Chapter Eight: Just Another Nightmare

The echoes creep into your dreams

Torn awake from your sleep

Unholy nightmare of savagery

This cannot be

The warmth soaks into your fingers

And soothes away the pain

Frantically replay the days

The tattered clothes still drape your frame

Crimson cloaked memories

Blood soaked destiny

-'Just Another Nightmare' by Shadows Fall

I blinked in astonishment.

"What do you mean? Did Mom know about demons?" I asked in disbelief.

Dad shook his head, "I don't think so… She never said anything about it to me if she did."

My incredulous expression prompted Dad to continue.

"The first night it happened, Mary told me all about it- I guess it really scared her- and then she told me whenever she had the same dream afterward," Dad explained, "The night before she died, your Mom had the dream again…"

I reached out but then stopped, "What was it about, Dad?"

My father shook his head, "It didn't make sense to us. I told your Mom she was just stressed because of Sam."

I waited patiently.

Dad began slowly, "Everyone has crazy dreams once in a while. But this was different and your mother knew it; I was the one who didn't put any stock in it."

SPN

Sam bit his thumbnail nervously. He stared in the direction of the backdoor, waiting for his father and brother to return.

Jim had tried coaxing him into the living room but Sam refused to move. He didn't know where Bobby and Rufus were- they had finished cleaning up the living room and had disappeared- but he could hear the Pastor pottering around in the kitchen.

Sam felt ashamed that he couldn't speak about Meg and Barclay and that Dean had to tell their father everything. He wondered if John thought he was a coward.

"Sam, are you sure you don't want to sit down? I have tea and cookies," Jim plied, coming up behind the younger man and startling him slightly. Sam shook his head.

Jim nodded, "Feel free to come and sit anytime you like."

Sam didn't respond and continued to stare out toward the backdoor.

The young man wondered if should go outside, find his brother and father and tell them everything.

Just the thought of talking about what Meg and Barclay had done caused Sam's stomach to curdle.

Sam imagined what Dr. Calhoun would say if she could see him now: Sam, we don't keep secrets, we talk to people. You're not helping yourself by shutting everyone else out, you know. You do want to get better, don't you? Well then, the first step to is to open up.

Sam grimaced; those were the very same words the doctor spoke every time she found out he'd skipped group.

Well I'm not at Alexander's now, Sam told himself, and I don't have Dr. Calhoun to breathe down my neck all the time.

Sam tore his gaze away from the backdoor and went into the living room.

Even if Sam had wanted to talk about the demons, he didn't feel ready. Besides, Dean knew enough about what had happened that he wouldn't have any problems telling their father about it.

Sam sat down in 'his' chair and pulled his knees up to his chin, sock-clad feet resting on the edge of the seat.

Jim looked up when the young man took a seat but refrained from speaking; sometimes a warm beverage and a sweet treat couldn't fix things.

Taking a sip of his tea, Pastor Jim returned his attention to the book he was reading- an arcane text on exorcisms- and let Sam be.

Sam tapped his fingers against his calves nervously. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing; he had nothing to be anxious about. Dean would take care of everything, like he always did.

What if Dean tells Dad and they decide to send me back? Sam thought suddenly. What if all this is just an hallucination, a delusion- what if Meg and Barclay were never even real- and they're outside right now planning on taking me back to Alexander's?

Sam's grip on his legs tightened and he sniffed dejectedly.

He looked up when Pastor Jim moved, the older man standing and stretching with his hands on the small of his back.

"Are you alright, son?" the Pastor's voice made Sam jump; he'd thought Jim wasn't paying attention to him.

Sam nodded before resting his chin against his knees, staring ahead and not meeting the older man's eye.

SPN

I couldn't believe what Dad was telling me. I kept expecting him to give me a shit-eating grin and say he was just messing with me. But he didn't.

This was making no sense whatsoever. Well, okay, in light of everything that had happened with Sam and the demons, it sort of did but the connection was tenuous at best.

"Mary told me she had this dream about a church," Dad began slowly, as if he were trying to recall everything Mom had told him.

