Chapter Four
Sam scooted forward on his feet, hands raised in front of him. He couldn't be completely sure which direction he was pointed, or even where he was headed. He only had a cursory knowledge of how the room was laid out. He'd find out when he ran into something. Speaking of…
"Ow," muttered Sam as his shin hit something solid. By the sound of it and how it felt against his leg, he'd put a guess on it being one of the chairs at the table. He bent down and felt with his hands: yep, the chair.
"Need some help there, Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam wasn't sure which one.
"No, I got it," Sam bit out, frustrated.
If he was at the table, that meant his duffle was in one of the chairs. He felt around for the other chair, finding it on the other side of the table. He quickly found the zipper on the duffel, and opened it.
"Sam—"
"I told you, Dean, I have everything under control," Sam snapped. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he stilled.
"That's my bag," Dean told him gently.
Sam could feel tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes. Man, I can't even get to my bag by myself.
A bundle of clothes was brought to his chest, and Sam moved his hands to latch onto it. Not wanting the three of them to see him any more vulnerable, Sam quickly turned to the right, where the bathroom was. Sam clutched his clothes to his chest with one hand, holding his other arm out in front of him. In his haste to prove he could still function normally, his foot caught on one of the chair legs, tripping him up. Dropping the clothes, he flung his arms out, but of course couldn't see to grab onto anything. He fell to the floor, thankfully missing any furniture.
Sam's head hit the ground face-first, pain flaring across his skull and nose.
"Sam!" exclaimed Dean. Sam felt hands grab onto his shoulders, trying to help him up.
"Dammit, Dean! I got it!" yelled Sam.
He sat up quickly, feeling the hands instantly leave. He bent over the floor, feeling around for the clothes. He grabbed a pair of pants and reached out, sweeping his hands across the carpet. Another hand bumped into his.
"Just let me do it!" yelled Sam.
He grabbed the rest of the clothes, standing up and reaching out. His hand ran into the wall, and he felt along until he came to a doorway. He hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door. He dropped his clothes on the floor and backed up until he hit the wall. He slid to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and letting himself break down.
Dean plopped down onto the bed, putting his head in his hands.
"Don't take it personally," said Future Sam. "He's hurt and vulnerable, and he hates feeling that way, believe me. He wants to prove he can still function without your help."
"I know, it's just…" said Dean. "He's my brother. I can't just sit back and let him go through this."
"Give him time, and he'll come around," said Future Sam. "Let him ask you for help."
The sound of falling bottles and a muffled "Dammit!" came from the bathroom.
Dean rolled his eyes. "How do I just sit here?"
"Give him time," repeated Future Sam. "He'll want your help, trust me."
The bathroom door slowly opened. Sam stood in the doorway, staring at the floor in shame.
"Which one of these is the shampoo?" Sam asked, holding up two bottles.
Dean read the labels quickly. "Your right hand."
Sam nodded and quickly shut the door.
"What do you say we head out for breakfast?" asked Future Dean.
"We can't," said Future Sam.
"Why not?" asked Future Dean.
"Because there's four of us," said Future Sam.
"Oh, come on," said Dean. "They'll just think we're twins."
"Exactly," said Future Dean.
"Fine," said Future Sam.
Sam opened the car door, placing his feet on the pavement. As he stood up, someone appeared next to him, placing their hand on his shoulder.
"Dean?" asked Sam, not wanting to have his brother take care of him.
"No, it's me," he heard his own voice say.
Sam relaxed as Future Sam led him away from the car, closing his door. Sam reached his hand out and clasped onto Future Sam's arm, allowing himself to be led into the diner. As the door opened, Sam's ears were assaulted by the sounds of clinking china and voices talking. They kept walking until Future Sam placed a hand on his chest. Sam stopped and was ushered into a booth. He sat down and scooted in, feeling someone sit next to him. A gentle hand on his arm confirmed it was Future Sam. How he could tell Dean's touch from his own, he had no clue.
"How may I help you?" a woman asked.
Sam suddenly realized he couldn't read the menu. He didn't even have a clue what kind of diner they were at.
"Yes, I'll have the omelet, side of sausage and a coffee," said one of the Deans.
"I'll have the same," said the other.
"And for you?" said the waitress.
There was silence as she waited for Sam to order. Sam's fingers clenched as he stared at the table…at least he thought it was the table.
"French toast, hash browns and coffee," said Future Sam. "For both of us."
"Alright," said the waitress, and Sam heard footsteps away from their table.
"Thanks," said Sam.
"No problem," said Future Sam.
"Alright, what's the plan?" asked a Dean.
"Plan for what?" asked Future Sam.
"Them," Dean answered.
Future Dean it is, then, thought Sam.
"What about them?" asked Future Sam.
"How are they getting home to fix our lives?" asked Future Dean.
"Well, let's let him heal first," said Future Sam, probably pointing at Sam.
"Alright, then what?" asked Future Dean.
"Probably get Cas to send them back," said Future Sam.
"Now, that's Castiel—the angel, right?" asked Dean.
