The Beckoning

Chapter Five: Exposure

Author's Note: Ah, I'm sorry I haven't updated very quickly, I'm hoping the length of this chapter kind of makes up for it. You should know the reviews are very motivating and encouraging for me to update this story, and just knowing people are reading my story (you know who you are) is fantastic…This is honestly the fastest I've ever kept up on updating a story like this, and I think it's cuz of all of you (curse my bout of writer's block I had for two days!). Anyways, thank you SO much, and I plan on thanking you personally if I can…I just keep getting stuck at work, and ya know how life likes to get in the way sometimes. Okay, well this is one of my favorite chapters so far, and it's also one of the saddest. There's particular angst near the end. On with the story…

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Dean stood, now facing his brother, his lips forming the beginnings of questions though he couldn't quite find his voice.

Sam wasn't sure what to say. He kept his eyes focused on the words.

'I told you I'd come back…'

It sent a shiver down his back, and then he turned to look at Dean and met his fearful gaze.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked out of habit and concern. He knew Dean was shaken up, but he still needed to hear his older brother tell him he was okay.

"I think…" he answered with bewilderment, as if he had to ask himself if he was okay before answering. "How could this happen? Who'd do this?"

"I think I might actually be able to answer that," Sam said, going back to the bedroom. Dean was quick to follow the taller Winchester.

"What's that?" Dean asked, staring at the worn and tattered brown journal in Sam's hands.

"It's Dad's journal. He sort of…left it for us like a guide. Everything he knows about evil beings is in here," Sam explained while flipping through the pages. Dean eyed the journal with attentive suspicion.

"He must really love us," he said, mostly because he wanted to hear what it sounded like outside his head. He'd hoped it would bring a memory. Sam looked up from the journal with forlorn eyes. "I mean, for him to leave us all this information…he must want us to stay safe. He must care a lot," Dean continued anxiously waiting for Sam to agree.

Sam looked back down at the abandoned book, his eyes grazing over some of the illegible ramblings their father scribbled down. To Sam, this journal existed for his father's selfish reasons. He didn't write in it throughout the years so he could one day pass it on like a precious family heirloom. He wrote in it to help sort through his scattered mind, to piece together the evil in the world like a puzzle, hoping someday he'd find that missing piece…hoping he'd find Mary's killer. It was the mark of his greatest obsession and most lethal of passions, not to mention a photo album of the boy's lacking childhood.

Yet, the young man held onto the journal and met his older brother's eyes once more. He wasn't going to trouble Dean with the cold reality he'd been forced to comply with. And sure, maybe John did care…once. Sam wasn't sure anymore. But if Dean wanted it so, then so it was…

"Yeah," Sam forced a whole smile. "He loves us." Sam wanted to believe that he was telling his brother the truth, but really that was all up to John.

The smile Dean gave Sam after hearing those words was priceless, and Sam almost immediately wanted to take back what he'd said. What if their Dad didn't love them? What if he never came back for them and Dean never got his memories back? He'd be hanging on a hope that would never receive validation, and if there was an equal and opposite expression to the one Dean was beaming now—Sam would die if he had to witness it. Nevertheless, Sam knew there were more pressing matters that required his attention. Something was after Dean, and maybe even himself…

"So," Sam started, wanting to continue into a deep confession with his older brother but knowing he needed the both of them to focus. If there was one thing Sam had learned from Dean, it is that there was a time and place for everything and how ironic, Sam thought, that it was never the right time and they were never in the right place. Right now, however, the writing on the mirror demanded a dire concentration. "You won't remember this, but about six years ago we were on a hunt,"

"One of those ghost hunts?" Dean asked, slightly curious.

"Something like that, only it wasn't exactly a ghost we were hunting,"

"Wait," Dean interjected, raising a hand in a stop motion. "Should I sit down for this?"

Sam gave a small chuckle. "Maybe, just in case," and with that Dean took a seat on the bed, with Sam sitting next to him holding the journal so they could both see it. It was an article about an old manor, much like the one the boys were previously investigating the other day. People around the town were vanishing and soon enough their bodies were found in the manor, drained of blood. Sam watched as Dean scanned the article. It wasn't exactly a children's bedtime story, but Dean's eyes lit up with interest as if he were a kid embarking on an adventure.

Something in him knows this is his fate…

Sam pulled away from the dejected thought.

"We were hunting a vampire?" Dean asked now, looking over to Sam. "Did we kill him?"

Sam looked up at the ceiling, his memories washing over him in a wave of coldness, and he shivered as he was taken back six years…

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"Remember, you either decapitate the head," a twenty-year-old Dean spoke firmly to his younger brother, who rolled his eyes at the redundant speech he'd heard at least eight times for the duration of the car ride. "Or shove the stake as hard as you can, right in their heart," he finished, poking his brother a tad sharply in the chest.

