Visions.
Summary. . . . . . . . . . A look at how Sam's visions could have happened throughout the years.
Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Just playing in Kripkie's sandbox.
A.N. . . . . . . . As a lover of Sam's visions, and a believer that they never really did enough with them, I thought I would do a series of short chapters based on them. So here's chapter 3, enjoy, Peanut x
Sam groaned as he felt the familiar build up behind his eyes, the signal that he was more than likely due yet another one of his brutish and violent dreams. Over the years he had become attuned to the feelings he experienced before each nightmarish dream, at first passing the signals off as little more than common ailments, only realizing their significance after one particularly brutal assault that had him laid up in bed for days afterwards, with little to do but think about what had occurred, his young mind coming to the conclusion that the symptoms were connected, yet still not knowing what it all meant. Whilst both the effects and the dreams scared the living daylights out of him, he still refused to tell anyone of the pain and torture he suffered both mentally and physically from each bout; choosing instead to suffer in unimaginable agony each time he was awoken by them. His only saving grace, his only brief snippet of comfort was that so far none of the dreams had ever come true, sure there had been some similarities, hell even some close calls, but after every dream, and numerous calls from himself asking, begging them to be careful, his family had always returned alive, making Sam feel less guilty about his secret.
The more the dreams occurred, the more he'd become an expert at hiding his pain; so stealthy in fact that he knew his father and his brother were still in the dark about what was going on; so stealthy that he knew, if his dad ever found out, that he would be proud of his son for once in his life. He had fought with his father over the years for a room of his own, their fights getting more and more intense, as he fought to gain the solitude he needed to keep his secret just that, a secret, deep down knowing that as he got older and the experiences grew in intensity, he would be unable to keep them from Dean for much longer. He hated though that his fight for independence has caused a rift to grow between him and his brother, but he knew he could never tell what troubled him in his dreams, to do so would only turn him into one of the things his family hunted so passionately. Tonight though he knew he would have a problem, tonight he wasn't alone, tonight they were all staying in a small, cramped, run down motel room, tonight Sam would have nowhere to hide. That thought frightened him more than any of his dreams ever had, the thought that his small family would tonight find out just how much of a freak he really was. He sat on his bed, supposedly researching, his hand finding it's way to knead at his temples every time he felt his brother's eyes leave him. He needed to figure out a way to be alone, but he knew that would be easier said than done. Ever since his family had returned from hunting a particularly nasty wood spirit two years ago to find him riddled with infection from a severely broken wrist, his thin body shaking from fever induced chills, he had been lucky to even get half an hour a day alone to have a shower, never mind having a night alone so that he could scream out loud as the terror struck. Sighing deeply he could only wish that he was wrong, that this wasn't going to be one of those awful things; or that he could some how muffle his anguish quickly when he awoke. Pushing the research aside, and turning off the bedside lamp, gaining curious looks from the rest of his family, he turned over onto his side and prayed for daylight.
He really should have known better, as he was roused sometime later, to a pair strong hands gripping his shoulders tightly, his body shaking every now and then as the owner of said hands tried desperately to bring him out of the daze he was caught in. He knew he must look strange, terrifying; knew that although his eyes were wide open, the pupils that stared out of them were dull and sightless; knew all this because his mind was elsewhere, caught in a nightmare he couldn't escape from. He shrunk into himself as the vivid and brutal scenes played out in his mind, his subconscious trying desperately to withdraw him from the vicious sights, and back into the comfort of oblivion; but it was all to no use as he was forced to witness yet again the horrors soon to be bestowed upon the people he loved. He collapsed into what he presumed was his brother's frame as the nightmare finally stopped, his body sweat soaked, spent and trembling, wetness trailing down his cheeks. He blinked slowly as the motel room slowly began to return, and shook his head to try and clear the blurriness from his vision, intensifying the throbbing in his skull by doing so, and bringing nausea rushing up into his throat, clinging there, choking him. His hands pushed at the arms that held him needing to break free from their restraints, his heart pounding, his lungs burning, as he struggled to take in much needed air. Finally he was released, and confused, scared, embarrassed and feeling totally alone he sank gratefully into the mattress, muffling a mumbled "I'm sorry" and pulling his duvet over his face, effectively closing himself off, ignore his brother's worried voice asking questions he didn't think he could give the answers to.
He didn't know how long he lay there cocooned, trying desperately to calm his frazzled nerves and bring his uncontrollable breathing back down to normal, before he heard his father's gruff voice ring out and felt Dean's form reluctantly rise from it's spot beside him. He wanted to ease his way from his confines, to shout out loud that he needed his brother beside him, that he longed for the comfort that form gave him, that he needed the words that were spoken soothingly towards him, that he felt cold, alone and empty when his brother was gone; but at the same time he relished the thought of being alone, to wallow deep in his own grief and sorrow, to not have to lie because he could never tell the truth; so he stayed wrapped beneath the sheets, his hands gripping firmly to the rough cotton, grounding him until his body, too tired to complain or fight, took him back into the darkness.
A.N. . . . . . . . As always I hope that you enjoyed? Thanks as always for taking time to read, I'll be back soon with a new chapter, Peanut x
