Chapter 8: Dream a Little Dream – part I
Their house.
He was standing outside their house.
The sky was an incredibly bright blue, with picture perfect fluffy white clouds floating in its endless azure expanse. The lawn leading up to the house seemed almost too vibrant a shade of green and the flower beds on either side of the path were bursting with vivid reds and yellows. A light breeze caught the air and moved through the leaves of the trees lining the edge of the property and a sprinkler lazily spiralled, dousing the grass with a cooling thin spray, some of which rose into the air, caught on the wind, and dispersed into a mist that held hints of rainbows in its haze.
Despite the inaccuracy of details and overly idealised perfection, for a moment Sam thought he had actually transplanted himself to the physical location. But he realised his mistake when he saw Dean, the 9 year old Dean, run up to the front door and, failing to gain entry that way, climb in through an open window and disappear into the house.
He knew that was impossible because they hadn't been back to the house in their childhood, and in the same moment he realised this, he understood that he must be in Dean's dream.
His heartbeat quickened. Whatever was going on, there could be nothing good in that house, especially if the Darona-Khab was prowling inside.
He made his way cautiously to the door and tried the handle, surprised when for him, it opened. He was about to step over the threshold when it occurred to him that he should follow in Dean's footsteps exactly. Leaving the door ajar, he moved towards the half open window and climbed in as he had seen Dean doing so just seconds earlier.
In contrast to the idyllic brightness of the day outside, when he folded his large frame in through the window, the interior that greeted him was shrouded in darkness. On instinct he turned abruptly back towards the window, but not only was it now firmly shut and immovable, but the scene outside had changed completely.
Where brightness had reigned only moments ago, now there was a desolate and barren dark landscape stretching out into the edges of a lightless horizon. Gone were the cotton white angel beds, replaced now by formidable storm clouds, churning with far too much speed than could naturally be possible, racing across a deep indigo sky while a soundless gale raged across the immediate landscape, leaving in its wake an upturned windswept disorder where there had once been such manicured precision.
And there, on the edge of the scene, just barely within the scope of his vision, Sam thought he saw something flit along the boundary of the property. A dark silhouette that was somehow darker than the backdrop it ran against and that was gone before he could be certain. Something lean and monstrously tall with long sharp talons at the end of elongated limbs and razor sharp teeth that glinted white for an instant as lightening streaked across the dark quilted sky, before it was all lost to the darkness again.
Despite knowing this was a dream, and not even his own, a sliver of fear rippled through Sam. He needed to find Dean.
Turning back into the house, he realised any hopes he may have harboured of being able to orientate himself from memory had been foolishly optimistic. The internal layout was not accurate, but what did he expect? This place was in a nine year olds dreamscape, born out of fragmented recollections and desperately clung to memories that were as faded and incomplete as torn up sepia photographs.
"Dean?" he called out, surprising himself with the sound of his own voice; it felt like an age since he'd had one.
He could make out a long corridor leading away from him, running alongside a set of stairs. Ground floor first he decided, but as he moved away from the window, he realised the interior had subtly changed around him. It was nothing he could immediately pinpoint, other than the window he had been looking through just seconds ago, having now completely disappeared, leaving nothing but a cold brick wall behind him. It didn't matter how, and it didn't have to make sense; it was a dream after all, and he suspected nothing here would be reliable or obey the laws of logic or reason.
He moved tentatively forward, wishing he had some kind of weapon and then re-remembering in the same moment that this was a dream and that it probably wouldn't make any difference.
Still. Old habits. He was a hunter after all.
He was half way down the corridor when he heard something scuttle through a room to his side and caught movement from the corner of his eye.
"Dean?" He called out again, changing direction, only to enter a room that became endlessly long before his very eyes, disappearing into the distance to a pinpoint of infinite darkness. He was hesitant to step further; infinity seemed a big place to get lost in. But what if Dean was in there?
Just as he cautiously took a step, something brushed past behind him and he spun around. This time he was sure he had seen something, someone, running down the hallway, and he gave chase.
He came to an abrupt stop at the end of the corridor, where the hallway opened up into a kitchen. Despite the darkness, he knew immediately, instinctively, that the child standing there was Dean. The back door was wide open and a dark shadowy figure loomed in its cavity.
It was their father, John Winchester, but some trick of the dream world seemed to be elongating his frame even as Sam watched, till he seemed so incredibly big and tall that even Sam felt dwarfed in his presence. He cast a long dark shadow across the room and only his eyes seemed to glint in the darkness he created. Sam tried to move but realised he was frozen in place. He called out to his father, but John didn't seem to be aware of Sam at all, his focus instead aimed down to the small figure of Dean who stood in front of him. He placed a shotgun into Deans hands, and then on top of that, a large box of salt.
"Remember everything I've told you." He intoned, as he placed yet more items on his son. "Don't forget any of it."
