Hate to twist your mind, but God ain't on your side
An old acquaintance severed,
Render of your last endeavor
Ashes burning, you can smell it in the air,
Cause men like you have such an easy soul to steal.
So stand in line while banging numbers in your head,
You're now a slave until the end of time
"Dean!"
My voice sounded as confident to him as it did to me, it seemed; my brother approached me in a rush, letting out a breath of relief. "You found something."
"So get this; one of the victims of the 20s spate of deaths, he was in a coma for six years, before dying of a heart attack."
"Well that's just brilliant. Please tell me that's not all you've got." The desperation was clear in his wavering tone.
"He was a hunter." I looked up at Dean then, raising my eyebrows as though to say, gettit?
He drew in a harsh breath. "He found something, to stop it. But why didn't it work?"
I shrugged. "You know, I think maybe it did."
Dean frowned.
"Just...hear me out. After this one guy, the pattern started. I think maybe he found a way to deal with the Nightmare, right? Let's just assume that's true. And for argument's sake, let's say he was only in that coma because he was...I don't know...fighting the dreams Freddy Krueger-style? "
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Oh, come on, Sam, this is not a film, this is real life."
"Yeah, we're fighting an evil creature that preys on people as they sleep, giving them horrific nightmares in which any injuries they get appear when they wake up...in real life."
I had a point and he knew it.
"So you think that's it, he just fought the nightmares?"
"Yeah. For years."
"And then what? He gave up?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't. But something changed after him; he was in a coma for six years, now the Nightmare can only attack every six years. He managed to change its MO."
"Wait..." my brother shook his head. "You said he was a hunter?"
"Yeah. I read up about him. He was Norman Hewitt, a "ghost seeker". But looks like the real deal. Back in those days there was more superstition about these things, and I guess he took advantage. Got paid, anyway. Got rich. Better deal than us, I guess." Dean just stared at me. "Until the coma and death thing."
My brother shivered. "So what you're saying is, I go all Nancy Thompson on this thing, right?"
I pulled a face. "Nancy Thompson?"
"Yeah, the chick from Elm Street. Oh, except I'll try not to get killed for the big finale. And I what? Face it? Tell it it's butt ugly?"
"Well, the first option, probably. The legend goes that the Nightmare sits on its victim's chest and confers bad dreams upon them. So Dean," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "get it off your chest."
"Haha." He shrugged me off. "So it's invisible?"
"Not exactly. When you're awake, it doesn't really...exist. Not tangibly, anyway. Now this guy, this hunter, I think he missed something. I think that he was fighting the nightmares, but he was missing the 'Nightmare'."
"Sam, please stop with this Freud crap. Just let me know what I need to do."
"Okay; what I'm trying to say is that this hunter didn't have me. He was fighting the dream aspect of this creature; but when it's actually causing the dreams, actually sitting there on your chest and screwing with you, it's invisible, but it's there, it's corporeal. And it's vulnerable."
"What you're telling me, in effect, is that I have to go to sleep, maybe get killed trying to get this thing dead? Or at best, go into a coma for a couple years?"
"No. I'm saying, you go in and go in fighting, and I'll smoke the bastard. Together, we might have a shot at ending this."
Dean looked up at me, his mouth a thin line.
"And this is the only way? Because 'might' doesn't always cut it."
I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is, Dean."
"This is the last damn time, Sammy."
I came looking for Dean a half hour later, after gathering the salt, silver, knives and holy water my brother and I'd collected early for the hunt.
He was in the bathroom, retching over the toilet.
"You good?"
He didn't turn, or answer, so I left him to it.
He emerged a while later, pale and shivering, tears still streaking his face, from throwing up, I assumed. Even if the tears were from an emotional cause, not a physical one, I doubted Dean would open up enough to tell me how he felt about all this. Anyway, I could assume he was freaking out; going to sleep again was about the last thing he wanted to do right now.
But that was my brother. Ready, or at least standing here, where so many others, where I would falter.
"Dean, if we do this, we do it now. There'll be others like you soon. If you can, it needs to be now."
"I'm good. Let's do this."
So he lay on the bed.
And we waited.
And he couldn't get to sleep.
After all the I'm-so-freaking-tired-Sammy's, the caffeine pills, the energy drinks, he was wired.
"Sammy? We got any sleeping pills?"
"I don't know if that would work. I think you have to fall asleep yourself, without...you know...artificial help?"
"Fine. So we just wait?"
"Yeah."
His voice came out muffled as he rolled over, face on the pillow. "I can't sleep," he whined, and I got a sudden shiver down my spine because I remembered so clearly saying that to Dean, years ago, Dad off on a hunt, just me and him, scared and waiting, waiting, always waiting, because Dad could be dead and then there'd be nothing, and Dean could look after us for a while but he was just a kid, and as much as he had been the world, been a hero, been infallible, even I knew he couldn't look after us, not really, because...because he was just a kid himself, just a kid playing grownups, convincingly, but playing nonetheless, and I couldn't sleep, and as silly as he must have felt dealing with pretending to be the man, and be in charge, he had sat up with me, and I'd leaned against him, and the fact that he was a kid too didn't matter because he was bigger and already putting on muscle and he wasn't an adult, but he could have fooled me, because he was warm and solid and there, always there, and he pretended to be a dad, I pretended to be a son, we both pretended to know Dad would be okay, that we'd be okay, even if he wasn't. And I slept.
I found myself standing, as though to walk to the bed, and sat back down at the table, feeling foolish. The memory was so real. Solid.
Dean hadn't turned, didn't see me rise stupidly as though I could do for him now what he'd done for me when I was vulnerable. When I needed my brother.
He was too proud, and I was too...I don't know. But I couldn't be for him what he'd been for me.
I wasn't strong, or brave, or scared enough.
So we waited. Just like old times.
"'ammy?" His voice was thick with the exhaustion that sets in right before you go to sleep.
"Yeah?"
"'f I die, I'm...gonna haunt you."
"Dean, that's not funny." It wasn't, not even a little; not judging by the odd burning in my eyes, my throat, my heart. Not at all.
"Mmmm. S'rry"
"Dean?" I whispered, in case he really was asleep. He didn't reply.
I crept closer, as quietly as I could manage.
His eyes were shut tight. That same expression of innocence and security, like he'd never, ever got to wear in reality, was back on his face. I knew better than to trust that image. Dean was fighting for his life, all the while looking like a sleepy child. And I just had to wait, knowing that.
Wait for it to appear. And the moment it did, well. Dean would be able to sleep easy.
Hope you're still with me, hope that wasn't too sappy, but considering all I want to write right now is; Sammy put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and they shared a moment of mutual respect and adoration, Dean pulling his brother into a hug, and in that moment, the world was a happy place, and there were rainbows, I think it's restrained, right?
REVIEWWWW! Thank you to everyone who has, and to any future reviews, just remember, every review is a hug, kiss and pillow-fluff for hurt!Dean, people!
*sob* I think my first ever fanfic is almost at an end...maybe just another chapter and an epilogue, hopefully I can write them quicky...I don't like cliffhangers /3
It's been much fun, mishamigos! (Which reminds me, must put Cas in a fic sometime).
I still can't believe how fast I've managed to churn this out...which can be my excuse for the less-than-awesome quality :L
And I don't own any characters, or the Supernatural universe, much to my shame and disappointment.
