Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, save for me, myself and I. All SPN characters are property of the CW and Eric Kripke.
Author's note: A two-shot I started exactly a year ago, but never got around to posting simply because I wanted to finish Part 2 before doing so. But with the anniversary of the day rolling around and reminding me that I had, at least, Part 1 completed, I figured that I'd post it first as a show of remembrance, and as to not feel as if I've wasted an entire of year of my writing life. I'll try to complete Part 2 as soon as possible, but in the mean time, I hope you guys will like this.
Now it is self insert, and technically you could call this a mary sue, but it's not so much an AU OC/self insert story with the guys in the background. If anything, it's mostly about the guys and what they're about (and what this day means to them), from the viewpoint of an observer who is a part of their lives, but also not because they're just not a Winchester.
Please review or PM if you have any questions or comments. Con-crit please and thank you.
ONWARDS~!
As with most days, today is just like any other day.
Like clockwork, Dean is the first one up; his solid form just barely jostling me awake when he slips out from under my hold. Disturbed by the sudden shift in position, I slit my eyes open to view him in the near-dark, barely enough light to make out his shape, but I find it anyway, following the lines of his shoulders until I see his face. In the half-light I notice that he's looking drawn, his face a little haggard, his features ever tired and unrested. Even after a night of undisturbed sleep, it seems his troubles are still weighing on his back. Turning towards me as if sensing my gaze, he smiles softly. He reaches out and rests a hand on my cheek and whispers; something that sounds like 'go back to sleep', though all I can really make out is the ticking sound of the table side clock and Sam's soft snores across the room. I nod my assent anyways, mumbling an answer that's more of a rumble in my throat, before burrowing deeper into the covers, my arm grabbing onto Dean's still-warm pillow and holding it close.
I sense, rather than see, Dean's smile. Soon after, I feel the bed shift as he leaves it, no doubt to go about his morning business.
I sigh into his pillow. This is the way it always goes. The boys have made a habit of never using an alarm clock (something my formerly working-class brain and body still struggle with at times) but despite that, Dean would always be the first to wake. Sure, Sam would occasionally have his moments, but Dean, more often than not, would be up just before the crack of dawn. It was surprising at first, to say the least, given their respective personalities; but after travelling with and pretty much living together in a weird, non-romantic, menage a trois of sorts, this particular quirk of Dean's became, well, another Dean thing.
Which meant, like most things that are decidedly 'Dean things', this habit of his was off limits and not subject to any questioning.
Not that there was anything to question, in the first place.
The sound of a shower turning on, followed by a barely perceptible curse from the man I had been pondering, pierced my line of thought. Twisting my aching body around until I faced the night stand that separated our bed and Sam's, I reached up blindly and felt around until I found the wristwatch I had left there the night before.
Squinting through the darkness, I made out the time. Fifteen minutes to five in the morning. I frowned, letting out a groan that most times I refrained from doing so. This was my life now, I reminded myself. I had no right to complain. It's not like I was forced into it or anything. It was... a far cry from what I was used to, all things considered, but it was everything I had expected when I chose it - and more.
If anything, it fortified the theory that 'Normal' was pretty much just a setting on a dryer. After all, living and travelling the country with a pair of monster hunting brothers in their trusty '67 Chevy Impala, was about as far from normal as a cow on the moon. But all things into consideration... this was life. And if it included, by default design, unintentional wake-up calls courtesy of a certain man of the Winchester stock, so freakin' be it.
But still, life of a hunter or not, it really was absurdly early to be up. I wondered for a brief moment if there was somewhere Dean needed to be. The man was an early riser, but not that early. It was practically dark outside. I rubbed my eyes as I struggled to adjust to the dimness of the room.
Not that there was anything wrong with being awake at this hour. After all, being up first mostly translated into getting dibs on bathroom time, something I learned early on was about as rewarding as winning a lottery. Most importantly though, being up first meant going on designated coffee/breakfast duty; because let's be honest, that's just road trip a.k.a motel life logic. And Dean was kinda the best at it. Well, in my own biased opinion maybe.
To his credit, he was the only one who knew how to make a cup of bad, roadside diner coffee just right for both Sam and I.
