NIGHTMARE SCENARIO
Dean gets the answers to some of his questions, but sometimes ... ignorance really is bliss.
Slight non -specific spoilers to goings on in Season 5 which is sometime in the future of this fic. (Probably should have said that right at the beginning, but there you go!)
Chapter 7
xxxxx
"Hey Dean".
The face which looked down on him from over the back of the pilot's seat smiled insincerely; "how ya doin?|"
Dean stared back up at the pilot, mouth hanging open in mute shock, his sweat beaded face a mask of fear and anger. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus his watery, fading vision; wet eyes asking all the questions he wasn't able to voice.
"Never were much of a raconteur, were you?" The pilot smirked …
Eventually Dean found his voice, "wha' h-happened, where'd-d'y go?" he croaked weakly, swallowing back the nausea that followed the words.
"Where's Sammy?" They were the only words he was able to speak clearly.
xxxxx
"Hey, Bucko; all in good time;" the pilot glanced around the cabin as he replied. "Y'made a right friggin' mess of my plane; what kinda god awful joke of a landin' d'ya call this?" He batted a loose wire hanging down from the ceiling.
"P-Peter told me how to land, but-bu' I was crap a-at it." Dean whispered, his ever-present shivering gradually increasing in intensity. He swallowed, weakly, everything was becoming so much harder to do; breathing, moving, understanding.
"Yeah, you're right there; this is, as you say, pretty crap!" The pilot responded humourlessly, studying the smashed windscreen.
"Why din't Peter come?" Dean pleaded, "why din't he come an' get us?" As he spoke, his hands shakily picked and pinched at the fleece that Sam had left him, in his nervous fidgeting, he had almost picked it bald.
"Ah well, y'see, there's a good reason for that;" the pilot nudged Dean's shoulder, making him flinch, and look up from the fleece in his lap. He watched mesmerised as the Pilot's face flickered and blurred into another face; that of a man a few years older than Dean with mousy brown hair surrounding a prematurely bald patch.
"I'm here now!" he announced. The mocking voice was undeniably Peter's.
Dean stared; "Peter? Don' und'stand …"
Peter sighed deeply; "Jeez, it's hard work!" He scratched his bald patch irritably, "how do you make it through life with nothing but that tiny cro-magnon brain cluttering up that thick skull of yours?"
With those words, Peter's face faded away and was replaced by another, more familiar one.
The Trickster.
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Dean stared with impossibly wide eyes at the face above him , "You - you did this?"
"Oh yeah, all my own work!" The Trickster grinned at the shocked expression on the flushed, sweat-breaded face below him.
Dean shook his head briefly as he tried to gather his wits. "Where's Sam? Bring him back," he croaked as aggressively as he could manage.
"Sam? Oh yeah, that smartass brother of yours!" The trickster leaned forward over the back of the seat as if he were about to share a secret.
"Well, here's the thing, Bucko," he whispered theatrically, "I'm afraid your brother wasn't quite as smart as he liked to think he was. I mean, going wandering off in the desert looking for an airfield that doesn't exist; Puh-lease!"
"You made him imagine that he saw it?" Dean replied breathlessly, dreading what was coming next.
"Yeah!" grinned the Trickster, clapping sarcastically, "well done; buy that man a drink!" He paused for a moment, "yep, your Sammy'll be buzzard chow by now. Sorry!"
He shrugged and looked around the cabin again, wrinkling his nose in disapproval.
Dean bit his lip, shaking his head desperately, "no, no you're wrong, Sammy's clever - he'll find it."
"oh … GOD … you really do run on basic motor functions only, don't you?" The Trickster's head flopped backwards melodramatically, as he raised his palms heavenwards; "Jeez - what've I gotta do to make you understand?"
Dean's heart pounded in his chest, and his head span. He could feel tears begin to burn … "don' believe you. You're lyin'."
"I mean, COME ON - going wandering off in the desert with hardly any water? What kind of a numbskull does that?" The Trickster looked down at Dean, shaking his head, "Nope sorry, buddy, your brother's just part of the eco-system now!"
Dean felt sick. He slumped against the window as he felt tears of desperate, heartbroken fury begin to fall. He glared at the Trickster, his face twisted with hatred.
"You bastard …" he croaked, lashing out weakly at the smirking face above him.
"Oh, let's dispense with the waterworks;" the Trickster scolded, grabbing the flailing arm; "Sammy's not important; but you an' me, we've got big things to discuss."
