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Prompt : FaithUnbreakable
/Supernatural/Dean doesn’t need a vision to figure out where Sam went. After all, he members Cold Oak perfectly. Expanded - Mostly I just love the idea of Dean having super freaky ESP.
Note: Not quite ESP, but this prompt inspired something else. Hope you still like it. Glossolalia
A hiss escaped Mary as she lifted her feet, propping them on a chair and shook her head, a rueful smile on her face. The morning sickness hadn’t done her in, but the swollen ankles just might. Blue eyes turned to Dean, his head bent over the kitchen table strewn with colored paints and his fingers dancing across the paper.
The edge to her smile slipped away, leaving something genuine and pleased behind as she leaned forward to get a better look. “Who’s that?”
Green eyes, so like John’s, gazed up at before he smiled and replied simply, “My friend.” ~*~
The dead behind him and the open road ahead of him and Dean just didn’t know what to do. His jaw flexed and he beat his palm against the steering wheel as a lead foot brought him closer to Bobby and hopefully, goddamnit
, some answers. Sam had been missing for over four hours now and Dean was pretty freaking certain the dead bodies in the diner Sam had vanished from weren’t a good omen of what was to come.
His teeth ground together, stomach knotting as the Impala ate more asphalt and the speedometer inched its way closer to the 100 marker. The night outside his window spun past, the trees and shadows blurring as fear for his brother, the knowledge that he’d failed him, ate a hole in his gut. He should have done something. He should have acted quicker. He’d fucked up.
The radio sputtered to life, the static tensing his shoulders and Dean’s boot moved from gas to brake in one fluid motion. It didn’t land heavy, it pressed down slow and easy as the static blaring from his speakers gained momentum. Dean flinched when the overhead light flickered to life, screwing his night vision to hell as he made it to the side of the road. The tires ground their way over grass and gravel for several feet before the Impala came to a smooth stop and he cut the engine. His body slid to the side, hand extended towards the glove box and the Colt 1911 stashed there.
“Dean.” The resonating voice stilled all movement in the car. His hand hovered, finger tips touching the latch of as sweat beaded along his upper lip and he winced. “Dean.” The echo of his name had his hand clenching, balling into a fist and dropping to the bench seat as he leaned back and brought his other hand up to wipe at his mouth. “Dean?”
He heard the question in the voice and winced, muttering, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”
“Cold Oak, South Dakota.” Dean flinched, knowing that was where Sam was and that anytime he got this kind of help it ended badly for their family. The fire being the first, but not the last, time Dean had been urged to charge in and help his little brother. “Save Sam, Dean. Save him.” Dean shot the radio a glare since he didn’t need urging to save his own damn brother.
“I will. You know I will.” His put himself back behind the wheel and let his hands rest on the steering wheel, his head falling back to thud against the seat. He gazed up into the overhead light and imagined he saw a familiar shape there as he stated, “Thank you.”
The radio cut to static and Dean sat up, letting his right hand fall to the key still in the ignition. “Dean,” the static flickered and died, “I know you’ll do your father proud.” A tightness gathered around his eyes as Dean remembered his father’s whispered words in the hospital. “I know you’ll do me
He relaxed, the tension leaving his body as he started the Impala and nodded, “I’ll do my best.”
“You always do.”
They wanted the same thing, to save Sam, to keep him safe because he was special. Dean was special.
They had a destiny to fulfill. ~*~
“What’s your friend’s name?”
Dean went back to his painting and Mary watched, fascinated as he started to add wings to the person he was painting. “Michael.”
“Uh huh,” Dean’s head rose, his gaze boring into her own as he stated, “We’re going to keep him safe.”
“Who are you keeping safe?” Mary asked, suppressing the urge to laugh. His hand rose, paint covered and finger pointed towards her. Mary glanced down, a hand coming to rest on her extended stomach and her smile widened, “Well I think Sammy is lucky to have you.”
“Michael says that.”
“Michael’s right.” The end.