This room was darkened, quiet, peaceful; the only light emanating from a small nightlight plugged into the wall, and a crack in the doorway to a brightly lit hall beyond. It was a small room, the floor left mostly bare, the furniture around the walls. A dresser, a chest, and a crib lined those walls, and keen eyes would spot the dangling arms of a mobile hanging above that crib. Beneath the blankets lay a small boy, not more than three years old, asleep in the silence, his arms wrapped tightly around an obviously much-loved teddy bear. From below drifted the sound of a television or radio. Normal sounds to fill a normal space.
And in the midst of all this, a dark shadow formed, swirling wildly in a vortex of silent blackness deeper than the shadows of the small nursery, disgorging with a violent thump the startled form of a very nude man onto the rug in the center of the room.
Not unlike the night Dean had found himself torn from his own world and thrust into another, he felt dizzy, disoriented, almost sick with the feeling of it, confused, close to blacking out. He wasn't sure what had happened or where he was, only that wherever it was, the room was spinning dizzily around him, and all he could do was wait until it stopped. It took a moment or two for that to happen before he lifted his head, stifling a groan so as not to draw any attention to himself, until he figured out what had happened. It was dark in the room, but not completely, and as his surroundings stopped moving and came into focus, he realized he was in someone's house, in a bedroom of sorts, but nothing looked even vaguely familiar.
The thump of his arrival had woken the little inhabitant of the room. Yet strangely, there were no tears, no cry of fright from the little boy who pulled himself onto his feet in the crib, his teddy hanging from one hand as he blinked blearily through the gloom. Green eyes focused on the shadowy figure of the man who had dropped into his bedroom, the open hand reaching up to tug on a string in the mobile. The decorative piece lit up, adding a better illumination to the room as the little boy peered down at Dean in silently wary fascination.
Dean pushed himself up from the floor, pressing a shaky hand against his own temple as he waited for the dizziness to pass and take in his surroundings. His attention was drawn to the sound of movement in the room and he turned toward what looked like a crib, a shadowy shape standing within the confines of that small space, looking out at him with eyes too much like his own, but full of wary curiosity.
"What the hell..." Dean muttered, moving slowly to his feet and turning in place to better examine his surroundings, shivering suddenly as a chill crept up his spine and he was mortified to realize he was naked. It was then he remembered what had happened. He'd been in bed with Nim, wrapped in her embrace, when some kind of creature had appeared in the room. He remembered hearing Apollo's voice shouting a warning, but it was too late. Dean lurched as the memory touched off another wave of dizziness and he grabbed hold of the first thing that was within reach to steady himself, which just happened to be that child's crib. The little boy's head tipped back to look up at the visitor to his bedroom, just as running footsteps made themselves known in the quiet. Barely moments after the sound of those feet became audible, the door to the bright hallway slammed open. "Sammy, get down!" a sharp, feminine voice snapped out, the boy dropped down onto his knees in the crib, and the unmistakeable report of a gun cracked through the room.
Once again, things were happening too quickly, and the dizziness had dulled his senses and slowed his reflexes. He heard the sound of footsteps and cast a glance around for a blanket or something to wrap around his waist, but was slow to do even that. He heard a woman's voice that seemed vaguely familiar shout his brother's name, followed by the crack of a gun, and then a sharp pain in his shoulder drove him backwards to collide with something hard and wooden before collapsing onto the floor with a thud and a groan.
Footsteps announced the woman walking into the room, pausing by the crib for a brief moment before retreating to the doorway once again. There was a click as the main light burst into life, flooding the scene with bright illumination. "Oh my god ....Dean?"
As the light came on to illuminate the scene, Dean was hunched over in a corner, clutching a bloody left shoulder with one hand, visibly trembling with shock and cold and confusion. He heard someone call his name, but the voice sounded distant, like the speaker was far away. He lifted his head at the sound of it, forcing himself to turn that way, a blurry form taking shape before him as he squinted in the suddenly brightly-lit room. He opened his mouth to speak but only one word name out, the name of the last person he'd seen before he'd been ripped from her arms. "Nim..."
"Oh god ..." There was a delicate pause as the woman in the doorway teetered on the edge of a decision. The quiet was broken by the child's voice, audibly curious.
"Momma, what?s Daddy doin'?"
"Shh, Sammy," the boy's mother told him quietly, crouching to set the child onto his feet. "I want you to go into my bedroom, and shut the door, okay' Don't you come out until I come get you." There was an audible sigh of disappointment from the little boy, but evidently he did as he was told, the quiet patter of footsteps disappearing down the hallway outside the room.
As soon as she heard a far door close, the woman advanced into the little nursery, dropping cautiously to one knee beside the man she had just shot. A clatter betrayed the lowering of her weapon to the wooden floor, and a gentle pair of hands reached to touch his arm and shoulder, carefully peeling his protecting fingers away. "Where did you come from?" she asked quietly, and finally there was something in that familiar voice to place her with. "This is impossible."
"Sam-Sammy..." Dean muttered, only half consciously-aware of what was going on, hearing a name spoken, looking over to find a small boy who looked achingly familiar and yet not so familiar look back at him before skittering out of the room. He didn't move from the corner, merely watching and waiting as the boy hurried away and a woman took his place, her face hovering in his field of vision, familiar but slightly different than he remembered. Confused and without even the clothes on his back, there was nothing he could do but surrender himself to her aid and try and sort out what had happened. "I don't..." he faltered, fumbling for words, pain like fire shooting through his shoulder.
