Hello and welcome back. Thank you so much for your kind comments on this story, truly, it means so much. Sorry if I have not responded to your reviews yet, I promise I will! :) This is a short-ish chapter as the last couple of days have been quite hectic on the home front so I have not been able to spend as much time writing as I would have liked. This chapter deals entirely with Dean. I hope as always that you will enjoy. Thanks again for taking the time to read.
He steps out of the Impala, pausing slightly when the usual groan and creak of her body is conspicuously absent, to walk a few feet and stand in the middle of the road. Something nags at him, tells him that he shouldn't be here, that being among the majesty of this place is bad, unhealthy. But the ethereal beauty that surrounds him lulls all doubts from his mind, as he is swept up in the serenity and gentleness that seems to embrace him in a shroud and infiltrates every nerve ending in his skin, until it slowly seeps inside to warm even his battle weary soul. He doesn't really care whether he is meant to be, supposed to be here or not.
It is all so perfect, like he's been uprooted and plunked smack dab in the middle of a postcard. He has never really had a chance before, has never paused long enough to notice how the snow clings to the bark of the trees like a blanket that is slowly being woven, piece by piece, to cover each branch and trunk within its gentle embrace. It hugs the side of the road and gathers softly around his feet. Drifts of snow compliment the unwavering purity of nature as it lies untouched and unmarred by the ravages of man. He blinks away tears of joy as he takes in the utter and complete perfection of it.
Quiet. Peaceful. Serene. This right here, this is everything that he has longed and hoped for. He stands amid the absolute opposite of what his life has been and meant so he will ignore the soft, pleading voice in his head that tries to snap him out of it. He can and deserves to take one tiny, miniscule speck of time to enjoy and relish in its undeniable appeal.
He delights in the sound of nothing, at the feel of nothing but the sun as it heats his pale skin. He lifts his head to the sky to invite and welcome more currents of warmth as if he has been so cold and devoid of temperature for so long that he has all but forgotten the sensation. He watches and waits as shimmering flakes float slowly and languidly from above to brush against his lashes and skin, as if the moisture that caresses him is a living, sentient being. His mouth opens and he sticks his tongue out and laughs heartily as the first flake reaches it and dissolves. He stands like that, like a damn kid on the first snowfall of the year, but could care less if he is a few decades behind because damn if it doesn't feel great.
His mouth pops closed and he stands motionless, unable to move as he is overcome by the experience, as he treasures the awesomeness of it and fights to hang on to the feeling and freedom of it before it will inevitably leave, just as everything he has ever loved or enjoyed always has.
His eyes open and he breathes in deeply, the air fresh and clean and wonderful as it travels into and expands his lungs. He greedily sucks in another breath, his insides suddenly addicted and aching for another taste of its purity. There is no pungent odor of death or decay, no smoldering ruins of lives or homes. Just sweet, delicious and untainted air. He exhales and despite the sprinkle of snow and the way he catches sight of his breath condense like his baby's muffler when heat meets cold, there is a lack of chill in the air.
He takes in one more deep breath and watches it stream outward as it is slowly released. It takes on a apparitional form, it wisps away from him in a slow spiral to finally dissipate into nothingness, as if it never existed at all. Just like when...
His eyes dart fervently and rapidly, his body suddenly rigid and ready for a fight as he tries to hone in on the imminent danger. He circles on the spot but finds nothing amiss, there are no shadows lurking just out of view, ready to strike. Strange. Usually that unexplained mist is a precursor to the moment when some undead thing tackles him or, more often than not, launches him gracelessly into the air, its sole purpose to impact his head against the nearest gravestone.
But, he feels nothing foreboding about this place, in fact he feels the exact opposite. He feels good, almost relaxed. There is no quiver, no tingle in his hunter senses, only stillness, like they have been cut off from the rest of his body, forced into silence against an overpowering sea of calm. He doesn't see anything and doesn't feel anything supernatural or evil so he'll assume he isn't about to get his ass handed to him by a pissed off spirit. And it that's the case, and because that kind of shit always seems to stick to him like he's the only magnet in a room full of painful metal objects, the only conclusion his tranquil mind can draw is that this, whatever he is caught up in, is definitely not real.
A sad sigh escapes his lips at that. It's too bad, he could really get used to a place like this. That thought drums along inside and begs the question to be asked.
"Okay, so where the hell am I?"
He turns on his heel intent to get back in the car and go somewhere but when he catches sight of his home on wheels, he can almost hear the thud of his chin hit the pavement like one of those cartoons he used to watch when he was still full of innocence and free of taint. A pang of sorrow and melancholy floods him as a long hidden memory rushes to the surface.
He sits at the table, spoon clenched in his hand and milk spitting out of his mouth to dribble down his chin as he laughs, worry and carefree at the antics of his favourite Saturday cartoons.
He gulps as he stares like a stranger into a life that is no longer his. His mom, she is right there. Her long, flowing hair falls gently across her features, a pale and manicured hand loosely tucking it behind her ear. Her cheeks and eyes are immersed in that special glow that all expectant mothers own, a smile etched in her face even as she gently scolds him to keep his mouth closed when he eats. She kisses the top of his head and mutters something about angels before she places a gentle kiss on her own fingertips and places them lovingly on her expanded belly.
He takes in a shuddering breath. Sam.
"SAM!"
TBC...