(Sam had the habit of making all coffees the same as his whenever he was on breakfast duty. Black. No sugar, no cream; or as Dean calls it, positively purgatorious.)
(And no, it never gets any funnier no matter how many times he says it.)
Pulling the blankets over myself, I curled up once more, Dean's pillow in my grasp. The air was chilly from cheap air conditioning and bad heating. I rubbed my feet against the mattress to get some warmth going, but it was useless. The bed wasn't the comfiest, as far as motel beds went, but the scent of Dean from the pillow filled my senses as I breathed in, so that at least placated me. The shower was still running, and the tableside clock was still ticking. I burrowed into the thin blankets, and felt my thoughts relax...
It was like soft scratching on a closed door when I felt it; like a mewling kitten requesting entry. And despite my better judgement, I felt myself give in. Somewhere in my sleepy hazed mind.
It was the dark, I supposed. It had that sort of effect on me. That and the lack of Dean surrounding me. I closed my eyes, aware of little things and thoughts that were usually shoved to the back of my mind; the sort of things that sometimes picked at my brain, easing onto the forefront.
For a split second, in the dark of the room, I thought about the old apartment I had left behind - my job, my family, my friends... my old life.
Dammit.
I hated when I did that. It wasn't something I did often; I avoided it at all costs. It wasn't something I was proud of, and for good reason. I refused to complain about the nature of things; this wasn't something I was forced into, I tell myself (perhaps at first, but that was a few years and many, many cases ago) but sometimes, well, the mind wanders.
And sometimes, it even dares to wonder.
Or worse, to regret.
Though not about Dean; heck no, I'd never regret him. Or Sam. Those two brothers are probably the best thing that has ever happened to me.
Correction: they are definitely the best thing that has ever happened to me. That day I first met them may have been one of the worst days of my life, but all things considered, I mark that day as a good day on my calendar. And even if they don't remember it, I still hold that date with reverence; a personal anniversary that I celebrate each year with a kiss on their cheeks and a smack upside their heads. Then maybe, depending on where we are at, a beer or two for the both of them.
I adore these boys, I really, truly do.
Especially Dean. Because he's well, you know, Dean.
And don't get me wrong, I would never hope for him to be anything else (even if a majority of who he is now is just infuriating at times) but every now and then, sometimes... I guess I just tend to think.
About a lot of things. Mundane things. Important, hard to wrap my head around things. Usually about us - Dean and I, that is. Sometimes about Sam. Basically about the two brothers who matter so much to me, I would give my life and left arm for them. Those two... who they are, what we do for a living... and what being in this life with them meant. For the three of us, of course.
For me...
And yeah, I admit it, I think sometimes about what I've had to leave behind in order to be here, with them.
I know, I know. It's selfish. Like I said, not exactly proud of my thoughts here. But then the dawn is still breaking, and the day has barely begun, so what harm could I possibly do, eh?
They're not regrets if you never acknowledge them.
The pillow against my chest has gone cool now; I hold it tighter to will it back to warmth. I thought of Dean and buried my face in the coarse fabric; whether to court sleep or to hide my shame, I honestly have no idea. The pale darkness lingered, Dean's shower still echoing through the motel's paper thin walls, and Sam is still lost in sleep, snoring like any other day in any other life.
Yes. This, for the lack of a better statement, is all there is.
Abruptly, the sound of running water halts and the room suddenly seems all too silent. I open my eyes instinctively, thin slits in the shadows, a habit picked up from the boys. A few beats later, the bathroom door opens and Dean exits in his towel, walking quietly over to his duffel, rummaging through for clean-ish clothes.
I mentally groan because I completely forgot to make a trip to the laundromat.
Even in the dark I study the scars that litter Dean's back. I lean into my pillow and recall all of them. Some I know by heart, the others by the tales that the boys would share over bottles of beer and occasional company. A few, I know only from the stories Dean would tell me himself, alone and quiet, like he was recalling a life that wasn't his. Those were the scars I would hold on to when we slept at night, simply because they were his and I loved them, just as I loved him, and really, there wasn't an argument in existence that could sway me otherwise.
