So I was seriously considering wrapping this up, but I got hit by a wicked naughty plot bunny. Buckle your seat belts, there is some serious horrible angst and whumpage coming very very soon. Enjoy this chapter, I am really pleased with it.
Am I dreaming again?
Can't always tell. The man from the nursery is here, so I think I might be. Sam's here too.
"Here" is what looks like an old cabin, rundown, barely looks like it's safe to be in. I'm up against a wall, can't move any part of my body. The man from the nursery is talking to Sam, calls him Psychic Boy.
Sam's furious, I can tell from here, and he's glaring at the man with undisguised fury. His face is a mess, one eye almost completely swollen shut. His hair is shorter though. Is this a memory? Am I finally starting to get some of my life back?
The man comes over and stands in front of me, he's telling me something, but all I hear is this weird, low buzzing sound. He's got a salt and pepper scruff on his face, and his eyes are hooded, dark, and angry.
"I wanna know why!" Sam says loudly, and the man turns back to him. The buzzing sound is back, it's friggin' weird, like a whole hive of bees in my head. It's bothering me, and I want to put my hands up and cover my ears, but it's like an invisible force is holding me to the wall.
I don't know why Sam seems so angry. And why does all of this seem so familiar, but at the same time, completely wrong? Like it's not supposed to be this way, something is off, something's more wrong than it appears to be, but I can't get my mind wrapped around it.
Every time I think I've figured it out, the thought slithers away.
Sam screams.
He's bleeding. There's blood everywhere, pouring from his chest, I can't tell where it's coming from, I can't see any wounds.
This is wrong. It didn't happen this way…did it? I feel like I should remember…
The man is laughing.
Sam's screaming and screaming, I want so bad to help him, but I can't walk away from the wall. I can't move! Why can't I move?!
"Dad...please…"Sam begs weakly, blood on his lips, trickling down his chin, then his head falls forward, he's unconscious, and the man, Dad? turns to me.
His eyes are yellow.
And what did we learn today, Singer?
If you're going to wake a Winchester from a nightmare, stand back.
I rub my sore chin, as Dean blinks confusedly at me. He looks like a little kid, hair mussed from sleep, eyes red and bleary. I know he didn't mean to punch me, and I sure won't hold it against him.
"You ok?" He half nods, half shakes his head, and I watch him fight for control of his emotions. There's tears in his eyes, but he forces them back, and closes his eyes tight for a moment. There's a slight green pallor to his skin, and I realize he's going to be sick, and snatch a trash can and get it to him just as it happens.
Dean's violently ill, the little bit of dinner he had making an unpleasant reappearance, and I go out to my kitchen and dampen a clean dishcloth with cool water.
Back in the living room, Dean's set the waste basket on the floor, and he looks up at me with the most defeated expression I've ever seen, his eyes bloodshot. He's exhausted, probably hasn't had any decent sleep since the shit hit the fan in Pittsburg, and I'm tempted to drug him.
"You gonna be alright, kiddo?" I ask, and he just shakes his head, still not talking. I gently wipe his face with the cloth, then sit beside him on the couch.
"You're safe here you know? My place is warded against just about every type of supernatural baddie in existence." Dean still says nothing, and I move the cloth to the back of his neck. His skin is warm, warmer than it should be, and wouldn't that just be the Winchester luck to be getting sick on top of all this other crap?
Dean won't look at me, won't meet my eyes, and his shoulders shake slightly.
I realize he's trying desperately not to cry, to hide how he's feeling. Well, I ain't having that. I reach out and wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him tight against me. He's resistant, his shoulders are shaking harder, but I ain't letting go.
"Let it out, Dean. I know you're upset, and it's ok to cry. Let it out, son." He fights it a moment more, but a second later, his breath hitches, and the first silent sob slips past his lips, and I feel his shoulders slump and his whole body relaxes against mine.
"That's it, kiddo, let it out. I know you're scared, but you're safe here. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. I swear my own life on it." He's crying hard now, and his twists his neck around and buries his face on my shoulder, hot tears soaking my shirt. I wrap my arms around him, and pull him into a tight hug. Dean's whole body shakes, but he doesn't make a sound. His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps.
We sit like that for quite a while, as he slowly calms, and I run a hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him.
This kid is every bit of a son to me. From the first moment I met him, and looked into those green eyes, too old and too knowing for a kid his age, I was done for.
I wonder if they have any idea how I feel about the two of them. I don't have much in this world, but I've left them everything in my will.
Dean's fairly calm now, and he tilts his head up at me, and his face…he's so broken. I wish I could fix this.
"Want me to give you something? Knock you out, help you sleep?" He nods, and I go out to my kitchen again. I have quite the little drug chest out there, and I am thinking a syringe of Haldol oughta do the trick. I hate the idea of drugging him, but he's gotta sleep.
