Chapter 7
Thankfully, John had made it back to their apartment complex and had his son cradled in his arms before the boy started to stir again. The small family was two flights up when small eyes opened and a whimper escaped Sam. The feeling of weightlessness unnerved the boy, and he couldn't help the small sign of 'weakness' that he made.
"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."
"Daddy?" The timid voice quivered and alerted Dean to his brother's state of consciousness.
"Yeah, Sammy."
"Hey, little brother. We're almost home."
The two Winchesters had spoken at the same time and in the dark, Sam was finding it difficult to separate the two. He was content for the time being to know that it meant his father and brother were both there, and he waited patiently for their destination.
When Dean had unlocked the apartment door, the family was faced with the idea of getting their lives back together again. John's first order of business was to get himself cleaned up and get his boys some real food. He carried Sam into the boys' bedroom and laid him down, watching as his son instinctively reached for the small stuffed fox. Only when it was clutched in his arms did the boy seem to relax.
" Dean. Watch your brother. I'm not sure what food there is left here, so I'm going to go shower and then head to the store. Do you have enough salt? Ammo?"
Dean nodded affirmatively to both, checking to make sure his handgun was still under his pillow, and sat on his brother's bed, smoothing the boy's hair. " Sleep, Sammy. You're safe here." The directions were whispered gently, and the teenager was rewarded when his brother's eyes slid shut. "He'll be all right with me, Dad. We'll be here when you get back."
John had heard the determination in his eldest son's voice, once again cursing himself and whatever evil had chosen his family for this life, and headed for the bathroom without another look back. If Dean was going to heal from this as well, he needed to know that his father still trusted him.
Every time Sam awoke now, it was like another slap in the face. When he was asleep, it was easy to forget that he would wake to darkness, and the smallest glimmer of hope that exists in all children was squashed more and more each time he opened his eyes. The only constant he had now was his brother. He knew that no matter what happened, Dean would be there for him and because of that, everything would turn out all right. After all, the older boy had promised him it would be.
Sam was aware of his other senses trying to compensate for their lost counterpart. Unfortunately, that meant that his sense of smell was more keen, and he could still smell the hospital on both himself and his brother.
" Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"You smell. Bad." The boy hid his nose under his arm. "When was the last time you showered? Or…" he felt Dean's back, "changed clothes?"
Dean snickered and rolled his eyes. "I'll clean up as soon as Dad gets back, little brother."
"Please go shower, Dean. You smell like some homeless guy hiding out in a hospital. I'll be okay. And you owe me a pair of sunglasses." The boy crossed his arms as well as he was able to and pouted.
"So I did, Sammy boy. Here." Dean watched as the glasses were exchanged, almost laughing when he saw how big the new ones were on his baby brother's face. "I'm just gonna wait for Dad, Sammy."
" Dean. I promise I won't move an inch off this bed until you come back. Or I'll go sit on the floor of the bathroom if that will make you feel better. I don't want to smell that hospital any more. Please?" The look Sam gave Dean made the boy cave almost instantly. There was little to defend against the puppy dog look.
"You won't move off this bed? You swear on Mom?"
Sam's eyes widened a little at the severity of that promise. "I swear on Mom that I won't move from this bed unless it's a real emergency until you get back."
Dean let out a sigh and when he breathed in again, he caught a whiff of what his brother was complaining about. "All right, but I'm putting salt around your bed and I want you to hold my gu…knife. Okay?"
Sam nodded and took the offered weapon by the handle. It felt comfortable in his palm and eased the anxiety he was trying to hide at being alone again.
"I'll be quick, I swear Sammy. And then we'll figure some way to get you cleaned up too."
"You are NOT giving me a bath! I can do it myself."
Dean chuckled, glad that Sam's independence was returning again. "We'll figure something out, little brother. Now, I'll be right back."
Sam found his confidence slowly leaving him as the room quieted and he was left to his own thoughts. He knew that he was helpless if something came to get him, not being able to do anything other than hope whatever it was would try and grab him first. He had no doubts about his ability to hold whatever it was off until Dean could come help him if that was the case, but other than that, he was up a creek.
It felt to Sam that the room chilled a little bit, and he was more tense than he could ever remember being. The hilt of Dean's knife was clutched so tightly that it was hurting Sam's palm, and his other hand slowly hid Todd under his covers. The boy held his breath and listened, trying to picture their room and catch hold of something that shouldn't be there.
Sam thought he could hear cloth shifting and gulped. "D… Dean? Are you there?" he whispered, whipping his head back and forth as if it would help him. "This isn't funny, Dean." He stopped, angry at himself. He knew better than to think it was his brother; he could almost feel the guilt pouring off the older boy, and knew that Dean wouldn't be playing a joke on him when he felt that badly about what had happened.