The gentle fingers left his newest injury for a moment, one hand trailing down to touch against his left side. "No scar," that familiar voice said quietly. "You're not my Dean." There was the faintest suggestion of a sob, a quiet sound of deeply disappointed grief, before those gentle hands turned businesslike. "Come on, you're not bleeding all over my son's bedroom." She pulled him from the wall, wrapping an arm about his back to begin the difficult process of raising her injured visitor to his feet.
And in the midst of all this, a dark shadow formed, swirling wildly in a vortex of silent blackness deeper than the shadows of the small nursery, disgorging with a violent thump the startled form of a very nude man onto the rug in the center of the room.
Not unlike the night Dean had found himself torn from his own world and thrust into another, he felt dizzy, disoriented, almost sick with the feeling of it, confused, close to blacking out. He wasn't sure what had happened or where he was, only that wherever it was, the room was spinning dizzily around him, and all he could do was wait until it stopped. It took a moment or two for that to happen before he lifted his head, stifling a groan so as not to draw any attention to himself, until he figured out what had happened. It was dark in the room, but not completely, and as his surroundings stopped moving and came into focus, he realized he was in someone's house, in a bedroom of sorts, but nothing looked even vaguely familiar.
The thump of his arrival had woken the little inhabitant of the room. Yet strangely, there were no tears, no cry of fright from the little boy who pulled himself onto his feet in the crib, his teddy hanging from one hand as he blinked blearily through the gloom. Green eyes focused on the shadowy figure of the man who had dropped into his bedroom, the open hand reaching up to tug on a string in the mobile. The decorative piece lit up, adding a better illumination to the room as the little boy peered down at Dean in silently wary fascination.
Dean pushed himself up from the floor, pressing a shaky hand against his own temple as he waited for the dizziness to pass and take in his surroundings. His attention was drawn to the sound of movement in the room and he turned toward what looked like a crib, a shadowy shape standing within the confines of that small space, looking out at him with eyes too much like his own, but full of wary curiosity.
"What the hell..." Dean muttered, moving slowly to his feet and turning in place to better examine his surroundings, shivering suddenly as a chill crept up his spine and he was mortified to realize he was naked. It was then he remembered what had happened. He'd been in bed with Nim, wrapped in her embrace, when some kind of creature had appeared in the room. He remembered hearing Apollo's voice shouting a warning, but it was too late. Dean lurched as the memory touched off another wave of dizziness and he grabbed hold of the first thing that was within reach to steady himself, which just happened to be that child's crib. The little boy's head tipped back to look up at the visitor to his bedroom, just as running footsteps made themselves known in the quiet. Barely moments after the sound of those feet became audible, the door to the bright hallway slammed open. "Sammy, get down!" a sharp, feminine voice snapped out, the boy dropped down onto his knees in the crib, and the unmistakeable report of a gun cracked through the room.
Once again, things were happening too quickly, and the dizziness had dulled his senses and slowed his reflexes. He heard the sound of footsteps and cast a glance around for a blanket or something to wrap around his waist, but was slow to do even that. He heard a woman's voice that seemed vaguely familiar shout his brother's name, followed by the crack of a gun, and then a sharp pain in his shoulder drove him backwards to collide with something hard and wooden before collapsing onto the floor with a thud and a groan.
Footsteps announced the woman walking into the room, pausing by the crib for a brief moment before retreating to the doorway once again. There was a click as the main light burst into life, flooding the scene with bright illumination. "Oh my god ....Dean?"
As the light came on to illuminate the scene, Dean was hunched over in a corner, clutching a bloody left shoulder with one hand, visibly trembling with shock and cold and confusion. He heard someone call his name, but the voice sounded distant, like the speaker was far away. He lifted his head at the sound of it, forcing himself to turn that way, a blurry form taking shape before him as he squinted in the suddenly brightly-lit room. He opened his mouth to speak but only one word name out, the name of the last person he'd seen before he'd been ripped from her arms. "Nim..."
"Oh god ..." There was a delicate pause as the woman in the doorway teetered on the edge of a decision. The quiet was broken by the child's voice, audibly curious.
"Momma, what?s Daddy doin'?"
"Shh, Sammy," the boy's mother told him quietly, crouching to set the child onto his feet. "I want you to go into my bedroom, and shut the door, okay' Don't you come out until I come get you." There was an audible sigh of disappointment from the little boy, but evidently he did as he was told, the quiet patter of footsteps disappearing down the hallway outside the room.
As soon as she heard a far door close, the woman advanced into the little nursery, dropping cautiously to one knee beside the man she had just shot. A clatter betrayed the lowering of her weapon to the wooden floor, and a gentle pair of hands reached to touch his arm and shoulder, carefully peeling his protecting fingers away. "Where did you come from?" she asked quietly, and finally there was something in that familiar voice to place her with. "This is impossible."
"Sam-Sammy..." Dean muttered, only half consciously-aware of what was going on, hearing a name spoken, looking over to find a small boy who looked achingly familiar and yet not so familiar look back at him before skittering out of the room. He didn't move from the corner, merely watching and waiting as the boy hurried away and a woman took his place, her face hovering in his field of vision, familiar but slightly different than he remembered. Confused and without even the clothes on his back, there was nothing he could do but surrender himself to her aid and try and sort out what had happened. "I don't..." he faltered, fumbling for words, pain like fire shooting through his shoulder.
The gentle fingers left his newest injury for a moment, one hand trailing down to touch against his left side. "No scar," that familiar voice said quietly. "You're not my Dean." There was the faintest suggestion of a sob, a quiet sound of deeply disappointed grief, before those gentle hands turned businesslike. "Come on, you're not bleeding all over my son's bedroom." She pulled him from the wall, wrapping an arm about his back to begin the difficult process of raising her injured visitor to his feet.