WHO: Dean Winchester, Claire Bennet (future) WHERE: Winchester & co house WHEN: Tuesday, March 7, 2006; early a.m. WHAT: Not getting Alastair has more side effects than just a sense of failure. RATING: High PG-13 for beginning imagery STATUS: log; COMPLETED!
Dean knew from the moment he saw his surroundings that he was in real, actual hell, and not the imitation of hell on earth Alastair had tried so hard to make. He could hear the screams, smell the god awful smell of decay and blood...so much blood. That could never be recreated on earth. Years and years of one man's blood times the countless souls that were down there. He turned slightly, trying to see where exactly he was, how he could get out, but there seemed to be no easy escape. He turned around again, and this time he saw the cage.
It was too small to hold all of them, but someone had crammed his entire family into the horrible thing. His mom and Dad, Sam, Ben...even Claire. They all looked frightened, especially John who had been here before and knew what he could expect.
Dean rushed up to the cage, trying to unlock it, but his hand went right through the thick metal. He called to his family, but no one could see or hear him. He screamed, trying to get their attention, but no one even turned his way.
It's a dream... he realized.
A presence appeared behind him before Dean could find any real comfort in his realization, and he didn't have to turn around to know it was Alastair. He could all but feel the evilness, the unrepentant desire to hurt, radiating from the man. Dean wouldn't...couldn't turn to face him. Instead he listened as he heard Alastair back up, heard chains and the other instruments of torture being prepared.
Oh God no....
"Let's meet the boy." Alastair said almost cheerily. "It's high time he saw what his dear old Dad likes to do. He should get into the family business." The door of the cage flew open, and Ben was dragged forward by some unseen force. Several of the others reached for him, trying to pull him back, but it was clear that they too were made powerless by Alastair's force. "Thanks to Dean, thanks to good old Dean Winchester, you and I get to have a little show and tell now, Ben."
Finally able to turn around now, Dean saw Ben being dragged toward the rack with a sick feeling of dread. He rushed forward, intent to save his son even if it was just a dream, but Alastair's powers kept him at bay.
"You see, he had such promise, but he wasted it. He even failed the one time he showed any real spark of his old skill...he couldn't bring me down. He left me free, and that's why you're here. Do you know that, Ben?"
Alastair patted the boy's head, and picked a knife up off the table. "When you think about what he could do with this, all the talent he had, it's almost a tragedy. Would you like me to show you, Ben?"
Dean took a few hurried steps back, then charged at the barrier again, a strangled 'noooo' coming out of his throat.
Just as he felt the invisible wall of the barrier collide against his chest, Dean woke up with a start.
Getting to sleep tonight had been impossible for Claire. So many lives had been saved tonight in the raids on the three buildings and those 'Hell' locations officially 'destroyed' because everyone working there had been killed or captured in hopes of rehabilitating those people who had been turned into torturers, but Alastair was still out there, somewhere. That knowledge combined with reliving the sights and sounds and smells of Alastair's 'Hell' had put Claire off food as well as sleep.
But she knew however bad it was for her, it had been worse still for Dean and John and Ruby, who had all experienced the real Hell. Ruby had Castiel, John had Mary and Dean... well, he had her. As a best friend, despite what had happened two weeks ago that hadn't been discussed since. Thought about on her part quite a bit, to be certain, but not spoken of because he hadn't brought it up to her.
That was why, come the middle of the night, she was in front of his bedroom door, which was ajar, listening for sounds of him inside. He'd been at his desk earlier, having gone straight from the aftermath of dealing with the 'clean up' of Alastair's Hell locations back to his research on how to stop Alastair. The most she could hear after straining to listen was the TV on a low volume, so she stuck her head around the door.
She found him still at his desk, only this time he was asleep - but not peacefully. The back of his t-shirt was soaked with sweat and he was restless, enough that he was actually murmuring things in his sleep, though she couldn't make out the words. Several sheafs of paper and a few writing utensils were testament to the fact he'd been moving about in his sleep for at least a short time.
A short time was too long and Claire shut the door behind her, crossing the room quickly. "Dean, it's a nightmare, wake up," she said as she reached out to shake his shoulder, gently at first and then with more purpose when it didn't immediately rouse him. "Dean, come on, wake up!"
