Angels Born on Earth
Disclaimer: All I own is this creepy little kid that comes in a later chapter.
Chapter 1 – Go to Them
Dean Winchester could hear the sound of joyful voices around him. It sounded like children playing, but he couldn't see them or anything else. That didn't matter though, because the voices were so comforting that he could have stayed there just listening for all eternity.
The smell of wet leaves in autumn invaded his nostrils as he felt the freshness of early spring. And slowly, like in a movie, the darkness lifted and trees that sparkled with raindrops began appearing at either side of him as the children's voices mixed with the birds' songs. He walked listening to the sound his footsteps made as he stepped on the leaf-covered ground and he stopped only to take a bunch of these dried leaves and smell them. It was real. He really was here, in this beautiful forest. He knew, because he could feel the life in those leaves and in the raindrops that still stubbornly lingered amongst them.
And he had been here before. He didn't know when or why, but he was sure he had.
Dropping the leaves, he kept walking, knowing exactly that when he came out of the forest he would have to go down a hill to finally face an infinite lake of crystal-clear water. As Dean walked, the voices of the children became louder and all he wanted to do was reach them.
He made it to the lake just in time to see a small blonde boy about eight years old running after ayounger boy with dark hair. Dean knew the boys were brothers and he knew they were happy here… but he also knew they wouldn't be able to stay for much longer. But that didn't matter now because they were happy. The boys didn't seem to notice Dean as they ran like a bullet in his direction, apparently seeing something or someone else that stood behind him.
"Daddy!" shouted little Dean as he ran. Abruptly, seeing the look on John Winchester's face the boy stopped and grabbed little Sammy who was coming right behind him. He wiped off the grass and dirt of his little brother's clothes and stood straight facing his father, the innocence the grown-up Dean had seen earlier in the child's green eyes was gone, fully expecting to receive and obey orders. The adult Dean could now see his father, much younger but just as morose as the present day John Winchester. He watched his father speak but didn't pay attention to what was being said. He already knew the speech - he had heard it too many times; they had to leave, a friend called asking for their help, no time to play, Sammy, there would be time for that later, this is an order, do you understand me? Yes, sir. He knew it by heart. So Dean turned around and focused his attention on the lake that spread before him.
Walking down the pier, he noticed how calm the water was and how easy it was to see the bottom of the lake. He couldn't spot many fish; just white sand that seemed to expand forever in the depths of the lake. It was so inviting… and as he sat at the edge of the pier, he noticed he couldn't take his eyes of the water. Only his reflection stared back at him, as calm and open as it hadn't been in years. He had never allowed his mask to fail him and show how he really felt, but what his reflection showed him now was simply Dean. Dean before his mother died. Dean before his happiness depended on dad's and Sammy's happiness. As translucent and pure as the water beneath him. So much so that he almost couldn't recognize his own face. And suddenly the image was disturbed and the water stirred. It was only for a fraction of a second, but when he could stare into the calm water again, it wasn't him who stared back; it was his mother. Dean's eyes widened as he tried to do something, anything, but his body and brain seemed to not want to respond, so he did nothing and simply stared at his mother's long blonde hair flowing with the small waves of the lake and her eyes that reflected all the sunlight that reached the water.
"Go back now, Dean, go to them," she said smiling sadly, and her image was gone as suddenly as it had come. His own reflection stared back at him again, but he didn't want that, he wanted to follow her, go into that lake and stay in its depths where he could finally rest, like the reflection that had stared at him earlier, calm, happy, just Dean. Not Dean, the hunter, just Dean. He was about to dive and let the water take him, but something stopped him. A tiny little hand had taken his. Startled, he looked up and saw little Sammy.
"Come and play with me!" he said pulling him with his chubby little hands, looking at him with those puppy eyes Dean could never refuse.
"Sammy…" he muttered surprised at how weak and sad his voice sounded. He stood up, forgetting his own wishes to go into the lake and followed him. Because if that made Sammy happy, he would do it, and willingly, because he had made little Sammy smile. As he walked along the pier back to the beach, darkness started to set in again until he couldn't see anything. He didn't mind though, because Sam's hand was guiding him back. The smell of nature was gone, the sounds of birds and other animals had stopped too and strange noises replaced them… he could hear a constant beep in the distance that grew louder with each step he took. His body felt weak and suddenly a sharp pain invaded it.
He thought he would fall over in his agony, but immediately realized he had been lying down the entire time. Sam's hand never faltered, though, it was still tightly holding on to his, but now it seemed as if it had grown, the hand was no longer chubby and small, but large with long and slim fingers. He hurt with such intensity that he couldn't tell what the source of the pain was and he couldn't suppress a groan and the heavy breathing that followed. He tried to make it stop; Sam was there and he would worry. But as much as he tried to stop himself, it was like he had no control over his body. The lake, the reflections and little Dean and little Sam forgotten, he could feel pillows under his head, the loud, constant beep indicating his heartbeats and the various syringes connected to his body.
But Sam's hand was still there.
Memories of his father possessed by the demon that killed his mother passed through his mind, and how he had witnessed his father fight the demon regaining control over his body only for a few seconds. He had really fought for him; he had fought for Dean. He vaguely remembered being carried to the back seat of his 1967 Chevrolet Impala and later, a flash of light before darkness had finally taken him. And that was all he could remember.
