Dean Winchester (lovemesomepie) wrote in parabolical, @ 2009-11-30 17:32:00 |
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Entry tags: | dean winchester |
Who:Dean Winchester
What:Dean is BACK
When:8am, Nov 30
Where:St. Mark's Catholic Church
Status:COMPLETE
Rating:PG
The thing that woke Dean Winchester up was the pen that was pressed against his forehead. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his forehead.
“Where the hell did that come from?” He grabbed the offending pen and tossed it across the room before even rubbing at his eyes. God, he felt awful. He was starving and his neck felt weird for sleeping on his desk and he was somehow horny. When you added that to the weird dream he had, Dean Winchester was not a happy man that morning.
“Wait…” he asked out loud, interrupting his silent pity part for a more vocal version. “Desk?” He rubbed his hand over the smooth wood, marveling that it was nothing like his cheap one at home—after all, Dean had better things to spend his money on than something to study on or hold some damned computer—and a hell of a lot like the one in the dream. This was crazy…absolutely crazy. Dingo ate my baby crazy.
He picked up the piece of paper he had been writing on when he fell asleep, looking over the scripture references in a dazed sort of awe. Then it was real. He really had been some crackpot priest who wrote things by hand because God had guided the writings of other holy men many, many years ago. He was the priest who heard confession and frowned on premarital sex. He was the priest who “lost his virginity” here in this very office and felt ashamed about it later.
“Claire…” he gasped, shoving his chair back from the desk and jumping to his feet. He had to find her. The last time he saw her, if the dream was right, she was locked up in a holding cell. He had to get her out, he had to figure out what was going on…and then he had to eat. His stomach hadn’t held more than Sister Catherine’s soup and a few sandwiches for weeks, and the last few days he had been fasting to repent for his premarital sex—a penance he himself had prescribed because he was too afraid to tell Angus what he had done.
He grabbed his phone, taking the time to type just two words to the message board and then he was off at a run, headed for the parking lot to find his beloved Impala. Unfortunately, however, she was not there. Instead, there were just two older cars behind the church, and Dean knew from the dream which was ‘his.’
He growled a few colorful words as he debated whether to take the truck that he had been driving for weeks or just to steal the Cavalier on principle alone, as though daring God to smite him just for daring to use such language in a priest’s clothing. In the end, however, he decided to just take the ugly old pickup. It would be faster that way.
“A Ford? A goddamned Ford? Oh COME ON!” He shouted at the sky, as he jammed his hand into the back pocket of the shapeless priest pants and pulled out the single car key. Dean Winchester was not happy. He shoved the key into the door, then the ignition and prayed that the ancient thing would start..
Prayed?
“Screw it.” He growed, hitting the dash with his hand. “Start, you piece of shit, or as soon as I’m home with my baby, I’m going to take you apart and send you to the junkyard.”
The car rumbled to life with a weeze and Dean sighed in relief.
Praying had not made the car start, but threats had, and after everything that had happened, he was just fine with that.