"It all had to be taken with a grain of salt. Literally"
Sam's potential night's sleep was banished with a jolt.
He had been laying in bed, listening to the soft snores of his brother in the bed closest to the door. It was calming and reassuring to know that not only was his brother safe; he was going to be well rested come morning. Which always led to him being in a far more tolerable mood than him waking up cranky and irritable. As he focused on the steady whispers of breath and the faint repeatedness of a wall clock, a caring smile swept onto his face; Dean would have a full night's for once. He on the other hand probably would not. Eyes staring uninterestedly at the plain white ceiling. Dull and and washed out in his deprived ness.
He had been so tired all day and he couldn't wait to just lay down and have Dean stop questioning him. Stretch his back out and have some peace. The smile faded as his mind took a turn to the darker aspects of his life. Twisting and binding like evil roots into an already cracked stone. It's atrocity causing the rock to split, little by little. Such a solid, unmovable, unbreakable object, yet a tiny plant is able to completely abolish it with nothing but perseverance.
Consensual sleep was never a considered option. But, now, as he lay alone in the waking world, a slight frown on his face as his eyebrows occasionally twisted from the thoughts that rolled through his head wildly, he wondered how long he would hold on. He could swear he couldn't even see straight due to the scrambled thoughts infecting his mentality. They made his head pound as the voices screamed behind his dark eyes. Tormenting and taunting the young man's fragile mind simply because... They could.
It was a constant and ever growing battle for him. He was so fragile as most people are, yet stronger than anyone would ever be aware of. Including, and especially, himself. When he looked in the mirror the only thing he saw staring back was someone who was pathetic and a failure. He knew he was. His father had told him. Time and Time again. Sure, his whole family was comprised of freaks, but he was the worst of them all for some reason. Nothing he could do was ever good enough, which resulted to others paying the price. He was nothing but a mistake, someone who was the reason his father's wife and his brother's mother was dead.
He knew Mary was his own mother. That for six months he felt the warmth of her embrace and the gentle hum of her voice. But, he was far too young to remember any of that. Any interaction whatsoever he had with her was lost to time. At least his brother remembered her, had memories of her to strengthen him and help him get through when she was gone.
Dean was able to remember what being a family was really like. What having a mother was like. But, Sam. Sam never got that.
Dean Winchester had a mother.
Sam Winchester Didn't.
Instead Sam was left in the hands of a broken child to make sure he stayed alive and to take care of him as best as he could remember how his mother had, and a father who was bent on revenge and constantly either drunk or gone. A father who far too often relied on him to release all his pent up emotions on. Leaving his young sons' minds in a constant state of turmoil as the aftermath.
Sam spent years running from his past. Staying as far from his father as possible.
Now all he wanted to do was see his father.
Sam was soon betrayed by his muddling thoughts as they slowly pulled his eyes closed. His headache disappearing with his faded conscious. His dreams subtly appeared like a ship in the night. Distorted and foggy.
That night he had a dream that he hadn't had before. Usually his dreams comprised of Jess dying and their previous hunts gone wrong. This time, it was one of his premonitions.
He saw a girl. She laid helplessly on the floor in a very small, dark room. There was no source of light. Just the solum, dark walls. She laid in an uncomfortable fetal position as she trembled in pain. Her body was full of jagged edges. Her wrists and ankles were bound by rope. The bare skin around it red and raw from her protests, some small frayed pieces of rope stuck into her tender skin, what didn't displayed crimson dipped tips. A rag- soiled and fowl- had been tied around her mouth as a gag, pulling cruelly on her lips while her eyes were covered by another cloth. Wrapped around her head tightly and tied in the back. Her dark hair was messy and knotted in several places. Unwashed for many days. Her whole, bare, body was covered in cuts and abrasions. Several large bruises taking over her caucasian coloring. A large bruise formed on her jaw, the purple infecting the surrounding area of freckled skin. Her faces had been splashed with an array of little freckles. A perfectly beautiful flaw in a beautifully imperfect way.