He sits still while I give him the injection, and in about five minutes, he's yawning and his eyelids are drooping.
"Lay down, kid. Get some sleep." Dean snuggles back into the covers, and a few minutes later, he's out like a light. Snagging a blanket, I hunker down in the recliner.
No way am I leaving him tonight.
When I wake up, I'm very surprised to see sunlight coming in through the windows in Bobby's guest room.
I'd only meant to sleep for about an hour, but looks like I went all night. I stretch, enjoying the feel of the comfortable bed, and the well-softened sheets, such a far cry from the usual over-starched scratchy motel sheets and rock-hard mattresses I'm used to.
Bobby's place smells a whole hell of a lot better too. And really, this place is home. As close to home as Dean and I have ever had. I wonder if Bobby knows we think about his place that way.
Hell, I wonder if Bobby knows how we feel about him.
I sit up, yawn and stretch, feeling pleasantly well-rested. I wonder how Dean slept. The call of nature sounds, and I grab some clothes, figure I'll take a shower while I'm in there.
The hot water feels like heaven, and I revel in it for a while. The shower stall in my apartment in Pittsburg was so little, way too little for me, and the water pressure was inconsistent at best, so I am not to blame if I stayed in there a little longer than I really needed to. Not that Bobby would mind anyway.
I rinse off, shave, and get dressed, and I am actually feeling mostly human when I'm done.
After, I head downstairs, pleased to see Dean zonked out on the couch, arm thrown over his eyes. He's sound asleep, his face peaceful. I stand there and watch him sleep for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the slight snore he's making.
I make my way out to the kitchen, and Bobby hands me a fresh mug of coffee, which I take gratefully and plop into a kitchen chair. It groans a bit, and Bobby glares at me.
"Can ya not wreck my house, ya moose?" I smile at him, amused at my own good mood. It's amazing how much better a bad situation will look when you've had a full night's sleep, a hot shower, and a steaming mug of coffee in your hand.
"Did he sleep all night?" I indicate Dean with a tilt of my head.
"Yup. I stayed in the recliner to keep an eye on him." Bobby sipped his own coffee. "I gave him some Haldol. He had a pretty brutal nightmare after you went up, then fell apart. I didn't want to drug him, but he desperately needed sleep."
I raise an eyebrow, but don't say anything. I trust Bobby. If he thought drugging Dean was the right thing to do, then it probably was.
"And no problems since?"
"Nope. Sound asleep all night, not so much as a whimper."
"Did he say anything?" Bobby grimaces.
"Nope, he still ain't talkin'. He cried his eyes out though. He's hurting, Sam, and if he ain't gonna talk about it…well, I don't know how to help him."
"All we can really do is be here for him. No hunts, just stay put, and help him get through this. I'll get a job or something, we'll figure it out." I drain the rest of my coffee, and look out to the living room, just in time to see Dean stirring. "Looks like he's waking up."
Dean makes a sound like a whine, and I realize he's having a nightmare. I stand quickly and cross the room, and kneel down beside him.
"Dean. Dean, wake up, it's just a dream, come on, bro." I give him a little shake, and his eyes flutter open.
"Sammy?" he whispers. My heart jumps, is he remembering?
He blinks owlishly at me, and his eyes are still red-rimmed and slightly bloodshot. I wait for him to say something else, but he remains silent, and my heart sinks, and I realize he's still not back with us yet. A strange look crosses his face, and a second later, he's jetting off the couch and practically running for the bathroom.
By the time I catch up, he's kneeling in front of the toilet, body shaking with dry heaves. I rest a hand on his neck, just to let him know I'm there, and I'm surprised by the amount of heat radiating off of him.
God, he's running a fever, and it feels like a high one. On top of all this other shit, he gets sick too? In what universe is that fair?
Dean groans, and I kneel down next to him.
"You gonna be ok?"
He shakes his head, and when he looks up, he's got tears in his eyes.
Dammit. I want to fix this so bad, but I don't know how. I don't even know where to start.
A fresh wave of helplessness washes over me, and the only thing I can think to do is hug him, so I wrap my arms around Dean and pull him close, and he surprises me by wrapping his arms tight around my back and burying his face in my shoulder.
"Make it stop, Sammy, please…" he whispers brokenly.
"I will, Dean, I promise." I say it, even though I have no idea how to fix it, how to stop it, how to make things better for him.
I just know that somehow, someway, I will fix it.
Just a friendly reminder to please leave a review. I'll have you know, I have changed entire story lines just because I liked ONE reviewer's idea.
Also, wifeymcwiferson...she's writing a fab story based on my trip to Disney World that I DID NOT want to go on. It's called Vacation Destination, Highway to Hell. Go check it out...please :*
Love and Demon bombs!