Sins of the Father. A Supernatural Fan Fic
Author: Steffykaye
Setting: two years after the pilot
Rating: PG-13/R
Genre: Horror/Angst
Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: The characters of John, Dean, and Sam Winchester are not mine
Author's Note: This chapter contains scenes of violence against children. If this bothers you, please do not read it.
Chapter 3 - Saving Sam
Sam made a strangled sound in his throat. "You made a choice? My God, Dean, I knew you could be ruthless, but . . ." Sam's voice cracked as he choked back the tears threatening to overpower him. "How can you just stand there and tell me this? You took her from me. She was the only decent, pure thing I have ever had in my life. And you sacrificed her to save me? To preserve a life that every day since her death I have thought of ending?"
Dean stared at his brother in disbelief. He had known that Sam still felt guilty about Jessica, but he had no idea it was this bad. "Sam, listen to me . . ."
Angrily, Sam cut him off. "I am done listening to you. For two years you've been there. You were there when I would wake up screaming her name. You kept me sane, I depended on you." Sam's hand shook as ran it through his hair. "Now you tell me this? I thought I knew you, but I was wrong. I could have helped come up with a stronger charm, or gotten out of her life altogether. It would have hurt her, but at least she would be alive. But you decided to make the choice." Sam laughed bitterly. "You know, the thing is, if you had come to me and told me what was going on, the first thing I would have done was ask you what we should do about it. I trusted you. But the brother that I loved, that I admired and wanted to be like doesn't exist."
Dean reached out his hand, attempting to make contact with the brother he had driven away.
Sam flinched as though he had been burned. "Don't touch me. I'm out of here. If I have to look at you for one moment more, I will do what no demon has been able to, I will bring down the famousDean Winchester."
With that last remark hanging in the air between them, Sam strode out of the room and into the night, not knowing or caring what was out there waiting in the shadows for him.
Dean slumped to the bed. The effects of the pain and the morphine prevented him from following his brother, even if Sam had wanted him there. There was nothing he could do and he hated that. He was the one that fixed things. He hunted evil for a living, yet had been unable to save his own brother from being hurt, had in fact, been the one to cause that hurt. As the adrenaline drained out of body and a morphine-induced sleep stole over him, he reached under his pillow and curved his fingers around the handle of his knife. He sought comfort from its cold familiarity as he thought back to the only other time his father told him he had failed Sam.
John watched as a 12 year old Sam valiantly attempted to battle the poltergeist. He knew he should jump in to help, but he wanted to see how Dean would react. John knew that he was driving both sons away, he just couldn't let himself worry about that, there were more important things at stake. He didn't worry too much about Dean, he knew that he would be able to handle whatever life threw at him. He was so much like his father. He had accepted the role of protector without question. From the age of three, John had told him the story, always making sure he knew that Sam's life was to be the most important thing to any of them. There was no way that John was going to let some psychopathic, centuries old spirit destroy another member of his family. The thought that he didn't need any help doing that crossed his mind but he quickly thrust it away. It didn't matter. What mattered was saving Sam. He glanced down the hill again, smiling thinly as he saw 15 year old Dean enter the fray. He checked his watch, Sam had been fighting on his own for nearly 10 minutes. He would have to talk to Dean about that. Sam should not be left alone that long.
Dean grimaced in disgust. He hated poltergeists. The way they could attack you without being seen and travel from place to place creeped him out. At least with a haunting all you had to do was find the remains of the ghost. With a poltergeist, you were dealing with the energies of a living person. "Doesn't make it less painful," he thought as three deep scratches burned themselves into his arm. The poltergeist was trying to get at what he held in his hand. He ducked quickly as a tree branch came flying at his head, automatically glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Sam was not in the line of fire. For as long as he could remember, it had been his job to watch over Sam, to protect him from what had killed their mother. Dean had long ago accepted that Sam mattered more to their father than he did. He barely even registered the pain that thought caused. It was a fact of life, there was nothing he could do to change it.
"Dean, did you find it?" Through his research, Sam had determined this activity seemed to be linked to a pistol used to kill a man in front of his wife and children. Even at 12, Sam was an instinctive researcher. He just seemed to know exactly where to go to find the information on what they were hunting.
Dean's head jerked back and his eyes watered as an unseen hand grabbed his hair and tugged viciously. "Sam, I've got it right here, say the incantation will you? This thing is seriously annoyed that I brought the gun here." He breathed a shaky sigh of relief as his brother began chanting in Latin. Finally, this ordeal was through, and they had survived without being seriously injured. Just as he finished that thought, the flesh on his arm began to heat, sizzle, and then it was wreathed in flame. Gasping at the sharp agony, he instinctively threw the gun and wrapped his burning arm in his coat. Instead of hitting the ground, the gun rose in the air, turned itself towards Sam, and fired.
