Across the Veil

Dean looked a mess. The night sky ahead of him was dark, and frankly, he had no idea where he was driving. He just knew he needed to get as far as he could from, well… anywhere. He had a full tank of gas, and a wallet carrying several fake ID’s; he’d get back to Sam when he could. He just couldn’t breathe; a giant weight sat on his chest, crushing his lungs, and it was all he could do not to throw himself from the moving car just to feel the air rush into him. He missed her. God, he missed her. He missed her more than he could put into words, and he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to grieve the woman he had once wanted to spend his life with. And for some short amount of time, he’d tricked himself into believing that he could.

She’s a hunter, he’d thought, she can make it through this, same as me. But what he’d forgotten, was that he hadn’t made it through either. He’d died, more than once. He had been to hell and back, and to have come back the way he did was a miracle. He knew that. Everyone knew that. To bring her back that way would be impossible.

And that’s not to say he hadn’t tried to get her out, either. He’d tried everything. He fought against giving her a hunter’s wake, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t want to do it. He thought someone could bring her back. But Sam had physically knocked sense into his brother eventually, and they’d done the wake for her anyway. But Dean never stopped trying, and hoping. Even after Crowley told him that the way she’d died prevented him from bringing her back himself, and after Cas scoured heaven for her soul to no avail, Dean hoped. He carried every little thing she’d ever had wherever they went; her favorite sweatshirt, her paintbrushes, the switchblade she’d given him one Christmas two years before, and her anti-possession bracelet. He was sure the bracelet he wore on his wrist was her - he was positive she’d’ve attached herself to it.

That’s why he’d taken it off, and sat it next to him in the car, right next to his lighter. Because he needed to stop. He had. to stop. hoping. He would never be able to move on; so he knew he had to do it. To burn the bracelet.

But he couldn’t get himself to do it. So he just kept driving. He drove for hours. At least three had passed, and Scarlett sat in the passenger’s side, her palm draped over her forehead in worry, elbow resting by the window, head leaned to one side.

“Baby, what’re you doing…?” she sighed. “It’s been hours.”

He stared out ahead of him, Kansas’ Dust in the Wind playing quietly on the radio. His knuckles had been white the entire drive, fists wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road in front of him but mind far, far away.

“What’s this one gonna be?” he mumbled, sitting back in his bed with Sam’s laptop open in front of him. He had mountains of work to be doing, but on the other side of the room sat the beautiful woman he loved, her thick hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders like a chocolate waterfall, her deep, brown eyes so focused, her teeth biting at her plump bottom lip, and she was painting away at a canvas that she wouldn’t let him see. He couldn’t fight his curiosity.

“You’ll see,” she smiled, setting her dirtied paintbrush beside the 9mm on the table in front of her.

He gritted his teeth as he saw it in his head; her warm smile, the playful look in her eyes, the passion he could see brewing underneath the surface as her attention remained glued to the canvas. His foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, all the way down, until it touched the metal below. The needle rose faster and faster on the speedometer, and he didn’t care, didn’t pay it any attention. All he wanted was to drive, to move, to get away. But how could he get away from his own mind?

“Dean?” Scarlett asked, alarmed as she watched him tense at the wheel, her eyes noticing the speed gauge. “Dean, what’re you doing? This is too fast, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

He didn’t listen - he couldn’t hear her. Her heart pounded. “No. Dean!” she yelled, but he still drove, the numbers rising on that little gauge faster than she could keep up with. “Stop it!”

He was forcing her hand. She couldn’t watch him kill himself. She had to stop him. Up ahead was a sharp curve, and that would be it.

“Dean!” Scarlett placed her hand on his wrist, and the touch was cold, freezing, it stopped him, it stopped his mind’s circles long enough for him to see where he was, what he was doing. His eyes went wide and with both feet, he slammed down on the brakes. The Impala skidded viciously along the chilled pavement, the screeching heard for miles around as its backend fishtailed and the car spun out of control. Finally, it came to a stop, halting just inches from impact that could’ve easily done him in. Dean stared at it, his breathing heavy and fast, carefully peeling his stiffened fingers from the wheel. He didn’t know it, but beside him sat a shaken Scarlett, her own not entirely necessary breathing erratic as she stared at him. She had managed to stop him without showing herself; but now she didn’t care. He’d nearly died, nearly lost his life, all for nothing. She needed him to live.

And she had suddenly begun thinking that maybe, just maybe… she should finally show him she was still there. But that was a dangerous thought to have. So she stayed right where she was. Invisible.

“Shit,” he whispered, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He carefully drove the car out of the middle of the road, parking on the shoulder and turning her off. His jaw clenched tightly as he grabbed the bracelet and his lighter, pushing himself from his car and slamming the door behind him.

