What If Dean Had Asthma?

Chapter Three: Moving Homes

It was Sammy's last night at Pastor Jim's. Tomorrow he was going to live with his new foster family. It wasn't a huge move, he was still going to be going to the same school with the same friends and could easily walk back to Pastor Jim's if he wanted. It was still quite a large change, though and Sam didn't like change at all because so far in his life, it hadn't done him a lot of good.

He was having a small farewell party at Pastor Jim's and had invited Natalie along to join in, even though he'd be seeing her just as often as ever. He would have invited Robby and Ben, but they weren't always the most sensitive of people and this could prove to be a sensitive time. Anyway, Natalie was the only one who knew his secrets. She was a little too perceptive and had noticed the books in different languages, the symbols, the copious amounts of salt (no one is that clumsy) and the fact that Sammy owned a very expensive-looking and sharp knife.

No one else had even an inkling. He had only been there a year. Still, it was longer than he'd stayed anywhere else. He almost liked it, except that it was because his family were dead.

He hated that he compared everything he did to what it was like before his dad and Dean died. Hated that he measured how long he'd known people in terms of before and after. Though the before group wasn't too large. In fact, he measured everything that way, compared every single thing. The thoughts came to him unbidden, everything was different and he noticed that everything was different. Even the damn spaghettios tasted different when anyone who wasn't Dean cooked them. But these thoughts also made him sad, it had been just over a year, that was all and already he was noticing the changes less. He was becoming more used to life without Dad and Dean, forgetting things.

How could he be forgetting things? He thought about Dad and Dean all the time, there wasn't a moment went by when he didn't feel their loss. But that, apparently, wasn't enough. There were little things, like his dad's face just as he got his first gulp of coffee in the morning, he couldn't even remember if there had even been anything special about it. And what had Dean looked like when they'd watched cartoons together? God knows they'd done it enough but there was nothing, just that they used to do it, and Sam would lean against Dean because Dean would let him.

He worried about forgetting his family, he didn't want them to become creatures of myth like his mother had been. Some days he panicked and just wrote down anything he could think of, any small quirk or scene that played itself before him. This helped him to remember more. Except he wasn't remembering them, not really, he only remembered the words and pictures he'd conjured for himself to help him remember. He would remember writing the memory down and how it made him feel and between those things he pieced the memory back together, but it wasn't like a normal memory, not like one that came easily and naturally, he had to work to keep it and that somehow made it less real.

That was another reason he didn't really want to leave Pastor Jim. Pastor Jim was like one living and breathing reminder and the house was full of memories too. He'd seen his dad and Dean talk to Pastor Jim and Sammy knew that he remembered them as well. He liked that, it was almost a physical connection to the past, a knowledge that he wasn't the only one missing them. It soothed him sometimes and reminded him he wasn't alone, there were still people there for him.

Going to this new place scared him. It was fresh, it was clean, it was free of anything Dean and Dad. Sammy had to bring as much of them with him as he could because it would be all he had. There were precious few people in the world that could give him an insight into his family and he was leaving one of them behind. It scared him so much he could cry. He had cried.

So, this was why it was only Natalie he'd invited. Because she and her friends had been so nice to him on his first day of school and had continued like that until he'd eventually started to be enjoyable to be around. Also, it meant there would be less to cook, which was good because Sammy was doing the cooking to say thank you to Pastor Jim. Natalie could also help (as long as they didn't tell her mom because she wasn't really allowed near hot things).

It wasn't a very flashy meal. Peas, spaghettios and sausages. The spaghettios still didn't taste like Dean had cooked them. Sammy was kind of relieved to find this because it meant there was something he hadn't forgotten.

Sammy was silent for the most part of the meal, leaving Pastor Jim and Natalie to do most of the talking. He liked it that way, just letting the voices wash over him as he ate his last dinner at this table. He had to remind himself that he wasn't leaving anyone here behind, they were going to stay in his life and for a moment, he let himself just get carried away on the bliss that was that thought.

As the meal drew to a close, he started wishing something would happen that would mean he didn't have to leave. The end of his farewell party being so close made him realise the enormity of what was about to happen, something he'd been trying to ignore ever since the date had been set to this weekend.

It wasn't that he didn't like Mr. And Mrs. Milton, they seemed perfectly nice. It was just such a huge move and he liked it here with Pastor Jim and everything was going well here and he really didn't want to move. It was like when Dad had made them pack everything up and move, except without the perk of actually having a dad.

He was almost crying by the time Natalie hugged him goodbye. He told himself that could wait for when he got into bed. He wasn't going to ruin his last night at Pastor Jim's by crying through it. Natalie was picked up by her mother and called back to Sam before she disappeared down the road,

"See you at school on Monday!" which helped because it reminded Sammy that this wasn't the end of the world and that everything would continue after it happened. He'd been through worse, he thought defiantly.

