Un Jour Parfait, Part 1

Un Jour Parfait, Part 1

A Supernatural story by Axy @Aaaahhhxy
Featuring Dean Winchester @dwimpalaowner and Jennie @DeanIsntFine

Jennie sighed, eyes closed, facing the sky, her bare feet buried ankle-deep in the cold sand.

The wind of a warm, early-spring day caressed her face, as she let it play with her hair and make it messier than it should. The quiet waves slapping at the shoreline made for nice music.

It didn’t last, though. Laughter and excited conversation soon covered it all. She chose to keep her eyes shut for one more minute, silently bathing in the unexplainable joy of that day. It felt as if her whole body was tingling with happiness.

Knowing that she was responsible for it happening in the first place made her feel more content than she had been in a long, long time. Everything was right in the world. Everything was right in theirs, for once.

When she finally looked at them, she felt the most sincere and devastating pinch squeezing her heart. It was one day. One day, and one day only. And the price would be unbearable. But it was worth paying.

Image by Muttleydosomething at DeviantArt. View their gallery here.

12 hours earlier.

All it took was the ocean spitting out an old bottle at her feet.

She went on an evening walk, at sunset, on the beach. She knew the weather would become capricious soon enough, so she tried to squeeze out every last drop of the healing zen of deserted shores and breathtaking skies.

She walked a mile, maybe more, trying to reach a specific place in her mind before she answered a delicate text she’d received earlier that day.

It was not as delicate as it was heartbreaking.

“No,” he typed. “I’m not OK. I don’t think I’m ever going to be, Jennie.”

Her throat grew tighter every time she thought about that text.

They had been texting for a few weeks now, for the strangest of reasons. In a recent scene from one of the newest episodes, she managed to see and remember his phone number. For a joke, she sent a text.

He replied.

At first, she thought someone from the props office was messing with her, an elaborate prank. It was fun. Live role playing. But soon enough, she realized no role player, however good, could ever reach that level of realness and honesty. She called. He answered.

Either Jensen was propmeister in chief, or she had been lucky enough to get Dean’s phone number, and, rapidly, his friendship and trust. From a few shy texts to a fully fledged, two-hour-long conversation, it took only three weeks.

He could open up to her in a way he rarely allowed himself, to either Sam or Cas. She wouldn’t judge. She wouldn’t get mad. She wouldn’t regard him as insane, or like the broken toy he was convinced he was.

She would listen, and sometimes, she would point him in another direction, something he hadn't considered. Or wouldn’t. Or something he simply rejected with his whole being. And it helped.

But the tone changed, over the past few days. And when she asked if he was fine…She knew the answer already. She always did, for as long as she knew him.

That’s when the bottle washed up at her feet.

That’s when the sky got so dark, a perfect shade of gray that could be purple, or a purple whose intentions were about to become gray.

That’s when lightning struck.

That’s when she let go and allowed herself one single wish, for reasons unknown. Because she needed something bigger, something stronger, something far more powerful than anything she could use, to help her. To help him. To help them.

She took the bottle and threw it right back at the sea, one wish heavier.

Another silenced strike. The bottle sank.

She could feel every cell of her body buzzing with despair and fear, as she typed and erased two dozen possible answers to him, none of which were remotely satisfying, or even acceptable.

At the corner of each eye, a tear of pure frustration was born, and she angrily wiped them away before they got a chance at life.

Another strike. A small, childlike voice kept on repeating the nature of her wish over and over in her mind, like the most disheartening earworm ever.

In an attempt to get rid of it, she whispered it out loud, as another strike lit the sky, quickly followed by the deafening sound of thunder. Finally.

“Well, how the heaven did you know how to do that?”

Her heart jumped inside of her chest. The shore was deserted one second ago, and now, someone was sitting down right next to her. Someone with a questionable sense of personal space. Someone she knew. Someone she loved. I’m going insane. There is no other explanation.

“You are Rob Benedict.” Thanks, Captain Obvious. That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “See, that’s insulting. Everyone keeps on comparing me to this guy. No, I’m not Rob Benedict. Although I have to say, I’m a pretty big fan of Louden Swain.”