He flicked the lighter open and held the bracelet out in front of him, shaking.

He didn’t “shake”. Dean never shook. He’d stood in front of Lucifer himself and he hadn’t shaken. But here he stood, trying to burn a bracelet, and he was trembling like a leaf in the breeze. He took a breath and flicked at the lighter, the flame igniting. He looked to the bracelet, back to the flame.

“Bobby said… Bobby said to go, damnit,” he spoke into the night, “He told us, he said, ‘When it’s your time to go, you go’. Why didn’t you listen?” He was pretty damn sure she had listened, and that he was talking to himself, but he didn’t care anymore. For the sake of his own sanity, he needed to do this. “I have to. I have to.”

Scarlett walked slowly around him, her eyes filling with tears. She wanted to believe that they could find a way somehow, someday. But she knew he was right. This was the right thing to do.

But Dean couldn’t. He collapsed to his knees, trying to calm himself down as he closed the lighter and let it fall to the ground. “No,” she whispered, kneeling in front of him. “Dean, you have to.”

Dean’s heart had been shattered before. A hundred times. But now, in the middle of an empty night, on an empty road, knees digging into the gravel below him, Dean couldn’t even begin to imagine where he’d find the pieces of himself this time. Where or how he’d find a way to put himself back together again.

His fingers tightly clutched the bracelet between them, hands clasped together. She held her breath as she let her hands slowly rest over his.

His breathing stopped as freezing cold hit him again, this time wrapped over his shaking hands. He stared down at them.

And suddenly, with no warning, she flickered to life in front of him.

His eyes moved up to find hers. Shock came over him. If he’d been anyone else in the world, he’d have fallen back on his ass. But he stayed right where he was was, and he inhaled shakily. “Scar?” The whisper was so faint, he was worried it hadn’t left his lips.

She slowly nodded her head. To someone who didn’t know her, she’d appear completely calm, but he could read it right from her eyes: she was absolutely terrified. “Dean.” Her voice was paper thin, and to Dean it felt so fragile, it seemed the wind could whisk it away at any second. He was frozen in place.

He looked down at her hands on top of his. She just stared at him, and she watched him as he lifted his head back up to look at her. His eyes were filled with tears as he looked at her. “Is… Is this real?”

Scar’s heart was racing. “Far as I can tell.” Dean didn’t know what to do with himself. He wanted to jump forward, hold her in his arms, but he also knew that he couldn’t. Or at least, he had no idea if he could. He carefully reached up, his fingers moving toward her face.

“Can I touch you?” he mumbled, sounding so unsure of himself. He looked at her, his heart broken in pieces. She smiled softly.

Her eyes closed and he watched as she focused, her brows tightly knit together, until the cold sensation over the backs of his hands transformed into weight, and the palms and fingers draped over his skin felt human, felt alive.

Scarlett forced the energy she had through every part of her, finding the one place of peace deep in the far recesses of her memory that fueled her ability to touch and feel. She felt it wash through her, and used the seconds of energy she had left to lurch forward into Dean, her face burrowing into his neck and arms wrapping around him.

They shook as she held on, every bit of energy she’d had pent up being quickly drained from her system. “I can’t… Hang on for v-very long,” she mumbled through tears into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he said back through spurts of labored breaths. She was dead but could still smell the whiskey and mouthwash on his breath, the faint hint of the Impala’s leather interior melded into his jacket, the hotel bar soap in his skin, the warm, faded aftershave she used to love lightly masking it all. She fell forward through him as she was finally too exhausted to keep it up, disappearing from sight.

“No!” he immediately stood, “Wait!”

“Dean,” she whispered breathlessly, showing up once more but this time sitting back against the car, “I’m here. I’m still here.” He hurried to her, kneeling in front of her, his heart aching.

“Y-You were supposed to go, baby,” he mumbled, “You were supposed to go.”

“I couldn’t go, D,” she broke as his eyes bore into hers. She’d been waiting to see him look at her for months, and now that he was, it was far more than she’d bargained for. She couldn’t take it. “I couldn’t leave you.”

He sat back on the gravel and faced her. He couldn’t touch her, but he could be right there with her. He’d been hoping for this for so long, but now that it was right in front of him, he felt useless; helpless.

“I…” I’ve missed you so much. Words of any kind refused to leave his lips.

“Baby, listen,” she whimpered, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Anything. Anything, sweetheart,” Dean leaned forward, wanting so, so badly to be able to touch her, to hold her.

Looking up at him, she knew. She knew she had to take the deal.

“Let’s get back to Sam, okay?” He furrowed his brows. “There’s something… that we need to do.”