Dean was awake, but he didn't want to open his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept in a comfortable bed with clean, perfumed sheets. He could smell bacon and French toast cooking. He could also hear a female voice singing an old song. Where was he? He was getting used to being completely lost lately.
"Good morning, sweetie," said Marty, carrying a tray with Dean's breakfast and a large cup of coffee. "How do you feel today?
"Morning, ma'am," said Dean shyly, "uh, er..."
"Don't tell me you don't remember my pretty face, honey?" she said, laughing.
"Um...nope," Dean said, sitting in the unfamiliar bed, still finding himself feeling completely lost.
"My husband and I found you. You had fainted in your car last night, we brought you here and I tell you the minute I showed you the bed you were sleeping like a puppy."
"Thanks ma'am, but I have to leave now. I really appreciate all you did for me but..." Dean said, getting off of the bed, but he soon realized he was wearing only his boxers, so he stopped and covered himself with the sheets. "Sorry, ma'am." Dean was starting to feel the lack of air in his lungs and his chest was protesting his sudden movement.
"My name is Martha, but everybody calls me Marty, so stop calling me ma'am. I feel terribly old when you do that and don't be sorry, Dean, I was the one who stripped you last night," she said, laughing.
"Oh!" Dean exclaimed, flushing. "Marty, could you tell me where my bags are? I really need my stuff."
"I'm washing your clothes right now, so you can borrow some of Fred's clothes in the meantime."
"Thanks, but I really need my bags, I have medication to take."
"Oh! Honey, so young and taking pills." Marty went to the kitchen for a moment and then came back with Dean's bags. "Here you are, Dean."
"Thanks, Marty," Dean said with a smirk. He started looking for the paper bag that contained his prescription bottles and the inhaler.
"May I ask what they are for? And why you have those nasty, ugly scars?"
"Long story," said Dean, opening the bottles. He swallowed two different types of pills, then used the inhaler. "Ugh, I hate all of this crap."
"Do you feel okay now?" Marty worriedly asked a few moments later.
"I'm fine, don't worry," Dean said with a mouth full of bacon, having moved on to breakfast.
"Well, I left you some clothes and fresh towels on this chair," said Marty and then she left the room.
Dean finished his breakfast quickly, then went to the bathroom to take a shower. He stopped in front of the mirror and looked at the scars crossing his chest from side to side. They were ugly, but at least they were healing nicely.
Then he saw his tired and sad face. He thought that the world had kicked his ass very hard this time, but he was still standing and fighting. After his shower, he did some breathing therapy, the ones that the therapist had taught him at the hospital. Then he went to the kitchen where he found Fred and Marty sitting at the table having breakfast.
"Morning, boy. How do you feel today? Do you remember where you are or what day it is?" said Fred, smiling.
"Umm..." Dean mumbled.
"Oh, I see, you're brain is still a bit jumbled," laughed Fred. "I'm Fred. Well, kid, you can stay here as long as you'd like," Fred said, standing and offering his hand to Dean.
"Thanks, but I'm leaving..."
"To Seattle?" interrupted Marty. " What are you looking for in Seattle, darling?"
"Long story. Sorry, but I don't know you two and..."
"And we don't know you either, Dean," laughed Fred. "But the Lord placed you in our path and the Lord is never wrong."
"Fred, darling, could you help me with this can?" asked Marty
"Please, let me," Dean said, opening the can with ease.
"We need some help around here. We are old people now, Dean. If you want, you could stay and work for us? We need a handyman in the church. Our roof has leaks. Marty told me you're sick, so stay here for a bit and allow your body and mind to heal," said Fred, seriously. "And I'm not going to accept no for answer."
"I could stay a few weeks to help you with that roof, but after that I really need to be on my way."
"Deal."
After talking with Fred, Dean took Sam's phone and called his father, but as usual he got no response. But he was luckier when he called Bobby.
"Hey, Bobby! It's Dean!"
"Hi!"
"Listen, I'm in Colorado right now, helping some people with a small problem they have, but as soon as I finish it I'll go to help you and dad with that hunt and ...umm...I have to tell my Dad something..."
