Questhaven 12/12
Previous Chapters:
Questhaven 1/12, Questhaven 2/12, Questhaven 3/12, Questhaven 4/12, Questhaven 5/12, Questhaven 6/12, Questhaven 7/12, Questhaven 8/12, Questhaven 9a/12, Questhaven 9b/12, Questhaven 10/12, Questhaven 11/12
Chapter 12
February 2008
Pamela Barnes Home
She saw the dust swirling through her front yard before she heard the rumble of the old classic cars. Pamela peeked out the window, watched as a black Chevy and Bobby’s familiar rust bucket pulled into her driveway. She stepped out onto the porch to get a closer look at her visitors.
Bobby had been short but sweet on the phone. He was bringing along the Winchesters and they needed her help. Anyone who knew Bobby, really knew him, was no stranger to the fact that he considered these boys family. While she and Bobby Singer hadn’t seen much of each other recently, Pamela was well aware of his affection for Dean and Sam and had promised to do what she could.
She made her way down the porch steps, keeping her eyes on the man that dragged himself from the driver’s seat of the Chevy Impala. He was in his late twenties, though the tell-tale, haggard expression of someone who had seen too much of everything except a good night’s sleep made him look older. It didn’t help that he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a baseball bat, or that under the thin gray tee-shirt Pamela could see his chest was wrapped with bandages, some of which were in need of changing. He was pale, too, which made the freckles on his cheeks and the green in his eyes stand out.
Despite all of that, Dean Winchester was still gorgeous.
Pamela smiled as she and Bobby reached the passenger side of the car together.
“Bobby Singer!” she exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug. “You look like hell, Bobby. Don’t you sleep anymore?”
“Not with these two stirring up shit everywhere they go,” he teased back, tilting his head at Dean who was just coming around the car. “Dean Winchester, this is Pamela. Best damn psychic around.”
She shook Dean’s hand, watching his eyes. She smiled as she was met with the exact mix of distrust, curiosity, and ‘let’s get moving so we can fix my brother’ that she’d expected.
Pamela nodded her head at the passenger seat where a younger man was slumped. She looked over the unconscious figure. He was all arms and legs and shaggy hair front her vantage point. “This Sam? Bobby tells me he’s been through the wringer.”
Dean didn’t speak, just opened the passenger door, moving quickly to prevent Sam’s unconscious form from slipping out. He looked to Bobby for help and Pamela jumped in too, the three of them maneuvering the younger brother into the house.
“Let’s get him into the bedroom and I’ll see what’s what, alright?”
Somehow they got Sam onto the bed and Dean was making his brother comfortable with a pillow under his head and rearranging his long limbs when Bobby pulled her aside.
“We gotta get this kid to eat something, Pamela. I haven’t seen him eat or sleep in almost forty eight hours, not to mention he’s been batted around by a malevolent spirit and taken a shot of rock salt to the gut.” Bobby put his weary hand on her shoulder, and Pamela wondered if maybe he’d gone just as long without food or sleep. “I know I’m already asking a lot, and you ain’t Martha freakin’ Stewart, but-“
“It’s no problem. I’ll throw something together.”
Five minutes later, she heard Bobby and Dean arguing in the other room. She walked into the bedroom, setting the waters and the plate of sandwiches on the dresser by the door, and stood leaning against the door frame.
“Dean, you need to eat, boy. I know you’re worried about Sam-“
“I don’t need any hand-holding, Bobby. I’m not hungry. Can we just-“ Dean saw Pamela in the doorway and turned his pleas to her. “Can you do anything for my brother?”
She gave Dean a soft half-smile, but said nothing.
“Dean, we’re not doing a damn thing until you have something to eat and drink. You can’t help Sam if you’re passing out from malnutrition or dehydration,” Bobby said, crossing the room to grab a sandwich for himself. He gave her a mock salute with the bread and leaned against the wall to consume it. “Pamela will back me up on this.”
She watched Dean’s eyes widen in disbelief, darting back and forth from Bobby to Pamela. She crossed her arms over her chest, just enough attitude to show that Bobby wasn’t lying, and remained in the doorway.
Sighing loudly, Dean marched over to the plate of food and snatched a sandwich off it. With his other hand he grabbed a bottled water and then stomped back over to the side of the bed. The united front of Bobby and Pamela caught eyes and smiled at their victory as Dean perched at Sam’s side and ate.