She blinked, incredulous. “You are not Rob Benedict?”

“I am not Rob Benedict. Actually, Rob Benedict should be honored he’s been compared to me.”

This is a joke. A very elaborate, very convincing joke, she thought.

“Oh my … Chuck.”

“That’s my girl,” he grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

No no no no.

“What are you doing here?” she managed.

That’s not what I want to ask you, though. I want a full report of where you have been, what you did there, and who you expect to keep cleaning up your messes. But that’ll come later.

“Well…” Chuck tapped his fingers in succession. “Spring equinox, full moon, four lightning strikes. Ta-da!”

He’s off his rocker. There’s no other explanation. “I’m sorry, what?”

He looked pretty joyful.

“What you did, there. Your wish. If you wish on the spring equinox, on a full moon, on the fourth lightning strike, I grant it.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” he said. “I have no choice … Well, I do, but I made the rules. As everyone seemed to believe I was capable of anything and everything …Technically, they aren’t wrong, though, but that’s not the point.

“But since my omnipotence is heavily discussed and debated, I wanted to create one tiny little loophole to prove you all right -- or wrong, depending on what view you defend.”

“And how many have cracked it in the past?”

Chuck did a quick mental calculation. “Four,” he said. “Ah, luck … Such a strange thing. Not even mine, for once.”

He seemed happy with himself, while Jennie’s blood was boiling. And that was pretty disconcerting.

“So the only thing Dean had to do was to wait for a stupid equinox, on a stupid full moon, and count down the even stupider strikes of lightning?” How long would I be locked in hell if I killed God right here, right now?

Chuck sighed. Jennie clenched her fists. The persistent images of the oldest Winchester, dead on the floor, in the middle of the stairs of the Meadows house, and the terrified call of his name by his brother, kept coming back to her on a loop, stuck inside her disobeying mind. So much for her usual comprehension.

“He died for it!”

“Um, don’t get me started on what happened there,” Chuck said. “And Castiel came back!”

“No thanks to you.”

“I work…”

She interrupted him. It felt all kinds of strange to get the upper hand with God.

“Don’t say it. Do not. You work in absent ways. In vanishing ways. In uncaring ways.”

“Castiel is still back.”

Jennie sighed. “I believed in you.”

“You still do.”

“I still do. But I need you to be more careful about those who matter.”

“I am. You might not see it right away, but I am, in more ways than you can possibly imagine. Don’t ever doubt it.”

She wanted to ask more. She craved answers. But she kept silent, eyes fixed on the horizon.

He looked at her, wondering whether she would voice her wish, or if he had to find it on his own.

In the end, she remained quiet. He didn’t have to look very far to find it. It didn’t come as a surprise for him either.

He left a note, there, in the depths of her mind, about the consequences.

She pondered whether he’d snap his fingers to grant her wish, once she knew without so much as a trace of a doubt that it was about to become true.

“Ohhhh, no,” Chuck said. “My kids really messed up with that snapping thing. Making people explode was not in the initial plan. I’ll have a chat with them…Eventually.

“No, instead, I’ll go for this version. It’s better.”

He lifted two fingers to her forehead, and the world vanished right before Jennie’s eyes, as she lost consciousness for a brief moment. Time for Chuck to work, mysterious ways and all. She didn’t even hear the last thing he said:

“Of all my children, Castiel was always the best one.”

Image by StarWinchester at DeviantArt. View their gallery here.

***

A bawdy bellow: “Rise and shine, Jennie!”

Surprisingly…or maybe not so much after all. Riding shotgun with Dean was the most comfortable position she ever knew to get some sleep.

She had never really known how Sam could fall asleep so easily in this car, but now she got it. Baby’s regular and soothing purr was a melody. The seat’s leather was, by far, the best thing she'd ever had the chance to rest against, and the temperature was near ideal, as the sunlight pierced through the windows and kept her warm in all the right ways.

Ahead of them, the road. A straight, gray line stretching to the horizon, running next to the ocean. The view was beyond spectacular. On the other side, the outlines of seaside villages, one after the other, split between mansions barely hidden and little pastel houses, tiny seafood restaurants and souvenir stores. The whole scene screamed of summer breaks and happy times.

