By Tidia, June 2006
Author's Notes: This is based on the idea that the ending of Devil's
Trap was a vision and is a sequel to Per Autre Vie. This fic came from studying
Real Property, and so the
definitions reflect that.
A person commits an attempt when, with intent to commit
a specific crime, he does any act which constitutes a substantial step
toward the commission of that crime
Whatever they had slipped into the intravenous cocktail was wearing
off. Dean opened his eyes. At least he was by a window, and the blinds
were open. Hospitals were already dreary, at least having some sunlight
allowed the patient to believe they were closer to freedom and
wellness. The sun was rising, and Dean turned his head to take in the
full beauty-orange, weeping red and even a little purple mixed in.
The time with the demon at the cabin had left him injured and in
hypovolemic shock—which meant in laymen terms, the demon had spilled a
lot of his blood. It left him exhausted and pensive. A week ago dad had
told them he wanted this to be over-Sam to go to school and Dean to
have a home. Dean had wanted to laugh, but noticed his father was
serious. He played along, because there wasn’t anything to say.
John wanted Dean to have a home.
Dean turned his head away from the rising sun and looked up to the drop
ceiling. Twenty years too late. Sure, Sam could go back to school,
blend in-and Dean could what? Dean began to count the holes in the
ceiling tile above his bed. He wished he could tell his father, ‘Gee,
Dad, job opportunities are kinda slim.’ Dean didn’t go to college, but
he knew that you needed a steady income to be a homeowner. Hunting was
not providing him with a weekly paycheck. That was the way John had
One hundred and thirty eight holes later and Dean stopped counting.
Dean swallowed the bitterness -the jealousy that flared up as he
thought about Sam. When they helped Jerry, the airline supervisor told
Sam how proud their father was of Sam. Dean internalized it. John had
never said that about his oldest son. Or if he had told one of his
friends about his pride for Dean, they were not sharing. Sure he hated
chick flick moments-but he was human, fallible and not immune to
emotions and feelings.
He must have dozed off, because when next he awoke breakfast was by his
bed on the cart. It was covered by a yellow plastic lid, trying to
disguise the fact that hospital food was not palatable. Sam and John
would be there soon-maybe. John had a bullet in his leg and never the
less would probably walk out of surgery after singlehandlingly removing
Dean pushed himself up; his body protesting. He was weak. His father
would see it. Sam would see it too and that would make things worse.
Sam would drive the Impala. Sam would help him in and out of the car.
It would all scream weakness. His father would recognize it and again
Dean would be the lesser son.
It hadn’t always been like that. There was the time when Sam was in
kindergarten and Dean in the fourth grade. They were in the same
elementary school. Sam was thrilled, and the whole kindergarten class
was excited to have an affiliation with an older student. They would
run back to their room and report Dean sightings, beam when he said
‘Hi’ to them. He was royalty to Sam’s kindergarten class. Dean had
secretly enjoyed it.
Blood loss evidently brought up memories.
He swung his legs down, the exertion making him feel light headed. He
was connected to some machine-the monitor on his finger was easily
removed. The IV he would keep. He wanted to get his stuff. From
previous experience he knew it was in the room’s closet, miscellaneous
stuff in the plastic bag marked ‘personal belongings.’
It would have been easier to call a nurse. But, first of all Dean liked
to do things the hard way and secondly, he wanted his cell phone. Cell
phones were not allowed within a hospital because of their effect on
pace makers and medical equipment. It made them go all squirrelly. He
wanted to make one phone call. Even if his call went into voice mail,
he just wanted to call Cassie. Hear her voice, and know that someone
was passionate about him.
He grabbed the cart to assist himself to a standing position.
“Do you need help with that?” Sammy asked, walking through the door.
Dean looked up at his brother, covering smoothly. “Nah, I got it.” He
moved the food over to his bed. He stretched out his legs, and placed
the pulse monitor on his finger. Settling in he pushed the button to
adjust the bed into a seated position. He would not get his one phone
call-maybe later, maybe never.
“How are you?” Dean studied his brother’s face. The swelling had gone
down. Dean opened the lid to his breakfast. Scrambled eggs and toast
should have looked appetizing, but didn’t. He picked up a piece of
wheat toast and started munching.
"How’s Dad?” He asked between bites. They had arrived two days ago, and
Sam had kept him informed of their father’s condition.
“They’ll let him out later today.” Sam replied pulling up a chair.
Dean smirked, thinking of his earlier thought. He passed Sam a piece of
toast, which Sam took happily.
The younger Winchester lifted the toast in thanks. “You have to stay a
Dean looked past Sam, out the window. Dean would be in the sunlight
impossibility occurs when the actions which the defendant
performs or sets in motion, even if fully carried out as he desires,
would not constitute a crime. Factual
impossibility occurs when the objective of the defendant is
proscribed by the criminal law but a circumstance unknown to the actor
prevents him from bringing about that objective.
