...or it coulda been like this... – part 2.
by: sifi
--
"Sammy! Dean!" he yelled fighting waves of nausea as he sought a way to get to his feet, to save his children.
Out of the corner of his eye, where for a moment he thought the world was off kilter inside of himself, he realized it was the closet door that lay half propped against Dean's bed, splintered in half as if something monstrous had burst from behind it. He blinked against the impossible. The sight of his first born as he opened the door, rising to his feet, darkness that turned his blood to ice twisting the boy's face while his eyes blazed the most unnatural color, and how he'd struck out with a strength no seven year old HUMAN boy could possess, sent a chill through John.
Dear God tell me he's not evil... please tell me he's not evil... help me save him... please... I can't bear... I can't... God help my boys! the tortured father inside the marine prayed while he lurched from the room, his head spinning, his own blood running into his eye as he reached for the phone.
His eyes stuck fast to the opened front door, the dark night conspiring to hide his boys from him while he remained tethered to the apartment until the damnable machine made it's damnable beeping sound! Finally! he growled inside, "Jim, it's John... something's got Dean... and he's got Sammy... He's got Sammy outside..." he breathed deep, "... help me please..." then slammed the phone down and ran into the night, his ears straining to make up for what night would not let him see.
How fast can he move with Sammy in tow? Especially if Sam's fighting him... WOULD Sam fight him? Yeah of course he would... but it's Dean... but it's NOT and Sam knows that... I saw the look on his face... his gaze swept up and down the street while his belly told him his boys were moving in the opposite direction, toward the field behind the rear set of apartments. When I find them... how do I stop him? How do I stop whatever that was without hurting my boys? Damnit! it dawned on him that he had absolutely no tools of his new trade on himself, then a slow smile twitched the corners of his mouth and his fingers clutched the pentacle he'd taken to wearing after discovering its protective potency.
I gotta think like a marine here... I gotta be smart, it's the only way to get my boys back... what the HELL was that thing? How did something... What?... How can I keep them safe if something can get... God help my boys PLEASE! he screamed inside but managed to steady his breathing while he caught sight of signs of a scuffle made by little feet.
Musta been right about here when he called out last... Dean what did you do to him? IT's NOT Dean... he loves Sam... whatever it IS... it's NOT Dean, it's just using him... the tiniest whisper of doubt in the back of his brain added, 'I hope', before John squashed the thought.
--
His heart beat ticked off the seconds by halves. His eyes were fully adjusted to the dark, his senses keen, honed, returned to their former flint-like sharpness. When he veered from the right course it was his nose that brought him back in line. The scents drew him forward unerringly. The scent of disturbed earth, the scent of his boys, the scent of the very air and the way it moved in discordance with the way it was supposed to at the moment. He was focus made flesh.
Sounds of night passed into his ears, each one filtered, analyzed, deemed pertinent or not by duration, volume, rhythm, and most importantly, weight. A snap and a breath, each at precisely the right moment snapped his head up, his nose angling toward the origin of the sound to confirm what the filter of his mind told him. This way... he moved willing himself silent, liquid, stealthy as the heart of night itself. Every muscle strained, every atom moved ONLY because he willed, or allowed it so, even the sweat that had soaked his clothes so thoroughly it was literally dripping from his pant legs, only did so because it was allowed.
Later when exhaustion stood beside him he would think briefly of a story he'd heard in boot camp, it went all the way back to the jungles of Vietnam, a squad on patrol ventured into abandoned enemy territory only to find they'd been suckered. Stuck in the heart of a hundred yards of tightly packed 'bouncing betty's', every member of the squad died a little as realization hit them. The point man pulled his bowie knife, piercing the ground at an angle in two to four inch intervals from right to left in front of him. When he'd spanned enough distance to cover the width of his body he moved the knife forward two inches and repeated the process until there was room for him to drop to his knees with the squad behind him, each man holding his position, frozen waiting either for a mine to play peekaboo and kill them all, or the next inch to be breeched.
All through the eternal hell that was that night for the squad of soldiers, every inch was bought and paid for with sweat, never knowing whether death would come from below, the result of a passionless device, or from any other direction around or above them at the hands of an enemy who would laugh at the sport they would make, shooting U.S. soldiers in a barrel.