"Yeah," said Future Dean.
"Alright, here you go," said the waitress. Plates clinked as they were set on the table. "Enjoy." She walked away.
"Plate right in front of you," Future Sam told him, swiping Sam's hand across the table. "Coffee at two o'clock. Syrup at twelve o'clock. Silverware to the right of the plate."
"Thanks," said Sam, reaching for the silverware.
They made it through the meal alright until the end, when they were getting up. Future Sam was helping Sam out of the booth when Sam felt a tug on his sleeve.
"No!" warned Future Sam, but it was too late.
There was a crash of glass on the floor, and liquid splashed over Sam's feet. He must have knocked one of their glasses off the table. He could feel the heat creeping across his face as the other patrons clapped. Sam had a brief wondering of why people do that when someone breaks something in a restaurant.
"It's alright," said Dean. "It's okay."
Sam's face burned a little more. "I'll wait by the car." He began making his way out the way he came in.
"Here, I'll help you," said Dean, taking a firm hold of Sam's elbow.
That involuntary, automatic reflex from Dean—the one that always told him to watch out for his little brother—was the final straw for Sam.
Sam yanked his arm out of Dean's grasp, yelling in what he hoped was the direction of his brother's face. "I'm not a kid, Dean! I can do it my damn self!"
There was no response, and Sam could imagine that the three of them were frozen. Sam turned back towards the door, feeling his way out of the restaurant. He remembered that he only took about ten steps to get to the diner, so he headed straight forward, counting. When he reached ten, his knees hit a fender. Sam reached down, relaxing when he recognized the hood of the Impala. He turned and leaned against the hood, waiting for the others.
"Sammy," Sam heard Dean's voice call.
"We ready?" asked Sam.
"Almost," Dean told him. "The other two are still dealing with stuff in there. Let's take a walk."
Sam scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. "What?"
"Come on, man," said Dean. "We both need to cool off. Let's take a walk. Five minutes tops."
Sam hung his head. "Fine." He held his hand out, and Dean wordlessly placed it on his own shoulder. They began heading across the parking lot.
"I'm sorry about that," Dean told the waitress. "My brother just lost his sight a couple days ago, and he's still adjusting."
"It's okay," the waitress told him as she picked up the last of the glass. "I think he scared the other customers more than he did me."
"Yeah, sorry," Dean said, wiping up the last of the cold coffee.
"Don't be," she told him. "It's fine." She headed into the back to dump the glass.
Dean straightened up, putting the soiled napkins on the table and sighing.
"Don't worry," Future Sam told him. "He'll be fine. Give him time."
"I'm trying," said Dean. "But it's hard." He motioned between Future Sam and Dean, who was at the register, paying. "You two may have drifted apart and can leave each other alone…but he's my brother. It's like a reflex for me to protect him."
"I know," Future Sam nodded. He looked over at the Dean at the register. "Believe me, I know." He frowned as Future Dean froze, his gaze on the Impala. The two of them approached him. "What's wrong?"
"Where's Sam?" asked Future Dean.
The other two looked out the window at the Impala to find Sam nowhere near it.
"Did he wander off?" asked Future Sam.
"Guys…" said Dean, pointing into the corner of the parking lot.
They followed his gaze to see Sam walking with someone, his hand on their shoulder. They stared at the man next to Sam.
"Another one?" said Future Dean. "How can there be three of us? Only you two traveled here, right?"
At that moment, the Dean in the parking lot looked back at the diner, locking gazes with the three of them. He smiled wickedly as his eyes flashed bright for a moment.
"Shapeshifter," Dean growled out as he darted out of the diner, the others close behind him. He barreled into the parking lot. "Sam!"
Sam and the shapeshifter stopped, and Sam turned towards Dean. "What?"
"Get back here!" Future Sam called.
"What do they want, Dean?" Sam asked the shapeshifter.
"Who knows," the shapeshifter growled, turning Sam back to their walk. "They can wait."
Dean's eyes widened. Sam thought they were just the future ones. Dean motioned for his future self. "Sam! That's not me!"
Sam stopped and turned. "What?"
"The other you and the two mes are over here," Dean called. He nudged Future Dean. "It's a shapeshifter!"
At the same time Dean yelled that, Future Dean yelled, "Don't go with him!"
As soon as Sam heard their voices at the same time, he turned towards the shapeshifter, eyes widening.
"You're not seriously listening to this?" said the shapeshifter. "He's the shapeshifter!"
Sam was confused as hell. He had two Dean voices coming from his left, and one Dean voice coming from in front of him. But which one to believe?
"Sam, don't listen to him!" a Dean called from his left. "He's lying!"
"No, he's the liar!" said the Dean in front of him. "Can't you tell it's me, Sammy?"
Confused as hell and not sure how to resolve the problem, Sam pushed Dean away from him and pulled the .45 out of his jeans. He swung the gun up, pointing it back and forth between the voices. "Don't move!"
"Sammy, don't do this," a Dean on his left said. "Put the gun down."
