New Supernatural Fic
Title: A Different Road
Author: Chelsea Frew
Pairing: None, Gen
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Rating: PG
Word Count: 6,155
Summary: An AU in which the visions do damage to a very young Sammy, and what happens when the boys get older.
Warnings/Spoilers: Permanent injury/None
Notes: I actually completed this story two years ago, but have sat on it until now. I decided to go ahead and edit and share it. My deepest thanks to marzilla and deannie for the eyes and the encouragement.
Dean couldn't even remember far enough back to remember when this had first gotten old. All he knew was it was a long, long time ago. He sighed and looked at the digital clock on his ancient nightstand. The green neon numbers read 4:37. Four hours of sleep. He guessed it could have been worse.
When the clock turned over to 4:38, he pulled in a deep breath and turned over to face his visitor.
The room was bathed in moonlight, just light enough that Dean could see the tear tracks on Sammy's face. It must have been a bad one this time.
Dean reached over and brushed long, dark bangs away from his younger brother's wide-open eyes. As he did so, Sammy inched a little closer to Dean. Dean allowed it, knowing that to Sammy, Dean was Safety. Dean reached a hand out and squeezed Sammy's upper arm gently before rubbing it up and down. "It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."
After a few minutes, Sammy relaxed under Dean's touch. Automatically, for it had become a habit when he was very, very small, Sammy turned over to let Dean rub his back.
As Dean moved his right hand in gentle, concentric circles on Sammy's back, he asked, "Can you tell me what you saw?"
Sammy shook his head violently.
Dean continued to massage his brother's back. He knew patience was the only route to answers…and, if he was really lucky, a couple more hours of sleep.
While he waited for Sammy to be ready to talk about what had driven him from his room this time, Dean reminded Sammy of the events of the coming day. "Dad has to go on a trip tomorrow, so you and I will be on our own for a few days."
"Macaroni and cheese for dinner," Sammy said in a somber tone.
"So cooking isn't my strong suit. Sue me," Dean teasingly returned.
"Can we go on a trip in the Impala?" Sam loved that car almost as much as Dean did.
Dean smiled behind Sammy's back. "Sure. Where do you want to go?"
Sammy shrugged.
"We can look at the maps tomorrow and choose. How's that sound?"
"Okay."
Dean was silent, then, though he didn't lift his hand from his brother's back.
It wasn't too much longer before Sammy whispered, "I saw a little boy."
"A little boy? How old?"
Sammy shrugged again. "He was little. About Jason's size."
Jason lived in the house two doors down. He was about six.
"What was the little boy doing?" Dean asked, preparing himself for Sammy's answer.
"Screaming. There was a lot of blood on his arm."
"Was there anyone with him?"
"A very tall monster."
"Can you tell me what the monster looked like?"
"He had black eyes and sharp claws. He was very mad at the little boy."
Dean pulled in a deep breath. He couldn't be sure what it was that Sammy was describing; he'd have to do some research in the morning. Their father might have to make a little detour, if he could drag a few more details from Sammy.
"Sammy, could you tell what it was like outside?"
"The little boy was very cold," Sammy answered. This was routine; he knew how to hold up during Dean's interrogation, once it started. "There was snow on the ground outside the window."
Could be nearby.
"Could you see anything on the walls? Sports posters? Photographs?" Sammy's recall was amazing, if Dean calmly led him to remember the information they needed.
"There were baseball posters on the wall. With cardinals in the corner." Sammy shifted under Dean's hand. Dean knew he had to end the questioning soon, because this one had clearly bothered his brother a great deal. Since Dean could reasonably assume that they were looking at St. Louis, he didn't need too much more.
"Was the little boy in a house or an apartment, Sammy?"
"A house. A house out in a field. There was nothing outside the window but grass and trees. The little boy was really, really scared, Dean."
"I know. And I know it scared you, too. You're okay, Sammy."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Sammy suddenly requested, his voice very small.
"Okay," Dean acquiesced. He'd gotten all the pertinent information he needed to do some research in the morning.
Sammy pressed his back against Dean's hand then. Dean realized that somewhere along the way, he had stopped moving his hand. Clearly, his little brother disapproved.
As Dean resumed making soothing circles on Sammy's back, he resigned himself to being up for the day. He knew Sammy wouldn't go back to sleep. He almost never did after one of his visions. Sammy was always afraid that he might have the vision again, and more often than not, the visions left him with a wicked headache.
Sure enough, the next words out of Sammy's mouth were, "My head hurts, Dean."
"I'll go get you some aspirin," Dean told him, sitting straight up in the bed. "Will you be okay for a minute?"
Sammy nodded, pulling Dean's covers up to his chin.
Dean made his way to the bathroom and hunted through the medicine cabinet for the bottle of Excedrin he knew was there. He finally found it behind the jumbo box of band-aids on the bottom shelf.
He took two pills and a cup full of water back to the bedroom. There, he found Sammy trying to curl his six feet four inch tall body into as small a ball as he could.
Dean brushed the bangs which had fallen into Sammy's eyes again away again. "Sit up, Sammy. I have aspirin right here. The sooner you take them,--"
"--the sooner the headache will go away," Sammy concluded. This was not a new routine. He dutifully sat up and took the pills from Dean, swallowing them quickly. "I don't want to go back to my room, Dean. Do I have to?"
Dean shook his head. Once upon a time, he had sent Sammy back to his room after a vision, promising him everything would be okay. Almost every time, though, if Sammy managed to fall back asleep, the visions came back, often scarier and more vivid, traumatizing Sammy even more. It wasn't worth the extra sleep Dean might get to put his brother through that.
Instead, Dean reached over Sammy to turn on the light on the nightstand, and he grabbed the book laying next to the light, kept there for just this kind of occasion.
"So, where did we leave off?" Dean asked.
"Chapter five," Sammy answered.
Dean sat back in bed, propping himself up against the head rest and pulling the covers back over his legs. Sammy copied, putting his head on Dean's shoulder so he could see the book, too.
Dean began to read, knowing they'd make it through several chapters before it was dawn.
***
Dean often wondered what life would have been like. If….
If his mother hadn’t been killed when he was barely four years old.
If his father hadn't made it his life's mission to kill the demon that had killed her.
If Sammy hadn't started having visions at the age of seven. Visions that had been frequent enough and strong enough that they brought with them migraine headaches and seizures. Visions that had left Sammy with brain damage that baffled doctor after doctor after doctor until John had stopped taking him.
The visions had started out as nightmares. Those hadn't seemed out of the ordinary for a little boy whose mother had died when he was six months old and whose father chased demons and monsters for a living. Sammy was a sensitive little kid, and all it took at first to soothe him was assurance that the nightmare wasn't real and a kiss on the forehead from either his dad or his brother. But they realized that they'd been lying to Sammy about the nightmares not being real when, on one of his hunts, John had run into a demon and its actions were straight from a description Sammy had given of a recent nightmare. After the second time it happened, this time with a telekinetic poltergeist whose proclivity for moving furniture and silverware Sammy had described perfectly a few nights prior, John knew they were dealing with something more than mere nightmares.
The nightmares got worse and worse as the months moved forward. They stopped calling them nightmares when Sammy started to have visions during the day. Violent visions that frequently left Sammy with painful migraine headaches or, if he was really unlucky, a seizure. He had them two or three times a week and they terrified him beyond measure. John didn't know what to do, so he took Sammy to every doctor he could find who he thought could help. First, a pediatrician, then a sleep doctor, and finally a psychiatrist. None could pinpoint where these visions were coming from, nor how to stop them.
