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apocalypsosTitle: As I Lay Me Down To Sleep
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,251 words
Pairing: None (Gen)
Warnings: None (Unless tissue warnings count)
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: Dean gets a visitor as a child.
Author's note: So I have this crack theory for the show, right, and it's totally wrong but this is me playing with it.
*****
As I Lay Me Down To Sleep
*****
Dean has a dream. A dream where --
Wait. Let me start over.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy named --
Hold on, that's not right, either.
How's this?
When Dean Winchester was four years old, a strange man came into his bedroom one night and told him his mommy was going to die.
*****
The strange man looked a lot like Daddy, Dean always remembered later on, all big and broad across the shoulders like a great brown bear at a zoo. He had dark hair and sad eyes like Daddy, too, eyes that were sad even when there was nothing to be sad about, and maybe that was why Dean was never afraid of the stranger.
He tucked Dean into bed as if Mommy and Daddy hadn't done the same thing only a few hours ago, and he smoothed the dark blonde hair from Dean's eyes before he said, "Hey, little man, I'm going to tell you a bedtime story, but you're probably not going to like it."
The bedtime story went a little something like this.
Sometimes when daddies made mommies feel really bad, the mommy went home, cried and cried and cried, then killed her babies before she knew what she was doing. When she saw what she had done, her heart would break and she would die, too, and for the rest of her life, her ghost would wander the world in a white dress, looking to punish other people's daddies for being just as bad as the one she punished in the beginning.
But sometimes she found out that what she was doing was bad, and missed her babies, and wished and wished so hard to be a mommy again that she came to life like Pinocchio and found a daddy who could make her even more real just by wanting her to be.
It never really worked out the way she wanted.
The strange man was right, Dean thought, because he didn't like this story at all.
*****
"Did you watch her?"
The strange man always spoke in a very soft voice that cracked sometimes at the edges, like he was trying not to scare Dean and trying not to cry at the same time. His big hand rested on Dean's head, absently stroking his hair, and the weight of it was off like it wasn't even there at all.
Dean nodded and clutched his plush football in his hands. "She doesn't look like she's waiting for something," Dean said, because maybe the stranger was wrong.
But the stranger shook his head, and when he tilted his head just so to look at Dean, the little boy could see the dark beard on his cheeks, all patchy in spots like it couldn't decide whether to be gray or dark brown and went with both. "She is," the stranger said, and tightened the blanket around Dean's body. "She's waiting for me."
Even at the age of four, Dean didn't like the sound of that.
*****
Dean had eaten too much Halloween candy, stuffing his face full of little candy bars and gumballs until Daddy had finally had to hold the plastic pumpkin over his head and put it on top of the fridge. "No more, little man," he'd said, and Dean had been so spooked about hearing the same words he'd heard from the stranger that he'd backed down without an argument.
He felt like he was going to throw up when the stranger came that night, and almost told him to go away because he smelled like woodsmoke and ashes and Dean's stomach responded by rolling with an ominous growl. But then the stranger said, "You'll take care of Sammy, won't you?"
If Dean had been almost asleep before, he wasn't now.
"I'm supposed to take care of Sammy," he said, like that was a stupid question. The stranger laughed a little at that like he got it.
Somewhere down the hall, the door to Sammy's room was closed but Dean could still hear him babbling, probably kicking his feet like he liked to do because he was a baby and he thought that his feet moving in the air was the funniest thing ever. Dean couldn't wait until Sammy understood Sesame Street so they could watch together, but by then he'd probably be too big to watch anything but those war movies Daddy liked.
"Sammy likes it when you take care of him, you know," the stranger said.
Dean didn't know why, but suddenly his stomach ache felt a lot better.
*****
"Will it hurt?"
Dean hadn't wanted to ask, like maybe if he didn't know, he'd feel less scared. The stranger's brown eyes welled with tears as his jaw clenched, and Dean was sorry he'd asked.
"Only her, little man," the stranger said, "but it'll hurt all of you a lot worse if I don't let it happen."
Dean nodded a little at that. "I don't want my mommy to die," he said, as loud as could be. Maybe Mommy and Daddy would hear him this time, would come into the room and ask the strange man what he was doing here. Maybe Mommy would tell him she wasn't bad and didn't need to die.
Maybe.
The stranger wiped a tear from Dean's cheek, big hands and big fingers and everything big big big. "I don't want your mommy to die, either," the stranger said, " but I don't have a choice."
Dean thought that was a really stupid answer, and cried himself to sleep for the third time in a week.
*****
The stranger woke him up on that last day with a kiss on his forehead, and Dean scrubbed at the spot with the back of his hand as he sat up in his bed.
"I had a bad dream about you once," the stranger said, and Dean hated the way he said it, like he was about to tell Dean another bad bedtime story. "Somebody was trying to hurt you, and I couldn't get to you."
Dean wasn't stupid, never had been, and the stranger's eyes had gone all sad again like someone had kicked him in the knee and run away. "So what did you do?" Dean asked, clutching his plush football to his chest.
The stranger dragged one long finger along the curve and slope of Dean's nose, and the touch made Dean want to sneeze even though he knew he never would. "I wished very hard and found a way to get to you," he said, "just like I did now."
Dean didn't want to start crying again but couldn't help it.
"You'll take care of Sammy, right?"
Dean nodded.
The stranger smiled, ear to ear and way too big like a clown, and the next thing Dean knew, the strange man eased him back to bed, pulling the sheets up over his tiny body, pushing the too-long hair from his face, swiping the tracks of tears from his cheeks. He leaned close to press another kiss to Dean's forehead, and Dean could swear he smelled just like Sammy.
"Wake up, big brother," he whispered, and then he was gone.
