The Here And Now

Continued from here. This was a story I started last summer for reel_spn and never finished

All The World's A Stage - Part 3/? (Gen, Rated R)
by Morgan Dawn
1886 words
Summary: Sam and Dean have never examined their life script before. And why should they, they've been ad-libbing for years. But when destiny and free will collide, they are forced into a race against time to rewrite their future before it rewrites them.


Sam raised his head and found that he was seated at a small table, loud music ringing in his ears and the afternoon sun warm on his back. The cramped sea of tables and live musicians meant he was in the middle of a party. The woman next to him (where the hell did she come from?) said something quietly so he turned to her. She had a slight build, washed out complexion, with hair pulled back and a shyly nervous smile playing across her face. She spoke again but the music crowded her words away, and even more faintly beneath he heard a familiar voice. (Dean). Sam shoved away from the table so roughly that his chair tipped over and crashed to the pavement.

Dean, dressed in a dark tuxedo, was weaving his way through the crowd. His face was tense and his skin was pale against the bright sun. Something was wrong and Sam scanned the crowd for danger but all he saw was a swirling mass of people singing and dancing and eating. He barely had time to register that something was off about the crowd when he felt himself turn and reach for the woman.

“Wait a minute...” he heard himself say and tried to jerk his hand back. He could feel Dean drawing closer as he pulled against the unseen force that held him place. His body kept reaching for the woman and would not respond. He felt locked in position even as he kept moving.

“No, Michael, not me!” the woman protested while he pretended to ignore her and gently led her through a small opening in the crowd. Sam peered around and then joined a small group of very well-tailored people facing a photographer. He tried to wave his arm to get Dean’s attention but froze and smiled instead with the rest of the line. The camera flashed brilliantly in the sun’s glare and then he was free.

Dropping the woman’s hand he pushed his way past two men and grabbed Dean’s arm. ”Dean what the hell? Are you allright?”

Dean’s face was stiff and blank before relaxing. “Is this thing on?” he asked hoarsely. “Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3.”

“Dean?!" Sam repeated, shaking Dean’s arm again. His brother glared back and shrugged him off. “I’m here. Say something Sam. Say something that’s not in the movie.”

For a moment he felt like punching Dean. But what the hell, he could play along. “Something that is not in the movie. So you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

Dean smiled, and waved at someone over Sam’s shoulder. “Hey there Karen? Katherine? Kay? Whatever. I’m going to borrow my brother here and we’ll be right back. Grab yourself an extra piece of cake. Or some wine. You love the wine.”

Without adding anything further, Dean steered them towards the house, veering off onto a small path that led beneath an arbor. Sam noticed that the sun was starting to make him sweat in his – uniform (he was wearing a uniform, why hadn’t he noticed that sooner?) He reached up with suspicion and felt a hat on his head. They turned a corner where Dean stopped and looked around. They were alone.

“I don’t know how much time we’re going to have Sam.” Dean began.

“Christo."

“I’m not possessed, Sam. And neither are you. Although I should say Christo right back at you just to make sure. OK. There, that’s done. Anyway, a second ago, when you grabbed her hand were you able to stop yourself?”

A thought began trickling through Sam’s mind. “No. But I’ve never heard of intermittent possession. And we saw no evidence of demons.”

“Look around Sam. Does this look remotely like anywhere we should be?”

Sam took stock – the man singing into an outlandishly large microphone, the outdated clothing, the old fashioned cameras…..

“Time travel? That’d be a new one. Or are you thinking dream walking? That usually involves some drug or herb or mediations. I don’t remember being dosed. Just the EMF meter and then music.”

“No, not dream walking. Were you able to control your movements or words back there?”

Sam remembered the unseen force that had prompted him to grab the woman and drag her into the group photograph and shook his head. “You’re right. Unless this is someone else’s dream.”

“If it’s someone else’s dream, they’ve obviously watched too many movies. Come on Sam, this feels awfully real. Here-” he punched Sam’s arm. “And here-” he followed up by knocking Sam’s hat to the ground.

“Dreams can feel pretty real. People can die in their dreams. You know the lore.”

“Yeah, but can they bring Marlon Brando back to life?” Without pausing to explain Dean hauled Sam back around the corner and pointed. Sam squinted and saw a fat man dancing with a woman in a wedding dress. They were too far away to make out clearly.

“Dean, are you saying that is Marlon Brando? Anyone can be in a dream. Last week you were being chased by the Olsen twins riding dinosaurs.“

“No, I told you the Olsen twins became dinosaurs then they chased me. But that’s not Marlon Brando, that’s the Godfather. The real Godfather.” Dean’s voice rose sharply and a few heads turned their way. Sam hustled them back around the corner.

