Author: akmdreamer

Fandom: Supernatural

Disclaimer: Kripke's sandbox, I'm just playin'! Title from Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas. Hey Jude by The Beatles is the song mentioned.

Thanks to KatiaSwift for correcting all my stupid mistakes! :D

For Mi. (FF: Miss. Spearmint. Toothpaste Tumblr: himamae42)

Tumblr that-a way! - akmdreamer . tumblr . com

November 1st, 1983

Sweat and blood and sulfur. Dean could still smell them as his trembling body shot upright in bed, throat stinging with a silent scream that chafed his throat as he gulped it down, eyes rimmed with tears.

He tumbled out of bed, finding the floor clumsily, heart beating to the frantic pitter-patter of bare feet as he burst out of his room, hesitating outside his door for only a moment. Right or left? Mommy or Sammy? Protected or protector?

Left. Sammy first.

Dean's baby brother was fast asleep, gurgling softly in his slumber as Dean clambered over the bars of the crib, plopping down cross-legged and scooping Sam into his arms. Sam blinked up at the four-year-old sleepily and then cooed delightedly when he registered his big brother.

"Sammy, Sammy. 'Ts okay, Sammy, they won't get you, they won't, I promise..."

-

Mary Winchester woke to the scratchy sounds over the baby monitor. She rolled over, careful not to disturb a snoring John, and stood quickly as she heard the voice of her oldest son over the monitor.

Padding down the hall, Mary peered into Dean's room to find it abandoned, bed covers trailing onto the floor. The door to Sam's nursery was open, and Dean was sitting in his brother's crib, murmuring broken sentences through tears.

"Dean!" Mary whispered, approaching her children. "Honey, what's wrong?"

She gently pried Sammy out of Dean's arms, placing the baby back in his bed, and then lifting Dean into her arms. "Tell me what happened, baby. Was it a nightmare?"

Dean nodded shakily, clutching to his mother like he was afraid she'd disappear.

"Tell me about it, baby," Mary prompted, sinking into the rocking chair and allowing Dean to burrow into her lap.

"There was a- a man with scary eyes and- and a f-fire," Dean began, sniffling. "You were g-gone. And then Sammy'n me were all grown up and we killed demons and Sammy was hurt and I was in this dark place and it hurt but then s-somebody pulled me up! A-and there was this angel and there was a war and- and-"

Dean dissolved into broken sobs again, burying his face in his mother's nightdress.

"Shh, shh, baby, it's all right. It's all right, Dean, it wasn't real. It's okay. It's all okay."

Mary picked her eldest up again, carrying him over to Sam's crib as his sobs turned to hiccups.

"Say goodnight to Sammy, okay baby?"

Dean nodded and kissed Sammy's forehead.

"G- good night Sammy," Dean breathed before allowing Mary to pull him onto her hip again, leaning down to brush her fingers through Sam's hair.

Mary closed the door of the nursery softly behind them, carrying Dean back into his room. He pulled his face back from where it had been plastered with tears and sweat to his mother's neck.

"Mommy?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes, baby?"

"P-promise not to die, okay?"

Mary smiled sadly at her son.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean, not anytime soon," she said softly. "I promise."

Dean nodded gravely and let himself be set on the bed; he crawled beneath the covers as Mary sat down on top of them, pushing away the concern she felt at the seeming vividness and horror of her son's nightmare. Instead, she began to rub soothing circles into Dean's back, humming softly the song she knew would settle Dean right down.

As 'Hey Jude' wound down, Dean's breathing evened out and deepened.

"Sleep well, baby. Angels are watching over you."

Mary stood and slipped out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. The light from the hallway seeped in, a homey warmth filling the room, softly illuminating the opposite wall. As it did, an odd shadow swayed in its sudden revelation, huge feathered wings fluttering, shivering silhouettes against a backdrop of weak light.

The angel of Thursday raised his head off his knees where he'd folded them into himself in the corner of the room, large blue eyes falling on Dean Winchester's sleeping form. The corner of Castiel's mouth turned up in a sad smile.

A/N: I was sick last weekend and was pretty much punched in the gut with this idea. I'm just getting around to writing this/posting it now 'cause RL pretty much crashed through my ceiling like a narcoleptic Argentinian. (Excuse the reference.)