Dean raised his eyebrows at her. “I’m eating. Alright? Can we fix Sam now?”
They brought in three chairs and placed them around the bed, Pamela taking the chair on Sam’s left, Bobby at the foot of the bed and Dean on Sam’s right.
“Did he wake up at all on the way here?” asked Bobby.
Dean swallowed the last of his second sandwich and chased it with water. “Um, yeah. Two or three times. But he didn’t know where he was, kept muttering stuff that made no sense. Once or twice he’d ask me ‘is this real?’.” Dean stopped there, swallowing hard and training his eyes on Sam’s passive face. Pamela sensed there was more to it, but Dean didn’t share. He glanced up at Pamela. “Did Bobby fill you in?”
Pamela shook her head. Dean related the whole story, from the salt and burn turned buried alive, to the hex on Sam, to killing the witch’s spirit and how it all tied back to a solo hunt Dean went on in 2003. “He stopped waking up altogether about three hundred miles back.”
“Okay, spells and curses I can work with. Bobby, hit the lights would you? Dean light the candles,” she said, tossing him a lighter from her pocket.
Pamela closed her eyes as the two men reclaimed their seats. Stretching her arms out, she ran her hands just centimeters above Sam’s body. Her hands were hovered just above his forehead when she said, “You didn’t tell me Sam had psychic abilities- abilities before the hex.”
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that Dean had straightened up in his chair and that he was very uncomfortable with her having this knowledge. But Pamela was never one to pull her punches and Dean Winchester didn’t scare her in the least so she continued. “Not a natural ability, either. He wasn’t born with it…”
“Dean,” Bobby warned. “You trust me, and I trust Pamela. We want to help Sam, we can’t be keepin’ secrets.”
Dean was quiet for so long that Pamela opened her eyes and watched the struggle play out on his face. He doesn’t trust easily, and probably for good reason, she thought. In the end, though, his faith in Bobby overrode his gut instinct.
“A demon named Azazel had something to do with it. Sam started having dreams and then visions a couple of years ago, but after we killed the demon, the visions stopped.” Dean reached up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You think what the spirit did to Sam has something to do with his psychic crap? Sorry-“ he held up placating hands to Pamela. “Sorry, no offense intended to any psychics in the room.”
“All I can tell, Dean is that there is no lingering spell work being cast on Sam.”
“Okay, what then? Why isn’t he waking up?”
“My best guess? That spirit went digging around in Sam’s head, saw a latent ability and flipped the switch. Being a malevolent spirit and all, she most likely sent his ability into overdrive.”
“Overdrive meaning…?”
“From what you described, she flipped the switch and concentrated all of her energy onto Sam, intending for his ability to spin out of control. She opened him up to the visions, and not just one at a time. Sam was subjected to multiple and continuous visions until her spell wore off, which may have happened as soon as she died, or could have lingered as an aftereffect for hours depending on how strong she was.”
Dean was silent. She could see the rage building just beneath the surface and she rushed to defuse it.
“The good news is that Sam is in there. He’s not in any pain, he’s just retreated very far back in his subconscious. All he needs is someone to guide him back.”
“And the bad news?” Dean asked.
“He’s seen a lot of the future in a short amount of time. Seeing one possible event or future can be disorienting and he was subjected to… well, we don’t even know how many. Sam is probably confused. Seeing future events laid out on a very long timeline. Since he’s retreated so far inside, I imagine he’s not sure where reality lies on that timeline.”
Dean sighed and swiped his hand through his short hair. “So when he woke up and asked ‘is this real’, he could have been referring to any number of things that he’d seen.” At Pamela’s nod, Dean stood up quickly, knocking his chair back. “Son of a bitch.”
“What is it, Dean?” asked Bobby.
“On the way here, he was mostly just babbling nonsense. But he did wake up and apologize for not saving me from Hell. He had a one-sided argument with you, Bobby, about burying me and he asked me if Hellhounds had been in the forest with us.” Dean righted his chair and sat back down in it. Pamela watched Dean lay his hand on Sam’s forearm. “He could be seeing any number of things, Bobby. And none of ‘em are good.”