When the squad emerged from the field some time the following day, each of them alive, their faith in God and the love of their point man wholly reaffirmed, the soldier on point, who'd led them meticulously through their darkest hour, had lost no less than twenty pounds through the night's ordeal, and when he was certain his squad was safe for at least another moment in this hostile and foreign land, his heart stopped, and his team mates cried.
John was fairly certain that even THIS wasn't THAT level of focus, but for him, any mistake could cost the lives of his children, without them, he would not be able to go on. Nothing and no one was more important than his boys.
In the heart of that focus, sounds penetrated from behind and from ahead to the left, a susurration that had not just rhythm but inflection young and hollow, not the thick bodied sound of something mature speaking. He could feel the speech but it was nothing he'd ever heard before, the very words may as well have been wind to him, but the father inside felt his lips curl back from his teeth, the pretense of evolution a quickly fading nightmare remembrance. MINE! MY SONS! MY BOYS!... MINE! so once again he was off chasing his senses.
--
...have to know what I'm dealing with... have to know... Dean please... he wanted to charge into the tiny clearing but if whatever had control of his first born had the strength to splinter the closet door, he wasn't sure he was equipped to stop it without hurting his boy.
A flicker of light flashed against the upper branches of one of the trees before him. He turned, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the sight of his boys. Dean on his knees, his arms raised to the night sky in some kind of supplication while words John had never heard before flowed lightly from his lips. Sam lay on the ground at Dean's side, John had no way of knowing if his baby was alive or dead or teetering on the edge.
Please be Jim... please be Jim... not someone else... please... he crawled silently backwards until it was safe to rise to his feet, then shot toward the source of the sweeping light beam.
Footfalls rustled urgently to his right, the light beam froze John Winchester in his tracks then flicked to the ground, setting him free quickly.
"John?" he whispered, "What happened?"
The distraught father, in many ways despite his military history, an inexperienced hunter, strove hard to control his breathing, "Dean... there's something inside him... it..." he shook his head, barely able to speak it lest the possibilities be made real, "...something's got my boys..."
"You found them?" Jim asked.
"Yeah... over there... just inside the copse of trees... looks like whatever it is... it's... it's gonna kill my boy... I know it I can feel it Jim... we gotta stop him..." panic coated his voice as he turned toward the trees ready to race right into that tiny clearing and do whatever had to be done.
"Hold on..." Jim grasped his shoulder, "Take me there..."
"I'm gonna grab Dean, you get Sammy to safety... we can do this... there's two of us..." John breathed leading his new friend toward his boys.
At the edge of the small clearing, John and Jim crouched, for some reason John was surprised to see his eldest still on his knees with his arms still raised to the heavens, while that strange language continued pouring from him.
"Can you tell what he's saying?" John whispered almost imperceptibly.
Jim felt his face crinkle while he cocked his head to the side, straining to hear in the darkness, honing his own focus. Slowly he shook his head.
On the ground the youngest Winchester moved and moaned. In that instant John hadn't realized just how terrified he'd been that his little boy was already taken from him. His chest trembled as he drew breath while a pair of grateful drops squeezed out of his eyes.
He and Jim flattened themselves to the ground as Dean turned at the sound, stalked to the toddler, grasping him by the neck with one hand and held him aloft while the other hand rose to strike him.
"Dean... no..." Sam gasped, his hands holding tight to his big brothers forearm while his feet flailed uselessly in the air. "...stop... pl..se..."
A pleading, grinding, "Nnnuho..." burst out from behind the hate filled mask that covered his big brothers face.
Sam could feel Dean's arm shaking so kicked and flailed harder despite the sparkler feeling in his head, behind his eyes, "plu...le..se..." he gasped just about to give in to the dark that wanted him so badly when his body flew through the air, and the voice of his big brother, not that mean thing that was talking through him before cried out,
"Run Sammy! Run!..."
A flurry of activity held the adults captive.
"Get Sam... I'll get Dean..." Jim nodded watching the littlest Winchester stumble to his feet to start the long run back toward the apartment. John dashed back behind them while Jim moved more cautiously forward, his eyes fixed on the elder child who seemed to be fighting against himself. The voice of the child arguing, fighting something older, something that spoke a language unheard for millennia, it was almost as if Jim could see the boys' opponent despite the fact that it was within him.
I hope to hell this works... he thought standing tall to enter the clearing, a flask in his hand.
"Dean!" he called.
The boy froze, his eyes shining with tears in the darkness, "Pastor Jim?" he smiled, his lips trembling as did the hand which held one of his fathers' knives.