She lifted her head away when he snapped upright, to avoid being concussed, then dropped her head back to eye level with him as she waited for the wild look in his eyes to fade as he adjusted to being awake. His cheeks were damp, something she might have dismissed as sweat due to the state of his shirt, if it hadn't been for the way it clung to his eyelashes. Knowing the nightmare had done that to him hurt her heart and made her angry all at once, angry at Alastair for everything from all he'd likely said to Dean before escaping to all he'd done to Dean in Hell.
"It was just a nightmare," she said softly as she placed her hands on either side of his face, quickly swiping her thumbs across his cheeks, but doing nothing else to draw attention to the dampness, to avoid making him feel even worse than he clearly did already.
Dean slowly realized where he was, an act that was helped a great deal by Claire and her familiar gaze. It wasn't real, he reminded himself. He knew from the moment his hand went through the metal that the dream had been just that, and yet he could still feel his heart pounding, that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Though he might have been too manly to let Claire wipe away the moisture from his face at any other time, now he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. "We should have got him, Claire. I let him slip through my fingers and now he's out there, and pissed off, and God knows what he's--" he trailed off hastily, and pulled back enough to rub his hands over his face from his chin up to his forehead, eliminating any traces of tears. Claire had been through hell herself, what in God's name was he doing making her worry and wonder 'what if' too? "We've got to get him."
When he pulled back, Claire slid her hands from his face to the spots where his neck met his shoulders, giving him room to wipe his own face but not backing away. She'd know he would blame himself, he would have in any situation that meant Alastair getting away, but this genuinely had not been his fault. No one had accurately pegged just how powerful Alastair was when put up against even heavenly might, but now they all knew.
"We will, Dean," she said, rubbing the spots she gripped. As always, it was easier to focus outward, not inward, so she didn't even think to blame him for his venting turning to what ifs. "He's out there, but he's lost all his advantages, maybe even most of his power too after what Anna did, why else would he have run when he was winning? We'll track him, you'll get the shot in and then he'll be gone."
The gun still had to be the solution, as it was the thing Alastair had tried to eliminate the fastest.
"And you didn't let him do anything," she continued, meeting his eyes. "Nobody was prepared for him being able to beat even angels. It's not your fault, or anyone else's fault, that he found a way to get away."
Dean shook his head. Alastair might not have wanted to stick around, but who knew why? He wanted to believe that the damned demon had left because he was quickly losing, but he had no way of knowing for sure. What if he was leaving to plot ways to strike back at the Winchesters? What if, even now, he was out there somewhere thinking of another way to hurt them?
Dean groaned.
This wasn't something Claire needed to be worrying about. It was bad enough she had gone back to hell today, the last thing she wanted to listen to was him going on and on about all the things Alastair was likely planning. She needed to know she was safe, that he would never hurt her again. "Hope I didn't wake you up." He said, voice almost sheepish. "You're right, it's probably just a stupid dream."
The still haunted look in his eyes didn't match his dismissive tone, but he was hoping Claire wouldn't notice that.
Wake her? Despite the seriousness of the moment and her attempts to make him feel better, Claire rolled her eyes. Sometimes the things he chosen to focus on just so he wasn't focusing on himself were frustrating, albeit sweet. If this was another one of those things where he thought he shouldn't say something because of what happened to her, she would smack him.
"It was a dream, but I know it wasn't stupid," she said, pushing two books to the side to take the corner of his desk for a seat, letting go of his shoulders, but not letting go of him entirely. She held one of his hands in her lap, idling toying with the ring he wore on his right hand.
"Want to talk about it?"
Dean looked down at her hands, watching her two smaller ones support his larger hand, and toy with the ring he wore. It was easier to focus on that, on the way it made him feel just a little bit better, than the nightmare. He moved his other hand to rest on top of hers.
"It was uh--" He cleared his throat. "About him. It was about what he'd like to do...what he might be able TO do since we didn't get him." He pulled the hand that was resting on top of hers back to scrub over his face again. "It works though, I should be getting back to researching anyway."