Pamela wasn’t sure what all the talk about Hell and it’s hounds had to do with anything, but kept quiet for now. She watched Dean carefully. He looked like he needed to sleep for a week and a shower at this point wouldn’t hurt him either, but he was strong, mentally as well as physically. The connection between these two brothers would be more than enough to take the next step.
***
“Are we going to have to hold hands and hug and sing Kumbaya, too?” Dean asked.
“What you and your brother do in your spare time is none of my business,” Pamela replied, smiling. “Oh, but yes. You will have to hold hands.”
Dean rolled his eyes as he laid down on the bed next to Sam. He found a comfortable position then turned his head and watched Sam. His brother looked peaceful, lying still and breathing slowly. He looked much younger, too, the deep sleep erasing the worry lines that had developed over the past few years.
“Okay Dean. I’m ready to get started. I’ll count backward from ten and you’ll fall asleep. Once your under I’ll perform the spell and move your conscious mind into Sam’s subconscious. Remember to listen for my voice, just in case I need to bring you out-“
“Don’t be bringing me out unless Sam’s with me, got it?” he snapped.
Pamela ignored his outburst. “You can wake yourself up at any time- you remember how right?”
Dean nodded and sighed loudly. All of this mind-walking was making him nervous. He hadn’t liked the dream root job they’d done a few weeks back, either, but this was different. Pamela had warned him that it would be disorienting but that she really couldn’t tell him what it would be like. It was different for everyone. He could be in Sam’s head, seeing what he saw in his mind’s eye, his thoughts and memories even.
A part of Dean balked at how obtrusive the whole thing could be on Sam’s privacy. Dean knew how he’d feel if the situation was reversed. The other part of Dean, however, just missed his brother. The other part of Dean just wanted his brother to be okay again. To be Sam.
“Okay, take your brother’s hand and close your eyes.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand, interlocking their fingers and glanced at his brother. Wake up, Sammy. Make fun of me for this chick flick moment… anything, he begged, but Sam continued to sleep. Dean relaxed back into the pillows and closed his eyes. From far away, he heard Pamela counting down…
The room around him grew silent and still. Dean concentrated on his breathing, on the feel of Sam’s hand-
-except he didn’t feel Sam’s hand anymore.
His eyes flew open and were greeted by complete darkness.
The darkness was thick and oppressive. The kind of darkness that made you doubt which way was up and which way was down. Dean turned in a circle, his eyes searching for anything to point him in a direction.
“Sam?” His voice echoed, bouncing off invisible walls.
He spun again, eyes squinting as he searched the emptiness. And that’s what it was: empty. It wasn’t that the room was dark, it was that it lacked anything. Like a black hole. Fear clenched at Dean’s throat at the thought of this kind of isolation and he called out again, his voice catching, “Sammy?”
He would have missed it had he continued to search so frantically, but he stopped and peered into the inky blackness and confirmed what he was seeing. A candle, lit and sitting at floor level. He walked toward it, wondering briefly if he was actually walking on something at all? His shoes made no noise as he moved. The candle was suddenly at his feet, though, and he bent down beside it. He put his hand next to the small flame, grateful to be able to see something. He grabbed the handle of the candlestick, blinked-
-and was suddenly in the passenger seat of the Impala.
Dean looked out the window at trees and street signs that flew by. They were non-descript, the street signs mostly gibberish and random letters, like in a dream where your mind decided to not put in the effort of making total sense. He looked closer and the view outside the window changed. The trees became pictures, some of them clearly memories, others clearly visions of things to come. He focused in on one and it played out before him like a movie:
Sam pushed the shovel into the ground, lifted the dirt and threw it to the side. The repetitive motion numbed his thoughts as much as the empty bottle sitting over by Dean’s body had. His hands shook as he laid the shovel on the ground and stumbled over to Dean’s side. He removed the amulet from around his brother’s neck and lifted him into the handmade wooden box. Sam moved to close the lid, hesitated as he caught one last glimpse of his brother’s unmarred face. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked and Sam reached down and grasped the empty bottle of liquor by its neck and hurled it into a nearby tree. The shatter of glass released something inside him and he sat down heavily as his legs gave out, grasping at the side of the wooden casket-
Dean blinked and swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. That was enough of that, he thought, deliberately turning his head away from the window.
He turned to his left and saw Sam.
“Heya Sammy.”