"Ow, what was that for?" the younger Winchester asked, rubbing the sore spot over his sternum.

"That was for the eye-roll." Dean grinned, straightening his jacket and continuing to walk down the dark hallway. "And what do you mean, 'Ow'? I didn't even poke you that hard, Sammy,"

"Says you!" Sam shot back, taking a moment to try and poke his brother as hard as he'd felt it done to him.

"Ow!" Dean mocked, pretending to cry.

"Shut up, you're such a jerk," Sam sighed, trying not to laugh at the foolish behavior of his self-proclaimed smarter brother.

"Such words, little hunter, such words," Dean said while giving a teasing laugh and putting a hand over his heart. He drew his free arm around his brother and pulled him into a side-hug. Sam didn't resist but didn't give in; his thoughts were somewhere else. "But seriously, Sammy, do you think you're ready for this?"

At those words, Sam looked up and met his brother's eyes. "I'm not a baby, Dean. I can handle this. And if you've killed a vampire, then I can kill a vampire," Sam didn't mask the laughter in his voice, though he wished he had once he felt his brother's arm extend to his neck, pulling him into a headlock.

"Very funny!" Dean said as his brother flailed to break free of his grip.

"Come on, Dean," Sam's voice was muffled by Dean's jacket. "I was kidding!"

"Knock it off, right now!" A voice boomed from a near distance, and both the Winchester boys composed themselves immediately, forced to meet the displeased look on their father's face.

"Sorry, sir," they said in unison, Dean just a millisecond ahead of Sam.

"We're in the middle of a hunt. This isn't playtime," their father's voice expressed extreme disappointment for each of the boys, however Dean knew it was held for him alone. "Dean, you take Sam and go upstairs. I'm going to the basement. Can I trust you to behave and not get you or your brother killed?"

The words were sharp and pricked at Dean's heart.

"Dad," he wanted to make clear he'd never compromise Sammy's life. His father of all people should understand that. How could he think otherwise, after all these years?

"Can I trust you?" John's voice demanded a single response and nothing else. Dean caved.

"Yes,"

"Be careful," John commanded, before taking off further into the darkness. The boys watched in silence as he disappeared from sight.

"Dean, I'm sor—"

"Forget about it," Dean cut him off before he could apologize. He didn't need to apologize. "Let's go kick some vampire ass," he attempted to revive a jovial competitive notion to their task. Sam sighed but nodded with half a smile.

The two entered the top floor, their flashlights battling through the murky shadows. It was eerily quiet in the house and so their footsteps creaking on the floorboards were awkwardly loud. The brothers cringed with each step. Although it was dawn and the sun had just risen, it felt like night inside the walls. The vampire they were hunting made strong attempts to block out sunlight.

"So, what if he's not in his coffin?" Sam asked in a hushed voice, somehow feeling a negative presence creeping up on them.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"The sun's out, where else would he be?"

"I don't know, but what if he's not sleeping?"

Dean put the light of his flashlight on his brother's face.

"You're not scared, are you Sammy?" Dean asked, mostly in a joking overtone but the question was serious just the same. Sam pushed the flashlight out of his direction.

"No, it's just…" Sam paused. It's just something doesn't feel right, he thought, but he was unable to speak the words aloud. "I'm trying to be precautious."

"Precautious? How old are you, Sammy? Like thirty?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

"Sorry, I forgot words more than two syllables catch you off guard," Sam defended himself with a grin. He loved the chances, often against the odds, that he got to one-up his brother. He relished in his small victory for a moment and then waited for his brother to continue their banter, but within an instant he was struck with loss. Dean's eyes widened before him, and Sam didn't have time enough to turn around and see what Dean saw, as he found the floor of an empty room instead.

Momentarily disoriented from his brother's push, he quickly collected himself and turned around to see Dean pinned against a wall by a tall, dark figure.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, struggling to find proper footing as he stood up. He ran to his brother, who had been fighting uselessly against the vampire's strength to break free, when he was met with another powerful force. It took less than a second for the vampire to throw Dean across the hall and switch his attention to Sam.

Sam pulled away from the vampire as best he could yet to no avail. His arms were crushing into his sides, the back of his head now throbbing from the impact with the wall behind him. Dean's advice threw itself at him. Don't look in their eyes.

Sam shut his eyes at once, only wanting to open them to catch a glimpse of his brother to make sure he was okay. He did not and chose to obey his brother's words.