He was exhausted, and he wasn't even sure at this point that he could read without his eyes crossing, but he didn't want another dream like that if he could help it.
Her mind all too ready to fill in the blanks of what Alastair might like to or could do to any of them, Claire closed her eyes briefly as he rubbed his face. She had to believe they'd find a way to stop him, no matter what it took. but they wouldn't be able to do it if everyone turned into pseudo-zombies from never getting any rest.
"Yeah, so you can pass out on the desk again," she said, the slightly scoffing sound of the words softened by her expression. "Sleep a few hours, then you can research more and actually be able to, you know, read and remember stuff." She squeezed his hand and nodded to the bed with her head. "I'll stay and make sure you wake up in a few hours."
He really didn't need a human alarm clock, but then Claire wasn't really offering so she could be one. She was offering so there'd be somewhere here to wake him up at the first outward sign of him having another nightmare.
Dean considered her offer carefully. It was tempting, because he did need the sleep, and he knew she was right about the fact he'd be more or less useless until he slept. Besides, he thought, if he only slept a few hours, he'd be up and researching Alastair's location pretty quickly, and he'd be functioning a lot better.
"Alright." He said quietly, nodding after a moment. "But only if you're going to get some sleep after you wake me up."
Head tipped, Claire studied him briefly and then slipped off the desk. Though the act was quick, her releasing his hand was a slower movement.
"Okay. We'll take shifts," she said, swallowing the urge to excuse herself off sleep. The points she'd made were just as relevant in her case and she knew if she didn't get sleep, he'd use that in an argument about her being further involved in finally getting Alastair. The argument over her being involved in the fight they'd come back from tonight had been with equal reasons, she still needed her room to argue.
Dean nodded, the yawn coming out before she was even really done talking. He could do shifts, even though he was moderately sure he'd 'forget' to wake her up so that he could sleep again. Something told him if he could just get in two good hours, everything would seem a lot better.
Dean got out of his chair, walking to the bed and all but collapsing on top. As an afterthought, he kicked his shoes off and nuzzled his face against the pillow. God he was tired. His eyes closed, and he let out a small sigh, seemingly relaxing much easier for sleep this time around. He opened his eyes a slit a moment later, giving Claire a sleepy grin.
"Thanks, Supergirl." He mumbled, his eyes already closing again. "You're..." He paused, yawning largely. "Super."
Rather than follow immediately, Claire paused to grab hold of the chair he'd just vacated, rolling the chair over near the bed as he looked up at her again. At that combination of sleepy Dean and that damned grin of his, she didn't know it was possible for a heart and a stomach to do some synchronized flopping, but that's what it definitely felt like.
"It's good you recognize it, you can put it on a sign to wear tomorrow," she said, the familiar teasing tone a little huskier than normal, a fact she tried to counter by clearing her throat as she sat down in the chair.
Dean's eyes didn't open as a low, deep laugh came out from somewhere in his chest. He'd have to remember to make a sign for her to wear tomorrow at work...something about her superness being nothing compared to Batman's superness...or something. Right now he was too tired to think up the pranks he liked to play on her, but there was always tomorrow.
He nuzzled his head into the pillow again, then shifted onto his stomach so that he was all but sprawled across the bed. The new position helped, and within a minute he was asleep.
There was a greedy little part of Claire soaking this all up, watching Dean essentially puppy it up in getting comfortable and then falling asleep, and it was that same part of her that hadn't shut up in two weeks since the kiss. She'd kept quiet about that interrupted kiss, and the longer that Dean hadn't said anything, the more she was certain the kiss had just been an impulsive mistake, that even if he had wanted to be kissing her back - and it had definitely felt like that - he'd realized in the days after that it was the wrong time. It had been months since he'd broken up with Jo, one of the reasons being that he wasn't relationship material, and so because Claire knew there had been more bad days (and nights) than good days since Alastair had made himself known, she wouldn't push it, no matter how she was feeling.
But, God, did she find herself wondering about the possibilities of what 'it' could be. A one night stand before they went right back to the norm? People who were friends did that sometimes, after all. Some short affair because they both needed the connection without the expectations? It would be, in some way, both safe and freeing, because they wouldn't have to make up elaborate stories to hide the truth of their lives with each other, as he so often did with woman. Or would it be something more than all that, like the kind of relationship they had both sworn off for their own reason?