Sam jumped, startled to hear Dean’s voice, and jerked the steering wheel of the car.
“Whoa, sorry man. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean said, grabbing for the dashboard. “I’m going to have to revoke your fake driving privileges.”
“Dean, what are you doing here?” Sam pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned completely in the seat to face Dean. Sam tilted his head, grief and guilt playing equally across his features. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about, Sam?”
“I should have listened to Bobby. He wanted to do the usual salt and burn, but I… I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t think you were going to be so pissed off that you’d come and haunt me, though,” Sam said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The smile faltered quickly. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Sammy? I’m not dead,” Dean replied, laughing. “I came here to find you and take you back.”
Sam’s brows creased together. “That sounds… vaguely ominous. Dean, I saw you die.”
“I know you did, Sam. You’ve been having visions, and that witch scrambled your thoughts up real good, but none of that stuff happened. I’m still alive, you’re still alive. Bobby has this psychic friend- super hot chick, by the way- and she’s doing this spell so I can wander around your brain and find you. It’s pretty freakin’ weird, actually.”
“That’s… crazy, Dean. I know what I saw, and it wasn’t any vision. My visions aren’t that vivid. Besides, you’ve been dead for weeks,” Sam said.
“Okay, fine. You notice anything about the scenery around here? Or, how ‘bout this: where were you driving to right now?”
Sam looked down at his hands and fidgeted silently. When he looked back up, Dean could see the confusion on Sam’s face. “I’m not sure, actually. I was just driving…” Sam ran a hand down his face and squinted, trying to remember. When he looked back up at Dean, the hope in his eyes was almost unbearable. “You didn’t die? Really?”
“One hundred percent not dead, Sammy,” Dean replied. “Now, if we could get back to real life that’d be great. We’re having a huge chick flick moment back at the psychic’s house and if we don’t hurry, Bobby’s gonna take pictures or something.”
Sam laughed. “Okay, so how do we get out of here?”
Dean started to answer, but the scenery around them melted away into the nothingness from before. Dean and Sam were left standing in the dark room, and the only illumination was the candle in Sam’s grip.
“Never mind, Dean. I got this one covered.”
Sam reached his hand out, gripping Dean’s upper arm and drew in a sharp breath. Leaning his face close to the flickering candlelight, Sam exhaled and the room plunged into darkness.
***
Pamela had only left the room for a moment to check on Bobby. He’d fallen asleep on the couch just outside the bedroom. Dean had been under for five hours and Pamela had watched Bobby fight a losing battle with his increasingly heavy eyelids for three of them.
She heard a voice coming from the bedroom, though, so she quickened her pace. She got as far as the doorframe, but the sight inside caused her to stop short. Sam Winchester was sitting in the chair by the side of the bed, his hand wrapped around his older brother’s. His voice was weak and strained, but even from the doorway, Pamela could hear Sam’s plea for Dean to wake up. She took a breath and stepped inside.
“You need to give him a little extra time, Sam. The journey through the mind is always a little harder on the one going in, and Dean was pretty weak already.” She stopped at the end of the bed and extended her hand. “I’m Pamela Barnes.”
Sam extended his free hand to shake Pamela’s.
“It’s nice to see you up and around, Sam. Dean and Bobby were really worried for you.”
“Dean said you’re a psychic.” Sam’s intense green eyes caught hers, earnest but hopeful. “Have you ever been able to change the things you see? Stop something from happening?”
Pamela smiled. “My gift wouldn’t be much of a gift if I couldn’t help people change their future.”
Sam laughed derisively. “Gift? My visions have never been a gift.”
“They could be, Sam. I know you saw a lot of awful stuff, experienced it all like it was really happening, but you learned a lot from these visions, too. And I could help you learn to control them now, if you’d like.”
He smiled up at her genuinely, all dimples and squinted eyes. “Thank you.”
On the bed, Dean flinched and struggled into consciousness. Sam’s attention diverted to his brother, his eyes lighting up as Dean woke. Pamela stepped back to the doorway, not wanting to intrude. Before leaving the room she turned to get another look at the Winchester brothers, the boys that Bobby considered his family. She couldn’t help but let the corner of her mouth quirk into a smile as she heard Dean’s first words upon waking:
“You okay, Sammy?”
