, and Dean always hid things for a reason.
He almost felt guilty, sitting on the edge of the bed, the twenty bucks Dean owed him completely forgotten as police sirens screamed in the distance and the shower pounded in the background.
What's hidden should stay hidden, just like the dead should stay dead, and what is should never be. Still, he couldn't help but look.
It had been all folded up in Dean's wallet and had tumbled out when Sam had gone looking for his money. Dean had given him permission to go through his wallet and find what was owed him before stepping into the bathroom for a shower, so it wasn't technically snooping. He'd probably just forgotten about the picture. No big deal.
Really, it was nothing special, nothing important. Just an old liquor ad clipped out of some magazine or another. The edges were crumpled and torn and the crisp fold lines were visibly white, almost worn through. The beautiful face of the young model in the center, however, was unmarred.
There was only one real flaw on the picture, other than the obvious wear-and-tear. It had Sam thoroughly confused. It looked like a drop of water had fallen on the page at some point, a big spot where the ink had bled and colors had run together.
If he hadn't known any better, he would have said it was a teardrop. But Sam did know better. This was Dean's picture, and Dean didn't cry often. Even when he did, it wasn't over some nameless model in a magazine ad.
No, it was just a drop of water.
o0o0o0o
Dean Winchester was not a religious man. He did not pray. He knew that there was nothing watching out for him. He knew that all the good in the world was destroyed by evil and that happiness had no place in his life. Still, he prayed for one thing.
He prayed for a ghost, harmless yet annoying. He knew where he wanted it to be, who he wanted it to haunt. Every single night, he wished and he prayed, even though wishes don't come true without a price and angels don't keep Winchesters company.
He'd looked up her address online after his little acid trip. He'd thought about going to her, about searching out the elusive comfort and warmth that lay within her loving embrace.
But what would he say?
The truth would send her running, but lying wouldn't be right. She needed to know, needed to love him for him, just like she had before.
So he prayed for a ghost.
Dean kept tabs on her, checked the websites, read the news reports. He looked at her picture every night, imagining how lucky he could be, remembering the feel of her lips against his own.
If anything started to happen, he would go to her, pack up the Impala and head out. He would do his job, have a valid reason. Sam wouldn't question, and even if he did, Dean wouldn't answer.
He would save her. He would look into her eyes, searching for recognition, and, not finding it, tell her. He would be honest and upfront. Her house was haunted. He would know, of course, because he had prayed for it.
She wouldn't believe him, would call him crazy, and he would leave. He'd go back, though, to save her.
She would be scared, would need strong arms to run to. Dean would happily oblige.
She would believe, and he would be honest. She would be his, and he would be happy.
Until then, though, he had his picture. He pulled it out and looked at it when Sammy wasn't around. It was a reminder of happier times, of true love, of what could have been.
He was going to ask her to marry him. Someday, she would say yes. Until then, he would sit up at night and just stare at her, fighting back the tears that sometimes broke free and scarred the image.