After picking and choosing and sniffing a number of garments, Dean finally settled on a set and returned to the bathroom to complete his routine. A part of me fancied getting out of bed and joining him, perhaps to help him shave since it was one of the few intimate things we could afford to do in our weird menage a trois. But sleep, and something else that I was beginning to sense, kept me from it.
I blinked. The darkness had brightened considerably, lending the room a smidgen of color, though still in shades of gray and deep blue. It was still too early, I tell myself, licking my lips and turning over to my other side with my favorite pillow. I furrowed my brows in thought. A trickle of light peeked through the curtains, barely convincing enough to signal the day's beginning. Reaching back, I felt once more for the wristwatch.
I squinted, not from the dark but from the soft light that seemed out of place. Twenty minutes to six. Dawn was barely breaking, here in...
I don't remember. I really do not remember. And to be honest, I couldn't care less where we were. This was just another motel room, in another highway town, and another early morning day.
Oh.
Under the trickle of light peeking through the curtains, I caught sight of the tiny, little indicator that showed the date on my watch. I held it closer to my sleepy eyes to confirm my suspicion.
2.
That was all it said. The number two.
Suddenly awake, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, reaching up once again and feeling around the bedside table for my cellphone. My fingers knocked something to the floor, my muddled brain barely registering that it was my phone that was now lying on the carpet, face side up. I cursed under my breath, rolling over and reaching down for it.
Once in my hands I unlocked the interface, and studied the date. A feeling of... understanding settled in my gut.
November 2nd. Oh. Oh Dean.
I bit back a curse. Oh, my boys.
The bathroom door opened and I dove under the blankets, pretending I was still asleep. My hand shoved under my pillow to hide my phone; the wristwatch an afterthought on the sheets behind me. I listened as Dean made his way around the room, silent shuffles that meant he was trying to keep it down, random sounds of him shoving clothes into his duffel, reaching for his socks under the dresser, settling on a creaky chair to put on his boots. Through it all, I held back the urge to get out of bed and go to him.
I should have known. I should have remembered.
No wonder he was up so early.
When the sound of him adjusting his boots faded, a moment of silence stretched where he seemed to be sitting still. In the near dark. I leveled my breathing to feign sleep, but couldn't help the flinch when his fingers threaded through my hair.
I sometimes forget how stealthy he could be.
Slitting an eye open, I peered up at him. "Dean..?" I croaked.
He shushed me gently, still playing with my hair. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaned over and kissed my temple.
"I'm going out to get some breakfast. Go back to sleep, I won't be long."
I smiled, despite myself. "Okay. Take your time."
Dean returned the smile and reached for his own cellphone and watch. If he noticed that their counterparts were missing, he didn't say. I closed my eyes, once more feigning sleep. The weight on the bed lifted, and a few beats later, the motel room door opened and closed, leaving myself and Sam alone.
I opened my eyes fully, wiping away the tears that gathered at the corner of my lashes. I sighed heavily, sitting up.
It would be a while before Dean would return, more so than usual. He had the habit of waking up early most days, but on this day, he would wake up even earlier - if only to have more time for himself. I looked over at Sam, ridiculously long-limbed and tall and sprawled out over the motel's too-small bed. I smiled wryly at how peaceful he seemingly slept. Just like that day many, many years ago.
Dean had told me about that night. About the incident that changed his entire life. Their entire life. I studied Sam and thought of him as an infant; young and tiny. Unaware of how different his life would someday become. I thought of Dean as a child. How innocent he was. How afraid he must have been that night his world fell apart around him.
I thought about a father whose face I have yet - and may never - see. Who in a way, Dean had whispered, had perished along with his loved one that fateful night. A father, who was sometimes mentioned with love, and other times with contempt. A father, who to me, was little more than a name to describe the ownership of worn journals and weathered jackets.
I thought about the night that the one woman those Winchester men ever truly loved, perished along with her secrets, forever.
Oh, my boys. Sam and Dean. Dean and Sam. The Winchesters.
For a moment I thought about waking Sam up, maybe to urge him to join Dean on this early morning.