"Was it Saint Sebastian's?" I asked, thinking of the church Sam and I had been baptized in, back in Kansas.

Dad shook his head, "Your mother didn't recognize this one… she said it looked like it had been abandoned- it was dark and dusty, the windows had been boarded up."

I let out a long, slow breath and waited for my father to continue.

"Mary said she would be standing by the alter, kind of looking up at the crucifix- she had no idea how she had entered the church, she told me she'd kind of just appeared there… but I guess that doesn't really matter- and then she'd hear voices."

I leaned my back against the warm passenger door of the Impala, arms folded across my chest.

"How many?" I asked, suddenly Officer Winchester once again.

Dad shrugged.

"Did Mom say if they were adults or children?" I prompted.

Dad scratched at his scruffy chin. He had dark circles under his eyes and his face looked haggard.

"Adults, definitely," Dad answered, "Because moments later, Mary saw them."

I raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Your mother said she would hide behind the alter and watch as the people entered the church… she told me she didn't really remember all of them… there may have been three or four- but by the time she woke up it was hard to keep track- but she never forgot one particular figure…"

Dad rubbed a hand over his face, "It was a man, just some ordinary looking guy, but your mother knew he was evil. He also seemed to be their leader or something- he did most of the talking-"

I couldn't help but interrupt Dad at this point, "What did he say?"

My father shook his head sadly, "Dunno. Mary never knew."

"Damn," I muttered under my breath before looking up at my Dad, "Is that it?"

"No," Dad answered, "Sometimes Mary woke up at this point but other times she'd stay asleep… she, jeez, she really hated this part, scared her…"

My breath caught in my throat and my back tensed up.

"The man would motion to one of the other people and they'd pull this figure forward…. Mary said she never got a good look at his face but she knew something bad was about to happen to him- had already happened to him- 'cause he was covered in blood."

"Blood," I muttered to myself, "Jesus Christ."

"His shirt was red with it- Mary told me- his hair dripping with it," Dad continued, his voice growing thick with emotion- perhaps he was thinking about those late nights when he'd stayed up with Mom to listen as she told him about her fucked up nightmare- before hitching altogether and he had to stop for a moment.

I was shocked that my mother would have a dream like this. Really, I pictured her as an ice cream and kittens kind of person. But I guess you don't have any control over what your sleeping mind dredges up, subconscious thoughts and all that.

"Mary didn't know if the blood was his or somebody else's," Dad's voice sounded weak, whispery and I was startled at the toll this retelling was taking on him. Maybe I should have waited until he'd recovered a little bit more from the possession before satisfying my own curiosity.

"You're sure it was a guy? Mom was sure?" I asked and my own voice sounded strange to my ears- too high and scratchy to come from me.

Dad nodded, "She just had this feeling, you know? Anyway… well, I guess they wanted the guy to do something but he refused and this pissed their leader off something fierce. Mary told me he'd whip his hand out and the poor guy would fly across the room as if he were attached to strings or something-"

"Hold on!" I interjected again, "He threw this guy across the room without touching him?"

I think I was now beginning to see the connection. This sounded a lot like demons to me.

Dad bobbed his head once, looking sickly.

"Your Mom… she'd… she'd scream when that happened… she told me she wanted to run and see if the guy was okay but her legs never moved," Dad continued, swallowing thickly, "An' their leader heard her I guess 'cause Mary told me he'd stare straight at her and then she'd wake up. Just like that."

I slumped against the classic Chevy.

"That's it, he stared at her?"

Dad shuffled his feet in the grass for a moment, "Said it felt like the eyes of a hawk or an x-ray, like the bastard knew everything about her in that single glance."

Rubbing a hand on the back of my neck for a moment, "That's really fucked up, Dad. I'll give you that… and it does kind of remind me of demons but… what does it have to do with Sam?"

Dad looked up at me and his dark eyes were glazed and sad, "That boy covered in blood- he was your brother."

SPN

The backdoor slammed open, startling Sam, and Dean entered the rectory.

The younger man didn't even look up when his brother stepped into the living room. He stared straight ahead and bit his lip nervously; his fingers tapped against his legs in agitation.