By the time Sammy was ten, the years of continual seizures had done enough damage to his brain to set him back several years. It was at this point that John had finally located a doctor that specialized in epilepsy who, after some trial and error, had come up with a cocktail of drugs which stopped the seizures almost completely.
The damage, however, was already done and was irreversible. Sammy would never again be normal.
After Dean and Sammy's mother had died, John had gone into a funk it took him months to pull out of. Dean had learned quickly that Sammy was his responsibility, his to take care of, just as he had taken care of getting Sammy out of the burning house the night their mother had died.
While the medication Sammy took every day kept the seizures away, it did not keep the visions away. John became increasingly unable to deal with Sammy, and began taking hunting jobs farther and farther away, leaving Dean once more to be Sammy's primary caregiver.
And so it was, nearly twelve years later, that Dean barely remembered a time when he wasn't the one who made sure Sammy ate, who made sure Sammy studied, who held Sammy when he was attacked by a vision, who Sammy trusted more than anyone else on Earth. And he barely remembered a time when he didn't wonder what it would be like if none of that were true.
***
Dean set Sammy up with a bowl of cereal and a movie on the TV before setting up the laptop and beginning to research St. Louis for odd deaths of children.
John appeared about the time Dean had been at the computer for a half an hour.
"Morning, son," John greeted, rubbing at weary eyes.
"Morning, Dad." Dean didn't look up from the computer screen.
John passed where Dean sat at the round table occupying one half of the small living room and moved into the kitchen. He returned to the living room a minute later with a full cup of coffee. His eyes moved in the direction of his younger son, who had finished his cereal and now sat cross-legged on the couch watching Star Wars.
"Another vision?" John asked.
"Yeah." Dean didn't bother to ask how his father had known. A pattern had been well-set years earlier. "It was pretty bad."
"He okay?"
Dean checked Sammy out himself. "I think so."
"What was it this time?"
"Monster killing kids in St. Louis."
"Find anything?"
"Not yet, but I haven't been looking long."
"I'm heading in that direction. I can check on it if you find anything."
"I figured."
"What are you two up to today?"
"Well, I promised him a drive in the car. And I found some information on a new meditative technique. I thought we might practice to see if he can get it enough that it might help with the headaches. The Excedrin's starting not to work as well."
John sighed. "I'm going to go get a shower. I need to hit the road soon, especially if I am going to detour by the Arch."
Dean nodded his agreement.
"I left some coffee."
"Thanks."
Dean barely noticed that any time passed, so engrossed was he in the reports in recent issues of the St. Louis Dispatch of kids mysteriously mauled and left for dead in backyards. But his father was soon back at his side. "Find anything, Dean?"
Dean had jotted down notes as he read and passed the sheets to John. "I think this is it."
John scanned the pages and nodded. "Okay. I'll stop in this area before following up on that lead from Carter."
"Let me know what you find," Dean requested, rising from his seat and half-closing the laptop before stretching his arms above his head.
"You boys will be okay?"
Dean smiled and nodded. "Of course."
John went and picked up his customary duffel bag, which he'd left on the small counter between the kitchen and the living room. "I'll check in, Dean."
Dean nodded again.
John carried the duffel over to where Sammy sat on the couch, still watching television. "Sammy."
Sammy did not look up from his movie.
"Son, I need to go away for a few days." It was as if Sammy couldn't hear him, though John knew differently. So, he went on. "I know you and Dean will take good care of each other."
He knew from experience that he probably wouldn't get any response from his younger son, so he simply leaned over and pressed a kiss on the top of Sammy's head.
Then he left.
Dean let Sammy finish watching the movie, using the time to take his own shower and check his e-mail and news alerts. Then, when the Death Star had been destroyed, he forced Sammy to quickly get a shower so they could get on with their day. It was another routine they knew well.
***
John had been gone two days before Sammy had another nightmare. Dean was woken not from Sammy climbing into bed with him, but from piercing screams coming from Sammy's room.
Dean was in Sammy's room in less than ten seconds.
Sammy was completely tangled in his sheets. Soaking wet with sweat, he was sitting straight up in bed, screaming, tears running down his face.
Dean sat down on the bed and took hold of Sammy by the shoulders. "Sammy," he said firmly. He shook his brother gently. "Sammy, wake up!"
Sammy was still screaming too loudly to hear Dean, so Dean let go of Sammy's shoulders so he could cup his brother's face in his hands. "Please, Sammy. Wake up."
The touch of Dean's hands on his cheeks must have penetrated whatever horror Sammy's subconscious had brought forth, because the screams began to subside.
"It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here."
Sammy seemed to calm a little bit more, but then he suddenly began to seize, falling backwards onto his pillow, his body tense and shaking.
"Shit!" Dean reached out to take Sammy in his arms, Sammy's back to Dean's chest.
Sammy hadn't had a seizure in a very, very long time. As he held his brother tightly in his arms so Sammy wouldn't think he was alone, Dean thought that Sammy's vision must have been especially frightening if it had caused a full-blown seizure when Sammy was on a ton of medication to prevent just that.
The seizure lasted about two minutes, then Sammy became limp in Dean's arms.
"It's okay, Sammy. You're all right."
"Dean?" Sammy's voice was small and weak, but Dean was happy to hear it nonetheless.
"I'm here, big guy."
Sammy pushed himself backwards, further into the comfort of his older brother's grasp.
Dean gave Sammy a few moments to begin to recover from the shock and rigor of the out-of-nowhere seizure.
When he felt Sammy relax a little, Dean decided it was safe to ask some probing questions.
"Sammy, can you tell me about your nightmare?"
The violent shake of Sammy's head was something Dean could have predicted.
"It was really scary, huh?" Dean made sure to keep his tone soothing.
This time, Sammy nodded.
"I really wish you would tell me about it. It might be less scary if you tell me what happened."
Sammy shook his head again. "No," he whispered.
"Please, Sammy?" Dean knew if Sammy didn't agree this time, he would be out of luck for now.
"It was you," Sammy whispered, his voice very nearly too low for Dean to hear.
"Me?" Dean confirmed.
"It was attacking you," Sammy went on, his voice hitching with every word, tears that glistened in the moonlight coming in through the window coursing down his face.
"What was?"
"I couldn't see it. But it ripped your face and your shirt."
Dean thought maybe a demon. Those could present invisible, although it was quite possible that Sammy just didn't see whatever had been attacking Dean in the vision because he was so focused on the Dean in the vision. Sammy had never, to the best of Dean's knowledge, had a vision that included either John or Dean, so it was hard to speculate.
"It was just a vision, Sammy," Dean offered in a comforting tone. "I'm okay."
"But you won't be," Sammy sobbed. He knew full well that his visions were pictures of events which were inevitable if his father and brother didn't intervene quickly enough. "It was killing you. There was lots and lots of blood, and I couldn't do anything."
"What do you mean, you couldn't do anything?" This, too, was new.
"I couldn't make it stop. It kept pulling you away from me," Sammy explained, his tone one of total brokenness.
"You were in the vision, too?" Dean clarified.
Sammy nodded, the tears continuing to flood his cheeks.
"Shit."
"I don't want you to die, Dean," Sammy told him.
