Chapter Three

Dean felt like he was being tossed. Not too hard or anything, but enough to get his heart racing with anxiety a bit. He was soaring, and tumbling head over heels through absolute nothingness like a football soaring through the air and into the hands of it's retriever. However in Dean's case, there was nobody waiting there to catch his fall, if there was a place to fall. Had he made it inside of Sam's head? Dean didn't get a chance to think about it before he found himself floating gently down and landed on his feet. "Hello?" Dean called out, listening for any response, but he heard nothing. There was no echo to his voice, no answer call back from Sam. Dean was just lost, trapped within a black void, and to be honest, it was kinda starting to freak him out a little bit. "Okay, Dean. Chill. You'll get this figured out. You always do. Just need a place to start," he murmured to himself, glancing around. He could see nothing around him. He could hear nothing around him or feel nothing around him.

Even when he'd landed on his feet, he couldn't feel the floor underneath him in which he landed. It was like he was standing on air, on the darkness. Gravity was there, but also not there. Dean smirked at himself for remembering a trick he saw at the movies once. He licked his finger and held it up, maneuvering it around himself. "Thank you, Captain Jack Sparrow," Dean grinned as he waited for the first hit of wind to touch him, but there was no wind, no warmth, no cold. "Well, this is worse than being in Davy Jones' locker," Dean mumbled and then shook his head. He was inside of Sam's head, right? After all, he'd stolen some strands of Sam's hair and slipped it into his own cup of dreamroot. He didn't get them confused, did he? Nah, couldn't have. Dean breathed in deeply through his nose.

There was nothing to smell, nothing to touch, nothing to taste, and the blackness, the darkness that consumed him seemed as if it would go on forever. "SAMMY!" Dean called out for his little brother, but there was no answer. He was just enveloped into a black void. "What the hell is going on here?" Seeing no other option, Dean began to walk. "This is really just incredibly stupid," he grumped as he walked, but of course he had no clue where he was walking to. All that surrounded him was blackness. What was this part of Sam's mind anyway? Dean trudged on, on the black void that lay under his feet, sat on all sides of him and floated above his head was almost taunting in a sense. "I don't even know what the hell I'm doing," the older Winchester complained loudly. "ALRIGHT, SAM! ENOUGH WITH THE GAMES! COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!" Dean yelled out to his brother, clearly exasperated now.

"MARCO!" he stopped and listened, but there was no response of 'Polo' which made Dean feel even more on edge than he already was. "Okay, Sam. This is getting ridiculous!" Dean threw his hands up in the air and dropped them down to his sides. "I GIVE UP! TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE! OLLIE OLLIE OXEN FREE!" Dean ran a calloused hand through his spikey hair, turning in every direction, searching for a sign of his brother. He was about to open his mouth and shout again for Sam. He stopped in mid pre-shout when he saw something in the distance. It was glowing, and it looked a ways away, but who knew how long Dean had been walking in the void section of his brother's gargantuan brain. Huffing a large, obnoxious sigh Dean rolled his eyes and picked up the pace and began moving toward the glowing object. The closer he got, the brighter it became.

"Okay, Sammy. Let's see what game you have for me next." Before long, Dean had reached his destiny, and his destiny was that of a bright, white glowing door. Shimmering light spilled from it in all directions, casting strange glows on Dean. "Huh, well… this is new, Sam," he muttered sarcastically. "You didn't make it too difficult of a puzzle to figure out, little brother. So, I wonder, am I supposed to open this big, bright door and see what lies beyond?" Dean said to himself. "Are all of Sammy's secrets inside?" chuckled Dean, but in mid-chuckle the door slowly opened, all by itself without Dean even touching it. That stopped Dean cold in his tracks. "Oh… w-well, I guess that'd be a yes?" the hunter stammered, feeling somewhat alarmed by a door that just opened all by itself, and he could feel his heart rate picking up. Trying his best to keep his game face on, the older brother stepped up to the door where it opened wide enough for him to fit through. "Here goes nothin' I guess." He cleared out his throat and took a tentative step forward, stepping through the door way.

Once Dean was inside, the door slammed shut loudly behind him causing him to whirl around in surprise. It was the first sound he'd heard since he got here. There was an even an echo to follow. Dean scrunched his eyebrows together, studying the door before light shone around him, and he could finally see his own feet in front of him. He was standing on a very clean, simple linoleum flooring that almost reminded him of a kitchen tile. Dean looked up and what he saw nearly made his heart leap right out of his throat. Mirrors.