That she could even list the last as a possibility had given her pause the first time she had considered it. Now, it left her looking more and more inside herself, wanting to know how her certainty that she would never venture into any kind of relationship had somehow now become less certain to the degree that she'd list that as a possibility with little deliberation. That the first two both spoke to her belief that they could still be best friends no matter what, that they could move on after something like 'best friends with benefits' to a slightly-altered sense of 'before', wasn't even something she questioned. She already loved him, had loved him as her best friend for a long time, so as far as she saw it, it made it easier. There were no feelings to discover and forget, other than attraction, and she knew that simple attraction was something she could push away again inside herself when it faded for him because Dean was, well, Dean. She was certain that what made her different was being his best friend, not being a woman who could somehow affect his playboy ways.
Most of the time she pushed all of that away and didn't wonder, but there were times when it was more than she could ignore, like right now. Head back against the chair, she watched him, not the TV, not entirely lost in her thoughts as she was still monitoring him for signs of nightmares. If she could at least derail the worst parts of them, she hoped he'd be able to keep sleeping awhile.
When he stirred for more than just a shift of position after two solid hours of sleep, she swiveled the chair to get closer still to the bed, reaching out to curl her fingers around his hand tightly, not yet fisted, which told her whatever was starting hadn't gotten bad yet, because he wasn't tensed up.
Dean's body instantly relaxed at Claire's touch to his hand. The nightmare had barely started when she recognized the signs, and somehow the contact of her skin on his was all he needed. Still sound asleep, he turned his hand slightly and threaded his fingers through hers. His dreams shifted to better places for a few moments before he gradually drifted back to consciousness. The first thing he became aware of was the feeling of her fingers threaded through his. He felt safe and comfortable, and worlds better than he had felt before sleeping at his desk.
He watched her, eyes barely open as he studied the way she was sitting there watching him rather than the TV. There was something that felt wrong about her sitting there, probably more tired than him now that he had gotten a chance to sleep, just waiting to wake him up.
Dean didn't think the action out. He just tugged gently on her hand, and shifted a little on the bed to make the pretense of sleep a little more believable.
"Come to bed," he muttered, shifting again, but a little further back on the bed this time to make room for her.
At the tug on her hand, Claire's attention shifted from inspecting telling spots for tenseness to their hands, just in time to hear the mutter. She paused, blinking down at him with an expression of surprise mingled with a bit of that same damned feeling she couldn't shake, that made things flicker in her stomach. Come to bed. With where her mind had been while he slept, the words were granted more weight than they likely should have been. She'd heard him mutter in his sleep before, as they'd crashed together on couches more times than she could count, especially since she'd been staying at the house, but usually it wasn't so distinct.
The debate between doing it or just waiting for him to fall deeper asleep was short, ending in Claire deciding to act. Though she had been given slight pause at wondering just who he was asking to bed while asleep (but not deeply enough to not realize he was holding hands with someone, apparently) she pushed it aside as she slid out of the chair and onto the bed. Her movements were careful, but slightly impeded by their joined hands. Still, she didn't want to slip them apart to make it easier in case it woke him, as once he woke up, he'd likely insist on staying awake.
Given it was his left hand she held with her right, she turned until they were in a set-apart 'spooning' position, trying not to bump into him to avoid waking him. It left his arm half around her by virtue of the position, his upper arm tucked beneath her shoulders and the edge of the pillow - at least she could reach the pillow, she wasn't certain he'd sleep through her having had to rest her head on his upper arm - and it was, in the end, not an uncomfortable position at all.
Dean wasn't sure for a minute if she was going to get into bed at all. Had she not, he would have found some other way to get her to get some sleep, even if he had to admit that he was awake and tell her that she needed to get some rest, but this way of pretend was definitely less awkward. Going with the ruse that he was still asleep, Dean shifted again, making a sound he hoped to be a sleepy one of content, and pulled her closer.
There... he thought, when her back touched his front. Having her closer was definitely better that her being so far away, and he knew from the times when they crashed on the couch together that the closeness would--hopefully--keep her dreams pleasant.