"Dad wait, I don't-"
"If it's not a moonlit night, you can't see them coming." He carried on, ignoring Dean's protest. Another gun was placed in Dean's increasingly laden arms.
"Dad stop. I can't–"
"You need to know the lore Dean, or you'll never learn how you'll die. Don't you want to know how you die?" And he placed a book that was far too large on to the pile in Dean's arms. Dean grappled with the load, but it was now higher than he stood and it toppled, the items scattering across the floor. John shook his head.
"You need to learn how they kill you Dean. You need to look after Sammy. If you lose him…" He left the sentence incomplete, shaking his head and looking down at his son.
Dean was scrambling on the floor, trying to collect the items that kept slipping from his reach and that seemed to be multiplying even as Sam watched. Tears that Dean frantically wiped at with his arm kept streaming down his face and his breath was ragged. Their father shook his head again, sadly.
"Have you lost your brother Dean?" Dean's head shot up to face John's accusation, a new sort of horror creeping into Dean's tearstained features, the fear quelling his tears momentarily.
"No... I… No Dad I thought –"
"You had one job Dean. I left him with you and you've lost him haven't you? You've let him get hurt."
"No Dad!" Dean's voice broke and he sobbed, but their father continued.
"They come from everywhere. You know that by now don't you? You'll never see them coming Dean. That's when you'll die. You'll burn just like your mother. Is that what you want? Is it Dean?"
"No sir!"
"She died screaming. Did you know that Dean? She screamed while she burned. Is that what you want to happen to you? To Sam?"
"No!"
"Then make sure to say the spell backwards and shoot it three times in the heart. Stab it son! Stab it! Get real close and stab it in the heart son! And then remember to add salt to the water when it's holy and dipped in blood to burn the bones. Otherwise they just come back for you. They'll always come back for you."
"I can't… I don't remem–"
But their father had already turned away and was stepping out through the door, before pausing to turn back towards Dean. He tilted his head to one side as if considering something, and then crouched down to get closer to Dean's level. He placed a large, long nailed hand on Dean's shoulder and looked at him gravely.
"I won't be coming back this time Dean. It's just you now."
"Dad no!"
"And if something happens to Sammy, remember son–", his teeth momentarily glinted white in the moonlight as he leaned in close, catching Dean's eyes and locking him in an intense gaze. "It's all your fault."
And with that he stood and left. Dean immediately gave chase but even as Sam watched, horrified, Dean seemed incapable of reaching the door, while their father seemed to cover impossible lengths of ground in single strides.
"DAD! No! Please Dad! Don't leave me! DAD!" Dean was screaming, his throat sounding as though it were ripping through his sobs. But John was already lost to the darkness outside and Dean, deflated and distraught, simply sank back down to his knees, burying his face in his hands and cried.
Sam couldn't believe what he'd just seen, that their father could just turn his back on his son like that. It was only after a moment when the shock of it had ebbed away that he realised this wasn't their father. Perhaps it had been the Darona-Khab or perhaps just Dean's projection of dormant anxiety and fear, but their father had never been the monster he had just seen.
Dean was a small shape, curled up with his back against the cupboards, arms wrapped around his pulled up knees and head bowed down, face buried.
Outside, a shadow moved in the distance.
Sam needed to get to his brother. He tried to move, but felt glued in place.
"Dean?" He called out, but Dean didn't respond. Sam closed his eyes, fighting his frustration and fear.
I can control this, he reminded himself. I need to focus and conquer this. Dean needs me.
And with that thought, he began to slowly regain movement. It was excruciating, like trying to sprint through a river of treacle, but eventually fluidity returned and he strode the last few strides quickly across the floor to crouch down in front of his brother.
"Dean." He whispered gently, not even sure his brother would hear him.
But Dean's head shot up, red rimmed puffy eyes immediately narrowing and posture assuming a defensive edge.
"Who are you?" He demanded, tears momentarily forgotten.
"Hey!" Was all that Sam managed to respond with, surprised and relieved in equal measure. "Hey it's okay. I'm a friend."
But the fight left Dean as quickly as it had entered, and he slumped back down, clearly too worn out at that moment to care whether or not Sam was a threat. His lip quivered. Sam couldn't help but react to that.
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay." He soothed. "It's gonna be okay."
"My dad left." Dean blurted out.
Sam shook his head. "He'll be back."
But Dean was shaking his head in adamant denial. "No. He said this time he won't come back." Dean took a deep steadying breath. "Because he said I lost my brother. So… So now I'm alone… And he's not coming back." He finished, his voice breaking and even as he looked to meet Sam's gaze, almost defiantly, tears slipped from his eyes despite his attempt to rally himself and he looked away quickly, embarrassed, biting down on his lip angrily as the tears continued to fall.