Dean's vision swam, and he felt himself lurch as he fought the urge to vomit. Sammy was dead; he had died all alone wandering in the desert. He had died for Dean.
"You see, Bozo; this whole situation, it was all planned, all engineered - by me!" The Trickster grinned enthusiastically, "fantastic isn't it?"
"I'm gonna kill you …" Dean whispered despairingly, stifling a sob; "I'm gonna end you if I have to spend the rest of my life hunting you, you smug bastard."
"Nah, you're not;" the Trickster sighed dismissively as he replied, "you're weak through hunger and dehydration, and you've got a broken leg which is, even as we speak, circulating a raging infection round your body." He patted Dean on the shoulder, ignoring his repulsed flinch at the touch. "There's only one thing that's gonna die round here, and it ain't me!"
"But, now if you can just hold back the snivelling for a few moments, so I can hear myself think, I'll do you the courtesy of explaining myself."
"Don't wanna hear it;" Dean grunted miserably, turning away from the Trickster, palming his face to dislodge the tears.
"Too bad, Sulky; you ain't going anywhere, so I don't see you've got much of a choice."
"You see, in time, in the grand scheme of things, there's gonna be some serious stuff going on," the Trickster explained, "I mean REALLY serious stuff; and God help us, but you are gonna be slap in the middle of it."
Dean shrugged weakly, his back hitched as another sob escaped; "Don' care."
The Trickster ignored him, continuing, "Can't say too much - you know what it's like, the order of the universe and all that, but here's the thing; you're gonna have some seriously tough decisions to make - and it pains me more than you can imagine to say it - but my future wellbeing depends to a large degree on the choices that you make."
He waited briefly for a response from the distraught, crumpled figure beside him, and received none.
Rolling his eyes, he carried on regardless; "sick isn't it? A being as powerful as me dependent on the basic intellectual functions of a blathering imbecile like you; but there it is, the hideous truth."
Dean glanced briefly at him; hooded green eyes bored into the trickster's soul. "I hope the choices I make destroy you". He snarled.
The Trickster ignored him. "Anyhow, I was kickin' my heels one day, you know like you do; and I was curious. I thought; if my future welfare is gonna be dependent on a yahoo like you, I'm entitled to see if you're man enough for the job".
"Then I kinda heard about Sam's bright idea of taking this plane trip across the desert to your next hunt and that gave me an idea; I could make you face your two greatest fears. Brilliant, huh?"
Dean glared up at him; "how'd you know about our plans, you spyin' on us? You got nothin' better to do?"
The Trickster pointed to himself; "uh, demi-god." He rolled his eyes in exasperation, "it means I know stuff!" He shook his head, "jeez, you really were near the back of the queue when they were handin' the grey matter out, weren't ya?"
Dean continued to glare, never breaking eye contact.
"Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah; facing your worst fears." The Trickster continued, "firstly, landing this thing." he sighed. "Now, of course, I had to put Sam out of the picture for a while, couldn't have him fussing and being all logical and helpful and calm; so I had him take a little nap while you did the business in gettin' the plane down".
"You?" Dean growled angrily, "you made him sleep?" He choked back a sob, "I was worried sick about him."
The Trickster pointedly ignored him, "I have to admit, I wasn't optimistic, didn't think you had the jewels for it; but I was proved wrong; I mean apart from the snot and the puking and the screaming like a little girl, it was an act of pure heroism. Very impressive."
"Kiss my ass;" Dean grunted, turning away again.
"Then I decided to see if you would be able to let go of Sam, knowing he was almost certainly going out to his death." He paused, shaking his head, "I must admit, I was a bit disappointed there; you did make a right song and dance about that, but gotta hand it to you; you let him go in the end; so, there you are, Bucko, you've impressed me!"
Dean stared flatly at the Trickster. "Do I look like I give a shit?"
The Trickster feigned disappointment, "Oh now, don't be like that."
Dean hugged the bald fleece close to his chest. His vision was swimming again now, the nausea was rising again. "You told me already, I was going to die; now get lost and let me do it in peace" He muttered quietly without looking at the Trickster.
"Oh, I can do better than that" came the response.
Dean flinched at the sound of clicking fingers.
xxxxx
Dean opened his eyes to the whiny, irritating sound of those pathetic engines. He was strapped into the back seat of the plane, no head bandage, leg uninjured. A cursory glance out of the window showed that the little plane was merrily flying along exactly as it had been before this whole nightmare had started.
It took a few moments for his brain to process the information.
Then he opened his mouth and cried out in horror ...
Xxxxx
tbc