I completely blew off work today. I literally worked for two hours and then made some lame excuse to myself and took off. I'm exhausted. I think crazy jet lag and not being used to working for a living has caught up with me.
Just so you know, I DO have ideas for fics that aren't crazy crossovers, but I'm much too tired to write them tonight...this piece, however, is something that I can write no matter how tired I am, because I don't really care too much about the quality of it.
It had been cloudy, misty, and unseasonably cold for days. If Sam didn't know any better, he could have sworn he was in the Pacific North-West or, god forbid, Canada; but he and Dean were actually working a case in North Carolina.
Worse yet, the weather was beginning to affect their moods. Growing up, whenever Sam was feeling down, Dean had always been there to find some bizarre way to cheer him up - usually by being an idiot on purpose; but these days Dean was just as sullen, if not more so, than Sam. A fact that only made Sam more depressed. Dean's nightmares had gotten worse too. The dark circles under his eyes were beginning to look permanent. It reminded Sam all too much of Dean's electrocution and the week he spent slowly dying before Sam's eyes.
Sam didn't know what to do about any of it, so he tried to just focus on the hunt. The problem was that it was just a simple salt-and-burn. Although Dean usually liked those, they could do them on auto-pilot, which was currently what they were doing. Sam realized it wasn't doing anything to distract Dean, or himself, from their current state of misery.
They had just parked the car and were walking back to their hotel room after their 2am cemetery visit, when the temperature seemed to drop even more. Sam paused. This really wasn't normal. It was almost like a cold spot, only Sam was pretty sure their hotel wasn't haunted. That was usually the first thing he and Dean confirmed upon arrival. He realized Dean had stopped walking too. Not only that, but he had stopped walking a few steps back. Sam turned to look at him, an eyebrow already raised in question. The expression left his face as soon as he caught sight of Dean.
It had only been a short time since Dean's roadside confession about what had happened in Hell, and Sam had prayed that he would never see Dean that broken and miserable again. Obviously, no one was going to grant the prayers of a boy with demon-blood.
"Dean?!" Sam yelled, as he watched Dean's knees buckle. He made a move towards his brother, but found himself struggling to breathe, let alone move. It was as though an icy hand had wrapped around his heart. It was as though Dean was dying all over again, again and again and again before his eyes.
"Sammy.." Dean whispered in a desperate voice, his voice breaking over the name. Sam watched as Dean's eyes slid closed and he fell unconscious on the pavement. Sam had failed him again, just like he always had. Sam tried to move towards Dean again, falling to his knees in the process. He tried to crawl to his brother's prone body. His vision was getting black around the edges. No, no, he was still in the parking lot, there was just black around the edges. Black figures around the edges. Sam tried to focus on them, he wondered if they were reapers, come to take his brother away from him again. But it hurt to look at them, like he couldn't quite focus.
Was Dean screaming? No, it was in his head. The hell-hound, the fire. Sam shook his head and tried to focus on Dean in the parking lot. The screaming in his head stopped for a second and his vision cleared. He saw some of the black figures shift and glide, flying, but almost translucent like shadows.
Suddenly, something silvery blue ran by Sam. The icy grip in his chest disappeared, though he was still left cold and slightly breathless. The black figures fled before the silver thing, too quickly for Sam to get a good look at them. Looking at them hurt his head anyway, like he was trying to see something that wasn't there. Sam tried to stand on his shaking legs, to get to Dean, but stumbled.
"Slow down mate" Someone said in a British accent from just below his left shoulder, and Sam suddenly realized there were hands on his arm, trying to help him stay upright. Sam heart was suddenly in his throat, and he whipped his head around to find the source of the voice.
He looked down into green earnest eyes, and felt himself relax against logic.
"My brother..." Sam started to say, but the man cut him off.
"Your brother is ok, he's just passed out. Can you sit down, please? You're a heavy guy."