Dean straightened up in the bed and forced Sammy up to face him, gripping him by his upper arms. "I am not going to die. Do you hear me, Sammy?"
"It hurt you bad, Dean. How are you going to stop it?"
"I'll think of something," Dean vowed. "We'll think of something."
Sammy was clearly not convinced. "I wish Dad was here." Sammy may not have trusted John for any emotional support, but he trusted John to kill all the bad things that came in his path.
Dean actually agreed, although he didn't say so. Their father was too far away to get home in time to be helpful. Dean was going to have to pry as many details out of Sammy as he could, then think of something to do to keep Sammy's vision from coming true.
"Sammy, it's going to be okay. I am not going to die. We are going to figure out what we need to do to kill the monster before it can hurt me."
The skeptical look in Sammy's eyes said it all.
Dean glanced over at the clock on Sammy's nightstand. The glowing red numbers said it was 3:18. He sighed. "Sammy, if we're going to beat this, we both need to get some sleep." When Sammy opened his mouth to protest Dean cut him off at the pass. "I'm not going to leave."
Sammy closed his mouth.
"Now, how's your head?"
"Hurts."
"I'm going to get the aspirin, then we're going back to sleep. No arguments," he added, when Sammy got that petulant look on his face that Dean knew all too well.
It didn't take Dean long to grab two aspirin--noting absently that they were soon going to need a new bottle--and a glass of water and return to Sammy's bedside.
After Sammy had dutifully taken the pills--too tired and freaked out for their usual banter--he made room for Dean in the bed.
Dean urged Sammy to turn his back to him so he could rub soothing circles on it.
It took about twenty minutes, but eventually Sammy's breathing evened out, telling Dean he'd managed to fall back to sleep.
With a silent prayer that there were no more visions that night, Dean went back to sleep himself, resting up for what he knew would be no fun battle. No fun battle at all.
***
Dean hit the computer first thing the following morning.
Thankfully, Sammy had slept through the rest of the night, even if he had woken at the crack of dawn.
Dean had once again parked Sammy in front of the television with a bowl of cereal for the first part of his research time. Sammy would need to be up for a while before he could withstand Dean's second interrogation about his latest vision. And Dean wanted to see if he could dig anything up with the small amount of information he had already before putting Sammy through anything more.
However, after a couple of hours of trying to find out whether there had been any vicious attacks locally and coming up dry, Dean knew that no matter how difficult it would be, he needed to get Sammy to revisit his vision, painful moment by painful moment.
He waited for Sammy's movie to end, then shut the television off. When Sammy looked up at him, it was with eyes which clearly conveyed that he knew exactly what was coming.
Dean smiled his most comforting smile, then sat down on the worn couch next to his brother.
"Okay, Sammy," he began. "You know what our job is today?"
Sammy nodded sagely. "To figure out how to kill the monster in my dream."
"Right. I've been on the computer, but I'm having trouble finding anything that will help us. I need you to tell me about your vision again."
"I don't want to," Sammy said immediately and predictably.
"I know," Dean assured him. "But I'm afraid you have to."
Blessedly, Sammy didn't protest again.
"Okay. I want you to start at the beginning and tell me everything you remember. Don't leave out anything." At the unhappy look on his brother's face, Dean smiled and reached over to grasp Sammy's wrist. "I'm right here. You're safe. Okay?"
Sammy nodded, even if there was reluctance in his eyes.
Dean silently prayed that Sammy's penchant for total recall was with them on this occasion, then asked, "What happened first? Tell me exactly what happened."
Sammy didn't speak right away. From the way his eyes looked up, Dean knew he was trying to go back to the beginning of the vision.
Finally, Sammy said, "We were in the park."
"You and me?"
"Yes."
"Was anyone else there?"
Sammy shook his head.
"Not even anyone playing?"
"It was late at night. The moon was high in the sky."
"What kind of moon was it?"
Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to picture that moment from his vision. After a few second, he opened his eyes once more and answered, "I think it was a half-moon."
Dean made a quick calculation in his head. The half-moon was that night. Not a lot of time to figure this out. Sammy's visions never gave them a lot of lead time. He sighed and urged Sammy to go on. "What were we doing in the park?"
Sammy shrugged. "Just walking."
Dean paused to form the next question in his head, then asked, "Were we carrying anything? Any weapons?"
Sammy nodded to this. "You had a gun and I had a bow."
Dean winced. The Vision Winchesters were either on the trail of something exceptionally dangerous or something they hadn't a clue about. It was not so much that Sammy had a weapon--he'd been trained, even if he didn't go with them on hunts very often--it was that the boys were carrying such diverse weapons.
Dean tried not to let his increasing worry show, though. He just went on. "Okay, what next? Did we start to look for anything? Did we go to a specific part of the park?"
Sammy scrunched up his face in thought. "We walked past the playground and the ball field and into the little forest."
Dean knew exactly the place Sammy was talking about. "Is that where it attacked us?"
Sammy nodded, his face clouding. Dean would need to finish this interrogation soon, before his little brother lost it again.
"I'm right here, Sammy. And we're safe in the house," Dean reminded him. "I want you to close your eyes and really concentrate. Can you see what it was that was attacking us?"
Sammy shuddered, but did as his brother suggested and closed his eyes. Dean watched carefully for signs of distress as Sammy traveled back to his vision.
"It came from above," Sammy finally said. "It jumped on you, but I couldn't see it well. I pulled an arrow and tried to shoot it, but I couldn't hit it. It was attacking you, so I dropped the bow and tried to pull it off you. But it kept pulling you further and further away from me."
"Then what?"
Sammy opened his eyes. "Then I woke up."
Dean silently ran down the list of each and every curse word he knew, including those in French and Spanish he'd managed to pick up somewhere. This was all he was going to get out of Sammy. And he had almost no more to go on than he had before he'd put Sammy through reliving the vision.
Suddenly, as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning, he had a spectacular idea. What if they just didn't go to the park that night? What if they just stayed at home, safely ensconced inside, away from the thing which had attacked him? Wouldn't that effectively keep the vision from coming true?
He was just about to voice this suggestion to his brother--in fact, his mouth was open in preparation for telling him--when the downside of this plan came to him like another bolt.
By staying home, they might well change the vision, but they might not change the outcome. The thing might come and attack him here at home--or somewhere and somewhen else in the future.
Dean sighed. They were going to have to go out. Tonight. They were going to have to find the thing from Sammy's vision and kill it at the time and place they knew about already.
Whatever it took.
First, though, he was going to have to do some reassuring. Sammy was still looking at him with fear etched into his every feature.
"It's going to be okay, Sammy," he told his brother. "You've given us a lot to work with here. You and I are going to kick some butt tonight. No one is going to die. Except, of course, the bad guy."
"You sure?"
Dean nodded firmly. "I'm positive."
"What are we gonna do?"
Dean looked down at his watch. It was about eleven. He calculated that they had about nine hours until sundown.
"First, we need to check our weapons stash," he decided. "Then we need to come up with a solid plan. Then we're going to go kick some evil ass. Sound good?"
Sammy's eyes still showed a healthy dose of skepticism, but he nodded gamely and smiled for Dean. "Sounds good."
***
The Winchester men had a startlingly large weapons stash. Ever since Mary's death, John had been hunting this evil thing and that evil thing. He'd discovered that what might kill one thing might do no damage whatsoever to another. So as he'd researched and hunted more, he'd learned about the many instruments of death there were--and he had one of just about everything.
