Shadows From the Dim Hereafter
By: CoffeeManiac
Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.
Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.
Dean is 20, Sam is 15 (a little old for weechesters but, obviously, pre-Season 1)
A/N: Story title comes from a poem by Jack Prelutsky called "The Haunted House"
April 1, 1999
Dean woke with a start. He darted up and looked across the room to Sam's bed, finding it empty. Something had startled him but it took a moment to recognize what it was. Then he heard his father's voice followed by Sam's. The two of them were arguing again. Dean groaned, lied back down and closed his eyes. He knew he'd have to get up and deal with them but he didn't want to. He'd spent so much time playing referee lately, he was starting to wonder what else he was good for.
A moment later he heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. He shot up trying to rationalize the noise. In all the arguing, it had never turned physical. He couldn't believe that it had. Then he heard it again.
Dean burst into the living room to find the unthinkable. Sam backed up against the wall with a hand to his cheek and Dad standing in front of him with a clenched fist. Both of them were panting and red-faced. Sam looked stunned with fury lacing the edges of his expression.
"Dad. What the hell?" Dean said. He wasn't exactly angry yet, still surprised, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
"Get your things," Dad ordered. "Get his things. We're leaving."
"Where are we going?"
"You and I have a hunt. Sam's going to June's."
"Dad," Sam said but his voice sounded weak.
Dad turned on him pointing his finger millimeters from Sam's face. "Don't. Not one word. Get dressed."
Sam glared at Dean, telling him that he needed to do something just by the look on his face.
"We're a family," Dean said. "We stay together."
Dad shook his head. "I can't do this anymore." He motioned towards Sam. "Obviously. A week apart will be better for everyone. Do what I say."
Sam took his hand down and pushed away from the wall. Dad stepped back to give him room. Dean could see the bright, angry red across his cheek as Sam maneuvered his way past him and into the bedroom.
Anger shot through him and Dean walked up to his father, invading his space and standing chest to chest. Dad stiffened at the threat but Dean didn't back down.
"Never again," he said.
Dad spun away from Dean and walked out of the motel room.
Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, taking a minute to get some perspective before going to talk to Sam. Dean knew his younger brother didn't have the sense to stop pushing. He just didn't know when to walk away from an argument. And his father had a short fuse. They both knew that. It was a miracle that Dad hadn't clocked the kid before now.
But, Dean also knew that his father was wrong. Dad believed in spanking and exercised that belief as needed when the boys were younger. He demanded their obedience. But, after a certain age, spanking stopped being an appropriate response and slapping a kid across the face was never okay.
Dad should have had the self-discipline to walk away. Regardless of how hard Sam pushed, he was the adult and that made it his responsibility to keep the argument from becoming physical.
Dean pushed open the bedroom door and found Sam dressed in yesterday's jeans and t-shirt. His clothes and bathroom things were stuffed into his duffel. Sam sat beside the bag and was pulling on his sneakers. The red neon across his cheek both accused and damned their father.
"What was the fight about?" Dean asked.
"Does it matter?" He responded, angrily. Dean glared at him.
"The hunt you two are going on," Sam said. "It's in South Dakota near Bobby's place. I just thought we could drop in and see him."
Dean shook his head. "You know Dad isn't going to do that. Bobby chased us off with a shotgun and Dad isn't going to forgive that."
"It was so long ago, Dean. And Bobby, well, you know how he was. He was practically family."
"Let me guess, Dad said no and you didn't drop it."
"He was being unreasonable."
"That's your excuse? Dad is in charge, Sam. If he says we're not going to see Bobby Singer then that's it. You didn't need to make it a big deal."
"Neither did he," Sam argued.
"Why'd he hit you?"
"I told him he was unreasonable."
Dean didn't believe him. "Yeah, right, that's what you said."
"I said he was being a jerk, all right? And he was."
"He's our father, Sam. You can't call him names and argue about every decision he makes."
"He's not a father, he's a drill sergeant. He treats like his own personal soldiers."
"Try being loyal, Sam. Try appreciating all he does for us."
"That's what he said. Just before he hit me the second time."
Sam zipped up his bag and stalked out of the room.
Dean grabbed the alarm clock on the table and threw it, satisfied when it smashed against the wall. He tossed his arms in the air and stomped back and forth muttering expletives. Knowing his father was waiting and Sam was already outside derailed Dean's temper. He grabbed his duffle, tossed it on the bed and headed to the bathroom.
It only took about fifteen minutes to get dressed, brush his teeth and pack up his bag before Dean made it outside. Dad was already in the driver's seat and Sam was sitting sullenly in the back. Dean threw his bag in the trunk, closed it and slipped into the car.
Dean rolled down his window to take advantage of the unusually warm day. At just the beginning of spring, it could easily be near freezing as be pleasant. Dean hated the cold so he was glad to feel the sun against his bare arms.
The small town they stopped in two nights before was just waking. Small stores with their owners or managers or whoever unlocking their doors, and a few people strolling along the sidewalk with coffee cups clutched in their hands. Being a Thursday, Dean figured they were on their way to work. Kids would already be in school or be on their way to school. He knew that Sam wished he was enrolled somewhere but since Christmas they hadn't been in one place long enough.
