29. A Father's Wishes
My poor heart is sentimental, not made of wood
I got it bad and that ain't good
But when the weekend's over and Monday rolls around
I end up like I start out – just cryin' my heart out…
The lyrics of that song were still reverberating in Sam's head the next day, drowning out all thought as he stared blankly down at his English assignment. He shifted in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair.
"What are you humming?" Dean asked from the bed.
"What?" Sam asked, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice.
"I'll rephrase the question. What song is that?" Dean asked.
"Um, I-I don't know," Sam stuttered lamely.
"Right," Dean muttered to himself as he flicked the television on.
Sam was about to ask Dean to lower the volume when he thought better of it. He tried to block out the noise from the TV and the song that was still playing in his head. After another minute he gave up, stepping outside the motel room for some fresh air. Sam hated himself for identifying with that song, so much so that it was practically all he could think about. He sighed and grudgingly reentered the room.
"Dude, you got that song stuck in my head," Dean complained as Sam closed the door. Sam muttered an apology as he sat back down at the wobbly desk. He banged his head quietly against his open composition notebook for a few moments then plopped his arms down on the desk and used them as a pillow. Within ten minutes he was asleep.
Sam found himself drowning in blood once again, trying to call out Dean's name but only swallowing mouthfuls of the red liquid. He spluttered and coughed, flailing to stay afloat.
"Dean!" he finally managed to cry out. He felt strong arms from above reach for him and pull him from the swirling pool of blood. He looked up expecting to see Dean but instead found himself staring into his father's eyes. Sam looked around to see they were now standing in a house he had never seen before: a dark bedroom with aged wood floors and odd shifting shadows.
"I wish... I w-- Oh, God. I didn't want this for you -- for either of you," John whispered sadly.
"W-What do you mean?" Sam asked, studying his father's grave face. John just shook his head and remained silent. "What do you mean?!" Sam asked again, urgency ringing in his voice this time.
"You know your brother's right -- you can't let this go on."
Sam stared at his father, completely speechless. He wanted to deny it, to tell his father to just stay out of it, but when he opened his mouth no sound came out. His father laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it slightly then walked out of the room, leaving Sam alone. He could feel the shadows swirling and growing, pressing in on him.
"Dean!" he called out again. Silence. "Dean!"
"What is it Sammy? I'm right here," Dean said, suddenly leaning in the doorway. Sam rushed over to his brother, grabbing him in a hug. "Get the fuck off," Dean said with quiet ferocity. Tears suddenly filled Sam's eyes.
"D-Dean?"
"Stop it."
"What?" Sam asked, his heart sinking in his chest.
"Just stop it, Sam. We can't, it'll only end badly."
"We don't know that," Sam whispered desperately.
"Yes, we do." Dean said coldly. He looked down at their feet; Sam followed his gaze to see blood bubbling up through the floorboards and quickly rising, ready to swallow them again.
Sam woke up feeling his brother shaking his shoulder roughly. "Nightmare?" he asked. Sam nodded weakly.
"If you wanna talk abou--"
"Isn't that my line?" Sam asked. Dean shrugged and turned to go sit back on his bed. "D-Dean?" His big brother turned around again to face him. Within a second Sam was out of his chair and had his arms wrapped around his brother. He silently prayed that Dean wouldn't react the same way he had in the dream. Dean froze, standing awkwardly as his little brother hugged him.
"You okay?" Dean asked. Sam hugged his brother tighter. After a moment Dean relaxed and allowed himself to wrap his arms around Sammy as well. Sam couldn't hold back the tears and they spilled from his eyes, dampening Dean's shirt. "Sh, it's okay," Dean whispered into Sam's hair, stroking his back comfortingly.
"Promise?"
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So, side note: I just went back and watched After School Special {ROFL to those 'Plum-Smugglers' Dean wears as the gym teacher} today and was dismayed to discover that my timeline is whacked. lol. In the episode they attend Truman High in November. I didn't remember properly -- in my head they attended it earlier in the year so that everything up until now has happened after the flashbacks from this episode.
Oh well… so for the purpose of my story they attended Truman High in the beginning of September and then that's where my story comes in. Shh, no one needs to know that I screwed up… except all of you now. *hangs head in shame and embarrassment* Ignore the discrepancy, please.
Camp is keeping me very busy and I've got another week before I get a chance to rest. Wish me luck with my songs and my monologue and my dances. *dies*
Anyway, sorry for the obscenely long author's note. REVIEWS!
~aep