Dean had trained with many of the tools, Sammy with a select few. Dean decided they would just take the most common with them and hope for the best. It was much more important that they come up with a smart plan.
Dean hated that Sammy had to be involved with this. They'd done all they could, he and Dad both, to keep this away from Sammy.
Now, though, they had no choice. This was Sammy's vision, more than any in the past had been, since Sammy himself was in it. Much as he might want to, Dean couldn't take this one on alone.
He made them some dinner, but Sammy just pushed the food in circles around his plate.
"Sammy, you have to eat. You need your strength."
"Not hungry."
Dean sighed. He did not want to deal with Sammy's stubborn streak tonight, of all nights. He was so not in the mood.
"Three bites, then you can stop," he tried to coax.
Sammy shook his head.
Dean sighed again, but knew enough to give up this battle. "Okay, Sammy. Just this once."
"Just this once," Sammy repeated. This was a behavior that Sammy had exhibited all the time when he was younger--the stubbornness, the parroting--but it hadn't been so prevalent in recent years. Sammy was scared shitless. Dean could relate, even if he couldn't revert to childish behavior. He had to be the strong one.
"Okay, Sammy, you ready for the plan?"
"The plan to kill the bad guy?"
"Yes. That plan."
Sammy nodded. "Okay."
"First and most important is that you do everything I say. My word goes. Got it?"
Sammy nodded once more.
"You stay behind me at all times," Dean went on to direct.
Sammy frowned at this. "But what if it attacks you, like in my head?"
"Well, in your head, I wasn't ready for it, but tonight I will be. Okay?"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive." Even if he really wasn't, Dean needed Sammy to believe he was.
"We'll enter the park from Chase Avenue and make our way into the center, into the little forest. That's where we were attacked, right?"
Sammy nodded seriously.
"We'll be ready for it, Sammy. I'll have a gun and holy water. I think a knife, too. And you'll have the bow. You're awesome with a bow, remember?"
"I guess."
"I'll go first, and when it attacks, we'll be ready, and we'll kill it. You and me. We'll just throw everything we have at it."
There was still stark fear in his little brother's eyes, but Sammy nodded nonetheless.
Dean glanced out the kitchen window. Sunset was long gone and night had fallen. The sky was clear, the half-moon bright. Time to check the weapons again. Then they could get going.
It was the least he'd ever looked forward to a hunt.
***
Sammy had stepped on the backs of his shoes four times before they ever reached the playground. Dean stopped and turned around.
"Sammy, you need to relax."
The look on Sammy's face said, "Are you kidding?"
"Are you going to be able to shoot the bow if you're tense?"
Sammy shook his head the tiniest amount.
Raising his eyebrows, Dean said, "Okay, then. Deep breath."
Sammy followed orders.
"Another."
Huffy now, Sammy glared at Dean. But he pulled in the breath.
"Okay. Now stop stepping on me." Without waiting for any response, Dean swiveled on his heels and continued heading west, in the direction of the small forest in the middle of the park. To be fair, it wasn't exactly accurate to call it a forest. It was more like a copse, but Sammy had taken to calling it a forest, and Dean supposed it was close enough not to bother correcting him.
The little collection of trees was big enough for something sinister to take shelter and hide in, though. Plenty big enough.
As they approached, Dean slowed down. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the top of Sammy's jacket sleeve and pulled him forward until they stood side by side.
"Eyes open, Sammy. Ears, too. Watch my back. Got it?"
Sammy nodded. "I'm scared, Dean."
"I know, bud. But it's going to be okay. I promise. Stay right behind me and we'll waste this thing before you know it."
Dean shouldered his rifle and pulled the flask of holy water from his jacket pocket. What he wouldn't have given for a little more to go on here, but he knew they were as ready as they could be given the information they did have.
He was on high alert as they passed the first group of trees. Sammy stepped on his heel again, but at least that meant whatever this thing was wouldn't attack him in the back.
He heard the creature before he saw anything. The growl was low and came from above.
Dean stopped in his tracked and aimed the gun skyward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sammy--still about a pace behind him--ready his bow, pulling an arrow from the ancient quiver slung over his shoulder. Kid was a Winchester, no matter what the visions had done to his brain.
The second growl was louder, filling the space around them. Sammy pressed his left shoulder to the right side of Dean's back, bow at the ready despite the enormous amount of terror he was no doubt filled with.
The third time the creature made itself heard, the sound was lower, closer now to the ground. Automatically, Dean lowered his weapon. Then, with a practiced hand, he unscrewed the cap of his flask and flung a stream of holy water in front of him. The result was a scream and a shimmer of white about six feet directly ahead.
The brothers wasted no time. Dean got off two rounds of rock salt at the same time as Sammy let loose with his arrow. Both struck the creature, causing the shimmer to brighten exponentially. The piercing howl it released let them know it was not happy.
The shimmer moved closer quickly, clearly aiming to maim the two men, but Dean was ready. He pulled his knife from the holster at his side and threw it with deadly accuracy at the center of the shimmer. For good measure, Sammy sent another arrow in the same general direction.
Miraculously, the shimmer slowed down. As one, Dean and Sammy backed away from it until it came to a standstill and faded.
After a few moments of blessed silence, Sammy whispered, "Is it dead, Dean?"
Dean took a hesitant step forward until he reached the spot where the shimmer had stilled. Tentatively, he kicked the area. He came into contact with something, but it didn't move, whatever it was. Dean was not one for taking chances, though. He pulled a book of matches from the pocket of his jeans, lit one, and threw it down on the spot. The fire engulfed an area of about four feet by two feet. Sparks flew before the fire collapsed in on itself and disappeared. When Dean kicked again, his foot met no resistance.
"It's dead, Sammy."
"What was it?"
Not only did Dean not know, he didn't really care. He shrugged. "I haven't got a clue. But it's gone. We did it."
"You're sure?"
Dean turned to grin at his brother. "I'm sure. See, I told you we'd get it. And without a scratch, too."
For the first time since this whole thing began, Sammy smiled. Dean had missed that smile.
"You did great, Sammy. Dad is going to be just as proud of you as I am."
That smile grew.
Dean checked to make sure he had all of his weaponry with him. Sadly, the hunting knife was gone, consumed by the fire, even if it shouldn't have been. Heaven only knew if they'd ever figure out what that thing had been. Once he was sure they were leaving nothing behind, Dean clapped Sammy on the shoulder. "So, kiddo, what do you say we head home?"
"Okay." Sammy threw the bow back over his shoulder and followed Dean out of the forest.
As they walked in silence back toward their house, Dean tried hard not to imagine what might have been. If…
It was hard, though, not to imagine them all hunting together--as a family. Dean was aware that even had Sammy not been so damaged by the visions, he was not like their father or himself, but he couldn't help liking the idea of the three of them out there, chasing down evil.
Imagining was a trap, though. Dean shook his head to clear it and told Sammy, "Holy water. I think that's what did the trick."
"You didn't have that in my vision."
"I know. Maybe it was a good thing neither of us had a lot of details. Because we didn't, we brought everything we could carry, including things not in your vision."
Sammy pursed his lips in thought. "Dean?"
"What?"
"We made a good team, didn't we?"
Dean grinned. "We absolutely did."
Sammy grinned back at him.
Who needed what ifs?