Jim nodded taking a step forward, "Drop the knife Dean...let's go home..."
"I can't..." he sniffed barely pushing aside his sob, "... it won't let ..." his hand came up once more, the knife point wavering between the ground and the boy.
The young pastor felt his blood run cold though not for the first time in his life, as whatever it was that was fighting for this boy reared its head snarling words that had no meaning to him though he committed the shape of them to his mind in the hopes of a later translation.
"...no! Please... it wants me to... Sam... don't let me hurt him... PLEASE!" Dean cried one hand trying to plunge the knife into his own heart while the other fought against it. The boy was literally divided within himself.
Again the intruder's voice spoke venomously, driving the knifepoint closer to Dean's chest. Now... he can't fight this alone... he thought driving forward, crossing the boy with holy water while Latin rolled with oft practiced ease from his tongue.
In the darkness a seven year old boy screamed while a hunters' knife tumbled from his fingers, his flesh burning though it didn't, his head on fire though it wasn't.
God please... Jim thought over and over again as the words to expel a demon kept coming. He cringed inside, scratched raw from boys' screams, tears filmed then dripped from his eyes while he continued to chant, while he drew close to the boy whose place in the universe was being fought for in this very moment.
"No! No! John!" Jim grasped the agonized father, blocking him from his son.
"Please... Dean..." he met Jim's eyes through tear flooded eyes, "...my son..."
"Dad! Daddy please..." Dean cried on the ground, reaching for his father, his body writhing, his face twisted in pain, shredding John's heart in his chest. He had no way of knowing that though it may be the first time he'd hear his son beg, that it was not the last, and when it came again, in the fullness of time, even the creature that would have him captive in that moment would not be able to stop him from reaching his boy.
But for now, John Winchester allowed himself to be held back, "...get the knife..." Jim instructed returning to his chanting and holy water crossing while placing himself between the boy and the knife so John could get to it without being tempted.
Neither man knew how long Dean fought with whatever had its hold on him, neither man could do more than they were until his young fragile body lay still, quieted by exhaustion, giving them a window of opportunity to restrain him.
Jim pushed the apartment door open letting John, with Dean tied tightly in his arms enter first.
"Sammy!" John called as Jim zipped past him to slide the 1950's collapsible card table out of the kitchen.
"Put him on the floor..." Jim said sparing a glance at the tiny quaking figure standing in the bedroom doorway, the fingers of one hand in his mouth, the other hand holding tightly to a small pillow decorated with classic cars of the 50's, 60's and 70's, his eyes wide, tears spilling down his dirt streaked face. "Sammy stay there okay..." he urged grabbing a towel off the sink.
"God Jim... he's covered in blood..." John groaned leaning close, looking at the speckles of red on his boy's face and neck, his hair was matted with the stuff. "... Oh God..." he breathed pressing his hand over his mouth, his teeth sinking into the flesh there to keep himself from screaming. His liquid covered eyes flicked to his little one who sat squishing his big brothers' pillow to his chest in the doorway, his fist in his mouth, his eyes fixed on Dean, rocking and keening a faint tuneless hum.
"...looks like he's sweating it..." Jim muttered wiping Dean's forehead clean then showing John the towel.
Jim reached over, digging into his satchel for a couple canisters of salt, he handed one to John, "Trace the borders of the kitchen," he instructed then set about using his own to form a pentagram with Dean in its heart.
"If the Deacon's only knew..." John shook his head amazed by his new ally.
"If they saw my REAL tools of the trade...I'm pretty sure I'd need to find another job," Jim sighed sitting back on his heels taking a much needed break for a moment now that John's first son was as safe as he could get.
"Sam?... Sammy?" John frowned moving on his knees toward his baby. In the long minutes it took for them to place their guarding symbols around Dean, Sam hadn't moved from the doorway. He didn't even blink, just sat there rocking back and forth humming around his hand and hugging the classic car pillow, keeping some of it against his face.
Oh God Sam... please... my sweet little boy... it's gonna be okay... probably smells like Dean... he thought briefly in response to his little one's need for the pillow, I gotta see if he's okay... "Sam?" he scooted to his boy, pulling him into his arms while he sat cross legged on the floor. He tried to turn him away from Dean but to squirm until he could see him again was the baby's only intentional movement. "Sam... come on honey... come on, let me look at you baby... how's your uh oh's?" he asked easing Dean's pillow off his face, then angling his darkly bruised jaw and cheek upward so he could see his neck.
