Dreams
Summary: "Oh god, this wasn't a figment of his imagination."
Warning: Vague cussing
Disclaimer: Don't own on penny's worth.
Notes: Sometimes an idea hits you and won't leave you alone. This is evidence that those ideas exist. Slight AU or sorts, but whatever. In Shadow, Dean divulged that he wanted his family whole again. Here is my take on that. It's wierd, but sometimes genius comes from the wierdest ideas. Please Read and Review
At the Beginning...
It had been a hard night.
The ghost had been desperate to get rid of him and Sammy and had pulled out all the tricks and had almost won. But just in time, Sam had burned the bones and Dean had made it out alive. Bruised, battered, cut and worn, but alive.
And that was all they could ask for.
The drive back had been silent, and Sammy had driven back to the hotel as Dean dozed in and out of dreams before they had reached the hotel. Forcing his eyes open, Dean got out of the car and made his way to their room, only pausing to allow Sammy to open the door. He then shuffled over to the bed he had claimed earlier that day and collapsed onto the bed. Dimily, he heard Sammy's frightened shouts as his body crumbled beneath him.
But even before his head hit the pillow, Dean was fast asleep.
Sunlight streamed through a nearby window, and with an involuntary groan, Dean began to strech to relieve the tension from his body due to position in his bed. He opened his eyes, and his senses were assulted with the bright light as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. What he saw made him sit up rapidly and take in his surroundings.
Instead of the cream walls that he was sure his and Sam's hotel room had been, a deep royal blue met his eyes. Dark wood furinture that had perviously been white dinky plastic figures before, were located around the room in different shapes and sizes. He took in the family pictures that displayed both hom and Sam in differing stages of their lives, and those with him and various girls on his arm.
He growled and stood up from the bed. Whatever was going on, this was one hell of an elaborate set up.
He passed and mirror and briefly glimped at himself. What he saw made him do a double take. There was no dried and crusty cut that should have been there from the night before when that poltergist had thrown a knife that had barely breezed past him, slicing his cheek open as he dodged the flying knife. He looked at his shirtless torso and noticed that all his scars from various scars from numerious hunts were no longer gracing his body.
Rapidly, he went through any cause of this.
A dream weaver could have caught him in a dream.
A physic could have trapped him in his greatest desire.
A ghost could have possesed him and was trying to wear him down inside his dreamscape.
He deftly and unconciously made his out of his room and followed the noise from downstairs that he faintly hear. A rattling of pots and pans, the murmurs of discussion between more than two people, maybe three, and the clank of untensils on plates.
It was breakfast time wherever he was.
He opened the door caustiously and peered inside first looking at the figure at the stove busily cooking up a storm. She was peite and thin, but just right. She had light blonde hair that was peppered with some grey hairs here and there. She moved gracefully and hummed a tune quietly as she worked. She placed the eggs she had been cooking and turned around allowing Dean to catch sight of her face, laughing lines hinting at her age and clear, familiar blue eyes.
No...it can't be...
"Oh!" The smiling vistage of Mary Winchester was briefly overtaken by shock before it cleared, and she commented on his quiet entrance. "Dean Michael Winchester, don't sneak up on me! How many times must I tell you that?"
"At least one more," a laughing voice called from the table. Dean turned sharply and met the grinning face of his father. There was no wear on that face beyond age, and the usual haunting saddness was located nowhere on John Winchester's face. It was merely a carefree and loving look. One that Dean had never seen on his father in all the time he could remember.
There was a snicker from the right of John. "Yeah Mom," a voice that was unmistakenably Sammy's. "Dean-o can never stop being quiet. That's like asking Dad to give up watching the Bowl Game every year."
Dean whipped his head around and drank in Sam's undarkened eyes and bright face. There was no trace of the nightmare that Jess had caused to his brother. Infact, he could barely find his brother in that face. That smiling stranger was just that. A stanger. That man who sat before him with Sammy's voice and face wasn't Sam.
Not one bit.
A worried tone met his ears. "Dean, honey, are you alright? You're a bit pale." A cool hand touched his forehead in search of a fever, but proved what his brain was trying so desperatly to disprove.
"You dont have a fever," Mary mused aloud as she searched around the kitchen for something. With a quiet 'Aha!', she returned with a pain reliever. "Just take this in case you are coming down with something. We wouldn't what you sick for your own birthday, would we?"
His eyes searched hers frantically as he came to a single conclusion.
Oh god, this wasn't a figment of his imagination.
He raised a trembling hand to her face and placed it on her cool cheek. Finally understanding that his mother was acutally there, standing across from him, he let out a strangled sob as he croaked out, "M..mom?"And now, it begins. Review!