As they laugh and talk over dinner, Sam almost feels like things are normal again. Dean tells them about a girl he met in his Latin class, and Mary hounds him about his grades. Everything feels good. Everything feels right. After dinner they gather in the family room. John puts on a movie and Mary pops popcorn. Dean comes in with a bag of chips, munching loudly. "Move over, bitch," he says to Sam.
"Make me, Jerk."
Dean goes to punch Sam on the arm but Mary grabs his shoulder. "Easy, Dean. No rough housing, please."
Dean smirks and Sam scoots aside.
They're only fifteen minutes into the movie when John starts snoring in his recliner. Mary rolls her eyes, "Alright time for bed." She shakes her husband awake who grumbles insistently that he wasn't sleeping, and ushers him up the stairs. "Oh, and Sammy," she says. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a small prescription bottle. She give it a shake and sets it on the coffee table in front of Sam.
Sam looks up at her with pleading eyes.
"Just try them," she says. She kisses him on the top of his head. "See if they help."
Once John and Mary have been upstairs for a suitable amount of time, Dean goes to the fridge and helps himself to one of his father's beers. He sits down hard on the sofa, takes a long swig, and sighs. "I'd offer you one, but," he nods towards the bottle of pills on the table, "Shouldn't mix vodka and beer, ya know?"
"They're never going to let this go," Sam says glumly.
Dean takes a large gulp. "Speaking of, what is this exactly? I mean, Mom calls me in a panic, says something is going on with your head, that you busted your hand open, it isn't exactly the usual Apple Pie conversation."
Sam sits back. He looks at his hands in his lap. His stitches have begun to itch beneath the bandages. He should tell Dean. If he stands a chance at anyone understanding, its Dean. "Do…" Breathe. Just do it. Just say it. "Do you believe in Monsters, Dean?"
Dean blinks at him, leans forward onto his knees and sets down his beer. "Of course I do."
Sam looks up, surprised.
"You're face is about the most monstrous thing I've ever seen."
"Shut up, I'm being serious!"
Dean's chuckling slowly fades, and somber expression comes over his face. "Come on, dude. What the hell are you talking about?"
"I mean monsters; ghosts, the boogey man, stuff like that."
"Well I can't say I've given it a whole lot of thought before."
But you have, Sam thinks. He knows he has. He chews at his bottom lip. "I feel like something is after me, Dean."
Dean is suddenly alert. Engaged. "What does that mean? Some punk giving you trouble at school, because I'll—"
"No no, it's nothing like that. I've been having dreams…"
"Dreams?"
"Only they aren't dreams, not really, they're more like…" Sam is becoming increasingly aware of the absurdity of what he's saying, but still he needs to say it. He needs someone else to know this. He picks at a frayed piece of his bandage. "They're like visions, I guess."
Dean nods, slowly. Uncertainly. Sam can tell he doesn't believe him, but he has the decency not to make a point of it. "Okay so you're having visions that something is after you?"
"Yes. It's this giant Thing. It has huge fangs and this weird tongue that looks like it has some type of—" Just then Sam remembers. He sits up quickly and runs his finger over the spot behind his ear. The raised circle is still there. He gasps and jumps to his feet so suddenly that Dean is taken back a little. "That's it! Look, Dean! Look!" He pushes his hair out of the way to show Dean the spot.
"Gross. What do you have ringworm?"
"No. It's not ringworm. It's from the Thing. It has me marked or something."
"Marked for what?"
Sam stops and catches his breathe. He hadn't realized it until now but he's panting. Beads of sweat have started blooming at his temple. He wipes at them with the back of his palm. What does the mark mean? Is his fate resigned to that of the two teenagers from the warehouse? He thinks of their bodies dangling there, grey skin laced with roadmaps of shiny green and blue veins, chest cavities open, clotted with blood from organs that were no longer there. He sees himself on that meat hook. He swallows the saliva that has pooled in his mouth and runs a hand through his hair. "I think I'm next, Dean."
Dean puts his hands up, "Alrighty come on now, just slow down a minute." He grabs Sam by the shoulders and looks hard into his face. "You really believe all this, don't you?"
"Yeah…yeah I do. D-Does that make me crazy?"
"No, no, hey—hey" He grips Sam's shoulders tighter when he starts to shake, his breath quickening again. "You are not crazy, you hear me? You're not. Now I don't know what's going on here, Sam, but you better believe that whatever it is, we'll figure it out. I promise you. Got that? I promise."
Sam nods but his mind if far away, thinking of all the ways the Thing could kill him.
"Come on, let's just try to relax a little bit here, Sammy." Dean says, and he slaps him on the back lightly. "We'll watch that show you're always telling me about. You know, the nerd one about space, what's it called again?"
Sam sniffles quietly. "You mean Stargate?"
Dean cringes a little. "Uh, yeah, sure, let's watch that."
They watch television until Sam can't take Dean's nervous sideways glances at him any longer, then he grabs the remote and the TV goes dark.
"Tired already? We were just getting to the um…well you know, the space stuff." Says Dean.
"Been a long day, I just want to sleep."
"Well that sounds like a pretty good idea to me."
They get up to head upstairs when Dean grabs Sam by the shoulder and clears his throat. "You know, Sam, I get why you don't want to, and I hate to side with mom on anything, but she might have a point here." He hands Sam the pill bottle, "Just try these and see if they help."
Sam sighs and takes the pills from him reluctantly.
"After all," says Dean, "what's the worst that could happen?"