End (11 February 2007)
Author: Chelsea Frew
Pairing: None, Gen
Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Rating: PG
Word Count: 6,155
Summary: An AU in which the visions do damage to a very young Sammy, and what happens when the boys get older.
Warnings/Spoilers: Permanent injury/None
Notes: I actually completed this story two years ago, but have sat on it until now. I decided to go ahead and edit and share it. My deepest thanks to marzilla and deannie for the eyes and the encouragement.
Dean couldn't even remember far enough back to remember when this had first gotten old. All he knew was it was a long, long time ago. He sighed and looked at the digital clock on his ancient nightstand. The green neon numbers read 4:37. Four hours of sleep. He guessed it could have been worse.
When the clock turned over to 4:38, he pulled in a deep breath and turned over to face his visitor.
The room was bathed in moonlight, just light enough that Dean could see the tear tracks on Sammy's face. It must have been a bad one this time.
Dean reached over and brushed long, dark bangs away from his younger brother's wide-open eyes. As he did so, Sammy inched a little closer to Dean. Dean allowed it, knowing that to Sammy, Dean was Safety. Dean reached a hand out and squeezed Sammy's upper arm gently before rubbing it up and down. "It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."
After a few minutes, Sammy relaxed under Dean's touch. Automatically, for it had become a habit when he was very, very small, Sammy turned over to let Dean rub his back.
As Dean moved his right hand in gentle, concentric circles on Sammy's back, he asked, "Can you tell me what you saw?"
Sammy shook his head violently.
Dean continued to massage his brother's back. He knew patience was the only route to answers…and, if he was really lucky, a couple more hours of sleep.
While he waited for Sammy to be ready to talk about what had driven him from his room this time, Dean reminded Sammy of the events of the coming day. "Dad has to go on a trip tomorrow, so you and I will be on our own for a few days."
"Macaroni and cheese for dinner," Sammy said in a somber tone.
"So cooking isn't my strong suit. Sue me," Dean teasingly returned.
"Can we go on a trip in the Impala?" Sam loved that car almost as much as Dean did.
Dean smiled behind Sammy's back. "Sure. Where do you want to go?"
Sammy shrugged.
"We can look at the maps tomorrow and choose. How's that sound?"
"Okay."
Dean was silent, then, though he didn't lift his hand from his brother's back.
It wasn't too much longer before Sammy whispered, "I saw a little boy."
"A little boy? How old?"
Sammy shrugged again. "He was little. About Jason's size."
Jason lived in the house two doors down. He was about six.
"What was the little boy doing?" Dean asked, preparing himself for Sammy's answer.
"Screaming. There was a lot of blood on his arm."
"Was there anyone with him?"
"A very tall monster."
"Can you tell me what the monster looked like?"
"He had black eyes and sharp claws. He was very mad at the little boy."
Dean pulled in a deep breath. He couldn't be sure what it was that Sammy was describing; he'd have to do some research in the morning. Their father might have to make a little detour, if he could drag a few more details from Sammy.
"Sammy, could you tell what it was like outside?"
"The little boy was very cold," Sammy answered. This was routine; he knew how to hold up during Dean's interrogation, once it started. "There was snow on the ground outside the window."
Could be nearby.
"Could you see anything on the walls? Sports posters? Photographs?" Sammy's recall was amazing, if Dean calmly led him to remember the information they needed.
"There were baseball posters on the wall. With cardinals in the corner." Sammy shifted under Dean's hand. Dean knew he had to end the questioning soon, because this one had clearly bothered his brother a great deal. Since Dean could reasonably assume that they were looking at St. Louis, he didn't need too much more.
"Was the little boy in a house or an apartment, Sammy?"
"A house. A house out in a field. There was nothing outside the window but grass and trees. The little boy was really, really scared, Dean."
"I know. And I know it scared you, too. You're okay, Sammy."
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Sammy suddenly requested, his voice very small.
"Okay," Dean acquiesced. He'd gotten all the pertinent information he needed to do some research in the morning.
Sammy pressed his back against Dean's hand then. Dean realized that somewhere along the way, he had stopped moving his hand. Clearly, his little brother disapproved.
As Dean resumed making soothing circles on Sammy's back, he resigned himself to being up for the day. He knew Sammy wouldn't go back to sleep. He almost never did after one of his visions. Sammy was always afraid that he might have the vision again, and more often than not, the visions left him with a wicked headache.
Sure enough, the next words out of Sammy's mouth were, "My head hurts, Dean."
"I'll go get you some aspirin," Dean told him, sitting straight up in the bed. "Will you be okay for a minute?"
Sammy nodded, pulling Dean's covers up to his chin.
Dean made his way to the bathroom and hunted through the medicine cabinet for the bottle of Excedrin he knew was there. He finally found it behind the jumbo box of band-aids on the bottom shelf.
He took two pills and a cup full of water back to the bedroom. There, he found Sammy trying to curl his six feet four inch tall body into as small a ball as he could.
Dean brushed the bangs which had fallen into Sammy's eyes again away again. "Sit up, Sammy. I have aspirin right here. The sooner you take them,--"
"--the sooner the headache will go away," Sammy concluded. This was not a new routine. He dutifully sat up and took the pills from Dean, swallowing them quickly. "I don't want to go back to my room, Dean. Do I have to?"
Dean shook his head. Once upon a time, he had sent Sammy back to his room after a vision, promising him everything would be okay. Almost every time, though, if Sammy managed to fall back asleep, the visions came back, often scarier and more vivid, traumatizing Sammy even more. It wasn't worth the extra sleep Dean might get to put his brother through that.
Instead, Dean reached over Sammy to turn on the light on the nightstand, and he grabbed the book laying next to the light, kept there for just this kind of occasion.
"So, where did we leave off?" Dean asked.
"Chapter five," Sammy answered.
Dean sat back in bed, propping himself up against the head rest and pulling the covers back over his legs. Sammy copied, putting his head on Dean's shoulder so he could see the book, too.
Dean began to read, knowing they'd make it through several chapters before it was dawn.
***
Dean often wondered what life would have been like. If….
If his mother hadn’t been killed when he was barely four years old.
If his father hadn't made it his life's mission to kill the demon that had killed her.
If Sammy hadn't started having visions at the age of seven. Visions that had been frequent enough and strong enough that they brought with them migraine headaches and seizures. Visions that had left Sammy with brain damage that baffled doctor after doctor after doctor until John had stopped taking him.
The visions had started out as nightmares. Those hadn't seemed out of the ordinary for a little boy whose mother had died when he was six months old and whose father chased demons and monsters for a living. Sammy was a sensitive little kid, and all it took at first to soothe him was assurance that the nightmare wasn't real and a kiss on the forehead from either his dad or his brother. But they realized that they'd been lying to Sammy about the nightmares not being real when, on one of his hunts, John had run into a demon and its actions were straight from a description Sammy had given of a recent nightmare. After the second time it happened, this time with a telekinetic poltergeist whose proclivity for moving furniture and silverware Sammy had described perfectly a few nights prior, John knew they were dealing with something more than mere nightmares.
The nightmares got worse and worse as the months moved forward. They stopped calling them nightmares when Sammy started to have visions during the day. Violent visions that frequently left Sammy with painful migraine headaches or, if he was really unlucky, a seizure. He had them two or three times a week and they terrified him beyond measure. John didn't know what to do, so he took Sammy to every doctor he could find who he thought could help. First, a pediatrician, then a sleep doctor, and finally a psychiatrist. None could pinpoint where these visions were coming from, nor how to stop them.