"Sammy? Hey, you okay?" Dean asked and Sam nodded minutely.

Sam flinched when his brother gripped his shoulder, "Sam? Talk to me, man!"

Green eyes filling with tears, Sam sniffed as he peered at his brother's concerned expression, "Please don't send me back to Alexander's, Dean! I'm not crazy, I promise! It was real! It had to be real! You saw! You saw the scars-"

Sam gasped as Dean held up a hand, "Whoa, slow down. What're you talking about? I'm not going to send you back to the hospital."

Sam blinked and looked up at his brother hopefully, "Really?"

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Yeah, really. What's gotten into you, Sammy?"

The younger man shook his head, feeling ashamed. He should have known better; Dean was always the one trying to convince Dr. Calhoun his brother was better off with his family.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered, "I just thought… with Meg n' Barclay and you telling Dad… that…"

"You feeling alright? When was the last time you took your pills?" Dean asked anxiously and looked toward the kitchen doorway.

Sam shrugged, "Ah… before Dad arrived?"

"Okay," Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder and turned to go get the medications.

"Wh-where is Dad?" Sam called out, cringing when he stuttered. Dean didn't seem to notice though.

"Taking a look at the Impala," Dean answered from the kitchen. Sam heard the snick of prescription bottles being opened and the small, dull thuds of pills being counted out.

"Okay," Sam whispered. Looking around the living room, Sam only then noticed that Jim wasn't sitting where he had last seen him.

Sam's heart began to pound in his chest, "Uh… Dean?"

"Yeah?" His brother answered distractedly.

"Pastor Jim… he's… he's here, right?" Sam muttered and his mouth went dry.

Dean poked his head out of the doorway and he surveyed the den, "He probably went to see what Bobby and Rufus are doing."

Sam nodded and laid his chin on his knees as he waited for his brother.

Dean entered the living room, a saucer in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

Sam set his feet down on the hardwood floor and straightened up, his back twinging slightly.

He tensed when Dean put one hand on the side of his face after setting the dishes down.

"Sammy, look at me," Dean ordered softly and Sam turned his green-eyed gaze onto his brother's hazel one. He wavered, eyes flicking to his brother's forehead and then to Dean's mouth before settling.

"I know this is hard for you," Dean began and Sam suddenly tried to turn away, uncomfortable with the physical contact. Dean kept his hand steadied on Sam's cheek and prevented Sam from moving.

"We're doing our best to figure this all out," Dean continued quietly, "And Dad's going to help us, okay? He understands… he really does. We are not going back to New York State… okay? At least not for a little while."

Sam's gaze drifted to the left, over Dean's shoulder.

"Sam! You're safe here. We aren't going to let anything…. anything happen to you."

"You understand me? Yeah?" Dean finished, recognizing when his brother's attention began to wane.

Sam nodded frantically, the demon attack and the idea of revealing his treatment at the hands of Meg and Barclay taxing his stress tolerance for the day.

"Okay," Dean said with finality and gave Sam his meds and the glass of water.

The younger man grimaced at the amount of pills he had to take.

"I know it's a lot but you've gotta take 'em," Dean had caught sight of Sam's expression, "At least you won't have to take all of them forever, some are just antibiotics and stuff like that until your immune system's better."

Sam nodded; he knew Dean was right but it didn't make him feel better.

"How about we go upstairs and get you into bed, you've had a hell of a long day," Dean suggested in a way that told his brother it wasn't up for discussion.

Sam didn't feel the least bit tired but there was no point in arguing with Dean. After chasing down the meds with water, Sam noticed the hollow feeling in his stomach and wondered if he should have eaten something.

As Sam followed his brother upstairs a thought occurred to him and he couldn't keep silent.

"Dean?" Sam asked and looked over his shoulder at his sibling standing on the stairs below him, "Is Dad going to stay here? With us?"

"For a little while at least," Dean replied, clearly confused by Sam's question, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," Sam mumbled and continued climbing up the stairs.

Once both brothers were at the top of the landing, Dean reached out and gripped Sam's upper arm in a tight- but not painful- grip.