“OK, so someone is dreaming about the Godfather. And we got stuck in their dream.”

Dean's face fell for a second in disappointment but then shook his head stubbornly. “Sam, I was ‘stuck’ in a room with Frank Sinatra – or the guy whose supposed to be Frank Sinatra in real life, the Godfather and Tom, the adopted brother. They called me Sonny. When I looked into the mirror I didn’t see myself. I saw - Hey wait, do you see me?”

Dean looked like Dean, even in the well tailored suit. “I see you. Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s improved either.”

Dean snorted and continued. “I didn’t see myself. I saw someone else. It took me a second to recognize Sonny – or the way Sonny looked in the movie - but like I said I was in his office – in the Godfather’s office- and I couldn’t move or speak. But the scene played itself out just like in the movie. Dude, I got to hear Marlon Brando say: “I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse.” Dean grinned happily.

Sam’s thoughts steamrolled past Dean’s patter. It was more likely they were caught in someone else’s dream. A very detailed and realistic dream. Someone who had a thing for the Godfather. He racked his brain trying to remember how dream walkers exited their dream state. Sometimes you needed external prodding. Sometimes it was a matter of will. Sometimes it was when the dreamer woke up. There just was no way of telling. There were as many forms of dream walking as there were dreams.

He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud until Dean snorted. “Sam. Haven't you noticed something? We’re not in the ‘dream’ any more. We’re having this conversation while the rest of this dream keeps playing. We’re in control of our words and our actions – for now. Why would we only be controlled when the dreamer is dreaming about the movie? What is this then – a time out? And for that matter, have you ever had a dream that reproduces a movie exactly? Whoever this ‘dreamer” is they have the scenes, the lines, the smells, the everything down pat.”

The sun’s glare bouncing off the stuccoed wall was giving Sam a headache. He reached down and picked up the hat and slapped it on his head. “Okay Dean,” he said allowing the exasperation to creep into his voice. “If this is the movie what’s the next scene?”

“The horse. Man that was so cool.”

“No, I mean the next scene we’re supposed to be in.” Dean thought for a second and then shrugged. “I don’t remember much after the horse’s head in the bed. But at some point there’s gonna be a Mafia war. And the Godfather is going to be shot.”

“Well, there’s only one way to test this theory out. We get out of here and hole up somewhere and take precautions.”

“Protective circle?” Dean nodded and started spinning in place, looking for a gate. All mansions had one and this house, with is huge overhanging rooflines and thick framed windows, certainly qualified. The path they were standing on was part of a side yard. Side yards led to front yards and front yards led to gates. “Will those work inside a dream?” They started along the path moving away from the noise.

“No clue. If this is a movie, then wherever we are, we’d be pulled back into the scenes when it is our ‘turn’. But if this is a dream, a protective circle may be our best bet of breaking out of the dream.”

“Hang on,” Dean stopped when they stepped into the front yard. There was a gate, but it was blocked by heavy men in poorly tailored suits. It was hard to tell if they were there to prevent from people entering or people leaving. They hesitated, gauging the distances and their next best move. Outside in the driveway there were lines of parked cars and beyond, in the street, milled several more men in equally bad suits. The two groups of men kept exchanging tense and angry scowls.

“I think I did this scene already,” Dean murmured as they approached the men on the inside of the gate. “So I think I can mix it up here. Hey you!” he waved to the man closest to him. “Grab us a car and pull it round front.”

The man’s eyes flicked nervously to the men waiting outside. “You planning something?”

“Nah, just want to take my little brother out and show him how a real paisano celebrates.”

It took some maneuvering to extract one of the cars and turn it around. Sam stood calmly, trying to ignore the curious looks being tossed his way. One of the men nodded respectfully, his eyes glancing down to the medals pinned to the front of Sam’s uniform. Michael was a war hero, he remembered, before shutting down that line of thought. This was just a damn dream. And he wasn’t Michael.

The car pulled into view – a boxy Cadillac, gleaming black, complete with chrome edged running boards. Dean climbed in and touched the wheel lovingly. “Come on Sam, look at this baby. It feels like silk and steel. How can this be a dream?”

Sam rubbed his fingers across the dashboard, noting the lack of padding or any other safety features. The car smelled new. If this was a dream, it was more detailed than any dream he’d every heard of.

Dean gunned the engine and Sam reflexively grabbed for his seatbelt and came up empty. He braced with his knees as Dean made a sharp turn. When they passed the men standing at the end of the driveway, Dean leaned out and yelled: “Hey, G-men! J Edgar wears women’s clothing.” The furious faces of the FBI agents wavered madly in the rearview mirrors as they bounced onto the paved driveway before making the final turn onto the open road.