By the time Sammy was ten, the years of continual seizures had done enough damage to his brain to set him back several years. It was at this point that John had finally located a doctor that specialized in epilepsy who, after some trial and error, had come up with a cocktail of drugs which stopped the seizures almost completely.
The damage, however, was already done and was irreversible. Sammy would never again be normal.
After Dean and Sammy's mother had died, John had gone into a funk it took him months to pull out of. Dean had learned quickly that Sammy was his responsibility, his to take care of, just as he had taken care of getting Sammy out of the burning house the night their mother had died.
While the medication Sammy took every day kept the seizures away, it did not keep the visions away. John became increasingly unable to deal with Sammy, and began taking hunting jobs farther and farther away, leaving Dean once more to be Sammy's primary caregiver.
And so it was, nearly twelve years later, that Dean barely remembered a time when he wasn't the one who made sure Sammy ate, who made sure Sammy studied, who held Sammy when he was attacked by a vision, who Sammy trusted more than anyone else on Earth. And he barely remembered a time when he didn't wonder what it would be like if none of that were true.
***
Dean set Sammy up with a bowl of cereal and a movie on the TV before setting up the laptop and beginning to research St. Louis for odd deaths of children.
John appeared about the time Dean had been at the computer for a half an hour.
"Morning, son," John greeted, rubbing at weary eyes.
"Morning, Dad." Dean didn't look up from the computer screen.
John passed where Dean sat at the round table occupying one half of the small living room and moved into the kitchen. He returned to the living room a minute later with a full cup of coffee. His eyes moved in the direction of his younger son, who had finished his cereal and now sat cross-legged on the couch watching Star Wars.
"Another vision?" John asked.
"Yeah." Dean didn't bother to ask how his father had known. A pattern had been well-set years earlier. "It was pretty bad."
"He okay?"
Dean checked Sammy out himself. "I think so."
"What was it this time?"
"Monster killing kids in St. Louis."
"Find anything?"
"Not yet, but I haven't been looking long."
"I'm heading in that direction. I can check on it if you find anything."
"I figured."
"What are you two up to today?"
"Well, I promised him a drive in the car. And I found some information on a new meditative technique. I thought we might practice to see if he can get it enough that it might help with the headaches. The Excedrin's starting not to work as well."
John sighed. "I'm going to go get a shower. I need to hit the road soon, especially if I am going to detour by the Arch."
Dean nodded his agreement.
"I left some coffee."
"Thanks."
Dean barely noticed that any time passed, so engrossed was he in the reports in recent issues of the St. Louis Dispatch of kids mysteriously mauled and left for dead in backyards. But his father was soon back at his side. "Find anything, Dean?"
Dean had jotted down notes as he read and passed the sheets to John. "I think this is it."
John scanned the pages and nodded. "Okay. I'll stop in this area before following up on that lead from Carter."
"Let me know what you find," Dean requested, rising from his seat and half-closing the laptop before stretching his arms above his head.
"You boys will be okay?"
Dean smiled and nodded. "Of course."
John went and picked up his customary duffel bag, which he'd left on the small counter between the kitchen and the living room. "I'll check in, Dean."
Dean nodded again.
John carried the duffel over to where Sammy sat on the couch, still watching television. "Sammy."
Sammy did not look up from his movie.
"Son, I need to go away for a few days." It was as if Sammy couldn't hear him, though John knew differently. So, he went on. "I know you and Dean will take good care of each other."
He knew from experience that he probably wouldn't get any response from his younger son, so he simply leaned over and pressed a kiss on the top of Sammy's head.
Then he left.
Dean let Sammy finish watching the movie, using the time to take his own shower and check his e-mail and news alerts. Then, when the Death Star had been destroyed, he forced Sammy to quickly get a shower so they could get on with their day. It was another routine they knew well.
***
John had been gone two days before Sammy had another nightmare. Dean was woken not from Sammy climbing into bed with him, but from piercing screams coming from Sammy's room.
Dean was in Sammy's room in less than ten seconds.
Sammy was completely tangled in his sheets. Soaking wet with sweat, he was sitting straight up in bed, screaming, tears running down his face.
Dean sat down on the bed and took hold of Sammy by the shoulders. "Sammy," he said firmly. He shook his brother gently. "Sammy, wake up!"
Sammy was still screaming too loudly to hear Dean, so Dean let go of Sammy's shoulders so he could cup his brother's face in his hands. "Please, Sammy. Wake up."
The touch of Dean's hands on his cheeks must have penetrated whatever horror Sammy's subconscious had brought forth, because the screams began to subside.
"It's okay, Sammy. I'm right here."
Sammy seemed to calm a little bit more, but then he suddenly began to seize, falling backwards onto his pillow, his body tense and shaking.
"Shit!" Dean reached out to take Sammy in his arms, Sammy's back to Dean's chest.
Sammy hadn't had a seizure in a very, very long time. As he held his brother tightly in his arms so Sammy wouldn't think he was alone, Dean thought that Sammy's vision must have been especially frightening if it had caused a full-blown seizure when Sammy was on a ton of medication to prevent just that.
The seizure lasted about two minutes, then Sammy became limp in Dean's arms.
"It's okay, Sammy. You're all right."
"Dean?" Sammy's voice was small and weak, but Dean was happy to hear it nonetheless.
"I'm here, big guy."
Sammy pushed himself backwards, further into the comfort of his older brother's grasp.
Dean gave Sammy a few moments to begin to recover from the shock and rigor of the out-of-nowhere seizure.
When he felt Sammy relax a little, Dean decided it was safe to ask some probing questions.
"Sammy, can you tell me about your nightmare?"
The violent shake of Sammy's head was something Dean could have predicted.
"It was really scary, huh?" Dean made sure to keep his tone soothing.
This time, Sammy nodded.
"I really wish you would tell me about it. It might be less scary if you tell me what happened."
Sammy shook his head again. "No," he whispered.
"Please, Sammy?" Dean knew if Sammy didn't agree this time, he would be out of luck for now.
"It was you," Sammy whispered, his voice very nearly too low for Dean to hear.
"Me?" Dean confirmed.
"It was attacking you," Sammy went on, his voice hitching with every word, tears that glistened in the moonlight coming in through the window coursing down his face.
"What was?"
"I couldn't see it. But it ripped your face and your shirt."
Dean thought maybe a demon. Those could present invisible, although it was quite possible that Sammy just didn't see whatever had been attacking Dean in the vision because he was so focused on the Dean in the vision. Sammy had never, to the best of Dean's knowledge, had a vision that included either John or Dean, so it was hard to speculate.
"It was just a vision, Sammy," Dean offered in a comforting tone. "I'm okay."
"But you won't be," Sammy sobbed. He knew full well that his visions were pictures of events which were inevitable if his father and brother didn't intervene quickly enough. "It was killing you. There was lots and lots of blood, and I couldn't do anything."
"What do you mean, you couldn't do anything?" This, too, was new.
"I couldn't make it stop. It kept pulling you away from me," Sammy explained, his tone one of total brokenness.
"You were in the vision, too?" Dean clarified.
Sammy nodded, the tears continuing to flood his cheeks.
"Shit."
"I don't want you to die, Dean," Sammy told him.
Dean straightened up in the bed and forced Sammy up to face him, gripping him by his upper arms. "I am not going to die. Do you hear me, Sammy?"