But no. I knew that Dean would want to be alone. This was the one day of the year that was his to spend alone.
I should have remembered.
Smoothing down my hair, I looked around the room, my earlier sentiment about this being my life and how much I had left behind, coming back to me. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
This was our life. Ours.
And suddenly, it hit me. HARD. That as much as I would have never wished for this life, in any shape or form, should I have never gone through what I had went through - neither would have the two brothers who had come to mean so much to me. But at the end of the day, this was my life because I chose it.
This was theirs because they didn't have a choice.
I buried my face in my hands and exhaled a very deep breath. Almost as if I wanted to dislodge the heaviness in my chest. I forget sometimes, what with how much time I spend with these boys and living, breathing... hunting beside them; all the while caring for and adoring them so friggin' much (despite their foolishness and courage and stubborness and reckless determination and, to be honest, plain idiocy at times). I forget how... tragic they really were.
And it was probably silly, and definitely a waste of time, but I wanted - with all of my patchwork heart - to protect them. From everything. Be it the past, the present. The future. Or even the demons that we knew as ourselves in the hours and confines of our own making. I wish, sometimes, that I could fix things. That I could save them.
Especially from the things that have already hurt them. The things, that had already happened.
Breathing in, I shook my head to silence these thoughts that were threatening to overwhelm me. The same ones I had allowed to breathe a little while ago. This was why I tried to keep them hidden. Just... all these things, these thoughts. Everything I knew of the boys, of their past. Everything about them that tore at me to think about, to accept. To wrap my head around the sheer injustice of... of all of it.
Adding to that, my own thoughts, my own fears, my own regrets that bore themselves from the blatant logic of (a+b) = what is bound to happen next, if we kept down this same road... Just, every single damn thing...-
I gripped the edge of the bed and swallowed it all, down my throat like a bitter pill, damning them all to that sunless, iron-laden place in the back of my mind that I swore I would never - until the next apocalypse and then some - allow myself to indulge in again. Let them sink, let them disappear into the silence. It would be a free day in hell before I allowed those thoughts to take me down and drown. It would be a cold, dark day indeed. One I know will never come - so long as I and my boys, were alive.
Because they deserved better. We, deserved better. Bad things happen, Dean once said, but thoughts like 'what if' and 'if only' have no place in a life spent surviving. And even if I could do nothing about them - about the things that have passed - I could do one thing.
I could keep them there. In the past, where they belonged. Away from my boys and their knucklehead hearts. Even if there were lessons to be learned from reminiscence, I would still do everything in my power to keep them - the pain, at least - where it belongs. Away.
Especially today. Today of all days, when something as horrible as the past would seem to only bring them down. No, I thought resolutely. Today, would not be a day to look back in sorrow and regret.
In pain and imagined wishes at crossroads, many years too late.
No.
Today, of all days, would be a day spent living. A day spent to remind ourselves that we were alive.
Checking my phone again for the last time, I realised that it was nearing an hour that Dean was out. Time flies when you wallow; that was one thing I learned hadn't changed since my working hour days.
Standing up and shaking the remnants of my thoughts off my frame, I stretched almost painfully to feel every crick of my bones. Each one reminded me of every muscle I still had. Every breath I still took. Every breath I knew my boys still took.
Moving over to Sam, I watched as he remained asleep, oblivious and unperturbed by my inner worries. Sweet, sweet Sammy. Sleep now, and remember, the angels are watching over you... no matter how they deny it.
I pulled the blanket further up his form, and yawned. The first sign that my body was officially awake.
A/N: As you can tell, I've avoided adding any obvious physical descriptions for (my) character, to make the self-insert part easier; but I should point out that (my) backstory and position in this, is as someone who was saved by the Winchesters a few years ago, and ended up joining them on the road; eventually getting into a relationship with Dean, that's serious enough and domestic enough, that I share a room with both he and Sam, but I sleep in the same bed with Dean, tight fit or not be damned.
So what did you think about it? Good? No? Let me know. Part II should be up soon, and will focus on things from Dean's perspective. A bit more angst, but also a healthy amount of love and appreciation. Some fluff as well. Until then, my lovelies~!