She curled in in herself, trying in vain to cover and protect her abused body. She struggled weakly, her breathing uneven and difficult. She occasionally whimpered or let out cries of muffled screams. Screams that no one in the area could possibly hear. 'Help' was the disorted word that would occasionally fall from her disabled mouth, her bruised lips testing the gag in a futile attempt to get more comfortable. It felt like she was going to suffocate to death.
Even tho it was still just a dream, or more accurately; a nightmare, Sam felt the overcoming feeling that he had to help her. He had to get to her and save her he knew with animalistic desire. It was like it was the only thing that mattered in the whole world. Saving her. Helping her. Protecting her and getting her away from... There. It was beyond intense that he yelled out in his sleep. Part way from horror and pain and part from sheer frustration that she was suffering. That he was stuck in his horrible nightmare with absolutely no way to get to her. He couldn't understand it because he didn't even know who she was, or at least he didn't think so. Yet, in this dream she was the most important thing in the world.
A mind torturing series of images started flashing through his vision. Resulting in another unconscious gurgle of desperation. The images seemed random; the outside of a closet door, someone faintly banging into the door and muffled cries. A new image flushed into his mind. Two eyes. Nothing more. All he saw was a pair of eyes staring evilly at him. Black and hideous. A raw scream ripped through his through, fear invading his brain as his heart felt like it would beat so hard it would crack his ribs and chest. Blood rushed relentlessly in his ringing ears.
"SAMMY!"
A voice pierced through his mind, successfully ripping him away from his horrible nightmare. His eyes flew open, wide and fearful as he gasped loudly, his brother in his immediate vision in the dark room that was lessened only by the dull tableside lamp. A pair of hands held his head firmly. Carefully. Concerningly. As he panicked he studied Dean's features, anchoring to the comforting fact that Dean was there and everything was going to be okay. He was trying to calm himself but his heart kept racing and every little sight and noise made his mind scream danger. Dean, scanned Sam up and down, realising quickly he was close to hyperventilating.
Dean was awakened by the worrying and ever growing moans of pain and fear coming from the person laying in the other bed. His first thought was to simply fall back asleep, his mind lulling him into the warm void, but then the security system in his brain automatically kicked in. He couldn't. Not when it was Sammy. Not ever.
He cleared his throat, moving his head so that he could see his brother through the dark room. He blinked a few times, forcing his vision to return. The boys had to learn how to adapt and adjust their eyes since it was a large requirement and practical due to the fact that night time and darkness was a common occurrence. Having an acute ability to see in the dark was a beneficial asset for their job as they often found themselves in the darkest corners of America. Especially when they had to fire a weapon. With accuracy. In times of danger. Against the clock. And edgy, overly aware and mildly disturbed, broken minds. While about to be killed.
It all had to be taken with a grain of salt. Literally.
"You're alright Sammy. Just go back to sleep. Everything's okay." He called out in an uneven voice. Praying his words would be enough to subdue the light fit his brother was slowly working himself into. A scream broke from the boy's frightened lips, urging Dean to quickly jump out of his bed and click the crappy lamp on before stumbling over to Sam and attempt to wake him up. It tore him apart to see Sammy like this. To see him suffering when all he wished for was to take the agony away. He would place it on himself if it meant his brother would be okay.
Dammit Sammy...
He complained wordlessly, knowing that his hope of Sam just falling back asleep and getting the rest he needed was shattered. He now knew that he would have to wake him up and cause him to have yet another failed night of rest. He huffed out shakily as he gently laid his hands on the spasmodic arms of his brother. Calling out his name again. Why couldn't the kid just get one night? One night of peaceful, phsycicless, rest. Was that really too much to ask for?
Sam needed peace so bad. Why could he never get it?...
As Sam's screams increased Dean's attempts to wake him did as well. Finally he resorted to holding his head, which was turning from side to side, in both hands. "SAMMY!" He hallared desperately. Not caring if he woke other occupants in the surrounding rooms.
Sam's eyes flew open. Conveying nothing but pure terror as he all but choked on his own lungs. "Woah, Woah there Sammy. You're okay. Breath. Come on, breath kid!" Dean tried, letting go of his head but keeping his hands hovering near him cautiously.