Dean said: “Another couple of miles, and we’ll get there.”

Jennie wanted to ask where, but she didn’t, because…she knew. She knew everything about this day. This special, particular day, and what made it different from any other day.

“I am starving,” Dean said. “Do you mind if we grab a bite before becoming the most luxurious food delivery trio ever?”

“Trio?”

“You, me and Baby?”

It made her smile. She loved that car so much, she couldn't believe she was lucky enough to steal Sam’s place for a little while.

“I don't mind, Dean.” I don't, and will always indulge your food cravings, however unhealthy they might be. I agree wholeheartedly with you: If bacon is what kills you, we all win.

“Good.”

The smile on his face was among the happiest sights she’d ever had the luck to witness.

She couldn’t stop looking at him, as discreetly as she could at first, then less and less cautiously, as she started to lose herself in the eternity of the moment.

There wouldn’t be another day like this one, ever. Even if she started to hunt thunderstorms in spring equinoxes and full moons, she wouldn’t be able to recreate this particular event, in this particular time and at this particular place.

Sometimes, she thought, life has a way of teaching you about the fragility of who we are, what we do, and who we choose to do those things with. Being in the front seat of the most famous Chevy in modern television, next to one half of one of the most famous pair of brothers in modern television, and knowing she was, at that very moment, one of his closest friends…It was so much, and at the same time, it would never be enough.

Being forced to grasp the importance of today because you know there won’t be any tomorrow? It’s both beautiful and tragic beyond measure.

Knowing that he didn’t know it, and would never remember any of this, made it all even harder to take. But it was her wish. Chuck dug it out from the depths of her mind, and dug even further in her heart, to find this one thing she wanted more than anything.

Chuck was used to granting money, health, immortality even, but granting pure, unadulterated happiness wasn’t that common.

He knew Jennie was among the purest. He just didn’t know how pure exactly, and this blew him away. Him. The creator of all things, the father of it all. Free will, when used the right way, and given in the right dosage, created miracles even he couldn’t fully understand.

There it was, the very reason behind all of his care. There she was, the argument proving him right.

Jennie was transfixed looking at Dean’s face. Everything was like watching the most amazing of paintings, somewhere between the MoMA and the Louvre. He was her own Mona Lisa, and that unfortunate comparison made her chuckle. He noticed. He had that slight arching of his eyebrow that made her feel like she’d just swallowed a brick.

“Why are you…Do I have something on my face?”

She should have put her eyes back on the road, but she couldn’t. It was beyond her strength.

“No, don’t worry.”

“So why are you looking at me like I’m going to vanish?”

Because you will, Dean. You don’t know it yet, but you will. I know you will. Because one careless but adored actor couldn’t keep his mouth shut, we know you’re on borrowed time.

“I’m not,” she tried to protest.

He tilted his head slightly to one side, in a silent “come on.”

She forced a smile back on her face, because she knew that anything she could tell him regarding their future could have catastrophic consequences.

All she wanted was to make him stop the car, to throw herself at him and whisper to his ear what she knew would happen in the very, very near future, and ask him -- no, beg him -- to say no.

Whatever it was, she would have given so much for him to stay out of harm’s way, or at least, as far away as he could from something that would taint him, one way or another. That would change him. That would force him to become smaller, and smaller, and smaller. That would make him shrink and vanish.

But she couldn’t. None of this was possible. Even remotely. And she loathed herself for not being able to do it.

Dean sensed her fear and spoke again. “I’m fine, Jennie. I am. Jack’s back, Mom’s home, and we’re going to have one beautiful, simple, quiet day together. This was the best idea ever. And we owe it to you. Now if no … sand monster or sea apocalypse have attacked Sam, Jack and Cas back there during our food run, it’s going to be a good day.

“Sea apocalypse?” This made her laugh. He shrugged and chuckled too.

“Knowing those three, you can’t be too careful.”

“That’s true.”

She knew nothing of the sort would happen, though. She was Chuck, for the duration of those 24 hours, of which she’d missed the first 10. She picked how and where and who. The rest was the product of her choice. For the very first time, she truly understood the hardship in being God.