Soon enough the small town streets gave way to the I-90 and they were on their way to Rochester, Minnesota to drop Sam off. June Fisher and Derek Sprite were sibling hunters. A couple of years earlier, June's husband had been turned by a werewolf forcing her to kill him. She had enlisted her brother's help and after that the two of them were committed to hunting the supernatural. With a big house and nearly unlimited finances due to an inheritance from their parents, they also acted as a safe haven for hunters who needed it.
"Call June. Tell her we're on the way. About three hours out. Make sure they can take Sam for a few days," Dad said.
"I'm not a puppy that needs kenneling," Sam said.
"Shut up, Sam," Dad said.
Dean scoffed at both of them and scrolled through until he found June's number. She answered after the first ring.
"Hi June, it's Dean Winchester."
"Hi there, young man, is everything all right?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, fine. Dad and I are heading to South Dakota and…"
"You going to see Bobby?"
"Uh, no, actually, it's not about Bobby. Well, I guess it kind of is, but, that's not why I'm…"
"Give me the phone, Dean," Dad said angrily. Dean handed it to him.
"June, we're going on a hunt in Watertown."
Dad paused while she said something.
"Yeah, the Bartholomay estate. Anyway, I don't want to take Sam with us. Can he stay with you and Derek? Probably be four or five days."
Dad glanced in the rearview while she said something else.
"All right, good. Thank you. We're about three hours out."
He clicked the phone off and tossed it on the seat between them. He glared at Dean.
"What was that about? It was a pretty simple order I gave you."
"She thought we were going to see Bobby Singer."
"We're not," Dad said. "And I'm done talking about him." The gruff tone heralded the end of any possibility of truce.
Sam slumped his way to the corner of the backseat and returned to sulking. Dean flipped the passenger side visor down and opened the mirror. He had been using it for years to check on Sam during their trips. The red on his cheek had faded but Dean thought he could see a light bruise. Sam touched it gingerly before folding his arms across his chest and closing his eyes.
Watching his brother settle into sleep, Dean sent a scowl towards his father. Dad should never have resorted to hitting him. If it had been anyone else, Sam would have laid him out and, if not, Dean would have. Both of them knew how to block a punch. Both of them knew how to throw one too. But, this was their father and neither of them would raise a hand to him. Dad owed them the same respect.
Dean spent the three hours to Rochester entertaining himself. He watched the scenery pass and read the notes they had on the possible haunting in Watertown. He kept using his mirror to glance back at Sam but his brother just read "To Kill A Mockingbird" and stared out the window. Dad drove silently, listening to an oldies station as it belted out hair band music from the 80's.
Dean remembered when the three of them would talk to each other, about nothing, about everything. But, the last couple of years, it seemed like there was nothing to agree about anymore.
When Dad pulled up to the curb in front of the house that June shared with her brother, a steady rain pelted the ground and a breeze kept the trees swishing above their heads. Sam didn't speak as he opened the door and walked around to the back of the car to grab his duffle bag. Dad glanced at Dean before he stepped out to unlock the trunk. Dean climbed out too feeling like they were making a mistake.
June's house looked newly painted. Dean remembered white paint with green trim but now the accent color was blue. With lots of windows and a lilac tree in the side yard, it was homier than the places most hunters used.
June liked to keep everything clean and maintained. She said she wanted her home to be a home and work to be something else. Derek just claimed that his sister was a "neat freak".
Once Sam pulled his duffle over one shoulder, Dad closed the trunk and led the way to the front door. Dean placed himself between the two of them, hoping not to discuss their problems with outsiders. Friends were not family.
Dad knocked. The reinforced screen door with its oversized lock as well as the heavy door behind it was the only visible nod to the paranoia of hunters. Dad looked back at Sam from toe to head before returning his attention to waiting. A moment later, Derek Sprite pulled open the door with a welcoming smile.
"John, boys, it's good to see you."
"Thanks, Derek," Dad responded, shaking hands with the other man as they filed in. Derek shook with Dean and Sam as well before leading the way inside.
Derek's hair had grown longer and shaggier and he looked a little pale. Dean figured that winters in Minnesota didn't offer many opportunities for getting a tan.
The three of them wiped their feet on a rug at the door then Derek led them towards the back of the house.
Flat, sand colored carpet ran through the living room and dining room. A gold colored easy chair with the same fabric for a couch and loveseat filled the main room. A good sized television stood beside a tall black lamp. A heavy, wood coffee table sat in the middle of it all, with a black lace cover to protect it.
"June's in the kitchen," Derek said as he moved through the large, open entryway into the dining room. Filled with a round, cherry wood table and matching chairs, it was decorated with a plastic, frilly centerpiece. They also had a matching china cabinet sitting along the side wall.
They continued their parade into the kitchen where the carpet gave way to yellow and gray linoleum. June squealed like a little girl when she saw them. She stopped stirring whatever she was cooking and rushed over to hug Dad. She hugged Dean next and finally Sam, saying he had grown taller since their last visit. Before any of the Winchester men could speak, June ushered them into the chairs around the kitchen table.