It was all the spur Sam needed and far more than he could bear. Without even thinking how Dean would react, Sam pulled him in towards himself, wrapping his arms around him and holding him in a tight hug. The guarded stiffness in Dean's posture, whether born from surprise or habit, remained for a moment more before finally seeming to melt away as the last of his defences fell and when they did, Dean buried his head into Sam's shoulder and cried. His whole body shook as years of sorrow bled out and he held on to Sam as though he would drown in it if he didn't, as if Sam were his lifeline.
Dean never cried like this. It broke Sam's heart in a million different ways, because Dean never cried like this.
And Sam knew this was a dream and this was different, Dean was different, but even so, it hurt. In every corner of his being, in every beat and pulse through his heart, every thought and synapse firing emotions through his head, every silent sob that racked through Dean's body and shook them both, it hurt.
This was pent up sorrow and despair, exaggerated in the dream and because it was a dream it would be easy to say it wasn't real. But it was real, perhaps more real than anything, because this was everything inside of him, inside Dean. Every sorrow that had touched him, every splinter of pain that had lodged in his heart, every shard of fear that had pierced his mind, every secret he kept hidden deep in his soul. This was everything Dean kept under control, guarded and buried inside where no one else could ever see and from where it could never be released anywhere but here. This was what Dean carried alone.
So Sam gripped him even tighter and let him cry.
He didn't know how long they stayed like that, but it seemed to Sam that even in this dream world, Dean regained his composure remarkably quickly.
When he finally pushed away from Sam, he kept his hands on Sam's shoulders and looked him in the eye. It was as though he were trying to gage something, to measure some quality inside him, and Sam let him make his quiet assessment, trying his best not to squirm under the scrutiny. Even a young, dream state Dean, was intensely perceptive and aware. Even a young, dream state Dean, was someone Sam didn't want to disappoint.
He finally seemed to come to a conclusion, and with a final sniff and gulp, he straighten, somehow growing taller by a few inches, and seeming to look older for it. Even as Sam watched, he saw a hard resilience unfurl in Dean and it almost threw Sam with its unflinching tenacity.
"My brother, Sammy, he's missing." Dean said. "I'm going to find him… Will you help me?"
And so, even after everything, it was still Sam, still Sammy, who could refocus and orientate Dean through any kind of personal trauma. Sam felt humbled and overwhelmed all at once. "I'll do whatever you need."
A tiny hint of a sad smile ghosted over Dean's features and he nodded, approving, before moving away from Sam to start gathering up the guns and salt.
Sam was about to suggest that they didn't need them, but it occurred to him that he didn't know what effect it would have on the Darona Khab. It also occurred to him that Dean didn't realise that this was a dream.
He considered telling him the truth about that, but then disregarded that notion. What good would it do, he reasoned. It wouldn't lessen the threat of the Darona Khab and it might potentially run the risk of actually alienating him from Dean if Dean didn't believe him. Sam had come into this wanting to wake Dean up but now that he was here, he realised he might actually be able to do what Cas had suggested all along; help Dean to confront the creature and bind it with the Enochian spell. All he needed to do was stay with Dean long enough for the creature to manifest itself. Given what he'd already seen, that didn't seem like it would be a problem.
Dean's shoving a shotgun in his hands startled him back from his reverie.
"Are you a hunter?" Dean was asking.
"Uh… Yeah." Sam replied, hefting the gun, checking the chambers, leaning down to his side to pick up the rounds whilst still sitting on the floor.
"Did you ever hunt with my dad?"
"Yeah I did… Actually…" Sam bit his lip. Could he really lie to Dean? He took a deep breath. "Actually your Dad asked me to stay here and look out for you… For you and your brother."
"My dad said that?" Dean asked, stopping what he was doing to look at Sam. Sam nodded, hoping he could fool Dean as effortlessly as Dean could fool Sammy. Dean regarded him for a moment more, and Sam tried to convey the confidence his adult status should have inherently afforded.
"Yeah." Sam reinforced. "He said there was something trying to get in the house and that we had to stop it."
"You must be good then," Dean said finally. "If you meet my Dad's standards." Then his features changed to convey a look that Sam couldn't readily identify on his brother's face. Worry? Fear? Shame? "I can't… I can't hunt anything yet." Dean said. "I'm not good enough. And…" He looked away, suddenly openly embarrassed, sneaking a glance back at Sam as if to check what he might be thinking. "And hunters aren't supposed to get scared, are they?"
"Every hunter gets scared Dean. It's okay." Sam reassured. But it somehow backfired on him as Dean didn't seem convinced at all.
"My dad doesn't get scared." Dean retorted, defiantly, eyeing Sam now with renewed scrutiny and open suspicion.
Sam, who was about to respond by saying of course he did, managed to bite his tongue just in time. Had he really forgotten who he was talking to? Rule number one for befriending Dean Winchester; never, ever, criticize his family.
