Disclaimer: the characters are not mine. Everything else is though.
Sam is fifteen, Dean is nineteen.
I'm so sorry for the delay... it has been one hell of a week. Thank god it's over.
I'm a little uncertain about certain parts of this chapter... remember to drop your most honest opinion :)
Enjoy chapter two!
Twelve Hours Ago
John tapped the wheel of the impala, thinking this through very carefully.
For the last... month? Year? Heck, maybe for the last forever... John had become increasingly worried about his sons' relationship.
At first, it wasn't that bad. They had only known John for barely a year and had just lost the only mother they really knew. It was perfectly logically for them to be clingy and dependent on each other, especially given their 'abilities.'
It was subtle at first, but there. Sam acting more angry than usual, or Dean just not wanting to talk. But for the most part, the interactions between Sam and Dean remained the same. Dean's tendency to break everything in a two-mile radius while Sam remains sullenly silent.
But in the last... oh, month or so, John's been noticing some different behavior. Worrying behavior.
At times, their personalities would do a complete 180. Sam would go into temper tantrums and destroy everything in his reach, while Dean simply sat there and stared blankly into space. But more often than that, they would be homogeneous. John would ask Dean a question and they would both answer with the exactly same words and tone. It was almost as if they were becoming one person.
But the more John thought about it, the more worried he became. He remembered how Sam once described their connection.
"It's... It's like dancing," Sam said with a smile. "I can feel him like no one else can. It's like being lifted so high, the earth can't even touch you."
Being lifted so high... if that didn't sound like they were taking drugs, then John didn't know what did.
They were getting addicted to each other. They were flying so high in each other's minds that they wanted nothing else. That's why, as time wore on, they were getting harder and harder to separate.
God, so where do the problems begin?
And this led to John, sitting in his car, with his sons inside, trying to figure out what to do. They couldn't keep living like this, that much was certain. But John didn't know what to do about it. They were so dependent on each other, separating them just seemed plain cruel.
John sighed, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. I need you, Mary...
When there was no answer, John sat back up and got out of the car. I'm going to have to wean them off each other. l need to make them more independent... they're going to have to be more independent if they want to survive...
He unlocked the motel room and walked in, finding the boys asleep in each others arms. John sighed. He was thankful for the fact that there was absolutely nothing sexual going on between them. That would have added a whole new list of issues to work through with the boys.
"Sam, Dean, wake up." John lightly hit the blanket laying over their legs. "Need to talk to you boys."
Practically in sync, the boys blinked tiredly as they work up, both sitting up at the same time. "What is it...?" they both responded tiredly.
John ignored the creepiness of their synchronization. "Dean, you're coming with me to practice shooting."
That woke the boys up quick. "Me?" Dean asked. "Why me?"
"I just wanna work with you on a few things. There's always room for improvement, Dean."
Dean looked down at his brother, who gave him a slightly panicked look. "What about Sam?"
"I'll work with him tomorrow," John replied. "We won't be more than an hour or two, Sam."
Sam frowned a little. "Wait... you mean..." he swallowed. "I'm staying... here?"
"You're fifteen, Sam," John said. "You're more than old enough to hold fort for an hour or two."
Sam's eyes widened and he immediately seized Dean's arm, his body already physically shaking. The thought of being separated like that made him want to shiver with the cold emptiness that would be left behind.
Dean felt exactly the same, confusing assailing him. "Why can't Sam come with us?"
"I just want to spend some time with you, Dean," John said. "Like a one-on-one session. I'll be working with Sam tomorrow."
Sam gripped Dean's arm tighter, his stomach turning in on itself. "B-but Dad..."
Dean narrowed his eyes at John, and John could tell that Dean knew his intentions.
"One hour," Dean said quietly. "One hour and no more."
Sam looked up at his brother incredulously, but then he felt his brother reassure him and he calmed down. "O-okay..." Sam said quietly.
"We're only going to the clearing in the woods across the street," John said as Dean put on his shoes. "Call me if anything comes up."
Sam nodded numbly as he clutched tightly at Dean's arm. "One hour," Sam said quietly.
Dean nodded, placing a hand over Sam's. "One hour."
---
Dean glared at his father's back as they walked through the woods. He had been waiting for this. They few times he actually had skin-to-skin contact with his father had been enough to show Dean how worried he was about Sam and Dean's interactions.
Honestly, it pissed him off. How could his father be so judgmental? He knew about their powers, he knew (to a certain extent) what they had gone through in the past, he knew how fragile Sam still was... why can't John just leave them as is?
"We need to talk," John said, his pace remaining constant.
Dean rolled his eyes, stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets. "About Sam and I, right?"
"You remember that conversation we had the night..." John clenched his teeth, "the night your mother... died."
Dean paused in his step, the bubble of rage building inside of him. "Yeah, I remember."
"Well... I let it go for a while, considering. But... Dean, my arguments still stand."
They got to the clearing, where John took out a couple pistols, tossing one to Dean. Dean caught the gun with ease as he glared at his father. "So do mine. We're surviving fine as it is."
John set a couple beer bottles on their makeshift fence. "Even though we're hunters now, my goal is still the same." He turned to Dean. "To give you boys the best lives you can."
"We're fine," Dean insisted as he aimed and fired, the right-most bottle shattering. Despite his left eye being completely blind, he still had a deadly aim. "We wanna hunt the thing that killed Mom. We're content with that."
"And what about after that?" John asked. "You can't tell me you boys would be fine with just hunting for the rest of your lives?"
