The Beckoning

Chapter Four: Tragic Fairytale

Author's Note: Aw, I'm just ecstatic at how people are enjoying the story, and bearing with me here. Thank you so much for the support, it really helps in continuing a story when you know people are reading it. Oh, and double thanks for those who wished my kitty well. I'm elated to tell you she's doing wonderful, and after having only a 30 percent chance of survival…that's pretty darn good. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers. Back to the story now, this will be very Sam/Dean centric and I'm just gonna say that the next chapter (coming soon) will be pretty lengthy because more of the subplot will come into focus. Also, I just changed my plans for this story a tiny bit, but whenever I do that I get a renewed motivation to write. Anyways, that's just boring. Let's continue with the story…

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The Impala's engine droned along the empty highway. Sam had been going for nearly two hours though he had no destination. He circled all the different motels in the area, passed by the bars and supermarkets at least three times; waiting for some vibe to tell him John Winchester was there. With no such luck, Sam drove on skeptically, his only vibe being that if their Dad was there he'd already left.

Coward…

Sam was partially thankful to be on the search for the elusive John Winchester yet again, only because it took his mind off of Dean and his condition. What was going to happen with them now that he had no memory? Sam hated leaving his brother alone, especially with his current state of mind, but it was almost unbearable for him to be in the same room as Dean. He wasn't, and will never be, used to seeing his older brother so…broken.

Dean was the one who always fixed Sam. And with Dean now broken and Sam slowly breaking, he wondered who was going to fix them.

The young Winchester tried hard to ignore some of the thoughts that found their way to the surface of his mind. They were the "What If" and "If Only" thoughts he rarely had time to consider, since they were the most improbable of concepts.

What if our life was different? What if we could be a normal family? What if we were raised to believe nothing in the dark could hurt us?

If only things could be different. If only we could be normal. If only…nothing in the dark could hurt us.

Still, there was one appealing thought that Sam was both grateful and fearful to own: What if Dean never remembered their lives as hunters?

For a moment the young Winchester sat back in the car seat, still tense and unable to relax, still on the lookout for whatever he hoped to see, but he let his thoughts surpass him.

If Dean didn't remember losing his mother over his baby brother's bed, her stomach gashed open, their home and family burning away in seconds…

If Dean didn't remember the silent promise their father made to avenge their mother's murder, his crusade against Evil he'd lead his children on…

If Dean didn't remember what it was like not to be normal, if he knew no difference from other kids, other families…if he wasn't raised to become a warrior with a burden for a destiny their father forged in the fires of their mother's death…

If Dean had an opportunity to be normal, to be happy, to love…all things which Sam wanted desperately, what Dean wanted Sam to have…

All things which had been stolen from the Winchester bloodline, all things which were condemned…

If only Dean could be granted that chance of a life outside Hell…

Sam shook himself out of his mind, the frame of it nearly suffocating him with grief and joy and unfair indecision…

He could make something up, something grand, and Dean could believe Sam's lie with the same whimsical enchantment that fairytales hold. Therein was the problem. Could Sam really lie to his brother?

The Winchester's were not meant for the fairytale kind of life. They were meant for the epic tragedies of the world, because they had the strength and spirit to endure it. They'd be surprised for a happily-ever-after style ending. They'd be satisfied to know it even could end. Alas, evil would always exist. This was their fate, and that was fact, not fiction. They were cursed and as Dean taught Sam well, you can't stop a curse, just run from it.

And a lot of good running has done for this family…

Dean could start over, have the life he should be living…but then I risk losing the brother I've always had…

I can't be so selfish, not anymore…

If I just let him go…spin a magical fairytale…he can have normal. He deserves normal.

But can he survive normal? Would he be safe…?

"Why did you leave us, Dad?" Sam spoke outwardly in the silence of the car. "I need you to tell me what to do." For once he sought his father's direct order over his life instead of cringing from it. He wanted someone to tell him what the best choice was, what the right thing to do was.

And then Sam remembered it was never his father he resorted to for "Let your conscience be your guide" speeches. It was never John Winchester who Sam encouraged to get answers or advice from…it had been Dean. It would always be Dean.

Sam sunk down in the seat. The weight of his thoughts was pushing him closer to the asphalt below the ever-on-the-move Impala.