Dean was still watching him and Sam felt Dean's defences starting to go up.
"Right." Sam replied casually, reaching for another shotgun shell that lay near his knee. "Right, of course. But your dad's a proper hunter. I meant hunter's in training. Of course they get scared." He stole a glance at Dean, wondering if he was buying it. "I used to get scared too, when I was your age, still learning to hunt."
"You did?" Dean was considering this, as though not sure he could believe it. As though no one had ever told him it was acceptable to be afraid.
"Sure I did. When I was a kid I used to be scared of all sorts of things. Werewolves, Wendigos, Vampires." He waved his arm out as if the gesture encompassed every monster there could be. When he looked back at Dean he couldn't help smiling. "But I had this great older brother who was always watching out for me. I knew he'd never let me get hurt."
Dean swallowed. "I'm not supposed to let Sammy get hurt." He said in a voice so sad and small it broke Sam's heart all over again.
"And you won't." Sam reassured him. "We'll find him and he'll be fine. You'll see."
Dean looked away, but Sam reached out to gently hold his chin and turn his face back towards his own, then placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Hey?" He waited for Dean to meet his gaze, which when he did, was done almost shyly, furtively, as though he were afraid Sam might call him out on something. "You're a really awesome big brother Dean. You need to know that. You won't let Sammy down, I can tell. I have an awesome big brother who's just like you, so I would know, right?"
Dean wavered, looked down at his feet, then gave a begrudging half shrug, mumbling something that Sam didn't quite catch but took to be an 'I guess'.
"And it's all right to be afraid sometimes Dean. You're allowed. It doesn't make you weak, it makes you normal."
Dean bit his lip, almost convinced but still not sure.
"Besides, you're not alone. I'm here and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, you understand? Anything. You gotta trust me on that… Just like your Dad trusted me to be here, to help you. It's like you said yourself, I must be good for your dad to send me… 'Course I'm not as good he is, but-" Sam ducked his head down to catch Dean's gaze again, risking a grin he hoped conveyed confidence. "I'm not far off either."
And it was the open praise for their father that finally did it, as Sam had known it would. Dean took a deep breath as if to regain himself and nodded, resolve returning. "OK. Okay, let's go find Sammy."
"Good." Sam nodded, letting go of Dean to finally stand to full height. He didn't notice the blink and wide-eyed look on Dean's face until Dean spoke again.
"Jeez dude! What did you do? Pop a load of Gigantor pills or something?"
It wasn't like Sam hadn't heard remarks like that before, just that right then it was the last thing he'd been expecting. He realised belatedly that to a nine year old Dean, Sam really would seem huge. It brought a grin to his face to hear the cocky, smart ass remark from his brother; it echoed a semblance of something Sam more readily recognised as Dean.
"Yeah. I'll lend you some, stumpy." Sam shot back, and although Dean tried to scowl, Sam caught the grin on his face as he turned away.
As they gathered the last of the weapons, stowing them in a sack which Sam slung over his shoulder, he noticed the room was much lighter now. Still not sunlit or bright, but no longer as ominously foreboding as it had been earlier. That made sense he supposed, surmising that since this was Dean's dream it would make sense for it to react to Dean's emotional climate, which as it had improved, would be reflected in the atmosphere.
But, he realised suddenly with a sickening jolt, therein lay a problem. A really big problem.
Recalling what Cas had said, the Darona-Khab infected bad dreams, nightmares, not normal, good dreams. If Sam calmed Dean too much, the dream would no longer be a nightmare, and the Darona-Khab would no longer appear. He couldn't use that to his advantage; Dean was definitely going to get infected, one way or another. Cas had warned him that there was no changing that. Perhaps it had already begun, perhaps the image in the doorway in the guise of their father had really been the Darona-Khab, already beginning its ensnarement. There was no way Sam could be sure, not enough to risk Dean's life.
A knot twisted in Sam's stomach as the dominoes fell and the implications sank in. He watched Dean looking around the kitchen for anything they may have missed. His demeanour was calmer, more confident, and Sam felt sick with the realisation that he would not only have to prevent it from flourishing, but might actually need to knock down the confidence and fragile security that he had just helped to create.
"That's everything I think." Dean noted with a hint of reluctance in his voice. He looked over at Sam and gave a lopsided shrug. "I guess we better move, huh?"
Sam could tell from the flicker in Dean's eyes that he was hoping Sam would counter that with something reassuring, perhaps suggest that Sammy was already safe somehow, or even suggest that Dean didn't need to come with him after all and that he, Sam, would rescue Sammy alone. If this had been any normal situation, there would have been no way in heaven or hell Sam would have recruited a child to be his hunting partner, even if that child was Dean. But this wasn't a normal situation, and as much as Sam wanted to comfort Dean, he knew it was the last thing he could do.