"You know that what Dad was saying before… before the demon appeared," he began sternly, concern etched into his tone, "That was not true… Dad doesn't really believe all that shit."

Sam frowned. It was difficult to figure out just what his father did believe. He remembered John's reaction when the doctor had told them he was sick and the fact that Mary practically had to drag her husband with her to Alexander's. Sam hadn't seen his father in months, since before his mother's funeral- the man didn't even take ten minutes to pick up the telephone!- and though Dean said that John was busy, Sam knew better. He wasn't stupid.

Sam saw Dean mirror his downturned mouth and his brother sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Look," Dean told him, "I can't really speak for Dad, okay? But know that he does not hate you. I think he was just scared… is still scared. All the old man wants is for you to get better, okay? Just like I do."

Sam was still dubious, "He could have made more of effort to show me that."

Dean nodded, "Yeah, he could have… but no one can change the past but… you can pave the way for a different future."

Sam blinked at his brother for a moment and then chuckled, "Where did you hear that, Dean?"

Dean grinned, "I got it in a fortune cookie and I've been waiting to use it."

Sam shook his head good-naturedly before Dean turned serious again.

"Give Dad a chance? Okay, if not for me than for him. I mean, he knows what happened now and he'd be some kind of asshole if he still slipped back into his old habits with you," Dean asked of his brother and Sam couldn't say no.

"Besides," Dean ended, "Bobby n' Rufus n' Jim are here to help me keep him in line."

Sam laughed again, feeling somewhat better and walked down the hall toward his room.

Dean followed him but when Sam stepped inside, his brother stayed in the doorway.

"Try and get some sleep, Sammy," Dean told him and Sam nodded as he threw back the blankets.

The younger man didn't even bother changing clothes; he just slipped into bed and pulled the covers up to his chest, not the least bit tired.

"Sleep well," Dean whispered before he left, giving his brother some privacy. Sam listened to the sound of his brother's footfalls as Dean walked down the hall and then the stairs.

Staring up at the ceiling, Sam focused on breathing slowly and evenly. He could hear the sounds of muffled voices from somewhere downstairs- maybe Dean and Dad- and the creak and groan of the wooden floorboards. Shifting onto his side, Sam stared at the bedroom window, his eyes tracing the spider web of cracks in the glass…

Sam walked slowly down the dimly lit hallway.

I know this place; Sam thought and recognized the institutional grey-tile floors and white-washed walls of Alexander's. The doors to the patients' rooms were all closed and it was deathly silent.

Sam frowned. It was never quiet at the hospital, even in the middle of the night. Sam stared down the silent hallway and saw a trail of red spots leading further into the hospital.

Walking slowly, Sam realized that he was wearing the familiar blue draw-string pants, slippers and white t-shirt he always did whenever he was in Alexander's.

Dean lied to me. He took me back, Sam thought sadly even as his feet seemed to move of their own accord and propel him down the hall.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and pattered onto the grey-tiled floor. Raising a hand to wipe his face, Sam stared at his fingers, smeared with blood.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding far too loud in the quiet hospital.

"What happened?" Sam looked around at the closed doors around him for answers.

Realizing that he was all alone, Sam's hear began to pound fearfully in his chest and he broke into a run.

Turning the corner that would bring him to the hospital's entrance and the nurses' station Sam choked out a cry and skidded to a stop.

A pile of broken bodies was piled up before the desk serving the nurses. Blood covered every limb, clotted hair, dripped from mouths open in terror.

Retreating to the safety of the hallway, Sam's legs gave out on him and he grabbed the doorway for support. Sliding down to a crouching position, Sam put a hand over his mouth in shock as he recognized some of the faces in the mess.

He saw Jenny and Floyd and Dr. Calhoun…

"Noooo," Sam moaned and turned away from the sight. The sound of footsteps caused Sam to jump and peer around in fright.

Bernadette was walking towards him, her rosary wrapped around her hands.

"You," She hissed, "You did this! You killed them!"

"No! It wasn't me!" Sam protested and shrank back when the woman's eyes turned black as coal and she laughed.