Dean leaped towards his brother, throwing himself in front of him and knocking him to the ground. All he could think of was saving Sam. He felt the hot bite of the bullet and crumpled in a heap on the ground.
Dean was awakened by a sharp kick to the ribs. He opened his eyes and saw his father's steel toed boot drawn back to kick him again. Quickly he sat up and saw John's harsh face above him. "Is Sammy OK?"
"No thanks to you, but yes he's fine. Now, get up." John's voice was rough with the anger that burned from his eyes. He pulled Dean up and threw him on the back seat of the car, not heeding the grimace of pain and fresh wash of blood from Dean's many wounds. Sam was huddled on the ground by the car, shaking and muttering about not being fast enough. "What was that little stunt you pulled back there? I thought by now you would know how to protect your brother."
"Dad, I did," Dean protested. "I know I dropped the gun, but then I jumped in front of the bullet to save him and ..."
John didn't allow Dean to finish, he grabbed his head and forced him to look at Sam. "Look at what you did to him. How many times do I have to tell you before you learn? You have to get the weapon. How hard is that to remember? By getting yourself shot the only thing you did was leave Sam unprotected and too upset to even finish the exorcism. If I had not been there to clean up your mess, he could have died."
Dean thought briefly that if John had been there, Sam would be OK, and he wouldn't be feeling like he had wrestled a pride of lions. He quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. He couldn't allow himself to start questioning his father or the life they led, that road was too dark, and he had enough to deal with just staying alive.
"Now get yourself cleaned up and go talk to your brother. And for God's sake, play down what happened. We don't want him to be worried about you the next time we have to bring him along on a hunt. We can't afford for him to be distracted."
Dean reached for the first aid kit and quickly took care of the burns and scratches. Fortunately, the bullet had just grazed his scalp, he wouldn't need stitches. He hated having to stitch himself up. It sounded silly after all that he had seen in his short life, but he didn't like needles. Once he had bandaged his multiple wounds, he got out of the car and lowered himself to the ground beside his brother.
"Hey, Sammy. What's with the whole 'Rain Man' thing?"
Sam raised tear-filled eyes to his brother's face. He was still young and had not learned the stoicism that characterized a Winchester man. "Dean that thing almost killed you. Why did you jump in front of me like that?"
"Ah, I knew I would be fine. Poltergeists are notoriously bad shots." Dean forced himself to chuckle softly. "Besides, since I took the bullet, I get to pick the music we listen to on the way home." Dean grinned at his brothers groan, confident now that things would be okay for a while. "Let's go, I'll bet you can talk Dad into burgers and milkshakes for supper."
Dean turned over in his sleep. The tears that he would never allow while awake slowly trickled down his face.
Sam wandered the darkened, rain soaked streets. He didn't even know what town they were in, and it didn't really matter. At this time of night they all looked the same. It had been years since he had stormed out of an argument to wander in the night, years since he had felt so trapped and alone. Even at Stanford where he hadn't quite fit in, at least he could always go to Jessica. She had been his safe harbor. In her arms he had never felt like a freak, or a lost little boy without a mother. And Dean, his brother, the only other person he had truly trusted, had taken her from him. The pain of that betrayal was like a knife twisting in his gut. He stopped in an alleyway and pressed his face against the cool brick wall. He felt as though his whole inner being was quivering. Whether in rage or anguish, he didn't really know. The only thing he did know was the Jessica was gone, and Dean had taken her. The worst part, that had hot bullets of guilt piercing his soul, was that he understood why Dean had made the decision he had. In fact, he was sure he would have done the same in that situation.
Cursing softly under his breath, he started walking again. As the guilt and anger began to pile up like thunderclouds in his mind, he broke into a run, trying to move fast enough to escape the mental demons that hounded him. He ran faster and faster, until his legs could no longer support him and he collapsed to the ground. As he lay there panting, he felt the darkness creeping back over him. He looked at his hands and they wavered in front of him. They shifted slowly from the hands of Sam Winchester to those of a murderer gloved in black leather. He raised his head. The eyes glaring into the night were no longer the tear-filled, anguished ones of Sam. They were deep and expressionless, like wells of stagnant, murky water. Slowly the Sam thing got up and with a predatory grin began to make it's way back to the hotel where Dean lay sleeping.