queeniegalore @ : Prompt 1: The Bible
Title: Dream Brother
Pairing: Sam/Dean if you squint and tilt your head, kinda Sam/Jess
Prompt used: The Bible
Summery: Dean watches out for Sam and his ghosts ( With thanks toJeff Buckley, I present Dream BrotherCollapse )
The love you lost with her skin so fair
Is free with the wind in her butterscotch hair
Her green eyes blew goodbyes
With her head in her hands
and your kiss on the lips of another...
Dream Brother with your tears scattered round the world...
-Dream Brother/Jeff Buckley
He could see her, standing in the between their beds, her blonde hair shimmering in a light that didn’t exist in the hotel room, probably didn’t exist anywhere. He skin was glowing and no matter how gorgeous she looked, how serene, she was still a dead thing.
“Get out of here, Jessica,” he whispered, feeling an icy bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. The blankets were too hot, and the air was too cold, and Jessica was too beautiful and everything was wrong.
She just stared at him, her eyes large and empty, and took a step towards the other bed.
“Jess, please. Leave. Go away.”
Another step, and now there was something in those gorgeous eyes, something hungry and accusing, something desperate.
The blankets were becoming unbearable, he had to throw them off or die, had to get out of his bed and stand in front of the other one, because Jessica was taking another step, and when she reached it, when she stretched out those white arms and touched him…
He sat up, slowly, shivering and sweating, and pointed at the figure standing in front of his brother. “You have to let him go. He’s not yours anymore. You’re dead, Jess. You can’t be here.”
She looked startled, dropping her arms by her side and turning to face him. Her mouth opened, like she was trying to say something, but he didn’t hear a sound… But she was going, shaking her head and looking into his heart, coating it in ice as she faded away.
Silence. And then –
“Dean? S’going on? You say something?” Sam raised his head and squinted groggily through the darkness that separated their beds, hand fumbling for a light switch.
Dean slumped back against the pillows and sighed. “No, dude, you were dreaming. Go back to sleep.” His voice sounded thin and weak, strained to the point of breaking.
Sam didn’t notice. “Mmm. Whatever…” he mumbled before dropping his arm and softly descending back into snores. He wouldn’t remember anything when he woke in the morning.
Dean sighed and hauled himself up again, opening the bedside drawer and feeling around until he found the Bible shoved into the back. He pulled it out and held it for a moment, comforted by the solid weight of it in his hand, comforted by something real and infused with two thousand years of belief, even if that belief wasn’t his. It helped, and after a moment he felt strong enough to lean down and place the book on the floor next to his bed, shoving it out with his fingertips until he judged it to be about halfway between his and his brothers.
That done, he grabbed his jeans and checked all the pockets until he found a tiny packet of salt saved from that night’s fast food dinner. He tore it open with his teeth and hesitated for a moment, getting his thoughts in order. He was not good at this shit. Dean had no trouble remembering the lyrics to five Metallica albums, but this Bible crap? This was for Sammy, not him.
He’d had to learn fast.
The words came to him slowly, whispered as he sprinkled the salt over and around the Bible on the floor. Slightly modified to fit his needs, but there was power in that, too.
“Holy Michael, the Archangel, defend him. Be his safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke her, we humbly pray; and do you, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God cast into hell Satan and all the spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of his soul. Amen.”
He screwed up the packet and tossed it away, then snuggled back into bed for the last time, the blankets not too hot anymore, the chill in the air receding. Sleep would be slow coming, but at least the night wasn’t wrong anymore. Just another night of lying awake, watching Sammy and watching out for his ghosts.
He thought of her face, the desperation in her large, painted-on eyes, the falsity of her beauty, and a part of him he felt for her. He could understand why she’d cross the void to get to Sam, why she’d turn her back on whatever came after death to linger here, hovering over his brother. He couldn’t hate her for that.
But she was hovering between them. She only ever appeared between them, right in Dean’s way, watching him as if to say ‘He still loves me, I’m dead but he still loves me more than you, and you will never have him’. And yeah maybe he felt for her, a little, but a man has his limits.
The salt and Bible would keep her away for a few nights, it might even be a week or so before she gathered enough energy to come again. Dean knew that in the nights that were free of her lay his chance. He also knew that it was a chance he’d never ever take.
So maybe he had to thank Jessica for something, after all, for letting him pussy out like that. She couldn’t get between their beds, he knew, if they shared the same one. Maybe if she saw them together she’d stop coming, stop giving Dean those accusing looks.
Dean, though, Dean would keep salt and Bibles handy, recite prayers…and never know.