Dean’s phone rang, and her heart skipped a beat. His ringtone didn’t change over the course of 13 years, and it really helped her grasp the realness in all of this. She wasn’t dreaming. It was happening.

Next to her, the conversation was light and joyful, and she could hear Sam’s voice on the other side. Dean joked that a sea apocalypse was coming their way, to which his brother replied that he was an idiot. Sam reminded Dean that anything nougat-based was heavily required.

“Nougat. That kid is weird.”

“It’s not weirder than your obsession with chili fries…” Sam said.

“Everybody loves chili fries!”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, come on. And you love nougat, maybe?”

“I do. Occasionally.”

“That’s a surprise, Mr. Salad-and-a-Smoothie. How can you and I even be related…?”

She heard a familiar growl of faked annoyance, and then Sam hung up. She couldn’t chase the smile off her face.

Dean scowled. “Where the hell are we going to find nougat in this place?”

And so, before any other type of food run, it became a nougat run.

They tried several bakeries over three different villages, and every single grocery store they could find, including two Gas ’n Sips.

Jennie was fascinated once again by Dean’s palpable care. Jack wanted nougat, he loved Jack, and there was no way he wouldn’t find what Jack wanted.

She got lost in the heartwarming musing of how gaining this man’s heart could seem complicated, marred with fights and misunderstandings -- but once you’re in, you’re in for good.

He spent a grand total of 74 minutes trying everything to find a damn chocolate bar, but in the end, she had the idea that saved the day.

They were driving past a bus station when she asked him to stop there, and she jumped out and ran inside the station, vanishing from his view for a few seconds. She came back with a smile on her face.

“Vending machines!”

“Jennie, you’re a genius.”

She thought he’d grab one or two…But he emptied the damn machines. And because there were so many bars, roughly 35, they had to fill both of their jackets’ pockets, before finding an old paper bag in the trunk to hold all of the precious nougat.

“I hope sugar rushes aren’t a thing in nephilims’ systems, or we’re going to have a problem,” she said.

Dean considered for a second, then donned on his usual careless expression.

“If he wants to turn clouds into elephants, or dunes into camels, it’s fine by me. Sand castles are boring anyway.”

“He might turn your brother into a giraffe…”

That made him laugh. “He’s already the closest thing you’ll ever get to one. Minus the, uh…blue tongue. Did you knew that giraffes had blue tongues? Cas taught me that.”

“You talked about giraffe...tongues... with Castiel?”

She could feel the irrepressible urge to giggle growing inside of her chest, and soon enough, they both laughed, as they drove back to the town where the food joint Dean was looking for waited for them.

Somehow, in between their laughter, he managed to tell her that when they were watching TV together, Cas was running commentary on everything he knew about every single show. Playing “Jeopardy!” Correcting the news. Adding extra information to the animal documentaries…Hence the giraffes.

Jennie didn't think she could love the angel more than she already did, but she was wrong.

“Oh, trust me, it gets old really fast,” Dean said.

She couldn't suppress a smile. This bottomless pit of knowledge came straight from someone she loved and understood, to some extent. Dean and she shared a look, and he smiled back. Jennie’s heart felt a few pounds lighter.

Image by Curveoftheearth at DeviantArt. See their gallery here. 

The place Dean picked, the one that justified driving half an hour, was an amazing little restaurant that stood in the middle of a park directly facing the ocean -- as if someone had decided to switch sand and grass for a short portion of the shore. It looked like a classic American diner, and a waitress in roller skates took their order, and the one to go.

Jennie marveled at the view. “How do you know this place? It is amazing.”

“Dad and I had a case here … How long ago…?”

He reached for his father’s journal in the inside pocket of his jacket, and for a second, while Dean thumbed through the aging and crisp pages, Jennie couldn't breathe. The symbol was almost too much to take.

“Fourteen years ago!” Dean said. “I knew it. Couple of vamps, in a nearby house. They had a pretty efficient system going on.. They kidnapped people and fed on them for days and released them while they were still alive, but barely. It lasted for years. Dad and I took them out in an hour.”