"Yeah… But you better lead the way, you know this house better than I do." And the words felt like bile and ichor on his tongue but even as he spat them out he wanted nothing more than to take them back. Wanted with every instinct in him to just gather Dean up in his arms, hide his head so he wouldn't see the bad things and just run out the door. Which was ludicrous of course because this was Dean's head and there were probably worse monsters lurking in every corner and it was all a dream any way and none of it was real, but God help him he wished, he wished he could rescue his brother, hide him away from all of it, stow him away somewhere and save him from all the years to come.
But instead he just waited.
Deans shoulders drooped ever so slightly for the smallest fraction of a second, betraying his dismay, and the room darkened by a perceptible degree in response. But then Dean, the hunter as ever, straightened, toughened, and gave a curt nod, either in response to Sam or some internal debate that he had bullied himself into resolving.
"Right…. Yeah. Okay, this way."
Dean led them out from the kitchen, Sam allowing him to set the pace while he trailed closely behind. The house was lit dimly as though from unseen candlelight, leaving dark corners and edges all around them as they cautiously made their way along the corridor. Perhaps something in the darkness seemed to ripple and churn, perhaps every now and then something they couldn't quite be sure of scuttled close by their feet. Or perhaps it was all just a trick of Dean's mind. It was not pleasant, whatever the cause.
Dean came to a stop at the foot of the stairs. "Up there." He said, motioning with a quick jerk of his head to indicate the way. He reached out for the banister, but as his small hand rested there, it faltered, knuckles growing white as his grip tightened. He didn't move, even though his eyes were darting up the stairs.
"What?" Sam asked, following his gaze, thinking perhaps Dean had seen or heard something, then realising Dean hadn't answered. "Dean?" He prompted. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Dean shook his head, as if to say 'nothing', but he couldn't commit to the bluff and he didn't even try. This was a Dean still too young to have learned the finely honed brand of emotional camouflage that the older Dean Winchester wore so well. There was something honest and still innocent in this Dean. The older Dean, Sam's Dean, was adept at comedic deflection, but this Dean, Sammy's Dean, was raw and vulnerable. He didn't hide his fear, or hadn't yet learned how to. He wore it openly, honestly, without even knowing. He would in time learn differently, Sam knew, but for now, in that moment, it didn't even occur to Dean to try hide it and Sam wanted nothing more than to comfort him for that. Instead, he simply prodded him further, loathing himself with every syllable.
"What's up there Dean?"
"…Bad things."
"What bad things?"
"It's… It'll be my Mom…. And Sammy. They're up there. They're always up there… And..."
"…And what?"
"…. There's something else."
"What? What do you think is up there?"
Dean turned on him at that, unexpected resentment flashing defensively behind his hazel eyes.
"I don't think, I know. I know there's a fire monster up there. And don't try and tell me there isn't, because I know."
"Dean–"
"I'm not stupid!" Dean cut him off, shouting, suddenly angry and fuelled by it. "The councillors looked at me like I was stupid when I told them, but they don't know what I know. I know monsters are real! And I know how my mom died, I know she's up there. She burned. My dad told me monsters are real and I've seen pictures and I know how many monsters there are and I know there's a monster up there made of fire and it killed my mom and it's gonna kill my brother and it's gonna kill me, so don't tell me there's no such thing because I'M NOT STUPID!"
Dean's eyes brimmed with tears but he clamped his mouth shut, his jaw firm and jutting out as if challenging Sam, as if wanting a fight. Because he did, Sam could see that, could feel it, the desire for reckless violence, the need to lash out, to punch. To scream. To fight. To hurt and be hurt. But this was a child's anger and Sam understood it for what it really masked; fear. He chose his words carefully, knowing he had to keep Dean dreaming a nightmare.
"I get it Dean, trust me I do. And you're probably right, there probably is a monster up there. But… isn't that what we're here for? I mean, we're hunters. You're a hunter."
Dean shook his head. "I don't want to be a hunter. I hate it! I hate all of it. I just… I wish I could leave, you know? Or I wish my dad would stop. I wish we could just be normal. I don't want to do this for the rest of my life! I want… I mean, what if I wanna do something else? Like what if I wanna be a Nascar driver or a firefighter or I don't know, anything else. What if Sam wants something else? He's too smart to be doing this crap, he could do anything... But it's like we'll be stuck like this forever coz it's what we do and I hate it." He swallowed, voice dropping to a whisper as his eyes fell with it, avoiding Sam's gaze as though ashamed of the secrets he'd revealed about himself. "But if Sam did leave I'd be all alone and… I don't wanna be alone. And… And I'm so tired of being afraid… I wish I wasn't so afraid. And I wish this was just a dream and I would wake up and Mom and Dad would be there, happy, and Sammy would be safe… But it isn't. And even if it was, it'd be worse when I wake up 'cause Mom's dead and Dad's sad all the time and I'm not strong enough to keep Sammy safe and I worry about him so much man, like all the time. And monsters are real and I have to learn to fight them because that's our job but I'm so scared of them and I'm scared they'll get my Dad and I won't be able to protect my brother and I hate it."