"You murdered them all, Sam Winchester!"

Sam put his hands over his ears and called out his brother's name…

"Sam! Sammy! It's okay," someone was shouting in his ear and all he could do was shrink away from the threat.

"Nooo," Sam moaned, "Wasn' meeee."

"Wake up Sam!" the voice demanded, "You're having a nightmare!"

Sam struck out with both hands and he heard his attacker swear when he felt one fist connect with flesh.

"Damn it Sam! Open your eyes!" the voice swore and someone was shaking him roughly.

Sam did as the voice demanded and slid his eyes open.

Dean. It was just Dean. Looking frustrated and worried but it was his brother.

Sam immediately stopped fighting and went limp in his sibling's arms.

Ashamed, Sam felt tears seep from his eyes, "I'm s-sorry."

Dean didn't say anything, he just wrapped his arms around him and Sam let him.

"You're okay," Dean soothed as Sam's heart beat began to slow.

"Dean…" Sam began but bit his lip, "Dean, I'm scared."

"I know," Dean cooed, "But it was just a nightmare, okay? It wasn't real."

Sam nodded against his brother's shoulder. A nightmare. That's all it was. It didn't mean anything.

Sam looked over his Dean's shoulder and saw their father standing in the bedroom doorway, a harried, cautious look on his face and Sam turned away so John wouldn't look at him anymore.

Sam shuddered as he recalled the dream, the sight of all the people he knew… dead apparently by his hand. Sam lifted his hands up close to his face but he didn't see any blood on them, not even under the nails. Still, Sam felt the overwhelming urge to wash them.

"Are you alright, son?" John asked softly and Sam was surprised when his father's tone didn't sound accusatory at all.

Sam nodded and pulled away from Dean's embrace, wrapping his own arms around his midsection.

"I'll…. I'll be o-okay, Dad," Sam whispered quietly and Dean gripped his shoulder once before standing.

"Why don't you go back downstairs? I can take care of Sammy," Dean said and John nodded. Sam heard his father's footsteps as the older man stomped down the hall.

Sam didn't really want his brother with him. He wanted to be alone.

"I'm f-fine, Dean," Sam stuttered, "Pl-please go."

His brother looked skeptical but then he nodded, "Ten minutes, okay? And then I'm coming up to check on you."

Sam nodded. Dean was giving him more freedom than he would have had back at the hospital. If he'd had a particularly disturbing dream or a 'break'- as Dr. Calhoun called a schizophrenic episode- Sam would have to have one of the nurses or an orderly watch his every move for the next few hours afterwards.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief when Dean followed their father downstairs. He sat on his bed for a few seconds, looking around the room. The crucifix had fallen from its nail again and the window had new silvery cracks in its panes.

Once again Sam looked at his hands- just to make sure- and laid them on his thighs when he saw they were clean.

Biting his lip, Sam stood and stretched, wincing at the pull on the scars on his back.

Walking across the hall to the bathroom, Sam felt the door open and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Frowning, Sam raised one hand and picked at a speck of dried blood on his cheek.

Just a dream. It wasn't real. Sam was no stranger to vivid nightmares and knew that although they could seem realistic, they were only a product of his illness.

Sam turned on the hot water tap and washed his hands until the skin was red and sore, until Dean came upstairs to investigate and brought him into the living room where the rest of the men were chatting amiably over tea and cookies.

Sam didn't fail to recognize the worried looks his father and brother gave him or the sympathetic expressions on the faces of the hunters and shrank into his chair, retreating inward so that he could have some privacy.

Sam couldn't get the sight of all those dead bodies from his mind, the corpses of people he'd once known- some of whom he cared about- and told himself that he definitely wasn't a murderer, that he had never hurt anyone in his life and wouldn't start now.

It was just another nightmare.

Author's Note:

1. Thanks to BranchSuper, DeanCasLover22, missingmikey, Samstruck, L.A.H.H, MysteryMadchen and my Guests for reviewing.

2. Thanks to everyone who alerted/followed/favourited.

3. Please review! I love reading them.