Rows and rows and rows of mirrors as far as the eye could see, and something appeared to be flickering in and out of each of the mirrors, but Dean couldn't quite make it out what was in them. He saw nobody else in the room of mirrors except for himself, so nothing could be making the reflection. Confusion and the urge of curiosity of a hunter filled the older Winchester, and so he moved toward the first set of mirrors. They stood tall, elongated. They were adorned with simple and elegant with dark, oak framing, and delicate glass. Dean stood in front of the first one, feeling slightly apprehensive. "So, am I supposed to say, 'mirror mirror on the wall. Who's the manliest one of all' or something?" Dean studied the mirror, and noticed that his reflection was not appearing in it. "Okay, this just gets weirder and weirder… what the hell is all this about, Sammy?" he wondered out loud.

Dean reached out to touch the mirror, and as soon as his fingertips grazed the cool glass, an image appeared before him. It was of Sam. He was very young, no older than maybe three years old. His little face was tear-streaked and he clutched a raggedy teddy bear to him as he toddled out of a room and to Dean's side. "De!" echoed little Sammy's voice all around Dean. It was as if that entire, tiny voice filled the entire room. "De, scared!" He stood at the edge of the couch, where Dean himself, no older than seven or eight yours old, had been sitting and reading a comic book. "What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean heard his younger self, just as clearly as Sam's voice. He cringed at the sound of it. He sounded irritated with his little brother, and then Dean remembered this. Little Sammy had had a nightmare and all he'd wanted was his big brother.

That night, Dean had already been irritated with their father and took it on his little brother. He remembered feeling horrible about it later. Dean tried not to listen to his voice as it snapped at the toddler Sammy, telling him to go back to bed and be a man. He tried walking away from the mirror, but the others just played the same scene as Dean tried to get away from it. However, it was to no avail, and so he stood in front of one and waited out the rest of it watching intently. Dean found himself flinching at his words and remembered how he'd been trying to channel dad that night. It only ended up with a very devastated little boy, who ran out of the room sobbing. "Oh man, Sammy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I was just trying to be like dad, thinking I could 'be a man' like he always told me." Dean sighed, feeling slightly abashed. "I gotta tell him this if that still weighs on him. He's gotta know I didn't mean what I said. We were just kids."

"I already know you didn't mean it, Dean," a little voice sounded from behind Dean and he whirled around to come face to face with a little boy. He had to be no older than six years old. Dean knelt down in front of him, to get a better look. Those giant, hazel, watery puppy eyes peered right back into Dean's surprised green ones.

"Sammy!" Dean questioned, the shock heard clearly in his tone. It's what it looked like to him anyway. A real, live 6 year old Sammy standing right in front of him with his full-on puppy pout, and wiping his sniffly nose on the back of his hand.

"Dean?" the little voice piped up again and Dean found himself reaching out to put one of his big hands on one of Sammy's tiny, little shoulders. "D-Dean?" the little one whimpered out. "Why?"

"Why what, Sammy? What is it little man? You can tell me so I can fix it. I'm here for you, Sammy. What's wrong?" the older Winchester asked his little brother. Sam's bottom lip quivered and his tiny jaw trembled. Dean could tell this about to turn into one of his little brother's full-on crying fits. Sammy sniffed loudly.

"W-why did Jack have to die, Dean? Why? Did we do something wrong? I prayed to God every single night for Jack just like I do for you and Daddy," the small lip puckered out and tears started making their way down his brother's small face. Dean remembered this too.

Sam had been six years old, and he had been ten. His dad had rented them a house just outside of a town he was currently on a job in. They were going to be spending awhile in the town as a lot of dangers had popped up in the area for their father to take care of, so instead of renting out a motel for months, he rented them a house to stay in while he went about his business, and Dean took care of Sam just as he'd promised their dad that he would. A dog had followed him and Sam home one day when the two had walked into town and Dean bought them ice creams from the ice cream stand. It was a friendly, and sweet, with a constantly wagging tail, but the poor thing was also frail and hungry. It looked as though it had more German Shepherd in it than anything. Sam and Dean spent a few months taking care of him, and fattening him up, but one tragic day, the dog had ran out into the street chasing God only knows what and got himself hit by a car.