Normality was worth a lot to the twenty-two year old in the brief time he had it. In fact, on some days he'd argue nothing else was worth more. But this was different now, this was Dean. Although Sam wished Dean could own a memory of happy normalcy, he knew it'd mean perhaps losing his brother forever. And nothing to Sam was worth more to him than his brother. And as far as Sam was concerned, Dean was the closest thing to normal as he ever had that was real, that was more than an illusion or a figment of a memory.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He fumbled, struggling to control the steering wheel with one hand, while trying to grasp the phone in the passenger seat. Taking proper control back of the car, he answered, hoping it was Dean to say he suddenly remembered everything, and the misery could be over…

"Hello?"

There was a silence, an all-too familiar silence, and Sam was ready to snap the cell phone shut and throw it out the window. But then the silence broke, and a voice emerged, and Sam almost wished for the silence to remain.

"Sam—sorry—get to—help—he needs you—hurry."

"Dad? Is that you?" Sam tried his hardest to listen through the static, but he was certain it was his father calling him, albeit distorted and broken up.

"Hurry Sam—he needs you—get to Dean!" Then the static ceased and Sam was met with the dial-tone and an eerie feeling that Dean was in trouble.

Sam tossed the phone into the seat again and thankful to an empty road he hardly slowed his speed as he spun around, tires screeching. He didn't care if it was their father calling him or not. He didn't care if what he was told was true. What he cared about was Dean, and if there was the slightest chance he needed help…Sam would be there. He only hoped it wasn't too late.

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There was a single streetlamp outside the parking lot of the motel they were in and it seemed to flicker when Sam tore into the parking space outside the room. It took him half the time it'd take someone to usually notice something peculiar, and when he saw the room door open with nothing but darkness inside, he had attempted to jump out of the car with his seatbelt still on. He jostled with the so-called "life saving device", having to calm himself for a second in order to unbuckle. It wouldn't save anyone's life if Sam didn't get inside that room and see that Dean was alright.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, bursting into the quiet room.

It was too quiet.

He heard a shuffling of sheets and squinted in the darkness to see a form sitting upright in Dean's bed.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam ran for the light and turned it on. Dean was alone looking as scared as he'd ever looked, and that was the most frightening thing to Sam. Dean's fear was Sam's weakness, just as Sam's weakness was Dean's fear. They were each other's strength and comfort, each brother a security blanket to the other, and they knew that-even if they'd never admit it.

"I don't know…I…I just don't know," Dean's voice was frail and he shielded himself from the lamplight, partially because his eyes weren't yet adjusted from the darkness, and also because he didn't want to look at Sam.

"What happened? Did something happen?" Sam knew something had to have happened, he just didn't know what. He extended his hand towards his brother's shoulder. Dean quickly shrunk back, slamming himself backward into the headboard of the bed.

"Please, just…stay away," Dean was on the verge of tears again. Sam supposed that Dean, without remembering the years of conditioning from their father that crying was bad, wasn't able to put a proper wall up for himself, block out the emotion and fear. And Sam was both heartbroken and relieved. Maybe he'd be able to talk to his brother about what he was feeling, about what was going on inside that curious head of his.

"Dean, you have to talk to me, please. Just tell me what happened." Sam looked around the room for signs of intrusion, human or otherworldly. The temperature was comfortable, lights were steady, and Sam was baffled. He remembered the door being open. "Was someone in here?"

The look on Dean's face expressed to Sam, who had grown up learning his brother's expressions, that something seriously spooked him. And Dean, looking at and away at his slightly intimidating younger brother, couldn't reason within himself about what happened. Had someone paid a visit to him? What was that voice?

Dean thought he might be going crazy. There had been no one in that room since Sam left, coming or going. Dean didn't want to let on that he thought he heard things. It just was not possible.

And then Dean's thoughts returned to where they planted themselves just before Sam burst in the room.

Sam tried to kill me.

He looked up at Sam with wild, disbelieving eyes and swallowed something that felt like a brick to him.

"Did you…" Dean stopped himself. Did he really want to know? "That gun…it was empty, but…you shot me. You shot me?" He sounded like he was stating it matter-of-factly, yet at the same time questioning the logic, the possibility behind it. Sam nearly fell backwards onto the other bed, taking in a deep breath, sadly knowing exactly what he was referring to.