"Whoever you are…whatever you are, you'd better get out of here before my brother gets back." Sam's voice quivered and he found himself pulling back to the corner of his bed. He drew his knees to his chest and swore that he wouldn't cry. The boy was almost shivering, and he was sure that something was in the room with him. He could even imagine the smell of ozone that his father had begun to tell him about. But as time went on and nothing else happened, the boy started to see that he was being a baby and started to relax.
Dean opened the door warily and called out to his brother so that he wouldn't frighten the boy. Sam looked fine outwardly, but the older Winchester felt like something was off with him, though his brother swore he was all right. Not knowing what had made him feel so off, Dean shrugged it away and pulled on his own clean clothes for the first time in far too long.
The older brother stared at Sam for a full minute. " Sammy, I know you think you can take a bath all by yourself, but you've got to face it, kid. You can't get either your arm or your leg wet at all, and you won't be able to…see…how close they are to the water. We can wait for Dad, or I can help you. It's up to you, but now that I'm clean, you can't blame the stink on me."
Sam nodded. "But I'm wearing my swim trunks! I'm not a baby anymore, and…yeah."
Dean snickered. He could still remember helping their father give Sam a bath when he was really little, but he neglected to mention that. If it made Sam feel more 'grown up', then he would by all means find the swimsuit.
Half an hour and a mopping session later found two soggy boys sitting once again in their bedroom. Sam was trying to figure out what shirt Dean had dressed him in, glad at the moment that he didn't have a sister around for his brother to steal clothing from. Dean was trying to look contemplative.
" Sammy. I think we should…tour the apartment."
"What? What for? It's not the first time we've been in it, Dean."
"I know. But maybe we can figure out a system so that you can walk around here and not walk into the wall or something."
Sam smiled and nodded, eager to try anything that would make him feel more 'normal'. He slid off his bed and waited for Dean's arm.
Dean took his brother's hand and turned him so he faced the door. "Feel this, Sammy? If you position yourself so that both arms are straight and just touching the bed and table, you're facing directly at the door. Okay?" He watched his brother feel what Dean was talking about and nod. "Okay. Now I'm going to go stand at the door and I want you to count how many steps it is there. All right? I'll stop you if you're gonna walk into anything."
Sam nodded again and took a deep breath. He waited until his brother gave the 'all set' and counted seven steps straight to the door frame.
"Good job, Sammy. Now, go back to your bed."
When the room was sufficiently memorized, seven to the door, two to Dean's bed, and four to the closet, the boys moved through the rest of the rooms, measuring how many "Samsteps" it would take the boy to get where he wanted. Being able to use the walls, Sam found that he could get to his father's room, the kitchen, and the bathroom all by himself, and he felt himself grinning more and more with each step.
The boys retraced the routes several times at different speeds, making sure that Sam could get anywhere he needed at a full sprint or at a 'sneaking' pace, in case something was after them. They had just made it back to their room when John began to open the door. Dean checked quickly to make sure it was indeed their father and then turned to his brother.
"Go on, Sammy. Run out there and show him what you can do," he whispered.
Sam nodded, smiling, and ran out to the kitchen. "Daddy!" he yelled as he listened for his father's footsteps to stop. When he was sure of where the man was, he ran to him and threw his arms around him.
John had watched his son limp quickly into the room with no fear or seeming handicap and was overjoyed. Sam had banged into the kitchen table, but that was somewhat normal for the hyperactive eight-year old. John lifted the boy into his arms and hugged him close. "Can you see, Sammy?"
"No, Daddy," the boy sounded so much like his brother had the night his mother died, but John pushed that aside, listening to the boy again. " Dean and I figured out how many Samsteps it was from our room to here. And I could hear you walking."
John's face fell a little when his son's disability once again slapped him in the face, but when he saw Dean peeking into the kitchen, he smiled more brightly, beckoning the boy to him. He had to be strong for them.
"You did what?" he looked at his oldest son, trying to figure out what exactly Samsteps were.
" Sam knows how many steps he has to take to get everywhere in the apartment. He can walk, run, or sneak anywhere he needs to. Without anyone's help." The boy was beaming at his brother's accomplishment.
John realized the need for his youngest to be able to run or sneak anywhere wasn't for fun, and he wished for the millionth time that he didn't need to hide from ghosts or creatures. But for his boys to figure this out, for Dean to give Sam something he could do on his own, was heartening, and John thought back to Mack's assurances that his son was fine.
"Good job boys. I got chicken and mashed potatoes from that fast food place for dinner," Sam's eyes lit up behind his glasses at the mention of his favorite meal, "and some more silver to melt."