"Can you breathe okay?" John asked placing his ear first against his child's chest, then up against his neck, feeling his head nod. "Breathe in for me sweetheart..." Sam's chest and belly puffed up against his head, "...one more time..." he asked, and again, heard no signs of distress, "Uh thank God..." he sighed squeezing him tight, his own body now shaking with relief. One relatively safe... one to go... he thought once more lifting up his boy's shirt to double check some of the scratches he'd noted after bringing him back to the apartment and retrieving the rope.
"What do we do now?" John asked, rocking Sam in his lap while Jim flipped through the pages of a journal that seemed nearly ready to burst apart. He wondered fleetingly if his own would ever get to that point.
"Whatever's inside him, it's strong... I mean REALLY strong... I've never encountered any kind of ..." he stopped, looked at Sam then back at John, "...d. e. m. o. n... that it didn't work on..."
"So... what do we do?" John asked watching his son's head toss back and forth on the kitchen floor as if he were stuck in some fevered dream. His breath raced in and out of his lungs, Jim's rosary and John's pentacle accenting the quick rise and fall of his chest.
Jim visibly pondered for a moment, "What we really need is to get him somewhere so if he starts screaming again no one's going to hear..."
John nodded, "Yeah last thing we need is some ass hole calling DCFS on me. I won't lose my boys Jim..." he squeezed Sam a little more tightly to him.
"Bobby's or the church?" Jim asked.
"Church is closer... you could get started there and I can..." he glanced down at his baby.
"Right..." Jim nodded.
"Sam? Sammy look at me..." John urged noting his boy's eyes flick to him for an instant before returning to his big brother who now seemed to be returning from his exhausted unconsciousness.
"Look at me... I'm gonna take you to see Uncle Bobby sweetheart... You're gonna stay with him..." John started, his words finally getting Sam's full attention. He looked steadily into John's eyes.
Sam's eyes grew wide, he shook his head, took his pruney fist out of his mouth and leaned back, the only thing he really understood, that made the least bit of sense to him was, he's going to make Dean go 'way, bye bye! No more Dean?...NO!
"No!... NO NO NO NO NO NO!" he shook his head screaming, pushing himself out of his daddy's arms.
"Sam..." John said as his little one tripped over his legs then did the unthinkable. Sam Winchester turned around with the alacrity of a viper and bit his father's hand. "Yeeoowch! SAM!" John barked though it was too late.
His attack, for want of a better word, took both John and Jim by surprise, neither man was ready for his speedy little legs to be able to carry him through the salt line that marked the tile boundary of the kitchen. Sam climbed onto his big brother's chest and lay down, returning his hand to his mouth while tiny diamonds fell sideways from his eyes.
John and Jim met eyes, each man acknowledging the same nearly miraculous happenstance. In his dash to his big brother Sam had let go of Dean's pillow, and literally gotten to him without breaking a single line of salt that protected the boy.
"I guess he's not going to Bobby's..." Jim chuckled leaning over to see if the tyke's little teeth had broken John's skin. Fortunately, they hadn't, but he could see the indentations of them, "Yeow..."
"Yeah..." John nodded grinning, proud of his baby despite his chagrin, "Little booger..."
The two very frightened men looked from the boys on the kitchen floor to each other and began to chuckle, which invariably led to an almost scary-long time of deep belly laughs. Neither of them immediately noticed Sam sit up on his big brother's chest with his head cocked to the side, studying them, so confused his hand was out of his mouth and slapping his brother absently on the forehead, trying to get his attention. This of course sent the two men into yet another fit of laughter, this bout resulting in them rolling on the floor head to head, clutching their stomachs.
"Dean?... daddy's scary..." Sam said softly, his hand still thumping lightly on Dean's forehead.
Dean tries to suffocate him, busts his lip open, leaves him black and blue and sporting a necklace of fingerprint bruises, speaks in tongues not even Jim understands or recognizes, then throws him a solid... had to be about seven feet into a pile of sticks and stones... and I'M the one who's scary...
Sam scooted to the edge of his brother and slid down his side until his feet were on the floor, uncomfortably close to the salt line that made up the inner pentagon of the pentagram.
"NO!"
"NO!" Jim and John barked together, holding their hands out in the 'stop' gesture.
"Stay put Sam... hold on..." John pushed himself to his feet and took a step toward his boys.