Dean turned his head slightly, nuzzling at the back of her neck. Yes, this was nice. Having her there, her warmth and scent and softness, relaxed him so much he was pretty damn close to being as asleep as he pretended.
Having thought getting in bed the end of it, Claire had to stifled a small sound of surprise when he pulled her closer. It wasn't that crashing somewhere with him or being close was at all foreign, as some bad nights she still spent almost entirely on the couch, close to him. She'd just chalked it up to the fact she'd always felt safe with him and that was why his closeness made her sleep easier on those nights. It was that his half asleep state combined with that action was leaving her thinking of just what he might be thinking of, which might run the gamut to a random dream woman to someone he knew.
She lay still against him for a short time and in doing so she began to pick up things she was missing, the way his movements weren't exactly the fumbling of sleep - that nuzzle to her neck had been very purposeful, after all - and the pace of his breathing wasn't exactly one for sleeping. She knew his sleeping breathing rate, and his awake one, and damn her if this didn't feel like he was awake, especially after the understood and perfectly pitched mumble.
But that would be ridiculous.
After another few moments of debating with herself, Claire rolled, effectively tightening his grip around her so she couldn't slide away while in this position and still holding his hand. In that position she could see his face and watch his eyes, to see if they were moving in sleep, as well as feel him breath with their chests pressed together.
What she found was Dean laying there, looking at her from the barest slits of heavily-lidded eyes before they were pressed closed, not too tight to be false slumber, but that part didn't matter. The part that mattered was that she'd seen him close them.
"You were awake the whole time." The statement was a whisper, but definitely a statement, not question.
The minute Dean saw her looking at him, he quickly shut his eyes all of the way. He was too much of a master at faking things to make the rookie mistake of squeezing them shut too tightly, but he knew that he had been caught. Still, he had to try.
Unsure of what he normally talked about in his sleep, he muttered something about pie, let out a low snore that was impressively close to Sammy's snoring, and snuggled closer to his pillow. That had to be enough to convince her, didn't it? Dean all but held his breath, waiting to see if it would work, because if it didn't? She'd know he wanted to have her sleep in the same bed with him, that he wanted to cuddle with her, and given what had happened two weeks ago, she'd likely smack him for it.
If she hadn't known Dean so well, it might almost have been convincing. As she did, and she had caught him, she was torn between laughing and staring a little wide-eyed. Did this mean something? Was this another moment like that kiss, stepping beyond the line of the status quo toward something else? Was he trying to tell her something without saying it, or was she reading way too much into it because she wanted to see something there?
There was one thing she did realize, however. No matter what it meant, if he admitted he was awake, he'd have to admit to orchestrating being curled up in bed together. That would have been a blow to his tough guy exterior. He clung so much to that guise sometimes, covering the kind of man she knew lay beneath, a man most people never looked deep enough to see, that it was almost cute.
Fine, he could fake sleep, but she wasn't going to act like she didn't know. Not this time.
"Ass," she whispered, the word sounding fond rather than derisive, before tilting her head slightly to place a brief kiss on his jaw, then tucked her head under his and closed her eyes.
Just because she wouldn't play along with his sleep ruse didn't mean she wanted to move one inch from where she was, whether it meant something or nothing to him.
Dean bit his lip hard to hold in the laugh that threatened to come out. She was on to him alright, but it didn't matter because she wasn't making him have an Oprah worthy, sit down and talk about your feelings moment, or calling attention to the fact he had wanted to hold her. He tightened his grip around her, and relaxed for real, his breathing slowly evening out, because having her that close really did make him sleep better.
Feeling the rumble in his chest that was the held back laugh, Claire smiled and pressed her face closer to his chest. Fatigue had been setting in for over an hour now and laying like this egged it forward quickly, the onset of sleep softening the reactions and feelings from being held so close to Dean so she could sleep, rather than fixate on those feelings and the motivations for his actions. Later, likely, she would, but for now there was just the welcome weight of sleep on her body until she was as relaxed as he was.
She'd forgotten, for now, what the night had brought in remembrance of that unending day spent in Alastair's Hell, and in that short period of forgetting, Claire was able to fall asleep.