"You'll do fine," the vampire's bottomless voice spoke, his breath cold on Sam's face. "After I take your brother," he laughed, tossing Sam to the ground, almost knocking him unconscious. Sam fought to hold onto his awareness, to stay awake, to help Dean.

He heard Dean's struggled breath and a sort of whispering floating amid the darkness like a wind. Sam pulled himself up from the floor again, becoming rather tired of having to do such a task so often lately. He drew out the wooden stake he'd tucked inside a backpack pocket which he was still surprised to have on.

"Leave him alone!" Sam ordered. The vampire had Dean's neck at an angle as he turned to face Sam.

His fangs suddenly protracted as he smiled harshly. "What are you going to do, kill me?" he asked without any real intentions of receiving an answer. "My boy, I'm already dead." He then lifted a long arm, showing off the sharp nails on his slender, white hands, proceeding to stab the claw-like structures into Dean's shoulder. Dean let out an exhausted cry and Sam winced. When the vampire removed himself from Dean, who could barely hold himself up against the wall, he slowly maneuvered to Sam.

Sam kept his eyes on the vampire as best he could without making eye contact. He'd been taken aback by how human he appeared, save for the fangs.

Not knowing how, exactly, he would manage this kill, Sam waited for the right moment to launch his attack. He didn't have much time to plan it out as it seemed to come on its own.

"Get away from my brother, you bastard!" Dean yelled in a pained voice. He then impaled the vampire's back with his stake, trying to distract him. The vampire hissed, threw his head back, and Sam used the opportunity to drive his stake right into the chest of the vile creature. He had hoped he hit the heart.

When the vampire stumbled back, Sam helped Dean get out of his way, supporting his brother while he clasped his wounded shoulder.

The very human monster, in appearances only, slunk to the floor as he grasped the stake in his heart. Sam held no fear in looking in the dying vampire's eyes, at least until he actually caught the creature's gaze. Something put Sam's heart at a standstill, as if the vampire had an invisible first around it. Although the numbing pain lasted only a moment, quickly fading as the vampire was losing its strength, he couldn't disregard an unsettling voice he suddenly heard in his head. A threatening thought spoke to him.

"I'll come back for you…for both of you. Your blood is mine..."

With that, Sam shrunk closer towards his brother and watched as the vampire fell silent, fell to the floor, and fell back into the shadows.

Forcing his thoughts away from the vampire's final threat, he turned to Dean.

"I think you need a hospital, those wounds look deep," Sam said sympathetically. Dean grimaced at the word 'hospital'.

"I'll be fine," he said flatly.

"…Let's go find Dad," Sam ignored his brother's fake answer, hoping their father would have a stronger say in the matter.

When they reached the entrance to the old house, their Dad had just been on his way up to meet them. As soon as John saw Dean was injured, he became annoyingly, but understandably, too curious for Sam's liking.

After John interrogated the boy's on what precisely happened, and he heard the story, Sam appreciated the fact he agreed Dean needed a hospital visit, just to be safe.

"But Dad," Dean whined, attempting to stand up straight with his injured shoulder and failing.

"No 'but Dad's'. Let's get going,"

Their father's word was always the final, and the three hunters took their leave of the old manor. Sam kept his eyes on it as they drove away, incapable of turning from this, yet another, brush with Death. He believed the vampire was dead, he felt him die, or he thought he did. Yet, there was something different in the air about it, something indefinite. And Sam couldn't help but wonder…was it really the end of their foe?

Or was it just that odd, unexplainable feeling that lingered…that Sam had been determined to believe was just a feeling.

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As Sam finished recounting the story, Dean was left feeling frighteningly astonished.

"So, this vampire…he spoke to you like…telepathically?"

"I believe so. I didn't know much of what to think about it, I mean, I thought he was dying…just trying to scare me. I should have listened to my gut instinct…I must have missed his heart, but I swore…" Sam let out a heavy, burdened sigh. This is my fault.

"Do you think you're responsible for everything bad that happens?" Dean asked. The question struck Sam as funny, though he didn't let it show in his expression.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, ever since I met you," Dean stopped for a moment, thinking over his words. "I mean, since I woke up…it just seems like you believe this, everything, is your fault. I guess it might be, I can't say because I can't remember. But I have this feeling that it's not…like, maybe you feel guilty for stuff you shouldn't, stuff you can't control. I feel like I know,"—Dean took in a rapid inhale, like something collided in his thoughts, something connected. "Like I know you're innocent."

Dean said the word like he read it in his mind, as if he turned a page in his memory's scrapbook. The picture was blurred but still it was there. He tried to focus on it, but the harder he tried the less he saw.