End Chapter 12
Epilogue Here: Questhaven Epilogue
Questhaven 1/12, Questhaven 2/12, Questhaven 3/12, Questhaven 4/12, Questhaven 5/12, Questhaven 6/12, Questhaven 7/12, Questhaven 8/12, Questhaven 9a/12, Questhaven 9b/12, Questhaven 10/12, Questhaven 11/12
Chapter 12
February 2008
Pamela Barnes Home
She saw the dust swirling through her front yard before she heard the rumble of the old classic cars. Pamela peeked out the window, watched as a black Chevy and Bobby’s familiar rust bucket pulled into her driveway. She stepped out onto the porch to get a closer look at her visitors.
Bobby had been short but sweet on the phone. He was bringing along the Winchesters and they needed her help. Anyone who knew Bobby, really knew him, was no stranger to the fact that he considered these boys family. While she and Bobby Singer hadn’t seen much of each other recently, Pamela was well aware of his affection for Dean and Sam and had promised to do what she could.
She made her way down the porch steps, keeping her eyes on the man that dragged himself from the driver’s seat of the Chevy Impala. He was in his late twenties, though the tell-tale, haggard expression of someone who had seen too much of everything except a good night’s sleep made him look older. It didn’t help that he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a baseball bat, or that under the thin gray tee-shirt Pamela could see his chest was wrapped with bandages, some of which were in need of changing. He was pale, too, which made the freckles on his cheeks and the green in his eyes stand out.
Despite all of that, Dean Winchester was still gorgeous.
Pamela smiled as she and Bobby reached the passenger side of the car together.
“Bobby Singer!” she exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug. “You look like hell, Bobby. Don’t you sleep anymore?”
“Not with these two stirring up shit everywhere they go,” he teased back, tilting his head at Dean who was just coming around the car. “Dean Winchester, this is Pamela. Best damn psychic around.”
She shook Dean’s hand, watching his eyes. She smiled as she was met with the exact mix of distrust, curiosity, and ‘let’s get moving so we can fix my brother’ that she’d expected.
Pamela nodded her head at the passenger seat where a younger man was slumped. She looked over the unconscious figure. He was all arms and legs and shaggy hair front her vantage point. “This Sam? Bobby tells me he’s been through the wringer.”
Dean didn’t speak, just opened the passenger door, moving quickly to prevent Sam’s unconscious form from slipping out. He looked to Bobby for help and Pamela jumped in too, the three of them maneuvering the younger brother into the house.
“Let’s get him into the bedroom and I’ll see what’s what, alright?”
Somehow they got Sam onto the bed and Dean was making his brother comfortable with a pillow under his head and rearranging his long limbs when Bobby pulled her aside.
“We gotta get this kid to eat something, Pamela. I haven’t seen him eat or sleep in almost forty eight hours, not to mention he’s been batted around by a malevolent spirit and taken a shot of rock salt to the gut.” Bobby put his weary hand on her shoulder, and Pamela wondered if maybe he’d gone just as long without food or sleep. “I know I’m already asking a lot, and you ain’t Martha freakin’ Stewart, but-“
“It’s no problem. I’ll throw something together.”
Five minutes later, she heard Bobby and Dean arguing in the other room. She walked into the bedroom, setting the waters and the plate of sandwiches on the dresser by the door, and stood leaning against the door frame.
“Dean, you need to eat, boy. I know you’re worried about Sam-“
“I don’t need any hand-holding, Bobby. I’m not hungry. Can we just-“ Dean saw Pamela in the doorway and turned his pleas to her. “Can you do anything for my brother?”
She gave Dean a soft half-smile, but said nothing.
“Dean, we’re not doing a damn thing until you have something to eat and drink. You can’t help Sam if you’re passing out from malnutrition or dehydration,” Bobby said, crossing the room to grab a sandwich for himself. He gave her a mock salute with the bread and leaned against the wall to consume it. “Pamela will back me up on this.”
She watched Dean’s eyes widen in disbelief, darting back and forth from Bobby to Pamela. She crossed her arms over her chest, just enough attitude to show that Bobby wasn’t lying, and remained in the doorway.
Sighing loudly, Dean marched over to the plate of food and snatched a sandwich off it. With his other hand he grabbed a bottled water and then stomped back over to the side of the bed. The united front of Bobby and Pamela caught eyes and smiled at their victory as Dean perched at Sam’s side and ate.
