Dean Winchester (gunsandpie) wrote in nemetonlog, @ 2014-09-01 11:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester |
Dean & ghost!Mom; Ghosty vistor arrival, freak out/and feels!
Midnight Sunday August 31/Monday September 1, 2014; Dean's apartment
PGish (lotsa feeeeeels; that's really it); Complete
"I can't have you just to lose you again."
Dean was not having a great night. Nightmares of Hell just weren't the sort of thing that disappeared just because you wanted them to. Not that he talked about it much. He was the 'suffer in silence' type, generally. But it wouldn't take much observation to realize how much if affected him. Of course, it would help if the person observing actually knew him, and knew that he had been to Hell in the first place. But that was all just a bunch of details.
He didn't sleep most nights, not until pure exhaustion took over and he passed out completely. It was probably a good thing he didn't have a job and that he could manage with what he needed on the mystery income supplied regularly to the tenants in the complex. Not many employers would have been too keen on their workers drowning in booze and sleeping well into the afternoon. Tonight was no different. Booze and lack of sleep, wonderful combination, really.
Or a terrible one, whatever.
He downed what was left in his glass and paused before setting it down on the bedside table. Entirely certain he'd just heard someone--or knowing his life something--in his kitchen. Dean hadn't noticed much issue with the supernatural around town, not anything on level with what he was used to anyway, but he was still always on guard for something to go awry. That damn tree did crazy shit to them damn near constantly and that was more than enough. But Dean knew there was no such thing as being too careful.
Gun in hand, he crept from the bedroom toward the front of the apartment, toward the living room and eventually he edged carefully into the kitchen. He didn't call out to the intruder, wanting to surprise them when he walked up on them.
However, when he actually slipped into the kitchen, completely unnoticed by the blonde woman there with her back to him, Dean was practically frozen to the spot. He really needed to get some sleep. There was no way-- "Who are you?" he asked, voice gruff and the gun aimed at her.
"Oh," she muttered in surprise, turning around to face him, a bemused smile on her face. "Dean, put that away," she shook her head. "it's just me."
His resolve almost broke when he actually saw her face and his assumptions about who was standing in his kitchen were proven right. But only almost. Instead, he kept the gun pointed at her, "I think I'd rather not," he said, edging toward the cabinet, eyes never taken away from her as he blindly, and yet expertly, grabbed a container of salt from the cabinet.
"Dean--"
"Shut up!" he shouted, "Just shut the fuck up! I don't know who or what you are, but the image of my mother has been used against me more times than I can count and you are not her!" And he was determined to prove it. Which is why he threw a fistful of rock salt at her.
But nothing happened, the salt didn't affect her at all, just passed right through her and hit the floor. She still had that half-amused smile on her face, shaking her head. "Dean, it won't work."
But Dean was still determined to be right. "Fine, then you're a shifter--" he fumbled for a second, grabbing a knife from the drawer--he made sure everything he had was real silver, different world be damned he couldn't be too safe--and tried to reach out and grab her to make a cut on her arm, but his hand just passed through her.
He was running out of tests, so last ditch effort? He started reciting the exorcism. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..." But again, nothing happened. No screams, no black smoke pouring out of her, nothing. She stood in front of him, perfectly fine aside from the fact that she wasn't tangible and the kind of sad look on her face as she watched her oldest begin to break. "M-mom?"
Mary nodded, "Yes. It's really me. No tricks." She smiled, the same smile that was etched into his mind because memories were all he had left and she reached out to touch either side of his face. "Oh, honey," she pressed a kiss to his forehead and opened her mouth to speak again, but she was cut off when Dean shook his head and backed away.
"No, I can't." He was still shaking his head, even as he retreated out of the kitchen. "I can't have you just to lose you again."