What could Sam say to that? He had no words. Apart from the protection angle he could have been talking to himself at around that age, when he'd been trying to come to terms with their big family secret and had been crying himself to sleep more often than not, afraid that something was coming to kill him, wishing he could just step into another life. Anything but the one they had. Dean had been there for him, and Sam remembered all the things, all the times, Dean had tried and succeeded in comforting him. He'd hammered those reassurances into him with such repetitive certainty that they had become true and even now, after so many years, he could hear Dean in his head, telling him everything he needed to hear. Before he even knew it, Sam was talking, feeling Dean's words spilling from his lips as if recalling a mantra he believed so fully, he could resurrect and recite its spirit even in sleep.
"I know that this, all of this, is big. Huge even. But we have to do this. We have to go up there and we have to fight the monster, because that's what we do. We save people. We hunt things. And yeah it seems scary and terrifying, because it is. But you know what's bigger? Scarier? Your dad. Me. And you too Dean. No, I mean it. You might not feel like it, you might feel like you can't do this, but I know you can. You know why? Because you're a big brother Dean. You'll always be a big brother. You're awesome at it. And you're not alone in this man, I'll be right there with you, all the way. I'm not gonna let anything hurt you."
Dean shook his head, still not looking at Sam. "But…. Why can't I stop being afraid? If I'm so awesome, why can't I be brave? Like Dad…" And then he did look at Sam, his eyes betraying big well pools of desperation and anguish so deep, they tore at Sam's heart in ways he couldn't even explain. "Like you."
"You are brave Dean. Braver than anyone…." But Dean shook his head again and Sam knew he was losing him. His mind raced. What would Dean have done? Dean would have known how to reach him. Dean would have known how to talk to a kid. And again, Dean's voice was in his head, conversations late at night, stories told in the darkness, comforting Sam who'd clung to them as though they'd been some kind of holy truths that would shield him from pain and protect him if he believed enough.
"It's like…." He began as the spark suddenly lit. "Like with Batman, when Bruce falls down into the cave and he's surrounded by bats and he's terrified, d'you remember? And you remember how scared he is? It's his nightmare. But he confronts it, because he has to. Because he's gonna be a superhero, just like your Dad is. That's what hero's do Dean. They get scared but they face it. If you're not afraid of anything, it just means you'll never be brave. You... my brother taught me that. And I know you're brave Dean. I know it. And I know you can do this because being afraid isn't what defines you. It's how you react to it that makes you strong. And you're so strong Dean. You're gonna be stronger than I ever will be, I can see that. I know that. You're gonna be a superhero just like Batman. Just like your Dad. So you have to do this. We have to do this. We have to go get your brother. And I promise you, I won't let anything hurt you up there. But you have to do this."
Sam couldn't tell if he'd gotten through, was still trying to think of something else he could say, still trying to resist the urge to reach out and comfort Dean, when Dean took a deep wavering breath. When he raised his head, it was the resolute, brave Dean Winchester that met Sam's gaze, his young, sad eyes carrying glimmers of an inner strength that most grown men, living their lives in selfish meekness, would never achieve.
"I want to be strong." He said slowly, as if working something out, as if needing to be sure he meant every word he said. "I can be, for Sammy. I want to be a hero for him. I have to be, don't I?" He shook his head, "He's just a kid; he needs me. I'm his big brother, I have to keep him safe. That's my job." He clenched and unclenched his jaw, then nodded. "I will keep him safe. I will."
"I know." Sam whispered, fighting against the lump that had formed in his throat.
Dean looked back up the length of the stairs into the darkness beyond. "I'm gonna do this… I… I can do this. For Sammy."
Sam didn't trust his voice not to hitch and betray him if he spoke, so all he did was nod.
Dean took a tentative step up, hand still gripping the railing, and the stairwell darkened a little. Sam couldn't help placing a hand on Dean's shoulder to let him know he wasn't alone as they made their way cautiously upwards.
"I've seen pictures of burnt bodies you know. And of my Mom." Dean stated suddenly, matter of fact-ly. "So I know what she'll look like. I know what to expect."
Sam was shocked. "What? How? Where?"
Dean shrugged, turning his head slightly as if to look over his shoulder, but his eyes never left the landing at the top of the stairs. "I snuck into a library once, found a book with pictures in it. And… And I found the police report in my Dad's things, the report about my Mom. It… it had pictures of her… after. Of her dead… I just needed to know what happened to her. I needed to see for myself."
