Hey guys! Im back! For any of you that recognise this story, basically I wanted to redo this story as I only got to chapter two and when I read it back I wasn't the happiest about it.
So I've updated and changed this chapter and will be rewriting the second chapter hopefuly in the next couple of days if this chapter is successful!
…
Dean is curled up, fast asleep in a King sized bed when his phone rings. There had been no other rooms with two singles, and besides, Dean had had the ingenious idea of 'the last one to the bed sleeps on the floor.' Dean hadn't even given Sam a chance before he was diving onto the bed, shouting a victory and snickering at Sam's shake of the head.
Just like a kid, Sam thought. Sam had wanted to do a rematch, but that idea seemed even more childish. Besides, maybe sleeping on the floor wasn't such a bad thing. Sure, Dean and Sam had slept in the same bed multiple times, but not since they were kids.
Sam couldn't say he missed Deans snores and sometimes painful kicks and jabs (which Sam always accused him of doing on purpose). To be fair, Sam probably wasn't much better with the constant nightmares and moaning in his sleep that Dean sometimes whined about.
Sam had complied anyway, and tried sleeping on the floor with blankets and pillows, but had eventually given up and clambered into the bed when his neck started to hurt.
The phone continued to ring, Dean ignoring it or just in such a deep sleep that he didn't hear, which wasn't likely. Dean was always a light sleeper, waking at the slightest movement from Sam or sound.
"Dude, your phone." Sam says, raising his voice to try and get his brother to wake up.
Sam has been up since 8, the nightmares of coming visions invading his sleep.
He knows that Dean notices, because how could he not? Dean knows Sam more than anyone, enough to know that the occasional flinches aren't just nothing and the gasp Sam makes sometimes in his sleep isn't just usual nightmares that NORMAL people have. They're not the going to school in your pants sort of thing, they're hell and monsters and watching your brother die in your arms. Deans also smart enough not to mention anything he notices, because Sam will just flush red and mumble that it's nothing and that he's FINE Dean stop worrying like a mother hen. As if.
"You get it." Dean mumbles.
Sam feels a strange sense of relief wash over him when he hears Deans voice. Not in a sappy way, but he misses Dean. Much as he gripes at Dean for talking too much, he always misses his voice when he's not around. Missed it when they were kids and Dad and Dean left him alone for endless hunts. Missed it for the two days he ran away when he was ten. Missed it when he went to Stanford, and the only sound of Dean he got was when he rang late at night and he left a voicemail, which Sam had saved and had listened to almost every week just to comfort him. Most of all, he missed it when Dean went to hell.
Sam wills himself not to think about that. He had just got Dean back and he felt that the two were just starting to be BROTHERS again. Not that they weren't when he first came back... But it was different.
Sam sighs and grabs Deans phone from his duffle, the unrecognisable number flashing on the screen making him frown. Who calls them anyway? Bobby and who else?
"Hello?"
There's silence on the other end and this makes Dean open his eyes and sit up blearily.
"Look who it is, Sammy boy. Never could leave your brother alone even when we were kids." Sam frowns in confusion and glances at Dean.
"Uh.. Who is this?" Sam huffs a laugh.
The voice on the other end let's out a laugh, and Sam would say that it sounded menacing, almost intimidating. He knows this voice and he can tell Dean knows who it is to.
"Here, gimme it." Dean says, taking in the confusion that's visible in his brothers eyes.
"Lewis. Always a pleasure."
Lewis. The hunt that dad had taken them on when they were kids, Sam too young to actually do anything so sat in the backseat of the impala, his head buried in a different book every day. Lewis and Dean hadn't hit it off like John and Lewis's dad, Ben had hoped. They should have, they both liked the same bands, shared the same love of hunting and teenage girls and were the same age. Both Lewis and Dean bore the same arrogance and confidence that Sam loved about his brother but hated about Lewis.
Sam had just been the tag along, the scrawny fourteen year old who moaned about sparring and training and avoided going on hunts at any cost.
To be honest, Sam remembers that in the beginning Lewis and Dean had been friends, talking about waitresses and monsters and bands. But Lewis was a dick, he had shortly realised. Not only did his happiness come from hunting, it came from making fun of Sam and enjoyed making him feel uncomfortable when his brother wasn't around.
The click of Dean hanging up pulls Sam out of his thoughts.
"What does he want?" Sam says bitterly, not even trying to keep it out of his voice.
"Wants us for help on a hunt. Can't hunt it by himself and apparently called every hunter on his contacts." Dean gets out of bed, beginning to pack his clothes and whatever else they needed.
Sam feels a headache coming on, thumping in his head like a drum, over and over.
"Why? Can't he do it himself?"
"Apparently it's something big, hasn't been able to figure out just what it wants and when it strikes."
Dean chucks a bag at Sam.
"Look, we don't have to Sam. I know how much he freaked you out back when we were kids." Dean says softly, and Sam smiles, because this is a rare moment that Dean let's his guard down and ALMOST allows a chick flick.
"S'alright. He's just an asshole and the sooner we get this done the better."
"Can't disagree with you there. Now move your ass, his car broke down so we're gonna have to pick him up and do some research."
"Course we do." Sam says, rolling his eyes.
To be completely honest, Sam looks like crap. His fringe is sticking to him, beads of sweat running down his forehead, yet still manages to be shaking like a leaf in the seat beside Dean.