To his astonishment Sam climbed back onto his brother, wrapped his arms around his neck shaking his head and said, "No... me'n Dean... we stay together..."
John hung his head, "You're right kiddo... we're a family, we all stay together... but that means we're going to Pastor Jim's church so we can help Dean so his uh oh goes away okay?"
Sam looked from his father to this nice new person that made both his daddy and his brother smile.
"We'll go together..." Jim nodded.
"'Kay..." Sam grinned, kneeling on Dean's chest now, his hands stroked over his red speckled face and he pushed up on one of Dean's fluttering eyelids, "...c'mon Dean... we go now... gonna fix your uh oh..." he nodded peering closely into his brothers eye.
"...Sam?..." he groaned.
Sam squealed and clapped then noticed his red covered hands and the darkening red smears on his brothers face, "Dean?..." he questioned then held his hands up toward John, "Daddy?"
"Dean?" John asked kneeling carefully between salt lines, taking his baby's hands into his then looking into his beseeching face, "We'll fix him up good as new Sam...I promise."
"Dad..." his eldest breathed, "...s'something inside..." he tried not to sob, "...it wants..." he looked at Sam, "Go by Jim runt...'kay?... love you Sammy..." his breath broke while saltwater tears washed away some of the blood-sweat on his face.
Sam leaned over, his face millimeters from Dean's, "Daddy gonna fix your uh oh... love you too..." he kissed his big brother then let his father put him on the far side of the line that seemed to mean so much to them. He stood for a moment, then grabbed Dean's pillow back into his embrace. Holding it tight to his chest, Sam traded the whole fist in his mouth for just the thumb so he could get a better grip on the one thing that was his connection to Dean. The corner dangled between his chubby little legs as he walked stiltedly around in circles, his distress obvious in the return of the tuneless hum despite his reassurances to his big brother.
"Sam you okay?" Pastor Jim crouched in front of him, his big warm hands around his tiny belly. Sam sniffed then shook his head watching as his father leaned over his big brother who said something into John's ear that made him blanch.
"You know we're gonna make Dean all better right?" he asked running his hand over the boy's silky hair.
Slowly Sam's liquid gaze moved from his brother who was being held and rocked by their dad, to Jim's.
"I want MY Dean..." he squeaked.
Jim couldn't help himself, all he'd seen of these boys, of this extraordinary, tight little family, and whatever it was he felt in the presence of these two children, there was something about them that drew out every protective instinct he had. His heart could break for all three of them, for what they'd lost and HOW they'd lost it. He felt a hot sting in the back of his throat at the desolate sound in the baby's plea and opened his arms. He was surprised just a little when Sam stepped into them, latching his arms around Jim's neck, squishing Dean's pillow between their bodies, then laid his head on Jim's shoulder with his thumb back in his mouth.
"We'll get him back Sam... we'll make him all better, I promise..." Jim choked holding Sam tight, stroking his back and feeling his own breath trembling in his chest.
He leaned down, grasped his bag and headed for the front door, "C'mon John, let's get these boys whole again huh?" he stroked Sam's back, "You can ride with me kiddo... kay?" he smiled sadly feeling Sam's head nod against his neck.
--
John kept his hands clasped tightly to the wheel of the impala, his head spinning not with the foreign language droning that poured out of his son's mouth from the back seat, no that had already become background noise, but with what Dean had haltingly whispered into his ear. In enough Winchester fashion to fill John's heart with hope that his first born would be able to win against the thing trying to use him, Dean had struggled to tell him what he'd been able to sense of the thing. His heart pounded hard in his throat while he drove, following Jim to his church where the added sanctity of holy ground might help with forcing this... parasite...out of his son. Before we do anything I have to tell Jim... I don't know what difference it'll make... he looked into the rear view mirror where Dean lay across the back seat, his face sheened and dripping with blood, his head resting against the door, eyes barely focusing on him in the mirror and his expression pleading as the words he spoke lost most of their menace yet remained terrifying for what it could all mean in the end.
"Do you think we should call Bobby?" John asked in the entryway of the church, holding his eldest in his arms, cradled close to his body while Jim held Sam.
Dean's head rolled back, his eyes straining to find Sam against the way John was holding him. As if he knew, Sam turned in Jim's arms reaching for Dean with everything he had nearly getting himself dropped in the process.
"Whoa there tiger..." Jim chuckled turning him around in his grip. John likewise shifted his grip so the children could see each other.