"Dean… I…" But what could Sam say to that? He had no words, and had never even known that such a report had existed let alone that Dean had seen it. But of course their mom's death would have been investigated, and of course there would have been photos in the police report, the coroner's report. It had just never, ever, occurred to Sam to ask about it. With the work they did Sam had obviously seen enough horrific images in his life to be able to imagine what those reports must have depicted, but to know that Dean had seen them, and at such a young age, the shock of it didn't seem to fully register with him and he couldn't muster a response.
"But listen!" Dean said suddenly, urgently, this time turning fully on the step to face Sam, making him start. "You can't tell Sammy, OK? He doesn't know how our mom died. We don't tell him coz he's too young. He'd have nightmares. Besides, he doesn't remember, not like me." Dean was eyeing him earnestly and Sam nodded falteringly, agreeing to the charade, still too stunned to manage much else.
Assured of his complicity, Dean turned back and resumed his slow progress, startling Sam afresh when he spoke again.
"You're easy to talk to, you know. I don't normally have anyone to talk to about stuff." He laughed nervously, then continued hastily. "Not that I need to talk about stuff like I'm a chick or something. Jeez! I swear man, I'm not hitting on you or being weird or anything! It's just … I mean … It's pretty cool, hunting with you." He glanced a hesitant look back over his shoulder at Sam. "It's like we're friends... or something. You know? Like… Like I can trust you."
"You can. And yeah, we are. Friends I mean. So you can tell me anything."
Dean nodded and bit his lip. "I don't have many. Not that I need them... I mean I've got Dad and Sammy. But Dad's always so serious, and Sammy's too young. He's smart, don't get me wrong. Smarter than me anyway, but he's still just a kid. And he doesn't know about this stuff, so I can't tell him… But it's kinda cool, talking to you… Although…" and even from behind, Sam could sense the grin on Dean's face. "You're pretty old too you know."
Sam wanted to say something, but he didn't trust himself to speak, so he just grinned back. Then Dean stopped again. He was quiet long enough for Sam to begin asking him what was wrong, when Dean turned back towards him, face solemn and serious once more, talking quickly as if to speak before he changed his mind.
"You know, when we finish this, this hunt I mean, and get Sam back, maybe you could stick around for a while? I mean, you're Dad's friend so I'm guessing maybe he wouldn't mind? And I could share a bed with Sammy so you'd have your own bed. And I can cook and stuff … You think maybe you might stay for a bit?" And he was so hopeful and so eager and the loneliness in him was so desperate that the nod and yes promise escaped from Sam before he even knew what he was doing. How the hell would Dean feel when he woke up and Sam, this dream version of him wasn't there? Wasn't real? Sam just hoped Dean wouldn't remember any of this the next morning.
As if he'd caught a twisted tail end of what Sam had been thinking, Dean started talking again as he turned to continue upward.
"I remember bits and pieces from that night you know. The night mom died. More than Sammy, he doesn't remember anything… But I do."
"Like what? What do you remember?"
"Like… Like I remember the heat. The smoke. Sometimes I think I remember Mom screaming but I'm not sure. I think I might just remember that part wrong. I remember I woke up and I knew something was wrong, and I went out into the corridor and it was really hot and it was hard to breathe. And then Dad handed Sammy to me and told me to take him outside. He was scared, my Dad I mean. I don't think I'd ever seen him scared before and so I knew something really bad must have happened. And I wanted to stay with him but I knew I had to take care of Sammy, to get him somewhere safe, so I ran. I remember it was smoky and I couldn't see and I thought I was gonna get lost in the house for some reason, like I wouldn't find my way out. And then when I was outside it felt like I was standing there for ages and I thought Dad might not come. And Sammy was crying and I couldn't get him to stop even though I was trying to make him feel better. And my arms started hurting from holding him even though he was really tiny back then… He was so small, he couldn't even talk yet, he just cried; I was worried maybe he was cold or hurt or something. And then when Dad finally came out, he was alone so I knew Mom was dead." Dean stopped and shuddered, and the whole house seemed to reverberate with him. "It was… It was horrible. The worst thing ever. The worst night of my life. I'd do anything to keep Sammy from ever knowing about it. About any of it."
"I know." Sam whispered, not sure if Dean had heard him.
"I… I worry sometimes you know?"
"About what?"
"I don't know... I guess… I guess I worry that I'll forget what Mom was like. I think… I think if I do, then she'll be gone for good you know? Sammy doesn't remember her at all. And Dad doesn't really talk about her much. So if I forget, then I'll lose her forever. And if I can't remember her, Sammy will feel like he never even had a mom. He won't know anything about her. I know it sounds stupid, and I know I get angry at him when he asks about her, I can't help it. But if I keep trying to remember her, then at least she's still kinda around you know?… Except… I worry I've forgotten her sometimes. And if I forget, how will Sammy ever know? And he has to know, coz our Mom was awesome. She was the coolest. She used to say that Sammy, Dad and me, we were the most important things in the world to her. She always loved us. Family was everything to her. She told me. So we have to stay together, we have to be a family. It's what she wanted. I'll do anything to keep us together. To keep us safe. To keep Sammy safe… Coz I think Dad gets tired of doing it alone sometimes, so I have to start stepping up and helping out more. I have to be strong."