Sam blinked curiously trying to grasp what Dean just told him. He cleared his throat to speak, but held his words in a moment longer as he let the faint possibility sink in that maybe- Dean was beginning to remember. It was just like Dean to remind Sam it wasn't his fault. No matter what the issue, Sam found a way to twist it so he was responsible and the same way he managed to do so, Dean dug up a way to prove him otherwise.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm innocent," Sam smiled weakly and looked away from his brother, who seemed to be blushing. Dean shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know why I said that, I just…" Dean put his hands to his head and exhaled painfully. Sam looked at Dean again, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"I suddenly felt really dizzy, that's all," Dean answered, shaking his head. Sam felt nausea creep into his stomach as he remembered the concussion. Immediately, Sam lunged for his duffle bag nearby and pulled out a small flashlight. He slightly tilted Dean's head.

"Here, look up," he asked, shining the light in Dean's squinting eyes. Sam let out a sigh of relief. "Your pupils seem to be normal,"

"Thanks, Doc," Dean said, trying to keep his eyes open. "So can you stop blinding me now?"

"Oh, sorry," Sam clicked the flashlight off and Dean looked around the room to escape the filtered spots he saw. The next thing he knew, Sam stuck a thermometer in his mouth, nearly causing Dean to choke as he didn't expect it. He tried to mumble something but it was inaudible with the thermometer. Sam motioned him to wait to speak till he pulled it out and read its results.

"98.7…"

"Sam, I feel fine, really,"

"I'm only making sure,"

Dean watched Sam as he continued to check his head, gently moving it from side to side, trying not to touch the bruises. He felt anxious for his brother now who seemed to be worrying way too much, and a foreign but genuine idea came to him. He wanted to settle Sam down.

"I think I'd just like to take a nap. Didn't sleep very well, before," Dean lied, not being very tired at all. He thought if Sam believed he was resting then maybe Sam could rest, also.

"Sure,' Sam nodded, a little hesitant to exclude himself from his brother's company again, if only in the waking world.

"About this vampire," Dean started, not knowing where he'd finish.

"Don't worry about him. I'm going to stay up and keep watch, but for some reason I think he'll leave us be. He hasn't done anything yet. In the morning we'll go back to the manor, do some more investigating…I'll have to teach you a few things first, of course," Sam smiled at the thought of being the teacher for once.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean yawned, coming to a realization that sleep wasn't that bad of an idea. He almost wondered if he ever got much sleep for as much as his body seemed to be accepting of it.

Sam sat on his bed, reclining against his headboard. He watched, waited patiently, as Dean fell asleep. When he was sure Dean was in a safe, peaceful slumber, he looked around the room with predator's eyes. It was quiet, and no vibe of trouble concerned his mind. He tried to relax his tensed shoulders and turned his attention to his laptop that rested on one of his pillows over his lap.

He signed into his account, began a new email, and searched his address book till he saw it. It took longer than it should have for him to check the box next to the email he wanted…it was John's. He sat perplexed, not knowing what to type in an email to his Dad. This was usually Dean's forte.

The keyboard seemed ridiculously uncooperative as he put his fingers on the keys, or maybe it was just him who didn't want to press any. He had to, though, and without letting his thoughts intervene, he slowly began typing.

Dad,

Dean was in an accident. He's doing better but he has amnesia, can't remember a thing about us or our history.

Were you at the hospital? The secretary mentioned a John who came to visit us. If it was you, why didn't you show yourself to us? Did you know Dean had amnesia? I really could be using your help right now…I won't ask for it, though, because something tells me I won't get an answer.

Do you remember that vampire hunt we went on about six years ago? Dean walked away with a shoulder injury? That vampire I…thought I killed, I think he's back. Dean and I are going after him tomorrow.

Also, I got a weird phone call…I think it was you, but I can't be sure. Too many weird things have happened lately. It was broken up, but you told me to get back to Dean, that he needed me. Was it you, or someone else, or was I imagining it?

I wish you would call and talk to me and not just deliver cryptic messages. Hell, better yet, I wish you'd quit being a cowardly prick and just show up once in a while in the places you force us to go to. You know, I almost killed Dean at that Roosevelt Asylum?

I almost killed my own brother.

Where the hell were you?

We deserve answers.

Dean deserves better than this...

-Sam

Sam observed the white, virtual arrow hovering over the send button. One press and it'd be over with. He swallowed hard and pressed. It was done, but no where near over with.

He shut his eyes, leaning his head back into the wall behind him, almost purposefully in a hard enough manner to hurt.

After taking a moment to let his repressed anger leave him, he revisited thoughts of the vampire.