"You…remember?"

"So it was true…But, why? What did I do to make you want to kill me?"

Sam now took his seat on the bed, the only recourse available to his failing ability to remain standing.

Sam could hardly look at his older brother falling part just inches away from him, and Sam was helpless to hold him together. He could barely hold himself together.

"Try and calm down a moment,"—

"Calm down? Are you serious? How do I know you aren't just gonna kill me?" Dean demanded, nearly falling off his bed. Sam lowered his gaze to the floor.

"If I wanted to kill you, why haven't I done it yet?" His voice remained calm, though shaky, and had a soothing tone to it that Dean seemed to embrace.

"Okay…so…what then?"

"Um…well, first off…it wasn't really me. I mean, it was me, physically, but not mentally. Well, okay, mentally I was there but…just, I wasn't in control, and," Sam quit in his explanation, taking a moment to observe his brother who had his head tilted and eyes narrowed with a 'What the Hell?' expression. "Alright, let me start over,"

"Uh…'kay," Dean sighed, completely confused while wanting to listen to Sam and at the same time run away.

"We…we're hunters. We, um…hunt things,"

"Hunt things, what, like deer?"

If Bambi was possessed, then yeah…Sam inwardly smiled as he channeled his older brother.

"Not exactly living things, per se...There are things in this world that can't be explained. They're bad, evil things…that hurt people and sometimes kill. We hunt them, kill them, hopefully before anyone gets hurt." Sam tried his best to explain, fully aware at how bizarre this must sound to his brother. Dean was obviously perplexed.

"Wait, so you mean like ghosts?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah," was the only word he seemed able to say. "Ghosts, monsters, demons…the undead."

"So…why'd you try to kill me?" Dean asked again, ignoring the nonsense he was hearing. Sam shrunk in the presence of the question.

"Well, a ghost kind of…tampered with my mind. He took control and…I didn't try to kill you. He was making me do it,"

"A ghost tried to kill me. That's just great!" Dean gave a small laugh, rolling his eyes.

"Dean,"

"No, you know what?" Dean stood up, throwing the covers to the floor. "I've had it. I can't take this, Sam…you're telling me monsters exist? Things that hide in closets and under beds are real? Not only that, but we hunt the things?"

"I know it's hard to understand..."

"It's not hard, it's impossible. What kind of crap is that? I ask you for the truth and you tell me this B.S.? Is my life that bad that you'd make something like this up?"

"I'm not making it up! It's true..." And Sam suddenly found himself talking to the likes of a typical victim: hysterical, skeptical, and very much in danger from the evils around them. Yet he had no way to prove it. "This is why I didn't want to tell you...you don't think I know it sounds insane?"

"Insane is putting it lightly. To tell the truth, I thought I was the one going insane, hearing voices…" Dean trailed off, pacing by his bedside. Sam perked his head up.

"Voices? What voices?"

"What? Nothing, never mind…"

"Tell me, please…" Sam stood up as well. "What have you heard, exactly?" He was slightly shocked at his switch to hunter mode, oppose to little brother, although the latter would always be there first and foremost.

Dean didn't want to answer. Sam's watchful eyes were intent on making him speak, and he tried not to look at him thinking he could avoid talking. He couldn't stop himself from looking at Sam, though, and he felt doomed to answer the pleading boy's question.

"Alright, Ghost Boy," Dean began, and Sam's heart skipped a beat at his nicknaming remark. "Before you got here…I woke up and I heard this…voice…this guy, talking…I don't know. But there was no one here, I mean, that's impossible,"

"What did he say?"

Dean shot him a sharp look. Why should he tell him? Was it any of his business? But maybe he could help…

"He said I…was cursed to be alone. He mentioned my parents abandoning me…and…you. And then suddenly I just…had this memory of you pointing a gun at me. And then the guy, whoever he was, vanished."

"So he was here…but you didn't see him?"

"Er…well, not really. I thought I felt him behind me…I felt breathing down my neck and…I don't know, I didn't see anything."

Sam walked to the window, pulled back the curtain uncertain of what he expected to see, and walked back to the bed. He couldn't grasp his thoughts well enough to articulate them.

Dean is hearing voices, too…Sam thought, remembering the voice in the old manor, the voice in his nightmare…that familiar voice…

And then he realized what must be happening.