"John is right here with me, wait a sec."
"Dean?" John barked.
Silence.
"Um... Hey, Dad," Dean finally whispered.
"Where are you? How are you? Listen, I know I left you at the hospital, but I was confused and..."
"Dad, Sam is missing," Dean said, interrupting his father's explanation.
"Sam is what? When did that happen? What were you doing? How did you allow that to happen?" John shouted.
"I'm sorry, Dad," said Dean, sobbing. "Somebody kidnapped me, and when Sammy came to rescue me..." A beat. "I think that...I think ..." Dean's voice was trembling.
"What do you think, Dean?" shouted a furious John.
"A Demon possessed him."
Silence filled both receivers; their faint breaths couldn't even be heard. Finally, John found the strength to speak.
"Where he is now? Is he okay? What kind of Demon? I want answers, and now!" yelled John.
"Sorry, Dad, I don't know... I don't know where he is, I don't know if he's okay," said Dean, tears now openly streaming down his face. "I don't know anything."
"Where are you now?" asked John, sensing the stress in Dean and calming down a bit.
"I'm in Colorado. I was going to Seattle to meet you, but I had some trouble and..."
"I going to start calling people, hunters, and some friends in the police force," interrupted John. "And I have to finish this hunt with Bobby. This little bastard killed a lot of children here... Okay, Dean, this is what we are going to do. Listen. Stay in Colorado, help us with the research and as soon as we finish here, we're going to meet you and together we are going to find your brother. Okay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir."
As time passed, Dean lived a double life. In the mornings and afternoons, he helped Fred with the roof and others things in the church that needed to be repaired. But in the evenings, he locked his door and became Dean Winchester the hunter again.
Every night, after having dinner with the Jones, he excused himself and went to his room to do some research. Every single night he started by reading a letter, a letter from Sam. The police found near him in that dirty garage almost two month ago, where the bad guys had left him to die.
But they were wrong, he was a fighter and whatever doesn't kill him, makes him stronger. Sammy's letter was worn down, because Dean kept it in his jeans pocket. It was a reminder to him of the task at hand. Every single night Dean, with tears in his eyes, made a promise after reading the letter.
"Sammy, I'm going to find you, and kill the son-of-a-bitch demon. I don't matter if I have to go to hell to do that, because I'm already living in it now. If you can hear me with your psychic antenna, you must know that I'm coming. Wait for me. Don't give up."
Dean's room looked like his Dad's rooms, really. Drawings, photocopies, newspapers, reports and thousands of posts littered the walls. Books, encyclopedias, and all the other "hunting" materials, claimed the floor. Dean smirked, because he looked liked the geek boy, a library mouse surrounded by books.
He spent hour after hour looking up the demon's information, exorcism's and ways to kill the demon without hurting Sam. Lately, he started reading books on telepathy, because of this vibe he was having, as if someone was whispering in a very faint voice in his head, something he couldn't understand. He memorized Solomon's book and he could now recite the exorcism spell by memory.
He called his Dad every single day, but they were still stuck in that hunt and now Bobby was hurt. His friends didn't have any information for them. His dad told him the same thing, every single day. The repetition was beginning to weigh on Dean. "Stay there and as soon as I can I'll meet you," his Dad would tell him. Dean waited week after week and his Dad never showed. Almost a month later, he stopped calling his Dad.
A couple of days later, on a raining evening, Fred and Marty told Dean that they wanted to talk with him. The tones in their voices made it sound serious.
"Dean, honey, we want some answers. You have been with as for about two months now and we know nothing about you," said Marty.
"If you want me to leave, I'll pack all my stuff and..."
"No, Dean. We like you very much and you're so kind and helpful, but you are still a complete stranger to us," said Fred.
"From the beginning I thought that you were a lost soul with a heavy weight on your shoulders. Fred and I spoke last night and well, we want to help you," said Marty.
"Nobody can help me."
"Don't say that, everybody needs somebody and we are here to help you. So what´s your story boy?" asked Fred.