"Okay, what can I get you to drink? Coffee? Pop? What sounds good?"
"Water, for me," Derek piped up as he slid into the chair closest to the dining room entry.
"Of course, Mr. America. Nothing but purity for you," she joked.
June pulled out the elastic band that held her hair in a ponytail. She finger combed the brown locks then replaced the band. Dean watched her, somewhat fascinated. With her hair pulled back, it hung past her shoulder blades. Loose, it hung below her narrow waist.
"I put a weight machine upstairs," Derek said, distracting Dean. "I can bench press 290 now and leg press more than 400."
"Uh, yeah, you were just getting started when I was here last year," Dad said. "There's a lot of definition in your arms now."
Though no one but Derek had answered about drinks, June put two Cokes out for Dean and Sam and placed a cup of coffee in front of Dad. Sam stood up and pulled an extra chair from the corner, placing it between Derek and their father. June patted his arm as she settled into it. Dean rolled his eyes, thinking his brother was a "kiss ass" and somewhat embarrassed that he hadn't thought to do it himself.
"So, Sam, I get to have you for a few days," June said.
"Yes, ma'am," Sam said. He touched his cheek but Dean didn't think he was thinking about it when he did.
"Well, good. Spring around here is time for all sorts of things. I have some trees out back that need a trim. We haven't been able to wash the windows in six months. But, don't start thinking it'll be all work because there's a festival in town on Sunday. It'll have games and rides. Lots of food too. And girls from the high school."
"Sam will be happy to help with anything you need," Dad said, pointedly, glossing over the fun part.
Sam just nodded with tight lipped annoyance.
"Yeah, well, we won't be gone more than a few days," Dean said. "It's probably just a ghost so, we'll take care of it and come right back."
"There's no such thing as 'just a ghost'," Derek interjected. "You always have to be ready for anything, Dean, you should know that by now."
"Yeah, but, I mean, we've done this a hundred times."
"Derek is right, son. We need to treat every job like it's unique. You never know what's going to happen," Dad said.
Dean knew better than to argue with his father. He didn't even disagree, not really. Mostly, he only said what he said to make Sam feel like they weren't deserting him.
"Derek, you mind if I talk to you outside for a minute?" Dad asked.
Derek stood up immediately with a quick glance at June who raised her eyes in surprise but didn't comment. When the two men had left, she smiled at Sam.
"We just had some soup for lunch. How about I get you boys a bowl and maybe a couple peanut butter sandwiches?"
"You don't have to," Sam said.
"But, if you want to," Dean said, never willing to turn down a meal.
"I want to," she assured them. "Come on, Sam, you can help. I'll re-warm the soup and you can make up the sandwiches. You should know where things are while you're here."
Sam followed her directions as she told him where to find the bread, peanut butter and strawberry jelly. She reached into a cupboard and pulled out a package of paper plates. She opened a drawer to show him where the silverware was kept.
Dean watched his brother move through her instructions easily and he seemed to be relaxing more as she talked about planting new trees in the backyard.
June stopped to watch Sam as he cut three sandwiches in half and then stacked them on one paper plate.
"Oh, honey, give everyone their own plate. Much less mess and crumbs if we're not reaching across each other."
"Sure, uh, sorry." Sam dealt out two more plates like cards then put a sandwich on each one.
Derek came back in, commenting on the cold of the rain. Dad showed up a moment after that rubbing his hands together.
"Time to go, Dean."
"Sit down, John. Sam and I just finished making lunch," June said, waving towards his chair. "You have time for a little vegetable beef soup."
"You didn't need to do that," he said.
"Don't be silly. You're a guest. I feed my guests. As long as you don't go around trashing the place, we'll be all set."
June laughed and Dean felt a weird tickle slide down his spine. Her laugh sounded just a little bit manic and he wondered how seriously she took the cleanliness thing. Dean looked at Sam and then at his father but neither one seemed to notice anything. He carefully took his plate when Sam handed it to him and then the bowl from June. He ate slowly while he listened to Derek talk about his work-out routine and wished again that they weren't leaving Sam behind.
Less than an hour later, Dad announced that they had to go if they were going to reach Watertown before nightfall. Dean started to help clean up the paper plate lunch but June stopped him saying that she and Sam would take care of it.
Dad hugged her lightly and thanked her then shook Derek's hand. He motioned Sam to him and shook his hand as well. Dean couldn't tell if he said anything to him. Dean followed his example with their hosts. But, he hesitated to say good-bye to his brother. He called him into the dining room, away from the adults.
"It's just a few days," he said once they were alone.
"I'll be fine, Dean."
"I know. I just…Dad's probably right about this. You both need to cool off. But, we're only a few hours away if you need anything."
Sam nodded with just the slightest of smiles.
"Okay," Dean said. "Don't make a mess."
Sam laughed out loud just as Dad emerged from the kitchen. His father narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything.
Dean followed him through the living room, out the front door and into the rain.
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