They were being haunted by some creature.

"It's crazy, I know, but I've been hearing a voice," Sam started to say, urging his brother's belief. "Ever since…right before you fell,"

Sam caught Dean's attention.

"Before…I lost my memories? Do you think it's the same voice?"

"Honestly, I don't know…but I intend to find out," Sam told him, practically hoping over to his duffle bag on the floor and began digging through it.

"How? I mean, what…This is nuts. There has to be some rational explanation…right?" Dean was wishing more than asking. Sam paused in his search and looked back up at Dean.

"I'm afraid rationality has little to do with what's out there." Sam said quietly and Dean looked hurt by the words. "You can tell me you don't believe me, I wouldn't blame you. In fact, I'd expect to hear it. But…you have to believe me."

"Why should I?" Dean questioned, hardly emoting his feelings behind the words.

Sam took a moment to respond. He looked fiercely into Dean's eyes, searching for his answer until he saw it, reflecting back at him in glimmering truth.

"Because…you're my brother, and I need you to believe me."

For a brief moment, there was a sense of understanding and clarity between the two. Although it was momentary, they each held onto it, unwilling to let go.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You look like you need a hug, or something," Dean said thoughtfully, and Sam didn't fight a smile.

"Let's save the hug until after I save you," Sam said, a frown becoming apparent on his face as he recalled the fact that something was after them. What worried him most was that it was after Dean. Sam knew, once he'd figure out what was going on, that he'd be able to protect himself. Dean would have no idea what he'd be dealing with. Dean was in danger, and Sam wasn't going to sit around and worry. He needed to figure this out, stop it, and protect Dean at all costs.

"Okay…" Dean gave a half-smile. "Hey, um…where did you go, earlier?"

"I…thought I could maybe find our Dad," Sam stated with a new sadness in his voice.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He's been missing for a while now. We've been searching for him for months, and that's why we stay in motels and such…"

"Missing? Do you think he's in trouble?"

"You know about as much as I do, however…I think he called me before. That's weird enough in itself…" Sam spoke while going further into his own thoughts.

"What about our Mom? Where is she?" Dean asked. He was wretchedly unaware of the melancholy behind the answer that Sam wasn't ready to give.

"Um…she's…" Sam explored possible explanations in his head, but everything he thought he could say sounded unjustified and tacky. Some thing ripped her open, stuck her on the ceiling, and then she burned away in rapid fire…

"You don't have to tell me," Dean said quickly, pulling Sam from his superfluous thoughts. Dean rubbed his temples, looking beaten.

"What?"

"I get the feeling whatever happened…well, I can just tell it's not easy for you to say. And if that's the case, then I probably don't want to know just yet…I've kind of had my fair share of shocking revelations for the night," Dean explained with a dismal grin. Sam returned it, equally dismal, but appreciated being allowed the ease of mind, if not the ease of heart.

"Sure, I understand,"

"Well, I'm gonna use the bathroom," he said with a sigh, walking towards it. Sam nodded, continuing to rummage through the duffle bag till he found it: their Dad's journal.

He wasn't sure what he'd be looking for. The only clues to this "monster" had been an eerie voice. There wasn't much in the Monster Handbook on voices alone. Voices, naturally, had to have a connection.

Telepathy…

The idea crawled into Sam's mind suddenly. What creatures had telepathic abilities? There were humans, for one thing…some animals…maybe vampires…

Sam's thoughts broke at the sound of a petrified yell coming from the bathroom.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, maneuvering past the beds and desk down the hall. His steps were quick and the distance was short, but Sam felt like he'd never get there in time. His heart raced as he pushed himself into the bathroom entryway, grabbing the doorframe for support from falling over. He tried to catch his breath so he'd be able to ask if Dean was okay, but what short breaths he had left were stolen from him as he saw what Dean was staring at with hushed fright.

Along the mirror, intricately illuminated by the dim bathroom light, were words spelled out in fresh, dripping blood.

The garnet-red letters spelled a phrase too close to a memory of Sam's.

'I told you I'd come back…'

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To Be Continued…

Thanks much for your time in reading this! I hope you liked it. Feedback is fantastic (and other like adjectives). Till next time, take care…

Silver Kitten