"Yeah, Sammy," said the Dean on his right. "Put the gun down."
"Sam, listen to me," he heard Future Sam say on his left. "You can trust me. The Dean on your right is the shapeshifter."
Sam shifted the gun back and forth. "I wish I could trust you, but I need to see it with my own eyes. And I don't exactly have that luxury, do I?"
"Come on, Sammy," pleaded a Dean on his left. There was something in his voice that was hard to place. "You don't want to hurt anyone."
"Yeah, besides," said the Dean on his right, "like you said, you can't see. You can't really aim at him."
Sam froze at that. Dean would know that Sam was a good enough shot to aim just by hearing someone's voice. Sam suddenly realized what was in the left Dean's voice: anxiety. He knew Sam could shoot and kill any of them. Which meant…
Sam turned the gun towards his right, cocking it. "Wanna bet?" By the silence, Sam could tell he was aimed right at the shapeshifter's heart. "You see, Dean knows that I can aim without my sight. Our dad trained us blindfolded a couple of times. You forgot that little bit."
Sam heard shuffling footsteps of the shapeshifter, and he fired the gun, but the shifter wrapped his arm around Sam, placing a knife at his throat.
"No!" Dean called out.
"Don't move or I slit his throat!" the shifter warned in Dean's voice. Sam could hear the others freeze. "Well, well, well. You figured it out. Nice shot, by the way, Sammy. Right in the heart. Too bad it wasn't silver." The shifter leaned his head towards Sam's ear, taking on a deeper voice. "Start using your head, boy. Didn't Daddy teach you anything?" The shifter leaned his head away. "Now let's have a little fun."
The knife disappeared from Sam's throat.
"No!" Dean yelled, footsteps rushing forward.
Sam felt a stabbing pain slice into his stomach, just above his navel. He jerked in the shifter's arms as the knife was withdrawn. The shifter's arms disappeared, and Sam fell to the ground.
As the Future Winchesters rushed for the shapeshifter, Dean ran towards Sam. The shifter pulled the knife out of Sam's abdomen, and the other two tackled the shifter, pulling him away from Sam. Sam fell to his knees on the pavement, and Dean fell down next to him, circling his arms around Sam's chest. Sam collapsed into Dean's embrace, breathing heavily.
"No, no, Sammy…" stuttered Dean, grasping at his little brother.
Dean looked down at Sam's stomach, watching the blood seep through the shirt. He placed a hand over Sam's wound, wincing as blood squirted out from under his hand.
"Dean…" Sam whined, clutching at Dean's jacket. "It hurts…"
"I'm gonna fix this," Dean told him. "It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, alright? Sammy?" Dean held his little brother closer, putting pressure on the wound. "Hey, listen to me. We're gonna patch you up, okay? You're gonna be good as new. I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take care of you. I've got you. That's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother?" Sam laughed a little at that, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. "Sam? Sammy!"
"Dean…" Sam fought out between coughs.
Future Sam and Dean, having killed the shapeshifter, exchanged uneasy glances at the familiarity of what Dean just said. He had said those exact words before…as Sam died in his arms in Cold Oak, South Dakota.
Future Sam stepped forward as Future Dean ran for the Impala. "Hey, he'll be okay."
Dean looked up at him, tears beginning to fall down his face. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because I can," Future Sam told him, unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt to expose his lower stomach. A thin scar ran along his skin just above his navel. "He will be fine."
Hope rising in Dean, he held Sam closer. "See, Sammy? You're gonna be okay."
The Impala pulled up to them. Future Sam opened the back door.
"Try and help us, Sam," Dean said as he got to his feet. "I'm sorry about this."
Dean looped his arms under Sam's arms, pulling him to his feet. Sam cried out, and blood poured out of the wound some more. Dean half-dragged, half-carried Sam to the car, pulling him onto the bench seat behind himself. Future Sam closed the door behind them and ran to the passenger seat, climbing in. Future Dean peeled out of the lot and towards their motel room.
Dean cradled Sam's head on his leg with his right hand as his left hand kept pressure on Sam's stomach. "Just hold on, buddy. We're almost there."
"Dean…" Sam whispered, words slurring. "'M cold."
"Sam?" said Dean, pressing on the wound more. "Sammy, don't you give up on me!"
"Not goin' an'where, De…" Sam trailed off, eyes sliding shut. "Jus' cold…"
Dean quickly pulled off his leather jacket, laying it across Sam's torso. "That better? Sammy?"
Sam smiled slightly, eyes still closed. "Mush better…" His head lolled to the side.
"Sammy!" Dean yelled, tears falling down his face. There was no response. He looked up at Future Dean. "Faster!"
"Already on it," muttered Future Dean, speedometer hitting one hundred.
In five minutes, they slammed to a stop at their room. Future Sam opened the back door, and Dean got out. He pulled Sam out of the car, pulling one arm around his shoulder. Future Sam took the other arm, and they carried Sam towards the room as Future Dean unlocked the door. They eased Sam onto one of the beds.
"Hurry!" yelled Dean.