"It hurt you bad, Dean. How are you going to stop it?"
"I'll think of something," Dean vowed. "We'll think of something."
Sammy was clearly not convinced. "I wish Dad was here." Sammy may not have trusted John for any emotional support, but he trusted John to kill all the bad things that came in his path.
Dean actually agreed, although he didn't say so. Their father was too far away to get home in time to be helpful. Dean was going to have to pry as many details out of Sammy as he could, then think of something to do to keep Sammy's vision from coming true.
"Sammy, it's going to be okay. I am not going to die. We are going to figure out what we need to do to kill the monster before it can hurt me."
The skeptical look in Sammy's eyes said it all.
Dean glanced over at the clock on Sammy's nightstand. The glowing red numbers said it was 3:18. He sighed. "Sammy, if we're going to beat this, we both need to get some sleep." When Sammy opened his mouth to protest Dean cut him off at the pass. "I'm not going to leave."
Sammy closed his mouth.
"Now, how's your head?"
"Hurts."
"I'm going to get the aspirin, then we're going back to sleep. No arguments," he added, when Sammy got that petulant look on his face that Dean knew all too well.
It didn't take Dean long to grab two aspirin--noting absently that they were soon going to need a new bottle--and a glass of water and return to Sammy's bedside.
After Sammy had dutifully taken the pills--too tired and freaked out for their usual banter--he made room for Dean in the bed.
Dean urged Sammy to turn his back to him so he could rub soothing circles on it.
It took about twenty minutes, but eventually Sammy's breathing evened out, telling Dean he'd managed to fall back to sleep.
With a silent prayer that there were no more visions that night, Dean went back to sleep himself, resting up for what he knew would be no fun battle. No fun battle at all.
***
Dean hit the computer first thing the following morning.
Thankfully, Sammy had slept through the rest of the night, even if he had woken at the crack of dawn.
Dean had once again parked Sammy in front of the television with a bowl of cereal for the first part of his research time. Sammy would need to be up for a while before he could withstand Dean's second interrogation about his latest vision. And Dean wanted to see if he could dig anything up with the small amount of information he had already before putting Sammy through anything more.
However, after a couple of hours of trying to find out whether there had been any vicious attacks locally and coming up dry, Dean knew that no matter how difficult it would be, he needed to get Sammy to revisit his vision, painful moment by painful moment.
He waited for Sammy's movie to end, then shut the television off. When Sammy looked up at him, it was with eyes which clearly conveyed that he knew exactly what was coming.
Dean smiled his most comforting smile, then sat down on the worn couch next to his brother.
"Okay, Sammy," he began. "You know what our job is today?"
Sammy nodded sagely. "To figure out how to kill the monster in my dream."
"Right. I've been on the computer, but I'm having trouble finding anything that will help us. I need you to tell me about your vision again."
"I don't want to," Sammy said immediately and predictably.
"I know," Dean assured him. "But I'm afraid you have to."
Blessedly, Sammy didn't protest again.
"Okay. I want you to start at the beginning and tell me everything you remember. Don't leave out anything." At the unhappy look on his brother's face, Dean smiled and reached over to grasp Sammy's wrist. "I'm right here. You're safe. Okay?"
Sammy nodded, even if there was reluctance in his eyes.
Dean silently prayed that Sammy's penchant for total recall was with them on this occasion, then asked, "What happened first? Tell me exactly what happened."
Sammy didn't speak right away. From the way his eyes looked up, Dean knew he was trying to go back to the beginning of the vision.
Finally, Sammy said, "We were in the park."
"You and me?"
"Yes."
"Was anyone else there?"
Sammy shook his head.
"Not even anyone playing?"
"It was late at night. The moon was high in the sky."
"What kind of moon was it?"
Sammy squeezed his eyes shut, clearly trying to picture that moment from his vision. After a few second, he opened his eyes once more and answered, "I think it was a half-moon."
Dean made a quick calculation in his head. The half-moon was that night. Not a lot of time to figure this out. Sammy's visions never gave them a lot of lead time. He sighed and urged Sammy to go on. "What were we doing in the park?"
Sammy shrugged. "Just walking."
Dean paused to form the next question in his head, then asked, "Were we carrying anything? Any weapons?"
Sammy nodded to this. "You had a gun and I had a bow."
Dean winced. The Vision Winchesters were either on the trail of something exceptionally dangerous or something they hadn't a clue about. It was not so much that Sammy had a weapon--he'd been trained, even if he didn't go with them on hunts very often--it was that the boys were carrying such diverse weapons.
Dean tried not to let his increasing worry show, though. He just went on. "Okay, what next? Did we start to look for anything? Did we go to a specific part of the park?"
Sammy scrunched up his face in thought. "We walked past the playground and the ball field and into the little forest."
Dean knew exactly the place Sammy was talking about. "Is that where it attacked us?"
Sammy nodded, his face clouding. Dean would need to finish this interrogation soon, before his little brother lost it again.
"I'm right here, Sammy. And we're safe in the house," Dean reminded him. "I want you to close your eyes and really concentrate. Can you see what it was that was attacking us?"
Sammy shuddered, but did as his brother suggested and closed his eyes. Dean watched carefully for signs of distress as Sammy traveled back to his vision.
"It came from above," Sammy finally said. "It jumped on you, but I couldn't see it well. I pulled an arrow and tried to shoot it, but I couldn't hit it. It was attacking you, so I dropped the bow and tried to pull it off you. But it kept pulling you further and further away from me."
"Then what?"
Sammy opened his eyes. "Then I woke up."
Dean silently ran down the list of each and every curse word he knew, including those in French and Spanish he'd managed to pick up somewhere. This was all he was going to get out of Sammy. And he had almost no more to go on than he had before he'd put Sammy through reliving the vision.
Suddenly, as if he'd been struck by a bolt of lightning, he had a spectacular idea. What if they just didn't go to the park that night? What if they just stayed at home, safely ensconced inside, away from the thing which had attacked him? Wouldn't that effectively keep the vision from coming true?
He was just about to voice this suggestion to his brother--in fact, his mouth was open in preparation for telling him--when the downside of this plan came to him like another bolt.
By staying home, they might well change the vision, but they might not change the outcome. The thing might come and attack him here at home--or somewhere and somewhen else in the future.
Dean sighed. They were going to have to go out. Tonight. They were going to have to find the thing from Sammy's vision and kill it at the time and place they knew about already.
Whatever it took.
First, though, he was going to have to do some reassuring. Sammy was still looking at him with fear etched into his every feature.
"It's going to be okay, Sammy," he told his brother. "You've given us a lot to work with here. You and I are going to kick some butt tonight. No one is going to die. Except, of course, the bad guy."
"You sure?"
Dean nodded firmly. "I'm positive."
"What are we gonna do?"
Dean looked down at his watch. It was about eleven. He calculated that they had about nine hours until sundown.
"First, we need to check our weapons stash," he decided. "Then we need to come up with a solid plan. Then we're going to go kick some evil ass. Sound good?"
Sammy's eyes still showed a healthy dose of skepticism, but he nodded gamely and smiled for Dean. "Sounds good."
***
The Winchester men had a startlingly large weapons stash. Ever since Mary's death, John had been hunting this evil thing and that evil thing. He'd discovered that what might kill one thing might do no damage whatsoever to another. So as he'd researched and hunted more, he'd learned about the many instruments of death there were--and he had one of just about everything.
