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Fic: All The World's A Stage - Part 2/? - Morgan Dawn Livejournal:The Here And Now
The Here And Now
Fic: All The World's A Stage - Part 2/?

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

All The World's A Stage - Part 2/? (Gen, Rated R)
by Morgan Dawn
1791 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.

Awareness snapped back into Dean like a rubber band, sharp and painful and then it was gone. The next sensation that hit was very familiar. In fact, at any other time, he would have been overjoyed. But to find yourself fucking a woman up against a door with no warning, well it was something that always sounded better in fantasy than it did in reality. Particularly when it wasn’t the same door that you entered with your brother and said brother was nowhere to be seen. And when you couldn’t even see the woman’s face. Fucking blind was freaky.

The woman moaned loudly and Dean involuntarily pushed forward again and again. That gave him his first clue. Feeling good was one thing, feeling good without knowing the whos, wheres, and hows didn’t keep you alive very long. Too many things out there loved to make you feel real good right until the moment they bit your head off. Turning his head slightly, he strained to see her. She was soft, plump, had curly black hair and was wearing an ugly pink dress with a droopy hat. It kept flopping over his forehead as he thrust and thrust mechanically. Somehow none of that mattered as the heat and wetness built between them until he felt his balls tighten and the sweat pool beneath the tailored suit he was wearing.

A loud tap on the door knocked him back down (When the fuck did he get a suit?) and he heard a man’s voice saying something. He hips kept moving unwillingly and for a second Dean panicked, but the woman gripped him tightly to hold him firmly in place. The voice called again, “Sonny, you in there?” and he wrenched his head up. The girl froze and Dean followed, holding her up against the door, straining to hear what the voice was saying. An involuntary “What!?” flew from his lips and if he had not been holding onto someone (Okay, make that fucking someone), he might have clapped his hands to his mouth.

The voice from behind the door grew louder. “The old man wants to see you.”

Once again, Dean's voice seemed to have a mind of its own as he grunted out his reply. “Yeah, one minute.” He thought he heard a soft snicker from the other side of the door and then the sound of footsteps receding.

Dean began to lower the woman to the floor. She, however, was not finished with him and locked her legs around his hips, rocking herself upwards hard. The slickness and the sudden shift in pressure caught him by surprise, and with that he came. The feeling was unmistakable, just as was the feeling that he had been fucking her without a condom. This was so wrong.

He shoved himself backwards, stumbling over trousers that sagged down around his knees. The woman bounced back against the door and then slid down slightly until both feet thudded to the floor. She smiled somewhat vacantly and began to rearrange her dress. Her floppy hat with its pink – no wait it was actually peach - ribbon hung jauntily off the side of her head.

All Dean could do was stare. He was in dark paneled room in an unfamiliar house with a pudgy woman wearing a peach gown in a matching hat and he had just come inside her. He couldn't even tell if she had had an orgasm. And yet there she was, calmly straightening her hair and repositioning her hat and turning to leave the room as if nothing had happened. He couldn't decide whether to be freaked or insulted. Either way, it still left him standing in an open doorway with his pants down around his ankles and with no fucking clue who the old man was and why he wanted Dean.

It took him only seconds to pull up his pants, pat himself down, note his gear was missing, and check to see if the hallway was clear. As headed down the stairs, he could hear the shrieks of children coming from deep inside the house. He turned into the hallway and aimed himself towards the kitchen and a door that looked like it would lead outside. He had to find Sam. Maybe something had attacked them inside the fraternity house. Maybe someone had cast a spell or a curse or some voodoo thing and it had wiped out his memory. Along with his good sense, because the last time he had fucked a woman without a condom had been in high school and the almost pregnancy scare had convinced him to never leave home without one. Winchesters, always good for a possession, a voice whispered in the back of his mind but he shoved that thought away viciously. It didn't matter. Whatever the hell they had run into in that second-floor room was something they hadn’t been prepared for and it had been powerful. He really really needed to find Sam.

Passing a mirror, he almost didn't stop to check the reflection because it clearly didn’t belong to him. It took him a few seconds to recognize the figure that stared back: tall, lean with short cropped, curly blondish brown hair, and a tailored suit. He swung around to verify there was no one standing behind him and then ran for the exit.