He was curled in on himself, head pressed up against the window as if the pressure would ease the headache that Sam never mentioned but Dean knew he had. Call it big brother radar. Dean had noticed all the sick Sammy signs earlier on in the morning, when Sam had first got in the impala, turning on the heater until Dean was sweating like a pig.
So not a good day to be ill, Sam thought. Thinking back, he did disregard his thumping headache as a vision that he had had the previous day but now was probably just the result of a fever.
"How far away are we?"
"Bout twenty minutes." Sam sighs, turning up the heater another notch.
"Dude, it's friggin boiling in here."
"I'm freezing." Sam shivers.
Dean knows all the signs of a sick Sammy, but he should have realised this morning, before they got in the car on the way to see damn Lewis.
"We can stop off if you feel ready to hurl."
Dean says, grimacing at the thought of Sam throwing up on the car seats. Not that it hasn't happened before. Multiple times. Damn Winchester pride and stubbornness.
"I'm fine. It's getting better." If Sam was getting any better, he wasn't looking like it.
"If you wanna go back to a motel somewhere it's alright you know. I kinda owe Lewis one though, so gotta see this through."
Sam doesn't move his head from where it's resting, muttering something that Dean couldn't hear.
"What's that princess?" Dean says, a last attempt at prying a smile from Sam.
Instead Sam gives him one of his bitch faces, maybe number three or four on Deans list of Sammy bitch faces. He was bored, ok? Dad had left him looking after Sam with nothing but salt lines to do and guns to clean, so why not make a list of all Sam's faces?
"I said, why do ya owe him?"
"He kinda saved my life back in Indiana one time. You were at Stanford. Long story short, black dog jumped me and turns out he had been working the same case and happened to be hunting the same thing."
"You had to be saved by Lewis?" Sam smirks and begins to laugh but stops when he's reminded of the pain in his head.
"Don't remind me, bitch." Dean sighs.
There's silence in the car for about ten seconds, before Sam muttered out a quiet;
"Jerk."
Sam stays in the front seat when Dean goes out to greet Lewis. Sam thinks he hasn't changed, with his bushy eyebrows in a permanent frown and dirty blonde hair. Dean and him seem in deep conversation before he makes his way to the car door as Dean seats himself back in his seat.
"Hey Sammy boy." Lewis says with a grin. Sam smiles wanly, almost reaching bitch face number 6 on Deans list.
"Come on then, you gonna get in the back?"
Sam looks at Dean.
Sam didn't want to move. He liked being in the front with his brother. It's always been that way, even since they were kids. Dad would take the truck and Sam would slide in the passenger seat next to Dean.
It wasn't a big deal though, Sam had been in the back multiple times when Dean was with Bobby, or John or their other friends.
But this was different, this was LEWIS. Rolling his eyes at Dean, Sam clambered into the back, not missing the smug smile that Lewis shot him. Sam didn't realise how much he disliked the guy until he was being forced to sit in the back while Dean and him chatted like old times.
"So what you thinking, spirit, ghost?" Dean asks, as Lewis takes several documents and newspapers out.
"Most likely. Reports of lights flickering, doors slamming and locking people in, objects flying off tables."
"Poltergeist?" Sam offers.
"No. I checked." Lewis says stoutly.
Sam tried not to take notice of the feeling of being brushed off, being ignored. Just like it had been like when they were kids and Dean and Lewis had been talking about stuff he didn't know about. It was stupid, it was childish, but Sam slowly began to feel JEALOUS of Dean and Lewis's friendship, even though Dean had said that he didn't like the guy.
While Lewis is still looking through newspapers, Dean turns around and gives Sam a glance. A glance that says, 'are you okay?', referring to his headache. Sam nods and then looks away, not wanting to look as if he was interested in the conversation Dean and Lewis were now having.
"Look, why don't we go to a bar. Women, beer, pool." Lewis says jokingly, to which Dean agrees heartily, saying something about it being good to get off work for a bit.
Sam sniffed, partly because he had a cold but also feeling the need to act insolent and sulky.
"You coming Sammy?" Lewis smiles at him again, and God Sam wants to punch him.
"My name isn't Sammy." Sam says. Dean looks at him, surprise and pride in one glance, and Sam pushes down the urge to grin back.
Dean notices that Sam is still sweating, could tell his head still hurt (although the pills Dean had given him had helped) and that he was still cold even though the car was freaking boiling.
"Sam, why don't you go back to the motel and get in bed, yeah?" Dean says, chucking him the keys.
"To bed?" Lewis says, smirking.
"He's got the flu."
"So he's going to go to bed? Come on relax a bit Sammy."
….
I got this idea from another writer on here, and I think its great, so please comment what you thought of this start and pick which option you would prefer the next chapter to be about. :)
(will be rewriting the second chapter hopefuly in the next couple of days if this chapter is successful!)
OPTION A
Sam goes back to the motel room, leaving Dean and Lewis to chat at a bar. The next day, Sam feels even more ill and Dean insists that he can't do the hunt in his condition. Lewis gets angry, saying people will die if they don't do this That night.
OPTION B
Sam goes to the bar with them, and helping them research, finds out key information which tells him that Sam would be the main target to the spirit. Lewis insists that Sam should be bait, but Dean really isn't happy about that idea.
Thank you everyone for reading.