Dean had trained with many of the tools, Sammy with a select few. Dean decided they would just take the most common with them and hope for the best. It was much more important that they come up with a smart plan.
Dean hated that Sammy had to be involved with this. They'd done all they could, he and Dad both, to keep this away from Sammy.
Now, though, they had no choice. This was Sammy's vision, more than any in the past had been, since Sammy himself was in it. Much as he might want to, Dean couldn't take this one on alone.
He made them some dinner, but Sammy just pushed the food in circles around his plate.
"Sammy, you have to eat. You need your strength."
"Not hungry."
Dean sighed. He did not want to deal with Sammy's stubborn streak tonight, of all nights. He was so not in the mood.
"Three bites, then you can stop," he tried to coax.
Sammy shook his head.
Dean sighed again, but knew enough to give up this battle. "Okay, Sammy. Just this once."
"Just this once," Sammy repeated. This was a behavior that Sammy had exhibited all the time when he was younger--the stubbornness, the parroting--but it hadn't been so prevalent in recent years. Sammy was scared shitless. Dean could relate, even if he couldn't revert to childish behavior. He had to be the strong one.
"Okay, Sammy, you ready for the plan?"
"The plan to kill the bad guy?"
"Yes. That plan."
Sammy nodded. "Okay."
"First and most important is that you do everything I say. My word goes. Got it?"
Sammy nodded once more.
"You stay behind me at all times," Dean went on to direct.
Sammy frowned at this. "But what if it attacks you, like in my head?"
"Well, in your head, I wasn't ready for it, but tonight I will be. Okay?"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm positive." Even if he really wasn't, Dean needed Sammy to believe he was.
"We'll enter the park from Chase Avenue and make our way into the center, into the little forest. That's where we were attacked, right?"
Sammy nodded seriously.
"We'll be ready for it, Sammy. I'll have a gun and holy water. I think a knife, too. And you'll have the bow. You're awesome with a bow, remember?"
"I guess."
"I'll go first, and when it attacks, we'll be ready, and we'll kill it. You and me. We'll just throw everything we have at it."
There was still stark fear in his little brother's eyes, but Sammy nodded nonetheless.
Dean glanced out the kitchen window. Sunset was long gone and night had fallen. The sky was clear, the half-moon bright. Time to check the weapons again. Then they could get going.
It was the least he'd ever looked forward to a hunt.
***
Sammy had stepped on the backs of his shoes four times before they ever reached the playground. Dean stopped and turned around.
"Sammy, you need to relax."
The look on Sammy's face said, "Are you kidding?"
"Are you going to be able to shoot the bow if you're tense?"
Sammy shook his head the tiniest amount.
Raising his eyebrows, Dean said, "Okay, then. Deep breath."
Sammy followed orders.
"Another."
Huffy now, Sammy glared at Dean. But he pulled in the breath.
"Okay. Now stop stepping on me." Without waiting for any response, Dean swiveled on his heels and continued heading west, in the direction of the small forest in the middle of the park. To be fair, it wasn't exactly accurate to call it a forest. It was more like a copse, but Sammy had taken to calling it a forest, and Dean supposed it was close enough not to bother correcting him.
The little collection of trees was big enough for something sinister to take shelter and hide in, though. Plenty big enough.
As they approached, Dean slowed down. Reaching behind him, he grabbed the top of Sammy's jacket sleeve and pulled him forward until they stood side by side.
"Eyes open, Sammy. Ears, too. Watch my back. Got it?"
Sammy nodded. "I'm scared, Dean."
"I know, bud. But it's going to be okay. I promise. Stay right behind me and we'll waste this thing before you know it."
Dean shouldered his rifle and pulled the flask of holy water from his jacket pocket. What he wouldn't have given for a little more to go on here, but he knew they were as ready as they could be given the information they did have.
He was on high alert as they passed the first group of trees. Sammy stepped on his heel again, but at least that meant whatever this thing was wouldn't attack him in the back.
He heard the creature before he saw anything. The growl was low and came from above.
Dean stopped in his tracked and aimed the gun skyward. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sammy--still about a pace behind him--ready his bow, pulling an arrow from the ancient quiver slung over his shoulder. Kid was a Winchester, no matter what the visions had done to his brain.
The second growl was louder, filling the space around them. Sammy pressed his left shoulder to the right side of Dean's back, bow at the ready despite the enormous amount of terror he was no doubt filled with.
The third time the creature made itself heard, the sound was lower, closer now to the ground. Automatically, Dean lowered his weapon. Then, with a practiced hand, he unscrewed the cap of his flask and flung a stream of holy water in front of him. The result was a scream and a shimmer of white about six feet directly ahead.
The brothers wasted no time. Dean got off two rounds of rock salt at the same time as Sammy let loose with his arrow. Both struck the creature, causing the shimmer to brighten exponentially. The piercing howl it released let them know it was not happy.
The shimmer moved closer quickly, clearly aiming to maim the two men, but Dean was ready. He pulled his knife from the holster at his side and threw it with deadly accuracy at the center of the shimmer. For good measure, Sammy sent another arrow in the same general direction.
Miraculously, the shimmer slowed down. As one, Dean and Sammy backed away from it until it came to a standstill and faded.
After a few moments of blessed silence, Sammy whispered, "Is it dead, Dean?"
Dean took a hesitant step forward until he reached the spot where the shimmer had stilled. Tentatively, he kicked the area. He came into contact with something, but it didn't move, whatever it was. Dean was not one for taking chances, though. He pulled a book of matches from the pocket of his jeans, lit one, and threw it down on the spot. The fire engulfed an area of about four feet by two feet. Sparks flew before the fire collapsed in on itself and disappeared. When Dean kicked again, his foot met no resistance.
"It's dead, Sammy."
"What was it?"
Not only did Dean not know, he didn't really care. He shrugged. "I haven't got a clue. But it's gone. We did it."
"You're sure?"
Dean turned to grin at his brother. "I'm sure. See, I told you we'd get it. And without a scratch, too."
For the first time since this whole thing began, Sammy smiled. Dean had missed that smile.
"You did great, Sammy. Dad is going to be just as proud of you as I am."
That smile grew.
Dean checked to make sure he had all of his weaponry with him. Sadly, the hunting knife was gone, consumed by the fire, even if it shouldn't have been. Heaven only knew if they'd ever figure out what that thing had been. Once he was sure they were leaving nothing behind, Dean clapped Sammy on the shoulder. "So, kiddo, what do you say we head home?"
"Okay." Sammy threw the bow back over his shoulder and followed Dean out of the forest.
As they walked in silence back toward their house, Dean tried hard not to imagine what might have been. If…
It was hard, though, not to imagine them all hunting together--as a family. Dean was aware that even had Sammy not been so damaged by the visions, he was not like their father or himself, but he couldn't help liking the idea of the three of them out there, chasing down evil.
Imagining was a trap, though. Dean shook his head to clear it and told Sammy, "Holy water. I think that's what did the trick."
"You didn't have that in my vision."
"I know. Maybe it was a good thing neither of us had a lot of details. Because we didn't, we brought everything we could carry, including things not in your vision."
Sammy pursed his lips in thought. "Dean?"
"What?"
"We made a good team, didn't we?"
Dean grinned. "We absolutely did."
Sammy grinned back at him.
Who needed what ifs?
End (11 February 2007)