The next day, against medical advice, Dean signed himself out. His
father wanted to get back on the road-form a plan of attack and find
the demon. In the back seat of the Impala, Dean stared out. They were
heading to Missouri’s house for a few days to strategize. Bobby had
picked up John’s truck and would replace the tires. They would return
later to pick it up.
On the telephone poles Dean could see the crows. He smirked as he
remembered a row of crows was called a murder. They also reminded him
of the ‘lonely birds.’ Mary would notice when her young son was sullen.
Dean always had the same complaint.
“There’s no one to play with.” He would entertain himself with plastic
soldiers, but wanted the companionship of another child.
“Dean, I see the lonely birds around you.” His mother would sit with
him, and play. However, she didn’t excel in playing Army. “I’ll chase
them away for awhile.” She did, and then one day she told him that he
was going to have a brother or sister who would chase the lonely birds
He hadn’t thought about the lonely birds in a long time.
Missouri’s house seemed inviting. Though Dean noticed how Sam had
hovered by the door of the Impala, waiting for Dean to exit. Dean had
waved him off. The three men shuffled up to the door, weary from the
road and their burdens. John leaned on the cane the hospital had forced
“Bet he has a switch blade in it.” Dean had told Sam, when they had
stopped for a bathroom break.
Sam had agreed. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
John’s hand was on the doorbell when the door opened. Missouri opened
the door and stepped back to allow them in. “I swear you men have a
sixth sense about food. Chicken and dumplings are ready.”
She ushered them to the kitchen table. The table was set with four
“The boys brought me to this cabin. . .” John had started his
explanation almost immediately after placing the paper napkin on his
Missouri raised her finger to her lips to silence him. “I didn’t cook
this meal to have it spoiled. You boys can tell me all about it after
Dean smiled. He was in no mood to talk about the demon either. “This is
“I know.” Missouri replied, reminding Dean that she was a psychic. He
began to hum Metallica in his mind. He did not want Missouri to read
his thoughts. They were private, and Dean didn’t know if Missouri knew
the meaning of that word. Thankfully, he had a library of rock music in
his head for just the occasion.
After the meal, Missouri followed up with coffee. Dean held the mug
close, letting the warmth seep into his cold hands.
“When we found Dad. . .” Sam had explained what had happened at Bobby’s
with Dean only interjecting to clarify. He lost track of the
conversation after awhile, but was startled when Missouri spoke to him.
“Oh, honey, they don’t need you.” He stared at Missouri as she
reiterated the demon’s words.
He blinked and swallowed. “What?” He asked, as he pushed the coffee
away. He glanced at his brother, who was looking at him strangely. Dean
cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, excuse me?”
Missouri tilted her head to the side. She reached out across the table,
and patted Dean’s hand. “I was saying you look like you need some rest.”
“No,” Dean shook his head, more to clear it then anything else. He
could not show weakness. People exploited weakness. “No thanks.” He
repeated, trying to push away the confusion of the misunderstood
“Dean.” He father stated, and encompassed in his name was the request
that he acquiesce. It was a battle of the wills Dean knew at this time
he could not win. He glanced at his brother. Sam nodded. Dean had
gained a new attitude when it came to his father, but this was not the
time to assert it again.
Dean gave the black woman a nod, and stood up. “Fine, that would be
Missouri stood up and led him to a back room. “I pulled out the sofa
bed in the porch for you.”
Dean smiled at the inviting bed. He was glad Missouri had the
forethought to put him on the first floor. His chest ached, and he was
not up to grimacing through a flight of stairs.
The porch was a sun room, with fake green grass carpeting. The couch, a
wicker end table and a chair were the only furniture. The décor
was meant to give the area a light and airy quality. The mattress was
thin, and there were flowered sheets, but he was thankful that the
psychic had provided a clean place to rest. Dean slipped off his shoes,
and sat at the edge of the bed.
“Are you going to play that music all night?” She asked as she placed a
hand knitted afghan at the foot of the bed- the purple color, a shade
lighter than the cabbage rose pattern on the sheets.
Dean scratched the back of his neck- the ending lyrics of Fade to Black
still finishing in his mind. “No.”
Missouri sat on the bed next to him. “I won’t read your thoughts. I can
respect a person’s privacy.”
Dean grinned. “Thanks,” he trusted the psychic would keep her promise,
and he could find a little peace in his own mind without prying eyes.
Missouri pushed on his forehead to gesture for him to lie down. She
stood up, as he relaxed back against the pillows and closed his eyes.
“You know they do need you, Dean.”
He opened his eyes, but Missouri was gone. He was left wondering was it
his tired mind playing tricks on him or was it the truth?
Uploaded by Majs