Dean raised his eyebrows at her. “I’m eating. Alright? Can we fix Sam now?”
They brought in three chairs and placed them around the bed, Pamela taking the chair on Sam’s left, Bobby at the foot of the bed and Dean on Sam’s right.
“Did he wake up at all on the way here?” asked Bobby.
Dean swallowed the last of his second sandwich and chased it with water. “Um, yeah. Two or three times. But he didn’t know where he was, kept muttering stuff that made no sense. Once or twice he’d ask me ‘is this real?’.” Dean stopped there, swallowing hard and training his eyes on Sam’s passive face. Pamela sensed there was more to it, but Dean didn’t share. He glanced up at Pamela. “Did Bobby fill you in?”
Pamela shook her head. Dean related the whole story, from the salt and burn turned buried alive, to the hex on Sam, to killing the witch’s spirit and how it all tied back to a solo hunt Dean went on in 2003. “He stopped waking up altogether about three hundred miles back.”
“Okay, spells and curses I can work with. Bobby, hit the lights would you? Dean light the candles,” she said, tossing him a lighter from her pocket.
Pamela closed her eyes as the two men reclaimed their seats. Stretching her arms out, she ran her hands just centimeters above Sam’s body. Her hands were hovered just above his forehead when she said, “You didn’t tell me Sam had psychic abilities- abilities before the hex.”
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know that Dean had straightened up in his chair and that he was very uncomfortable with her having this knowledge. But Pamela was never one to pull her punches and Dean Winchester didn’t scare her in the least so she continued. “Not a natural ability, either. He wasn’t born with it…”
“Dean,” Bobby warned. “You trust me, and I trust Pamela. We want to help Sam, we can’t be keepin’ secrets.”
Dean was quiet for so long that Pamela opened her eyes and watched the struggle play out on his face. He doesn’t trust easily, and probably for good reason, she thought. In the end, though, his faith in Bobby overrode his gut instinct.
“A demon named Azazel had something to do with it. Sam started having dreams and then visions a couple of years ago, but after we killed the demon, the visions stopped.” Dean reached up and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “You think what the spirit did to Sam has something to do with his psychic crap? Sorry-“ he held up placating hands to Pamela. “Sorry, no offense intended to any psychics in the room.”
“All I can tell, Dean is that there is no lingering spell work being cast on Sam.”
“Okay, what then? Why isn’t he waking up?”
“My best guess? That spirit went digging around in Sam’s head, saw a latent ability and flipped the switch. Being a malevolent spirit and all, she most likely sent his ability into overdrive.”
“Overdrive meaning…?”
“From what you described, she flipped the switch and concentrated all of her energy onto Sam, intending for his ability to spin out of control. She opened him up to the visions, and not just one at a time. Sam was subjected to multiple and continuous visions until her spell wore off, which may have happened as soon as she died, or could have lingered as an aftereffect for hours depending on how strong she was.”
Dean was silent. She could see the rage building just beneath the surface and she rushed to defuse it.
“The good news is that Sam is in there. He’s not in any pain, he’s just retreated very far back in his subconscious. All he needs is someone to guide him back.”
“And the bad news?” Dean asked.
“He’s seen a lot of the future in a short amount of time. Seeing one possible event or future can be disorienting and he was subjected to… well, we don’t even know how many. Sam is probably confused. Seeing future events laid out on a very long timeline. Since he’s retreated so far inside, I imagine he’s not sure where reality lies on that timeline.”
Dean sighed and swiped his hand through his short hair. “So when he woke up and asked ‘is this real’, he could have been referring to any number of things that he’d seen.” At Pamela’s nod, Dean stood up quickly, knocking his chair back. “Son of a bitch.”
“What is it, Dean?” asked Bobby.
“On the way here, he was mostly just babbling nonsense. But he did wake up and apologize for not saving me from Hell. He had a one-sided argument with you, Bobby, about burying me and he asked me if Hellhounds had been in the forest with us.” Dean righted his chair and sat back down in it. Pamela watched Dean lay his hand on Sam’s forearm. “He could be seeing any number of things, Bobby. And none of ‘em are good.”