The dog had only survived for a few hours after it'd been hit. Sam had laid with Jack, tried to offer him food, water, a toy, but the dog just whined and lay there in misery. There was nothing Sam or Dean could do, but watch the dog slowly suffering until he finally passed. Sam and Dean had brought the dog out to their back yard. They had a small funeral for him (for Sam's sake), buried him together. It had been just the two of them and their beloved Jack. Little Sammy had been downright heartbroken as he'd been the one closer to the dog. He'd brought Jack scraps from dinner, played in the yard with him and brought him water. Dean reached out and brushed tears from Sam's cheeks, but the gesture had been pointless because they were only replaced with more.

"Awww kiddo. Jack got hit by a car. His body just couldn't live anymore after the car hit him. Remember I explained that to you once? Sometimes it's just…," Dean froze, at a loss for his words as he watched the tears streaking down his little brother's face, one right after the other. Sammy sniffled loudly.

"I-I know all that, Dean, but I thought that maybe if I prayed to God, God would make Jack all better. Why didn't he get better, Dean? Pastor Jim always said you should pray for the ones who are sick or hurt and God would make it better. He told me that once, Dean when you got hurt real bad and you were in the hospital. Pastor Jim told me to pray for you and that God would make you better, and he did. So why didn't God make Jack better?"

Little sobs choked their way out of Sam's voice as he did his best to make Dean understand. Unable to overcome the urge to hold onto his little brother, Dean gathered the small form into his arms and held on tight. Little Sam returned the gesture and clung to Dean's shirt, crying openly as a small child with a broken heart would. "I don't know, Sammy. Sometimes it's just their time. When it's time for them to go, God takes them and they go with him. That's just what happens," the hunter tried to explain to his crying little brother. "So, God took Jack and you know what Jack is doing right now?"

"What?" Sammy asked, sniffling into Dean's shirt and sounding genuinely curious.

"Well, Jack is up in Heaven and he's with God and he's with all the other dogs that have died and went to Heaven. He's playing and he has lots of bones, lots of food and lots of toys. He's in a better place now that makes him lots more happy." He hated lying to his brother, and kept his disgust hidden at the name God, but he didn't know what else to do, and so he did the only instinctive thing he could think of. He'd say anything he could to make his brother stop crying like that.

"Really?" Sammy's voice sounded lighter. He looked up at Dean, hope filling his large, watery hazels, and Dean felt his own emotions beginning to close up his throat.

"Really, Sammy." Dean promised.

"Jack's happy and safe with God now," the little boy told himself as if for his own reassurance. "Thanks, Dean. You're the best," the relieved little boy said, throwing his arms around Dean's neck and holding on like he never wanted to let go. Dean pressed his nose into Sam's soft, dark, baby curls and breathed in deeply.

"So are you, Sammy. So are you." Dean told his little brother, closing his eyes.

"Don't worry, Dean. I'm not mad. You're the best, Dean. You really are. Everything will be okay, Dean. I'll protect you too," his little voice spoke, muffled into Dean's shirt, but the older hunter heard it clear as day.

He felt Sammy squeeze him, and then the warm body disappeared from his arms. Dean looked down, bewildered. The six year old version of his brother was gone. Dean stood up, still in the room of mirrors, images still flashing in and out of the mirrors as well. Scratching his head and feeling a little confused, the older Winchester ventured on. "Well, if this is how we're gonna play this game, Sam, then I suppose I can hang out in here for awhile and follow the rules, but just this once. When we're outta here, and I find you, you're so not pulling this shit on me again, little brother."

As he walked past the mirrors, Dean noticed that they were filled with Sam's memories, some of the hardest, saddest, scariest memories of his life, but there were some happy times as well. The further he walked, the older Sam got in each slate of glass. And the more Dean walked, the more unhappy his memories became. The unhappy ones seemed to override the happy ones, but he soldiered on. If he was going to find Sam and help fix his slowly breaking psyche, then he'd watch each memory of his little brother in the mirror. Dean stopped in front of another mirror in particular, not able to take his eyes off of the memory that engulfed this one.

Sam was running in it, screaming out Dean's name, panting, crying and grasping a .45 in his small, trembling hands. He was exactly twelve years old in this memory, because Dean remembered it too like it had been yesterday. Their dad had thought it would be fun to take Sam on his first hunt… on his twelfth birthday. Dean remembered how pissed he'd been with his father that day, because all Sam had wanted was a birthday cake, some candles to blow out , a new soccerball and a new book. He'd been devastated, and Dean had seen it in his little brother's eyes, but Sam didn't peep a word to John, after he'd already nearly ripped Sam's arm off when he forced him to go into the bedroom and change into clothes more suitable for the job. Dean hated that night, and hated this memory. He wished he could wipe it from Sam's memory. Maybe this night could've changed his little brother's entire destiny. This was the night Sam became a hunter.