When Dean opened his eyes again, all he could smell was smoke.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,251 words
Pairing: None (Gen)
Warnings: None (Unless tissue warnings count)
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just like playing with them.
Summary: Dean gets a visitor as a child.
Author's note: So I have this crack theory for the show, right, and it's totally wrong but this is me playing with it.
As I Lay Me Down To Sleep
*****
Dean has a dream. A dream where --
Wait. Let me start over.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy named --
Hold on, that's not right, either.
How's this?
When Dean Winchester was four years old, a strange man came into his bedroom one night and told him his mommy was going to die.
The strange man looked a lot like Daddy, Dean always remembered later on, all big and broad across the shoulders like a great brown bear at a zoo. He had dark hair and sad eyes like Daddy, too, eyes that were sad even when there was nothing to be sad about, and maybe that was why Dean was never afraid of the stranger.
He tucked Dean into bed as if Mommy and Daddy hadn't done the same thing only a few hours ago, and he smoothed the dark blonde hair from Dean's eyes before he said, "Hey, little man, I'm going to tell you a bedtime story, but you're probably not going to like it."
The bedtime story went a little something like this.
Sometimes when daddies made mommies feel really bad, the mommy went home, cried and cried and cried, then killed her babies before she knew what she was doing. When she saw what she had done, her heart would break and she would die, too, and for the rest of her life, her ghost would wander the world in a white dress, looking to punish other people's daddies for being just as bad as the one she punished in the beginning.
But sometimes she found out that what she was doing was bad, and missed her babies, and wished and wished so hard to be a mommy again that she came to life like Pinocchio and found a daddy who could make her even more real just by wanting her to be.
It never really worked out the way she wanted.
The strange man was right, Dean thought, because he didn't like this story at all.
"Did you watch her?"
The strange man always spoke in a very soft voice that cracked sometimes at the edges, like he was trying not to scare Dean and trying not to cry at the same time. His big hand rested on Dean's head, absently stroking his hair, and the weight of it was off like it wasn't even there at all.
Dean nodded and clutched his plush football in his hands. "She doesn't look like she's waiting for something," Dean said, because maybe the stranger was wrong.
But the stranger shook his head, and when he tilted his head just so to look at Dean, the little boy could see the dark beard on his cheeks, all patchy in spots like it couldn't decide whether to be gray or dark brown and went with both. "She is," the stranger said, and tightened the blanket around Dean's body. "She's waiting for me."
Even at the age of four, Dean didn't like the sound of that.
Dean had eaten too much Halloween candy, stuffing his face full of little candy bars and gumballs until Daddy had finally had to hold the plastic pumpkin over his head and put it on top of the fridge. "No more, little man," he'd said, and Dean had been so spooked about hearing the same words he'd heard from the stranger that he'd backed down without an argument.
He felt like he was going to throw up when the stranger came that night, and almost told him to go away because he smelled like woodsmoke and ashes and Dean's stomach responded by rolling with an ominous growl. But then the stranger said, "You'll take care of Sammy, won't you?"
If Dean had been almost asleep before, he wasn't now.
"I'm supposed to take care of Sammy," he said, like that was a stupid question. The stranger laughed a little at that like he got it.
Somewhere down the hall, the door to Sammy's room was closed but Dean could still hear him babbling, probably kicking his feet like he liked to do because he was a baby and he thought that his feet moving in the air was the funniest thing ever. Dean couldn't wait until Sammy understood Sesame Street so they could watch together, but by then he'd probably be too big to watch anything but those war movies Daddy liked.
"Sammy likes it when you take care of him, you know," the stranger said.
Dean didn't know why, but suddenly his stomach ache felt a lot better.
"Will it hurt?"
Dean hadn't wanted to ask, like maybe if he didn't know, he'd feel less scared. The stranger's brown eyes welled with tears as his jaw clenched, and Dean was sorry he'd asked.
"Only her, little man," the stranger said, "but it'll hurt all of you a lot worse if I don't let it happen."
Dean nodded a little at that. "I don't want my mommy to die," he said, as loud as could be. Maybe Mommy and Daddy would hear him this time, would come into the room and ask the strange man what he was doing here. Maybe Mommy would tell him she wasn't bad and didn't need to die.
Maybe.
The stranger wiped a tear from Dean's cheek, big hands and big fingers and everything big big big. "I don't want your mommy to die, either," the stranger said, " but I don't have a choice."
Dean thought that was a really stupid answer, and cried himself to sleep for the third time in a week.
The stranger woke him up on that last day with a kiss on his forehead, and Dean scrubbed at the spot with the back of his hand as he sat up in his bed.
"I had a bad dream about you once," the stranger said, and Dean hated the way he said it, like he was about to tell Dean another bad bedtime story. "Somebody was trying to hurt you, and I couldn't get to you."
Dean wasn't stupid, never had been, and the stranger's eyes had gone all sad again like someone had kicked him in the knee and run away. "So what did you do?" Dean asked, clutching his plush football to his chest.
The stranger dragged one long finger along the curve and slope of Dean's nose, and the touch made Dean want to sneeze even though he knew he never would. "I wished very hard and found a way to get to you," he said, "just like I did now."
Dean didn't want to start crying again but couldn't help it.
"You'll take care of Sammy, right?"
Dean nodded.
The stranger smiled, ear to ear and way too big like a clown, and the next thing Dean knew, the strange man eased him back to bed, pulling the sheets up over his tiny body, pushing the too-long hair from his face, swiping the tracks of tears from his cheeks. He leaned close to press another kiss to Dean's forehead, and Dean could swear he smelled just like Sammy.
"Wake up, big brother," he whispered, and then he was gone.
When Dean opened his eyes again, all he could smell was smoke.