Pamela wasn’t sure what all the talk about Hell and it’s hounds had to do with anything, but kept quiet for now. She watched Dean carefully. He looked like he needed to sleep for a week and a shower at this point wouldn’t hurt him either, but he was strong, mentally as well as physically. The connection between these two brothers would be more than enough to take the next step.
***
“Are we going to have to hold hands and hug and sing Kumbaya, too?” Dean asked.
“What you and your brother do in your spare time is none of my business,” Pamela replied, smiling. “Oh, but yes. You will have to hold hands.”
Dean rolled his eyes as he laid down on the bed next to Sam. He found a comfortable position then turned his head and watched Sam. His brother looked peaceful, lying still and breathing slowly. He looked much younger, too, the deep sleep erasing the worry lines that had developed over the past few years.
“Okay Dean. I’m ready to get started. I’ll count backward from ten and you’ll fall asleep. Once your under I’ll perform the spell and move your conscious mind into Sam’s subconscious. Remember to listen for my voice, just in case I need to bring you out-“
“Don’t be bringing me out unless Sam’s with me, got it?” he snapped.
Pamela ignored his outburst. “You can wake yourself up at any time- you remember how right?”
Dean nodded and sighed loudly. All of this mind-walking was making him nervous. He hadn’t liked the dream root job they’d done a few weeks back, either, but this was different. Pamela had warned him that it would be disorienting but that she really couldn’t tell him what it would be like. It was different for everyone. He could be in Sam’s head, seeing what he saw in his mind’s eye, his thoughts and memories even.
A part of Dean balked at how obtrusive the whole thing could be on Sam’s privacy. Dean knew how he’d feel if the situation was reversed. The other part of Dean, however, just missed his brother. The other part of Dean just wanted his brother to be okay again. To be Sam.
“Okay, take your brother’s hand and close your eyes.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand, interlocking their fingers and glanced at his brother. Wake up, Sammy. Make fun of me for this chick flick moment… anything, he begged, but Sam continued to sleep. Dean relaxed back into the pillows and closed his eyes. From far away, he heard Pamela counting down…
The room around him grew silent and still. Dean concentrated on his breathing, on the feel of Sam’s hand-
-except he didn’t feel Sam’s hand anymore.
His eyes flew open and were greeted by complete darkness.
The darkness was thick and oppressive. The kind of darkness that made you doubt which way was up and which way was down. Dean turned in a circle, his eyes searching for anything to point him in a direction.
“Sam?” His voice echoed, bouncing off invisible walls.
He spun again, eyes squinting as he searched the emptiness. And that’s what it was: empty. It wasn’t that the room was dark, it was that it lacked anything. Like a black hole. Fear clenched at Dean’s throat at the thought of this kind of isolation and he called out again, his voice catching, “Sammy?”
He would have missed it had he continued to search so frantically, but he stopped and peered into the inky blackness and confirmed what he was seeing. A candle, lit and sitting at floor level. He walked toward it, wondering briefly if he was actually walking on something at all? His shoes made no noise as he moved. The candle was suddenly at his feet, though, and he bent down beside it. He put his hand next to the small flame, grateful to be able to see something. He grabbed the handle of the candlestick, blinked-
-and was suddenly in the passenger seat of the Impala.
Dean looked out the window at trees and street signs that flew by. They were non-descript, the street signs mostly gibberish and random letters, like in a dream where your mind decided to not put in the effort of making total sense. He looked closer and the view outside the window changed. The trees became pictures, some of them clearly memories, others clearly visions of things to come. He focused in on one and it played out before him like a movie:
Sam pushed the shovel into the ground, lifted the dirt and threw it to the side. The repetitive motion numbed his thoughts as much as the empty bottle sitting over by Dean’s body had. His hands shook as he laid the shovel on the ground and stumbled over to Dean’s side. He removed the amulet from around his brother’s neck and lifted him into the handmade wooden box. Sam moved to close the lid, hesitated as he caught one last glimpse of his brother’s unmarred face. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked and Sam reached down and grasped the empty bottle of liquor by its neck and hurled it into a nearby tree. The shatter of glass released something inside him and he sat down heavily as his legs gave out, grasping at the side of the wooden casket-
Dean blinked and swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. That was enough of that, he thought, deliberately turning his head away from the window.
He turned to his left and saw Sam.
“Heya Sammy.”
Sam jumped, startled to hear Dean’s voice, and jerked the steering wheel of the car.
