Title: Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Fandom: Supernatural (General Fandom)
Word Count: 965
Warnings/Spoilers: Up to and including Shadows.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the universe they live in.
Summary: What would stop Dean from hunting?
A/N: I started writing this during season one, so it may seem a little off as fanon around the show has changed. However, if this is considered to have happened not long after Shadow, I believe the oddness can be overlooked.
The man stands at the bus stop, leaning against the sign, a worn knapsack at his feet. He looks out of place here, in this suburbia world, of identical houses with identical lawns and identical fences. He’s a drifter, a man who carries everything he owns on himself, with long hair and a full beard that hides his scared cheek. He is dressed too heavy for the warm spring weekday.
It’s mid morning. The kids have already gone to school and the adults have gone to work. Only the stay-at-homes with their children and the retired folk are left in the neighborhood. None of them look out their window to see the man at the bus stop and wonder why he has been waiting for a bus for the last hour and a half.
The man is watching a cream colored cookie cutter house. There are children’s toys in the front lawn: Tonka trucks and toy soldiers, a tricycle and basketball. In the driveway is a toy of a different sort: a restored ’67 Chevy Impala.
The front door opens and a three year old, dressed only in a t-shirt, runs outsides, laughing.
The man at the bus stop straightens, ready to dart across the street in case the need arise. He shouldn’t have worried. The boy was more interested in digging holes in his mother’s flower garden, pulling up tulips like they were carrots, than running into traffic.
“Samuel John Winchester!”
The boy and the man both jerk their heads towards the sound of the name being barked by the man on the steps. He’s in his late thirties, clean shaven, dressed in a bathrobe and walks with a slight limp, the only real indication that his lower left leg is made of metal and plastic.
But his handicap doesn’t stop him from catching his three year old son and scoping him up, hanging him upside down so he can tickle the kid’s belly. The kid’s squealing like a banshee, but in a good way because he’s having the time of his life. The man watching is both relieved and saddened to see the grin of glee on the father’s face because the father rarely wore it when he had a brother, not a son, named Sam.
Dean was dead when Sam found him. Dean, being Dean, had managed to shoot the beast, silver bullet to the heart, and take the animal down with him. But that wasn’t enough. Dean’s lower leg had been badly mauled and he’d bleed out an hour before Sam had been able to find him. Probably wouldn’t have helped if Sam had been there an hour earlier. With that kind of damage, Dean would still have died. Only difference would have been that Sam would have been with him. Sam wouldn’t have been able to help him then or now. There was nothing Sam could do but that didn’t stop him from trying
Dean’s lips had been cool to the touch and Sam had shudder as he breathed into the lifeless embrace.
“That won’t help, you know.” A familiar female voice said from behind Sam, “He’s already dead.”
Sam spun on his knees, raising his gun as he turned. Meg looked down at him, unperturbed by the loaded gun pointed at her chest.
“I saw the whole thing. You’ll be happy to know he went out all noble.” Meg sat down next to Sam, “Isn’t that what you hunters want? To go out in a blaze of glory?”
Sam just glared at Meg. He knows he shouldn’t have expected more, she’s a demon after all, but it made his stomach sick to think that she just watched his brother die. He’d shoot her, if he thought it would do any good.
“What do you want Meg?”
“I’m here to offer you a deal.”
Meg looked at Sam like he was a complete idiot, “You’re brother’s dead. I think you should be interested. Aren’t you the least bit curious what I’m offering?”
“I’m not.” And Sam wasn’t. Maybe, maybe, she could bring Dean back. But the price that would have to be paid, Dean couldn’t live with that. Their job sucked. And sometimes you drew the short straw. And that was that.
“I’m not suggesting you have to die.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You want me to kill someone.”
“Wrong again. Would you quit interrupting? If you keep interrupting, I might think you’re not interested and take my business elsewhere.”
Sam scowled but couldn’t deny, despite his earlier protests, that he was interested. “What do you want?”
“I want you to give up your future.”
“Yeah, that silly dream of normality you have: job, house, wife, kids, dog, barbeques on Sunday.”
“And do what? Just… hunt for the rest of my life?”
Meg leaned a bit forward, her mouth curled in a wicked smile, “Gives up his future for yours.”
Sam frowned at the image of Dean living in suburbia, with a wife and a kid and a dog, “He’d hate that.”
Meg smirked, “He doesn’t have to know the difference.”
Dean winced as he started walking up the front steps, Sammy tucked under his right arm. Stupid prosthetic. Stupid Soviet landmine. Stupid self for stepping on the stupid Soviet landmine.
Suddenly, Dean got the sense that he was being watched but a quick scan of the neighborhood showed nobody out and about. Just the empty street. Not even anyone waiting at the bus stop.
“Daddy, I’m cold.” Sammy whined, pulling Dean out of his thoughts.
“Well, that’s what you get for running outside without pants.” Dean informed his son as he stepped back inside the house, “Now let’s get you dressed and then we can watch
( Chart )