She blinked, suddenly all too aware of how painful it was for her to be on the receiving end of one of John Winchester’s greatest parenting tales. Dean caught her reaction, and then pretended he hadn’t, drowning his green stare in the oceanside view at the window.

She cursed at his father in her mind.

Chuck heard it.

He agreed.

The waitress brought them two cups of coffee, and Jennie couldn't stop looking at the journal.

Dean pushed it toward her, and invited her to take a look, while he, upon noticing they had fresh pie, went to the counter to add a few slices of heaven to their order.

Her hands were shaking, and her breath was getting labored, as if a baby elephant decided to sit down on her chest.

Each and every page carried the weight of Dean’s stolen childhood, and reading John’s writing was making her a lot sadder than she thought she would get. In the end, she closed the journal and pushed it back next to Dean’s cup.

The waitress came back with two plates filled with bacon and sausage and eggs and fries, and a glorious omelette for her. The place was worth the effort; her eggs were creamy and delicious, perfectly made.

“Amaching, ichn’t it?” Dean said around his first mouthful.

She just nodded, chasing another laugh away.

“So, Jennie…” he said after a moment.

“So, Dean….”

This would never fail to make her heart jump. Never.

“What are you planning to do this afternoon?” he asked “Because staying in the beach with two salty hunters, a resurrected angel and the son of the devil might be a little boring.”

Her breath caught, and she swallowed. “Actually…I need a day off,” she said lightly, “and just doing nothing sounds exciting.”

“You are preaching to the choir,” he said, taking another bite. “I am half expecting some monster to pop out at anytime.”

“I think we are safe.”

At that, there was a spark in his eyes, as if he believed her. Not with proof, or faith, or trust. He just knew she was right.

She wondered how much of her feelings he could grasp as accurately as this one. If he can read me like an open book, I’m screwed.

“How cold do you reckon the water will be?” he asked.

She was going to reply in the simplest possible way -- At this time of the year, it’s colder than Lucifer’s heart -- when a parasitic thought set a few butterflies swirling in her belly and a red fire blooming on her cheeks.

Is he considering going for a swim? And if he indeed is … Is he going to follow the same path as the last time? Skinny dipping in hotel swimming pools?

For a moment, she allowed herself to fall down the bottomless pit of giggles that were the foundations of her fangirl life.

Chuck, I swear, naked Winchesters were never part of my perfect plan.

“Oh, you don’t want to go for a swim, trust me. The only fish in there at the moment are … frozen.”

For some obscure reason, this made him laugh, despite the fact that Jennie was convinced it was the worst wordplay ever given voice on Earth.

He looked happy. Not a spur of the moment thing … Genuinely happy.

Anyone could see the permanent smile, but she could tell from his eyes. There was a spark there, something so rare she couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to witness it, if even just this once. She was afraid she might shatter it, as it appeared to be the most fragile of things.

There were so many things she wanted to do, to ask, and so little time to do it. She glanced at the big clock on the wall and noticed that it was fast approaching early afternoon. This day was a short candle, and the fire would soon ravage it all forever.

“Talk to me, Jennie.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something on your mind. Talk to me.”

“What happened to ‘no chick flick moments’?”

“It’s like us, taking a day off. Enjoy it, because it won’t last.”

Her heart sank a little. How accurate he was…without even knowing how and why.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

He scoffed. “You sure sound like you are.”

He stared at her for a while, trying to pierce her mystery, to no avail.

“You’re not fine, Jennie.”

You aren’t either. I can’t be if you’re not.

“I’m OK. I swear I am. Why do you think I’m lying?”

“It takes a liar to know one.”

She took the plunge and looked into his gorgeous, golden-green eyes. He didn’t break the stare.

She carefully extended her hand closer to him.

“You look happy today,” she said.

He took and held her hand.

“I am happy … today.”

She couldn’t keep up the charade, and so, she whispered that one thing that was eating at her from the inside.

“Do you think it can last longer than today?”

For a brief instant, every sound around them seemed paused, muted, as if that specific question brought the whole world to a stop to wait for a decent answer.

To be continued ...