"Why not?" Dean asked, shooting another bottle with deadly accuracy. "Even if we were to be completely independent, there's no way we could live normal lives. Not with what we know, not with what we are," he growled.
"Alright..." John said, setting up a few more bottles. "Let's say you guys really do want to hunt for the rest of your lives. What if you need to split up for a job. Or you guys get separated. You still have to be able to survive on your own."
A sense of panic filled Dean, accompanying the rage. His hands were slightly shaking as he took aim and fired again, shattering another bottle. When did it get so cold?
"Dean..." John said imploringly, "You boys are so attached to each other that it's dangerous."
Dean didn't really have any argument against John, but he still didn't think he was right. He aimed at another bottle and completely missed. He brought his hands down, hoping John didn't notice how much they were shaking.
"And I know..." John said, "that you're perfectly smart enough to understand what I'm saying." He looked down at Dean's shaking hands and his pale pallor. "And I think you agree with me."
Dean glared at John. "'M just cold," he mumbled as he aimed for the same bottle... and missed. He lowered his pistol again, closing his eyes. The emptiness in his mind seemed to be growing, it's cold tendrils seizing his entire body. "H-how long have we been out here?"
John looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes." He watched Dean sag. "It's getting worse, Dean. A year ago, this would have been fine. At some point it's going to get so bad you can't stand to ever be physically separated. Not even enough to go to the bathroom. Do you really want you and your brother to get to the point where you're pissing on each other 'cause you can't stand to be apart?"
---
Sam paced the room at such a speed that he was making himself dizzy. The walls seemed to be reaching out for him, like they were trying to grab him. He whimpered quietly as he sat in the very middle of the room and curled into a small ball, trying to make the world disappear. Past memories, memories that weren't his, memories that weren't real, were clawing at his mind, all fighting for domination. He clutched his head, pulling on his hair. The pain seemed to ward off the memories, but just barely.
"Freak!"
Sam sobbed hysterically as he found himself lost in someone else's terror, his mind not even comprehending the intense emotions that assaulted his body. He felt dirty, violated. Like he didn't even exist, he was only everybody else.
"Why doesn't Dean just get rid of you!?" the child screamed. "You're just a monster! Why don't you just go and DIE!"
Sam sobbed as he squeezed his head hard, pushing his body into the tightest ball possible. He clawed at the arms, trying to bring himself back into the world. But the memories were devouring him, consuming him, and filling him with nothing but the horrors of others.
For a while, all he was aware of were the images of broken children, children missing body parts, naked children cowering in terror with pieces of their body missing. It went on for hours before reality took hold.
But the reality was worse.
The only bit of reality that registered was his brother hover over him, his brother who was sobbing. Sobbing so hard Sam barely recognized him.
"I-I... I'm s-so s-s-sorry..." Dean sobbed before his harsh cries stole his voice, his eyes screwed shut in resignation and despair.
Sam gasped as he suddenly jumped into standing position. Find Dean... The memories still fought for freedom, still tried to pierce and rape Sam's mind mercilessly, but that single thought was able to temporarily keep them at bay.
Find Dean... Find Dean.... Find Dean...
Sam's vision was blurred and swayed back and forth, but he managed to find the door.
Find Dean...
He twisted it open and practically flung the door open, wobbling out the door and into the parking lot.
"Wake up!" the woman screamed. She had Sam by the collar, shoving him against the floor repeatedly. "I said, wake UP!" she screeched, slapping Sam hard across the face.
Sam jerked, bringing an arm up to protect him from the old assailant. He stood there for a few moments, shaking violently. When he realized he was alone, he brought his arm down and started scratching it again, ignoring the blood collecting under his fingernails.
Find Dean... Find Dean...
Sam managed to cross the street and enter the woods. Find Dean, find Dean, the voice whispered more earnestly.
"D-De..." Sam whimpered as he walked drunkenly through the woods. Up here... Dean is right up here! Sam broke into a run, his focus narrowing onto his brother. Find Dean, find Dean, find Dean!
---
Dean grabbed his wrist, trying to get it to stop shaking. "Sam needs me..." Dean said almost pleadingly.
"Maybe," John said quietly. "But I know you want what's best for your brother. And I want what's best for both of you. Dean, you have to trust me."
Dean swallowed, bring up his gun again and aiming. He had hit another bottle, but unfortunately he had aiming for the one next to it.
Suddenly, something grabbed him from behind, making him lose his balance and his trigger finger squeezing automatically.
A sharp 'ping!' echoed in the air before a sharp cry.
John fell backwards, his hand coming up to his shoulder. Blood was already starting to flow from the fresh wound.
Dean turned around, a little shell shocked. Sam's arms were wrapped tightly around his chest. Sam himself was shaking and sobbing violently. Dean quickly dropped his pistol and returned the embrace, his mind automatically searching through Sam's, trying to find his little brother amid the perfusion of horrid images. It took him longer than usual, but he found him, found him in a small corner in a small recess of his mind, curled into a small protective ball. Dean quickly wrapped himself around that small frightened ball, slowly coaxing it out of its protective demeanor.
Sam, feeling his brother's presence, let himself be surrounded by him, letting him block all of the memories and erasing the feelings of violation from his mind.
John sat back up, watching his sons in a familiar act. He gave a small grunt as he tried to staunch the blood flowing from his shoulder. Great, now what?
I've got some pretty interesting stuff in store, so stay tuned :)
Constructive criticism is my friend! so be truthful!