That defiance lasted until around about the time he climbed into bed and said goodnight to Pastor Jim. He remembered the tears that he'd been on the brink of just a few hours earlier, but as he lay in bed he just couldn't find them. He felt hollow instead. Unsure of what was going to happen and with butterflies in his stomach the size of elephants, he snuggled further into his bed and clutched the jacket tighter.

The jacket didn't smell like Dad and Dean anymore but Sammy ignored that. He liked to think the jacket had been worn by his dad so many times, it had become a part of him and Dean had always loved it. Sammy hated to think what Dean would've said if he'd thrown the jacket away. Sammy wasn't ever going to throw it away.

He'd thrown away a lot of Dad and Dean's things. He'd kept most of Dean's clothes because he'd fit into them one day and his dad had brought him up to be practical in these matters. Also, Dean's clothes still smelled of him because they hadn't been touched much. When Sammy was feeling the loss of his family a lot more than the usual everyday dull ache or he was particularly distressed over his loss of memories, he'd take them out and the smell would remind him that everything would be all right. He only did that when he was in dire need because he wanted Dean to stay in those clothes, not liked he'd already rubbed him out of the jacket.

He'd kept his dad's journal, of course. It would be useful for when he went back to hunting, or if something decided to come after him, as well as being an insight into his dad that he'd never got during the short nine years they'd had together. He hadn't yet read it, it still felt like a betrayal to read his dad's innermost thoughts. When he'd first picked it up, opened it to the first page and started to read, his eyes had blurred after the first sentence and he'd put it back in its box. It was still there, untouched since that day.

The impala was now a permanent fixture in Pastor Jim's garage. It was somewhere that Sammy would go when he wanted somewhere quiet to sit. Not that Pastor Jim's house was particularly noisy, but it was the most calming place for him to sit. He was taking it with him to his new home, there was no way he'd leave it behind.

Sammy had given all the weapons he didn't know how to use to Pastor Jim, as well as the few books they had. Sammy didn't know that much Latin yet and he thought that Pastor Jim might be able to put them to better use. While he'd been staying there, he'd seen the other hunters that had passed through and learnt that his family wasn't the only one Pastor Jim had helped.

He'd also learnt to stay out of the way when other people visited, otherwise it always came up. Who's this? they'd ask, Sammy Winchester, Pastor Jim would reply and then they'd say things that Sammy was beyond tired of hearing. Oh yes, I was sorry to hear that; he was a good man; he was a good hunter; it was a real shame; a real loss; pity about his son, too. Dean was always an afterthought, just another casualty in the fight. He wasn't a great fighter like Dad. He couldn't be because Dad left him behind to do all the things Dad was too busy fighting to do, like bring up Sammy.

Sammy stopped at that thought, shocked at what his own brain had come up with. He hadn't meant it, he didn't think ill of his dad, not at all. He'd just got carried away in his anger. He was sorry he'd thought it, he'd never think it again.

He slept awfully that night. He wondered if the butterflies hadn't got their elephant friends to come join in and just wished they would all go away so he could get a good night's sleep. Or at least some sleep. He tossed and turned for hours, trying to fix his mind on something that wasn't how much not having Dad or Dean still hurt or how much he didn't want to go live with the Miltons or how much his life just sucked right about now.

If something had bothered Sam this much before, then Dad probably would have killed it by now and Dean would be there to tell him how stupid he'd been for fussing in the first place, but then he'd ruffle Sammy's hair or punch him on the arm to show that he didn't mind. His problems weren't killable any more. Well, there was one way killing could solve everything but just imagining the look on Dad and Dean's face was enough to push all ideas of that kind out of his head.

He did get to sleep eventually, but it wasn't in the slightest bit restful or peaceful. His mind had returned to the worst moment of his life and was succeeding in making it even worse than usual.

Dean's rattling breaths were loud in his ear. The trees were tall and dark, the sky overhead cloudy and tinged red with a fire Sammy couldn't see. Dean was standing with his back to a tree, eyes darting all around and the shadows leapt for him, closing in on all sides. He blindly fired off a few shots, scratched at his throat, which was obviously giving him trouble, and then put both hands back on the gun, knuckles white he was clutching it so hard.

There were some yells from the darkness, Dean took in a long breath that didn't give him nearly as much air as it should have done and called for his dad. He received only another yell in reply. Dean pushed off from the tree he was leaning on and landed against another one coughing hard. The breaths in were now catching in his throat as he tried to drag in all the air he needed and then expel it again just as desperately. Stumbling from tree to tree, he made it almost ten yards before he had to collapse to his knees and concentrate solely on his breathing. He fired a shot off to his left at a black shape he saw out of the corner of his eye, not checking if he got it, or if there was even anything to get. He tried calling for his dad again but his voice was even weaker than the first time he tried. He glanced all around him, there was nothing but black tree trunks, fading away into black night, black leaves waving at him, black shadows waiting to engulf him. He coughed his throat raw.

A growl alerted him to one of the hell hounds' presence. He shot and hit it in the paw, enough for it to melt away again but it was still there, watching Dean as he choked and coughed. He let out another call for his dad, but it was a pitiful attempt and his dad had been awfully quiet since his last yell.