It was the most Dean had ever spoken to Sam about anything, the most open he'd ever been, and Sam didn't know how to respond. He suspected the tumbling outpouring was done almost in oblivion to him, as if Dean had been talking to himself, to calm himself and distract himself from his fears.
Whether it had worked or not, whether it mattered or not, whether Sam could have responded with something that Dean's honesty deserved, it was all left irrelevant at the sound of an ear-piercing scream that ripped through the house. The silence it left in its wake seemed as loud and horrific as the scream had been shrill and Sam didn't know which was worse. As if triggered by the sound, dark thick smoke began rolling downward, slinking over the steps and pooling around their feet.
Sam could feel a sudden heat all around, as if the walls were slowly burning, and he smelled something in the air, thick and rancid, cloying to the back of his throat, making him want to retch.
This is just a dream, Sam told himself. Just a dream. But he couldn't repress the fear that shivered its way through his spine.
"Be careful." Dean whispered. "We're getting close."
By now they were at the top of the stairs, and as absurd as it was Sam couldn't help the knee jerk reaction of looking towards Dean as if seeking direction or guidance or, frustratingly, permission even before advancing ahead.
The look that met his gaze however was instantly sobering, causing Sam to immediately clear his countenance and don a mask of made-up certainty, the one he reserved for victims and innocents, but hardly ever had to wear for Dean's benefit. Because this Dean was a child, he reminded himself. This Dean hadn't yet had the life experiences to generate the self-assured, dependable security Sam was so used to drawing from his brother. This Dean hadn't yet been broken and re-forged a hundred times over by all the exacting demands and drill sergeant mantras their father would drum into him, over and over again so relentlessly they would eventually fuse with his being like a resilient armour, like dragon scales, incapable of being shed unless he was at his dying ebb and even then, not fully.
In contrast to his Dean, this Dean was looking to him, to Sam, for that reassurance, to supply that certainty and strength, and suddenly Sam felt the full weight of that provision fall squarely on his shoulders. So this was what it was like to be the big brother? Having to keep a game face on and convince the world and your closest that you knew exactly what you were doing, even if on the inside you were as lost as the rest? Maybe more lost than any because after all, who led the leader? Who lit your path for you through the darkness of uncertainty, while all eyes waited on you for your next step? No one. Was this how his Dean felt? Even after so many years, Sam couldn't answer that because even after so many years if it was all an act, Sam still fell for it more often than he probably should, more often than he probably knew.
Looking at Dean, seeing how young and scared he was, and feeling the overwhelmingly protective ache that made him want to instinctively reach out and pull Dean in close, Sam suddenly knew without question that if the roles had been reversed, if he had been the older brother, his need to protect and shelter Dean no matter what the cost would always outweigh the need to share that burden with him. It would never matter how old Dean got. It would never matter how strong he became. To him, he would always be younger, more precious, more valued. If it had been his role from youth, to protect this person who would always be the younger one in his eyes, he would never be able to retire from that responsibility no matter how capable the other ever became.
He understood that now. In a way that he had never been able to fathom before, he understood it now. As infuriating as it was to be on the receiving end of that protection and pretence, he finally began to empathise with his brother's inability to ever be able to rescind from that responsibility.
But now, that role was his, and he squared his shoulders up to it, wanting to live up to everything Dean had been, everything he had learned from Dean to expect that role to entail. To be everything Dean had always been for him.
Dean was still looking at him, chewing on his bottom lip and even though he was trying to put on a brave face, Sam could see he was afraid. But for his own good, Sam couldn't reassure him.
"Which way Dean?" He prompted instead, trying to sound as calm and confident as he could pretend to be.
Dean answered with a nod of his head, indicating towards a door at the far end of the corridor.
"Okay. Let's go. You lead the way, I'm right behind you."
Dean nodded, knife in one hand, gun in the other, yet neither seeming to fit in his grasp as comfortably as they should. They made their way cautiously along, the smoke continuing to thicken and rise with the heat. It was murky, dark, hot, and then, up ahead, something disturbed the smoke and they both froze.
A dark shape, grotesquely tall, sharp white teeth and talons glinting through the darkness, stood, slightly crookedly, watching them. Then it was gone, so swiftly that had it not been for the smoke swirling and rushing in to fill the hollow void it had left in its wake, they could have convinced themselves there had been nothing there.
"That was it wasn't it?" Dean whispered, his heartbeat almost echoing audibly through the house. "That's the thing that's got Sammy."
But before Sam could respond, Dean was off, running down the length of the corridor and disappearing into the smoke.