Sammy sniffed then patted Dean's cheek, "Gonna make you better...yeah..." he promised nodding, his eyes wide as the older sibling's eyes began to change, returning again to that unnatural green-gold with the vertical pupils he'd seen before, "Give me Dean back..." Sam sniffed and swiped at a red tear that fell from his big brothers' eye.
Jim and John watched the interaction carefully, neither man having much success at holding back their own tears, neither man knowing what if anything, was going to work to free John's son from whatever had him captive in his own body.
Sam's head cocked to the side as the thing inside his brother began to speak, this time it spoke directly to Sam who seemed to be trying very hard to understand what it was saying.
Jim dashed toward his office with Sam still in his arms, his little body pulling hard toward Dean while he shrieked an obvious protest, "Oh yeah... sorry..." Jim put him down, dashed to his office and returned seconds later with a pocket tape recorder. He picked Sam back up and held up the device recording whatever he could. The thing inside Dean spoke just a few seconds longer, but he hoped it would be enough when all was said and done.
"...nohn't listen... its truth is lies..." Dean gasped turning his tearful gaze from Sam back up to John's sweat soaked and very pink face. His arms were straining to hold his son for so long, "... dad... please..." he choked.
"Let's go..." John nodded shifting his grip so Dean's head was on his shoulder, right next to his. He leaned his head against his boy then pressed his forehead to Sam's, "We need you to do a very important job Sam... you have to stay up here and if anyone comes you have to cry, real loud, loud enough so Uncle Bobby can hear you okay?" John urged.
"Think you can do that kiddo?" Jim asked watching Sam's eyes grow wide before he nodded, on a whim he asked, "Sam... did you understand anything it said?"
Sam twisted looking from Jim to John then shook his head, "Uh uh... it don't like me... it thinks I not s'posed t'be here... Dean says 'YES He SHOULD!' but it said, 'No...', it said I make it scared..." he sniffed chewing on his lips to keep them from quivering, "But... Dean... he loves... Dean loves me..." he hiccoughed, "...he says 'YES!' and 'YES!' and... he..." Sam stopped for a second to draw another shuddering breath that came with another flow of tears, "...Dean says 'yes...'... and he knows..." he turned once more to look from Jim to John, both men stood stunned speechless. Sam shook his head crying harder now, "... make Dean better... please..." he pressed his face to Jim's shoulder, "Please?... I wanna stay... I don't wanna go..."
"Guh... what kind of thing IS this?" John gasped pressing his lips to his baby's forehead, "We're gonna fix this Sammy... make it so it's you and Dean together again okay? Just the way it's supposed to be...nobody's going away sweetheart... just the uh oh is going away..."
Sam sniffled, his mouth bowed hard down, "Promise?"
"I promise..." John nodded.
"John..." Jim said softly.
"I PROMISE you Sam!" John half barked over his shoulder, "You just stay here and make sure to cry real loud if someone comes in okay?"
"'kay daddy..." Sam nodded then turned to kiss his brother.
Dean's head twisted fast from John's shoulder, slamming hard enough against Sam's forehead that they all heard the clash of bones. The head-butt was accompanied by another cascade of hard sounding words in that perplexing tongue that fell venomously into the air.
"Ow..." Sam frowned, his mouth and chin quivering while he rubbed his head for a second then scowled and stuck his tongue out at the thing that used Dean to hurt him, "Meanie..."
Jim turned whirling Sam away from the possible danger, "Go John... I'll get him set up with a coloring book or something..." John turned down the stairs working hard to control the squirming bundle in his arms that was growing insanely strong.
"You okay kiddo?" Jim asked examining the rapidly reddening spot on his forehead.
Sam nodded.
"'Kay... let's get you a coloring book..." he smiled.
"I 'member where..." Sam offered rubbing his head with a frown while pointing to a small hutch against the wall.
Jim set the youngest Winchester on the floor, made sure the doors were bolted locked then bent and kissed the top of Sam's head, "We'll get you your brother back Sam... So help me God... we'll get him back..."
Nodding silently Sam climbed onto the couch, crawling to the corner, the coloring book in one hand, Dean's pillow and a grass green crayon in the other. At the corner he squished himself as tightly as he could, pulled the pillow to his chest, then the coloring book and crayon. His thumb went directly into his mouth and he started to rock.
--
tbc.
Please R&R.
Thanks.
sifi