“Whoa, sorry man. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean said, grabbing for the dashboard. “I’m going to have to revoke your fake driving privileges.”
“Dean, what are you doing here?” Sam pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned completely in the seat to face Dean. Sam tilted his head, grief and guilt playing equally across his features. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you talking about, Sam?”
“I should have listened to Bobby. He wanted to do the usual salt and burn, but I… I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t think you were going to be so pissed off that you’d come and haunt me, though,” Sam said, a ghost of a smile on his lips. The smile faltered quickly. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Sammy? I’m not dead,” Dean replied, laughing. “I came here to find you and take you back.”
Sam’s brows creased together. “That sounds… vaguely ominous. Dean, I saw you die.”
“I know you did, Sam. You’ve been having visions, and that witch scrambled your thoughts up real good, but none of that stuff happened. I’m still alive, you’re still alive. Bobby has this psychic friend- super hot chick, by the way- and she’s doing this spell so I can wander around your brain and find you. It’s pretty freakin’ weird, actually.”
“That’s… crazy, Dean. I know what I saw, and it wasn’t any vision. My visions aren’t that vivid. Besides, you’ve been dead for weeks,” Sam said.
“Okay, fine. You notice anything about the scenery around here? Or, how ‘bout this: where were you driving to right now?”
Sam looked down at his hands and fidgeted silently. When he looked back up, Dean could see the confusion on Sam’s face. “I’m not sure, actually. I was just driving…” Sam ran a hand down his face and squinted, trying to remember. When he looked back up at Dean, the hope in his eyes was almost unbearable. “You didn’t die? Really?”
“One hundred percent not dead, Sammy,” Dean replied. “Now, if we could get back to real life that’d be great. We’re having a huge chick flick moment back at the psychic’s house and if we don’t hurry, Bobby’s gonna take pictures or something.”
Sam laughed. “Okay, so how do we get out of here?”
Dean started to answer, but the scenery around them melted away into the nothingness from before. Dean and Sam were left standing in the dark room, and the only illumination was the candle in Sam’s grip.
“Never mind, Dean. I got this one covered.”
Sam reached his hand out, gripping Dean’s upper arm and drew in a sharp breath. Leaning his face close to the flickering candlelight, Sam exhaled and the room plunged into darkness.
***
Pamela had only left the room for a moment to check on Bobby. He’d fallen asleep on the couch just outside the bedroom. Dean had been under for five hours and Pamela had watched Bobby fight a losing battle with his increasingly heavy eyelids for three of them.
She heard a voice coming from the bedroom, though, so she quickened her pace. She got as far as the doorframe, but the sight inside caused her to stop short. Sam Winchester was sitting in the chair by the side of the bed, his hand wrapped around his older brother’s. His voice was weak and strained, but even from the doorway, Pamela could hear Sam’s plea for Dean to wake up. She took a breath and stepped inside.
“You need to give him a little extra time, Sam. The journey through the mind is always a little harder on the one going in, and Dean was pretty weak already.” She stopped at the end of the bed and extended her hand. “I’m Pamela Barnes.”
Sam extended his free hand to shake Pamela’s.
“It’s nice to see you up and around, Sam. Dean and Bobby were really worried for you.”
“Dean said you’re a psychic.” Sam’s intense green eyes caught hers, earnest but hopeful. “Have you ever been able to change the things you see? Stop something from happening?”
Pamela smiled. “My gift wouldn’t be much of a gift if I couldn’t help people change their future.”
Sam laughed derisively. “Gift? My visions have never been a gift.”
“They could be, Sam. I know you saw a lot of awful stuff, experienced it all like it was really happening, but you learned a lot from these visions, too. And I could help you learn to control them now, if you’d like.”
He smiled up at her genuinely, all dimples and squinted eyes. “Thank you.”
On the bed, Dean flinched and struggled into consciousness. Sam’s attention diverted to his brother, his eyes lighting up as Dean woke. Pamela stepped back to the doorway, not wanting to intrude. Before leaving the room she turned to get another look at the Winchester brothers, the boys that Bobby considered his family. She couldn’t help but let the corner of her mouth quirk into a smile as she heard Dean’s first words upon waking:
“You okay, Sammy?”
End Chapter 12
Epilogue Here: Questhaven Epilogue