Dinner was finished, and Sam found that melting silver was one task that was too dangerous for him to attempt now. He was able, however, to clean his father's guns and put them back together, and busied himself doing that.
After a few hours restocking munitions and Dean sparring with their father, the boys were sent off to bed. Dean was walking slowly, sore from his father's lessons, and Sam was tempted to try and help him. But the boy would have had to have been completely oblivious to have not noticed Dean's ever-present need to be the protector, and so he didn't offer the help, but did walk a little bit more slowly from the living room to their bedroom so that Dean would stay in the lead.
The boys changed quickly, and Sam settled into his bed, once again clutching Todd. Dean watched the boy curl up into a small ball, and sat down on the side of his bed. He could tell that his brother was still uncomfortable in their 'home'.
"I know you're all grown up and everything now, Sammy." Dean smiled at his baby brother, wondering if the boy was resisting the urge to suck his thumb like he had done in the past. "But if you want, I could…read you a story or something, like you used to like."
The smile on Sam's face was masked quickly, but let Dean know he had hit right on the money. "You can…you know, if you want to that is."
John could hear the words of The Prince and the Pauper floating out his boys' door as he walked by. He wondered when it was exactly, that Dean had become Sam's father figure, and John had stopped. Something in him resented the boy's relationship, even though he knew on some level that he had created it. Sam was the last thing John had that reminded him of Mary, and he was loathe to pass on complete responsibility for the boy to Dean. His oldest boy reminded him far too much of himself, and less and less of his mother, and he wondered where he had gone wrong with his sons.
Before he knew it, John was on his third beer in the living room, staring at the one picture of him and Mary that had been saved from their home and wasn't in his journal already. The pain that he held at bay whenever the boys were around was now overcoming him, and he found that the most comfort would come from reaching for another beer. The boys would be all right if he drank this; he would be able to help if he was needed.
Sam knew before he opened his eyes that something was off. He could head his older brother's light snores from the other side of the room, but his instincts told him that the noise wasn't what had awoken him. He was lying on his side, his left arm curled under his head and his right hanging slightly off the bed. One of the first things Dean had taught him about keeping himself safe was the element of surprise, so the small child kept his breathing even and did not open his eyes. Not that they would do me any good anyway.
The shiver that betrayed his feigned sleep set him on edge even more. Something smelled wrong, like it had earlier in the afternoon, the room was cold, and Sam was sure that he had heard something that didn't belong there. Then he heard it again. Someone or something was definitely in the boys' room.
Todd was clutched more tightly to Sam's chest, and his thoughts raced over what could be haunting them right under his brother and his father's nose. The two had always assured him that no matter what they did on their night missions, Sam would always be kept safe, and when he was old enough, he would be able to join them. That time was fast approaching, but it wasn't there yet, and Sam knew enough to realize that if something was coming after him, then he needed help. And that help was in the land of dreams exactly two Samsteps to the side of him.
" Dean?" Sam knew that the ghost of a whisper would be enough to alert his brother to his need for the older boy to be awake, and he wasn't disappointed. Standing next to his brother's bed, Sam could hear his brother ripped from his dreams. Dean's snores stopped immediately, and Sam could hear his pillow moving slightly. As soon as he called for his brother, however, the younger boy felt silly. How was he supposed to be a grown up if every time he got spooked he needed his older brother to fix it?
Dean had been dreaming, but of what he wasn't sure. The dream made no sense to him, and he was content to leave it that way when he heard his brother whisper his name. He was surprised at first that the boy's nightmare hadn't woken him up, for the oldest boy was sure that that was what Sam needed help with. Instinct honed from years of his father's training had him reaching for the hunting knife under his pillow. But then he smelled it; the unmistakable stench of a spirit broken free from the underworld. He could feel the chill in the room as it sent goose bumps down his arms and back. He arrested the movement almost as soon as it had started, rolling over instead to reach for the light.
The older brother saw his young counterpart standing next to his bed, outside the protective circle of salt that Dean so religiously drew each night.
"Back in bed, Sammy." The tone wasn't to be ignored or argued, and Sam took no time to contemplate the direction, simply nodded and slipped back under his covers, watching his brother intently.
Dean wasn't surprised to find that even as he threw the switch to the little table lamp, the room remained in darkness. Without wasting another thought on the light, he rose from his bed, reaching into the drawer to grab the salt box, and sliding across the room to his brother's side.
"I'm here, Sammy. It's all right now. I'll keep you safe." The words were automatic, and the hand that was placed gently on his kid brother's side was all that the boy needed to relax. He was supposed to protect his baby brother from anything that came to get him until their father could come to the rescue, and that task was more important in Dean's mind than a task on any hunt could ever be. There was no questioning the boy's ability to protect his brother from the supernatural, and he found himself at ease. This he could fix.
TBC…