"Um! I don't know if I should tell you the truth, you wouldn't believe me."
"Why don't you try, sweetie. It would make you feel a lot better," said Marty.
Dean started pacing the living room. "Okay, I don't know why, but I'm gonna trust in you. When I was four years old and my little brother Sam was six months old, my Mom died in a fire, in a fire that started in Sammy's nursery. I saved my baby brother and our Dad saved both of us. After that, my Father became obsessed with supernatural things, like demons and ghosts..." Dean opened his heart up to this lovely and caring old couple, he was feeling somewhat safe around them. He eventually told them everything, even his darkest thoughts. And they listened in silence, respectfully, and at the end of his tale, they had tears in their eyes.
"Well that's all," said Dean, terribly sad, but feeling a lot better now. That was the second time in all his life that he had told someone who he really was.
"Oh, honey," said Marty, hugging Dean. "You are very brave, and it's not your fault what happened to your mom, Jessica, or Sam. You know it, don't you?"
"Of course it's my fault. Jessica was killed because I..." Dean could barely speak; the overflowing emotions were starting to make his voice tremble.
"Don't be silly, boy. The only thing you have done your entire life was take care of everybody else, but you..." said Fred.
"Yes, but..."
"You are full of love and care," said Marty, still hugging Dean.
"No, I'm not. I'm a bad person, I'm a killer..."
"Listen, sweetheart, you are not alone any more, you have us and we are going to help you find your brother," said Fred.
"I..."
"Stop fighting, kid. Stop fighting your feelings. Stop fighting the screams of your soul. You aren't Rambo. You are a frightened boy. And I'm gonna let you to be that kid again," said Marty.
"That kid is dead."
"Dean, you must break that stupid mask, that stupid wall you've built all of these years. You are a kid, and you are sick. And you need someone who can look after you, who really cares for you, and that person is me and obviously Fred, too.
You aren't Superman. You aren't a psychotic killer. You really don't know who you are. You have been trained as a soldier and soldiers don't think or feel, but you know you have a soul and that forgotten soul is killing you little by little. You must hear what your soul is talking about," said Marty, crying.
"I...I..." said Dean, with tears in his eyes.
"Let it all out, Dean. Allow yourself to cry. Get it out of your system, all the bad things. Allow yourself a new start in your life. It's not too late. Allow the real Dean, the one who knows how to feel, to take care of the old Dean. Cry, shout and scream, Dean. Allow yourself to express your feelings. Allow yourself to be a human being," cried Marty.
Dean started crying out loud, his sobs muffled by Marty's clothing.
"See, Dean, crying is not being a sissy, it's being a normal human being," said Marty, putting Dean's head on her shoulder and rubbing his hair.
Dean cried and shouted aloud without caring of what the people would think about him. He cried for his mom, for his little brother, for the life he never had, for his health and he cried with Marty hugging him, making him feel protected and loved.
Since that day, Dean felt that he was really important to somebody besides Sam. He doesn't need to hide any more. He could be the Dean that was screaming inside of him all of these years.
He spent day after day with Marty and Fred building a new Dean, and of course looking for Sam. Fred went to the police station and told a very convincing lie about Sam being kidnapped by a satanic cult who made him do horrible things.
Sheriff Jackson started helping with the searching, too. Even the bible reading group started helping Dean. The seventy to eighty year old ladies loved to help that handsome boy, even if they had to read about demons and exorcism.
Dean
felt like he was dreaming. All of that love and caring was enough to
fill years of sorrow and pity. But he never forgot what was his first
priority: find and free Sam.
One-day sheriff Jackson came with
good news. He had been talking with other sheriffs from all over the
country and they had found a very reliable clue. They had found
someone who looked like Sam, and has been killing families all over
the country.
That night Dean knew that the time for action had arrived. But first he needed to find a hunt, so that he could test himself. He needed to know if he was strong enough to go hunting again, strong enough to fight for his brother, strong enough to fight in the most important hunt of his life-the hunt for his brother.