An eternity went by before he managed to force his lead-like eyelids open, and the first thing he noticed through his blurry vision was Sam's untidy mop of hair covered partly by a thick bandage. His head was resting on Dean's bed and although he was fast asleep, his hand was holding on to Dean's as if his life depended on it. His eyes scanned the white walls, all the machines and their respective wires, most of which were connected to his heart, he realized as he followed them. His exposed chest was covered by a white bandage a lot like Sam's. He knew there was someone else in the room as well. He tried to focus his tired eyes on the occupant of the chair at the far end of the room, near the door. The darkness of the place wasn't helping his vision, and he couldn't make out who it was, but his heart told him it was his father. His leg rested outstretched on a small chair encased in a plaster. His head was also heavily bandaged and Dean couldn't understand why his father and brother were hurt. Concern began to build up and his heart began to pound faster in worry and nervousness. And suddenly he knew what the source of all his pain was. The extra work his heart was doing caused the already agonizing pain to become unbearable. A loud moan he wasn't conscious of uttering escaped his dry lips, only worsening the pain, but he couldn't stop it. And Sam's hand broke contact with his. Just let it end! He thought desperately.
He didn't know where he was anymore or who he was, all he knew was pain. And Sam wasn't there anymore. But he had to be! He had seen him before, asleep… if only he could open his eyes again to make sure he was there. He managed to open them but the room was spinning and his eyelids closed again.
"Sammy!" he tried to shout as a last resort to get his brother back. Sam couldn't leave him, not again.
The name only came out as a whisper, but it was enough for Dean to feel his touch again and this time… his voice… he was saying something.
"I'm here, Dean, it's okay," he was saying. He sounded so happy. And so Dean felt himself calm down because Sammy was happy. "Dad went to get the doctor, don't worry they'll make the pain stop, everything will be okay… Thank God you woke up, Dean," he added and with that, Dean could rest again. He felt his heart calm down and his worries left him. And he finally slept at ease.
Sam Winchester didn't dare let go of his brother's hand. As he sat next to Dean's bed he could only think of how close he had been to losing him.
Sam had woken up in his brother's destroyed Impala with a pounding head and for a moment all he could see was blood. Taken by surprise by the sight, he jumped wiping his eyes until the blood was gone. Immediately he regretted the movement, for it caused him to realize that his neck was killing him and his left arm was numb. He calmed himself down and tried to focus on his surroundings. His body hurt all over and he couldn't move much, but then he saw his father. He was leaning against the broken window, his head bled steadily and his neck was bent in a strange angle.
"Dad!" he shouted. No answer. His foggy mind began reminding him of something else… or rather someone else in the car… and the events of that day began flooding back into his mind making his head hurt even more. But he didn't have time for pain, not after a name had formed in his thoughts: Dean. Sam reached out to his father with his right arm and quickly found a pulse. Now it was time to concentrate in his brother. Sam tried to get out of the car to drag his brother out but all his efforts were in vain. His body wouldn't respond and as much as he tried to force the door with his good arm, it wouldn't budge. Instead, he reached to the back seat as close to Dean's neck as he could get and frantically looked for a pulse but found none.
Panicking, Sam dialed 911 in his phone that he miraculously still found in his pocket, safe. The rest had all been a blur as Sam could do nothing but sit there until help arrived and then as they were transferred to separate ambulances and later as all he could do was wait for his father and brother to wake up. And it was during those days that Sammy felt truly alone for the first time. He regretted every argument he had had with the two men, every call he hadn't picked up in Stanford just because the caller ID said "Dad" or "Dean" and he fully regrettedevery moment wasted without them.
Sam's injuries had been mild compared to the rest of his family: he had broken his arm and he had been lucky his neck hadn't broken. He also had a concussion that had been treated immediately and in a few days he had been strong enough to walk again sporting a brand new cervical collar and a plastered left arm.
After three weeks John had been fine, a cast on his leg and a cervical collar of his own being the only reminders of that horrible night. Dean on the other hand, according to the doctor, had slipped into a terminal coma with no real chances of survival unless the Winchesters decided to count on 'a miracle' as a possibility.
But Dean had been okay. He would be fine now. After a month and a half of waiting for a reaction, any reaction at all, Sam had seen Dean come back to them, even when the doctors had given up all hope, Dean had defied them.
It had been a week since Dean had first woken up, and Sam hadn't left his side for a minute. Doctors and nurses had long ago stopped giving him the "visiting hours" policy, since obviously it didn't seem to apply to the young man and his father. Instead, they brought them food and changed their bandages and checked on their wounds.
Dean hadn't opened his eyes in that entire week, but Sam felt such a great relief to see him sleep without the help of a machine keeping him breathing, or another keeping his heart beating. No. Now Dean was fighting on his own again, which had always been his specialty. Sam knew how much Dean hated depending on something even if that something was keeping him away from death.
Sam felt more than saw Dean flinching a little, taking a deep breath and frowning in pain. Sam watched him impatiently like a child on Christmas day. Slowly, too slowly for Sam, Dean's hazel green gaze focused on his little brother again after what had seemed like years. He blinked a couple of times and then opened his eyes fully.
A/N: Heya... hope you guys liked the first chapter... and trust me, I will finishthis story'cause I've already written the first 5 chapters and they are safely umm... safe... in my totally hardcore secretlittle folder... talking about stories, the story really starts in the next chapter, this was just a transition(I guess you could call it) between Devil's Trap and my made up story...anyway...I'd love some reviews! Thanks for reading.