I told you I'd come back…

Sam regretted not making sure he'd killed the vampire years ago. He wished he could go back and change what happened. If he could do it over again, he'd make sure the vampire was dead. Stake in the heart, he'd decapitate him and then burn his dead flesh. He knew why he didn't at the time. Dean was hurt and Sam wanted to get him help as soon as possible. Not only that, but Sam was afraid to think he was different from his family.

All those strange vibes, thoughts, feelings…it wasn't right, wasn't normal…and Sam needed to hold onto his dream of being normal. His hope for normality was the only thing aside from pictures and stories that reminded him of his mother. He knew the Winchester family was normal at one time, and that was before Mary died. If he could hold on to normal, he could hold on to his mother and what she would want for their family. And Sam held on.

His thoughts stirred at a low moan coming from the next bed. He saw Dean's eyes move hectically beneath his eyelids, and he began jerking his body, trying to flee from whatever visions attacked his sleep.

Sam moved the laptop and pillow off him as he slid to the edge of his bed. He wanted to stop Dean's nightmare, and as he reached his hand out to touch Dean's forehead, he stopped in mid-air as he heard his brother speak.

"…Shadows falling…Man without a face…" Dean spoke in a saddened voice, his eyes kept tightly shut.

Sam wondered what his brother could be talking about. He leaned in a bit closer to hear what else Dean was trying to say.

He began mumbling something but Sam couldn't make out what. Then, he twisted in his bed, turning his head back and forth, his breathing accelerated in a panic. Sam was about to stand up, to go over and sit next to him and soothe him back to sleep, but Dean's eyes shot open and tears spilled out.

Sam watched in horror as his brother's eyes looked up to the ceiling and Dean was ignited with terror by the sight. He screamed without a proper breath and managed to move his body closer to the end of the bed, closer to Sam. Before he fell over completely, Sam caught his brother's upper torso, landing them both on the floor between the beds. Instantly, Dean hid his face in Sam's chest, shaking wildly and his voice was crying.

"The ceiling was on fire!"

Sam held on tighter to his brother as he said the words, repeating it over and over with a new wave of fear coursing through him.

"The ceiling was on fire! The ceiling was on fire! Why, Sam? Why was the ceiling on fire?"

"Dean," Sam said softly, trying to grab his attention. He wanted to tell his brother he had a nightmare- that it wasn't real…but he knew it was more than that.

"And that woman," Dean's voice broke into a new tone of grief and confusion. "Bleeding…on fire…" his breath was leaving him and his heart threatening to explode inside his chest. He couldn't find the words for what he'd just seen.

Sam pulled himself closer to Dean, rocking him back and forth in hopes it would comfort his brother. His chest was caught in a burning pain as he realized exactly what Dean saw. Their mother dying…

A twisted pang of remorse cut through his body, wrenched through his heart, as he came to understand what was happening.

Dean was losing Mom all over again…

"You know who she was…" Dean told Sam, needing and dreading his brother's confirmation. Sam fought tears in his eyes, looking up at the ceiling with disdain.

"Mom." The word was small but held a greater revelation for Dean, who now clutched his fists onto Sam's shirt.

"No…oh, God…no…" he begged. Sam felt the wetness of his shirt cling to his chest as Dean cried.

And Sam recoiled in his own revelation that their mother was being taken away from Dean all over again. Her death was replaying before him like it was the first time. And Sam felt his brother fight the truth from seeming so real, so honest. And Dean was a crestfallen man being reduced to a child once again, being pried away from youth, from childhood, from normal…from his mother, but not from Sam. Never from Sam.

And Sam let tears fall from his eyes as he apprehended the belief that this time he'd be there for Dean to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. This time, as Dean was falling apart, Sam caught him.

He'd been trying to catch Dean for some time now, and he'd finally been allowed to in the absence of his brother's steady façade of true, but irresolute strength. He cradled Dean towards his chest, an arm placed around Dean's face to block out any image of the ceiling that might remind him of the smoldering tragedy of their past.

He knew how defenseless Dean must feel, how this open wound would attract a world of painful memories yet to come, and Sam needed to let Dean know he wouldn't be alone. He searched his soul for what words to say, what truth to now speak that might attempt a beginning of the healing process, and the moment his thought landed on it he spoke from his heart to his brother's.

"We've still got each other," Sam said thankfully, rubbing Dean's back. Dean sobbed into Sam's shoulder when he said it, and Sam tried to pacify his pain with a strong hug, not knowing if he'd ever been so close to Dean as he was now. A diminutive, exposing smile came to his face as he recognized the honesty in his own words. "We'll always have each other,"

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To be continued…

Feedback is appreciated. Thanks so much for reading…hope it was entertaining! The next chapter will be up soon.

Silver Kitten