The afternoon sun blinded him as he staggered into a courtyard. Swirling groups of people dancing and singing and laughing hit him with a physical force that left him gasping for air. The crowd was dressed in costumes that looked like they’d been lifted from a Bogart movie. He kept moving, pushing forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam. (If he was right, if he was right about this, Sam would be-)

His body jerked to a stop and then he found himself pushing forward again, but this time in a different direction. Dean tried to slow down, tried to change direction, tried to regain control of his body. But some force had taken charge and was moving him inexorably towards what appeared to be the main house. It was moving him towards – towards – Dean stopped thinking.

The men guarding the door were unobtrusive to the untrained eye. But they were there nonetheless, with guns pushing their suit pockets outwards, and they let him pass with silent nods.

Dean felt his hand move the door knob and then he was inside. The room was as dark as he remembered, the paneling held an even richer hue, and the room smelled faintly of sweet cigars.

He only saw the back of the old man's head at first. He was in deep conversation with a much younger man dressed in a white suit whose face alternated between the terror and the remorse of a dog being chastised.

“You spend time your family?” the older man mumbled.

“Sure I do.” A few sniffles escaped but they soon withered under the intense gaze.

“Good. ‘Cause a man who does not spend time with his family,” and with this the old man turned to look sourly at Dean who stood just inside the door, “can never be a real man.” Dean caught his first full glimpse of the old man’s face and Dean knew.

The Godfather – Sonny’s father – swung back to Mr. White Suit and Dean’s knees weakened as a faint buzzing noise began in his ears. He was in the same room with the Godfather. Or was that Marlon Brando? He glanced around but saw no cameras and no lights. Godfather it was.

“Come here.” The Godfather reached out to wipe away White Suit’s remaining tears and then gripped him firmly by the shoulder. Dean’s own shoulders twitched and he found himself reaching into his pocket to light up a cigarette. They were long, hand rolled and looked expensive. If the suit wasn’t bad enough, the pricey cigarettes really confirmed he had slid sideways from reality. What and a real life Marlon Brando aka The Godfather standing in front of him wasn’t clue enough? He tried to drop the cigarettes to the floor but his fingers didn’t twitch. He had no control. But he had been able to move freely just a moment ago and had been able to start looking for Sam before-

“You look terrible. I want you to eat.” The conversation had continued without him and Dean’s attention was jerked back to the center of the room. “I want you to rest well and in a month from now, the Hollywood big shot is going to give you what you want.”

“Too late.” Shit, Dean didn’t remember Frank Sinatra – or whoever the guy in the white suit was supposed to be – being such a whiner. “They start shooting in a week.”

“I'm going to make him an offer he can't refuse.” If Dean hadn’t been stuck in place he would have crowed with delight. Who did not love that line, delivered with all the deep intensity and weight of a massive Marlon Brando? He wanted to salute or clap or do something but his hands kept moving and he put away the cigarettes without lighting them.

“Now go outside enjoy yourself and forget about all this nonsense. Listen. I want you to leave it all to me.”

White Suit left and then his father – the Godfather - turned slowly and stared at him. Dean stiffened under the penetrating brows but the old man moved past him, heavy and thoughtful. He said something to yet another man in the room, something that Dean struggled to hear and then the anger kicked in. This was wrong beyond all wrong and he was going to kick someone’s – or something’s - ass so hard they’d be crawling the floorboards for weeks. Pulling himself together, he gave a mental shove. Nothing. He shoved again, feeling pressure build up behind his eyes and deep inside his chest, Nada. And then – just as abruptly – the anger washed away. Fear rose, and for a second time, the room grayed around him. Maybe if I pass out, I’ll wake up, he thought hopefully and deliberately allowed himself to go weak. But he remained upright and conscious and time kept flowing past him like an afterthought. The two men kept discussing (Hollywood producers and settling business?) until words rose and filled his throat (Wait what did he just say about Michael? Shit, he had to pay attention). More chattering and muttering and Dean resigned himself to being trapped. The question was – trapped in what? Or where? And where the fuck was Sam? He could only wait until it – whatever it was – ended this and freed him again. He sucked it up tried to remember how long this part lasted.

Continued here

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