Rewrite Of Supernatural Series: Season 1

Salvation - Part 2.

Pastor Jim's kind face haunted you serving as a good motivator in the favour of staying. However, John's anger made you want to hoard up on precautions.

You were torn like never before.

The contradictions were raking nails against your skull. You treated yourself to a full bottle of vodka, sipping it slowly like some goddamn medicine.

It earned an upset stink eye from Dean, nothing else. B/F tried to be more subtle and sip from it, but you knew she was trying to reduce your intake. You slapped her hands away. Sam was too preoccupied to notice.

He was narrating his latest worry to John.

'A vision?' John asked when Sam was done. You were inclined to share your vodka with Sam because he was pressing his fingers so tightly to his forehead - to no avail, if his wincing expression was an evidence.

'Yes,' Sam grunted. 'I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling.'

You pushed your bottle towards Sam, but he only he shook his head. B/F, who was sitting at the table in the room with you and Sam tried to take it again, but you brought it out of her reach.

The roll of her eyes urged a small smile from you that you had to stamp down on.

'And you think it's gonna happen to the woman you met, because . . . ?'

'Because these things happen exactly the way I see them,' Sam said. He'd apparently had a vision while on his end of the job. He'd taken the liberty to check out the woman and her child who was exactly six months today.

'It started out as nightmares,' Dean explained, getting up to have a refill. 'And then he started having them when he was awake.'

'It's like . . . I don't know, it's like the closer I get to anything involving the demon, the stronger the visions get.'

'Do you have them, too?' John asked you.

You gulped your mouthful. 'Um, no. Just a feeling. Like . . . I belong. But it's usually when I'm the demon's presence, you know? Or in the aftermath of his presence . . . But if I think really hard, I never felt it, before. When Dad was drugging me with those humanising herbs - I started feeling it, years later, when I came to America . . . And it was just there. At Sam's house. For the first time.'

'Alright, when were you gonna tell me about this?' John got antsy, looking between three of the people he'd known longer in the room.

'We didn't know what it meant,' Dean brushed it off.

'Alright, something like this happens to your brother, you pick up your phone and call me!'

'Call you?' Dean thudded his mug and the coffee pot on the sill of the kitchen. 'Are you kidding me?'

You blinked in surprise at his tone. He'd managed to bring you off-guard once again - you chalked it up to the fact that he was just in a really bad mood these days.

'Dad, I called you from Lawrence, alright?' Dean shrugged. 'Y/N called you when I was dying. I called you when Y/N was in a coma.'

'You did?' your brows crunched in surprise. He was that worried? The red-hot anger melted into something warmer, like love, for Dean.

'Not the time, honey,' B/F patted your hand; in your distraction, she also slid the bottle from your fingers. You opened your mouth in protest, but the words didn't leave because you didn't want to seem like an asshole as you interrupted this emotional exchange, where for one, Dean was standing up to his father.

'I mean, getting you on the phone,' Dean accused with a finger, 'I got a better chance of winning the lottery!'

John nodded, unaware how to tackle a Dean who fought back.