Sam shot upward in bed and quickly twisted his body so that his feet were on the floor, making Dean have to step back some. Sam took his hands and rubbed them deeply into his eyes, giving Dean the impression that he was attempting to gorge his eyes out. Willing the ache in his head attached to the images to leave him alone. His hands found their way up to his disheveled hair and pushed it out of his face. Twisting his fingers in his brown locks. Dean carefully backed off and softly sat down by the foot of Sam's bed. Carefully eyeing him.
A few strangled cries and a jumbled mess of words repeatedly fell from his stressed mouth as soon as he found his voice and figured out his thoughts. "Gah! We have to find her! S-she needs our help! Help her! We have to help!" He frantically sputtered out. Dean noted the horror filled look in his eyes and realized that Sam was seeing something other than what their current surroundings were.
"Take it easy now." Dean was afraid he was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen getting past his lips. "You need to calm down! Who did you see?"
"She's hurt. Ropes. Tape. Blood. She's- she's in danger. Someone... Someone is hurting her! We have to help."
Sam stood on shakily legs and began walking around the room hysterically. The only thing that was going through his mind was her agony filled face and battered body. The overcoming ache he felt to help her and get her somewhere safe still consumed all reasoning. Sam felt claustrophobic in the confinement of the room and his inability to do anything. His hands were still tangled in his hair as he paced to and fro. Eyes darting from side to side and feet occasionally tripping over one another. "Help... Her!" He repeated in despair.
Dean stood in the flurry of panic Sam was in. Questions building in his mind. He had already put together that Sam must of had a vision.
"Who? Who is 'Her'?! Or-Where is She?!"
"I don't know. I don't Know where she is!... I don't know, I don't know." The words fell miserably from his trembling lips.
"Okay, buddy. If we don't know, we can't help her." He watched as panic flushed through the taller kid's face. "Not until we Do know at least." He added quickly.
Dean grabbed Sam's arms to get him to calm down. The boy initially flinched at the touch but was soon to recover and allow the strong comforting hands to steady him. Sam's vision swam painfully as he swept the floor with distorted eyes, keeping his head down low. "Hey, look at me. Look at me, Sammy!"
Reluctantly he lifted his eyes to meet his brother's. Dean's breath caught in his throat, eyes soft and mouth slightly open at the haunted reflection in the boy's young eyes. He looked to Dean intently, as if his older brother magically had the answers and could make everything better. Sam's mouth was closed in a scared line, his lips turning in as if he was trying to hide everything he could. He stood there shaking. Obediently waiting for Dean's instructions.
"Breath okay? Just breath."
Sam inhaled a long, shaky breath after he heard the command. His mind swirling and confusing him. He wasn't completely all there to say the least.
More images flashed through his mind, memories of his nighterror.
Dean caught into the glassy, far off look in Sam's eyes and began to speak as his breathing started to pick up again. "Sammy, calm down. We can't help her if we have no information. Now, you had a premonition about her, right? Your weird, little vision thing you've got going on?"
Sam nodded.
'Okay..." Dean thought for a moment as he searched for the words his delirious little brother would understand in his current state. "Maybe, if you go back to sleep... You'll have another dream slash vision whatever thingy, and it will show you where she is and how we can help her. We have to help her, right?" He coached calmly.
Sam's eyes wondered but there was now a certain clarity to them that made Dean breath a sigh of relief.
He nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah, that might work, maybe it will. I can try." He said more to himself then anyone as he climbed back in bed and laid down. Twisting over and hiding his arms under the pillow and burying his face into it. As if he could crawl into the fabric and disappear from his dreams and pain. He muttered a string of incoherent words as he closed his eyes.
Dean ran his hand through his hair. "Wow." Was all he could say as he watched Sam drift off into a restless sleep. He waited for a few more seconds before returning to his awaiting bed, wincing at the shallow creek it gave as he rolled his body into a comfortable position. Well, as comfortable as a cheap, rundown motel bed got. He glanced at his brother, worried the noise would of awakened him. He smiled contently at the discovery of a lightly snoring Sam. Yet worry still crowded his thoughts.
What the hell was that all about?
He thought before he let sleep consume him again.