Dean fell sideways and scrabbled at his neck as if he could scratch a new hole in it. He didn't have much time left and he knew it as he stared up at the sky. This was a scene Sammy was familiar with. Dean was dizzy and confused. His mind was sluggish and centred wholly around his breathing, or his lack of it. Dean's jaw worked as though that would entice more air either way. His whole body was writhing with the effort to breathe, as though kicking out at the floor would some how expand his lungs. His chest and diaphragm were convulsing desperately but the sounds from Dean's mouth made Sammy's legs give way beneath him. The wheezing was quiet now and high pitched, it was squeaking in Sam's ears, squealing, this is the last noise your brother ever made.

Tears were running freely from Dean's eyes, he rolled onto his side, facing Sammy. He put both his hands back on the gun and held it close to him, the only thing he could protect himself with. It was useless against this enemy and he knew it, but he didn't have anything else to hold on to.

Then the wheezing stopped. Dean's eyes went wide. His chest still laboured in a futile attempt to drag oxygen through the now sealed airway. Everything began to slow, Dean's legs stopped kicking the hands that clutched the gun so hard began to grow lax. His whole body stilled. He blinked slowly once, twice, the third time his eyes didn't open again.

Then his dad burst onto the scene. He was scratched and scraped to hell but the broken look on his face when he saw his son was what looked the most painful. John ran towards Dean but was leapt on by one of the hellhounds while he wasn't paying them any attention.

He was on his back, his gun had flown out of his hand, one hound sitting on his chest and the other two were quickly approaching.

The fight was short and gruesome.

The hounds melted away again when all was done. Sammy wiped the blood from where it'd splashed on his face and pushed himself back along the ground until he hit a tree, then he tried to push himself through it. Then he saw something he never wanted to see ever again.

Dean was looking at him. The lifeless eyes were staring at him, through him, wide in fright and horror. Staring out of the dead, expressionless face. Staring and unmoving.

Sammy sat up in his bed shaking, sweating, crying. He threw off his cover, dragged himself to the side of the bed and threw up.

The next morning Pastor Jim phoned Barbara and Ed Milton and had a long conversation that Sammy didn't listen to while he half-heartedly pushed his cereal around the bowl. He was still going, if he didn't go now he'd have to go later, so he'd decided to get it over and done with. He was all packed and ready anyway.

That didn't stop the butterflies dancing around in his belly.

They loaded up the car and left as soon as possible because Sammy didn't think he could bear to be this anxious for any longer than he had to be. He'd never seen the house before and as they pulled up, he thought it looked quite nice. It wouldn't really take much for Sammy to think a house was nice, though. He'd call something that wasn't a motel room and had a garden nice, regardless of the house itself.

Babara and Ed Milton were standing on the porch, also looking quite anxious, which made Sammy feel better. He smiled from the car and they waved back. They walked down to the car to meet him and help bring all of his stuff up to the house. Not that he had much stuff, he still didn't see any reason to buy lots of useless junk. He was still ready to pack up and move at any moment, it was a habit of a lifetime.

"Hello again, Sammy!" said Barbara, bending down to his level and holding out her hand. She had found out on their previous meeting that he wasn't very prone to hugging people he barely knew. They shook hands. He also shook hands with Ed, who then picked up the one bag left in the car. Pastor Jim had the other two.

"This all you got?" Sam nodded, "We'll just take these on up to your room, that okay?" Sam nodded, he knew that the Miltons were trying to make everything easy for him, make sure he knew what was happening and he was grateful for that. But about small things like that? He really didn't care. Except about one thing,

"Don't open them," Barbara looked relieved that he spoke because he hadn't spoken at all in her presence yet.

"Don't worry, I won't. You go along with Barbara now, I think we've some cookies waiting in the kitchen," Barbara ushered Sammy along in front of her. Sammy was startled by this, it was something that Dad and Dean used to do. Keep him in front of them, where he could be seen, where they could watch him and keep him safe. He liked the feeling of being watched over and even though Barbara could never live up to either Dad or Dean, the gesture was appreciated.

They sat at the kitchen table in silence for a few moments, a plate of still-warm cookies between them.

"You can call us Mom and Dad,"

"I won't," Sammy replied immediately. He didn't say it petulantly, just that he was stating a fact. Moms were people who died on the ceiling in flames and he could only ever have one Dad. But Barbara hadn't quite understood and she looked a little hurt by Sammy's brisk reply, even though she was trying to hide it, "I already have a Mom and a Dad, they're just not... here," he explained. Barbara's face brightened,

"Oh, I see, that's fine, whatever you want. You can call us Barbara and Ed, then," the silences in this conversation were almost physically painful. Sammy didn't mean to be so rude, he just couldn't think of anything to say. "We want you to feel at home here. We don't want to replace your father or anyone. We want you to be as happy as possible," said Barbara, "Let's make this a good start to a new life, what do you say?"

Sammy nodded, even though he'd quite liked the old one.

TBC