"Sammy! No!" his younger self's voice screamed out his little brother. Dean saw the sixteen year old version of himself lying on the ground, his hands clutching his leg. His jeans on his right leg were ripped open, and blood was seeping through his clenched fingers that held his wounded leg. Dean remembered. That bitch had clawed through his jeans, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it looked. Of course, that's not what Sam thought. Sam had been panicking.

"I can't do it, Dean! I can't!" twelve year old Sam cried out. "I'm scared! I don't know how!"

"Yes you can, Sammy! You can, do it!" sixteen year old Dean encouraged his little brother. "Do what I taught you! Aim right for the heart! Just like we do at target practice! Please, little brother," Dean was pleading, practically panting from the pain. "You can do this, Sam! C'mon! I need you to do this!"

"I-I," the young Sam stammered as he backed up toward Dean and stopped. He froze, just staring at the snarling creature advancing toward them. "I-DEAN! HELP ME! NOOOO!" Sam screamed, seemingly frozen by fear, but before the younger Dean could say a word, Sam shot off four rounds of silver into the werewolf's heart. The blood splattered and the creature had fallen to the ground with a sickening thud.

"I was so scared, Dean," came his brother's tremulous voice from behind him. Dean whirled around to find the twelve year old version of his little brother, sitting on the floor of the room of mirrors. His knees were drawn up to his chest, both arms wrapped tightly around them. His seemed to be rocking slightly. Blood was covering his hands, splattered across his jacket and all over his face. "I was so sure it was gonna kill us, Dean. I really thought that we were going to die. I couldn't stop shooting the gun." Twelve year old Sam, turned his face upward to stare into Dean's.

There were no tears. There was no hitching breath, no suggestion that an oncoming breakdown was imminent, but what he saw in his little brother's eyes nearly sent him over the edge. He'd never noticed it when he was younger. Perhaps he'd been too young, or maybe just ignorant to what this job had been doing to his little brother. That werewolf had been Sam's first hunt and first kill. All on his own with no backup. His normally shining, dancing hazel eyes were now clouded over, and haunted with the trauma of his first kill. His eyes now carried a new look, a new expression, much more than what any twelve year old boy's eyes should've looked, the eyes of a hunter. "All I could think of was, my big brother was gonna die, and it would be all my fault. I had to save you, Dean. I had to save you, just like you saved me."

Dean found himself kneeling down in front of Sam once more and he reached a hand out again to placate Sam. He laid it tenderly on his kid brother's arm and gave Sam a gentle squeeze."Hey, hey, it's okay, kiddo. Just calm down now. It's alright. You did a great job, Sammy. You were a real hero that day, remember? You saved me and you saved anybody else that werewolf might have gone after. Sam, you were so brave."

Twelve year old Sam just shook his shaggy head. "No, Dean. I'm not brave. I was so stupid. I could've gotten you killed. Dad even said so. Dean, all I wanted was a normal birthday. I just wanted to be twelve, Dean. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to play soccer, but Dad told me no. He thought that taking me hunting on my birthday would be fun. I never wanted this, Dean. I never wanted to be a hunter. I wanted to be safe, and normal and happy. Not running scared, not unsafe and not…not normal, but I stayed Dean. I stayed for you. Because you're my big brother. You're the only one that made me feel happy and safe and at home, but… I still wish we could've had normal, Dean. I really do," Sam's voice grew a little shaky and he blinked his eyes rapidly, looking away from his older brother.

"I know, Sammy. I'm sorry," Dean responded softly, running a hand through his little brother's hair to comfort him. "I know you did. I know you wanted to play soccer and eat birthday cake and go to school. I'm sorry I couldn't give that to you, Sammy. I truly am." And he was. He never knew his little brother had truly ached this much for normalcy. Dean let his head drop and he closed his spring green eyes tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Dean felt Sam's small hand lay on the top of his head. "It's okay, Dean. I don't blame you. I will never blame you. You're still the best big brother in the world. Everything will be okay, Dean. I'll protect you." And then Dean felt the touch of Sam's hand against his head disappear. Dean looked up and as expected, twelve year old Sammy was gone. What was this about Sam protecting him? The last little Sammy had told him the same thing. Confused, worried and getting a little nervous as Sam's memories only seemed to grow worse the older he got, Dean stood up on his feet, dusted himself off, straightened his jacket and ventured on to wait more waited him in the neverending mirrors.

~End Chapter