Title: Blackbird

Author: Oldach's Dream

Summary: Someone or Something is trying to trap Sam within his own mind. Alluring him with the promise of the normal life that he's always wanted. Will Dean be able to save his baby brother before he's gone forever?

Disclaimer: Supernatural defiantly isn't my creation.


Chapter Eleven:

"Something's wrong." Jessica said as soon as Sam woke up with a gasp. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, obviously awake before now.

"Dean." Sam rasped immediately. "Where's Dean?"

"Downstairs." Jess said evenly, not taking her concerned eyes away from him. "Probably making breakfast, pancakes. Smells like it anyway" She paused. "Sam. Are you okay? Do we have to go see Dr. Malid?"

"No!" Sam exclaimed immediately. He took a deep breath, then went on, his voice calmer. "I just...had a nightmare. Dean was in it."

"Are you sure that's all it was?" She asked sternly.

Sam forced a smile and touched her face lightly. "Yeah, that's it."

"Okay." She studied him for another moment, before smiling back happily. "Good. I'm going to take a shower, wanna join me?"

Her eyebrows raised suggestively, but there was laughter in her voice.

"And have Dean walk in on us again?" Talking to her was driving out the remaining emotions from his night time foray into the other world. "No thanks."

Jessica smiled brightly and Sam realized after a second that she was probably relieved to hear that kind of old memory recollection surface from him.

"Suit yourself." She made her way off the bed, kissing him lightly on the cheek, before turning towards the bathroom. "I won't be long."

Sam waited until he heard the water running, before he flopped back down on the bed. He groaned out loud, snatching up Jessica's pillow and holding to his face, breathing in her scent deeply. He kept his arms crossed at his chest when he lowered them again.

Sam couldn't even begin to make sense of what had happened in his nightmare. Or rather, what had happened in the other world. He recalled seeing Dean in the kitchen downstairs, but the more he focused on it, the blurrier those memories became.

He had defiantly never experienced anything like that before. He was left with the sense that it had felt real while it was happening, but it no longer felt real now. Yet waking up back in Grandville had.

Sam shivered, the haunting memories flooded back. Dr. Kabala was doing something to him. Something about a business had been mentioned. And he had threatened Dean; not out right or obviously. But there was a threat there, a promise to Sam; that if his brother ever came back for him, he was as good as dead.

He really didn't know what to do. He wanted to go back to the other world...

Reality.

He told himself harshly. He had to return to reality and tell Dean that he was in danger. A thought struck him and he shut his eyes tightly.

I want to go back. I want to go back. I want to go back.

He cracked one eye hesitantly, but already knew he had failed. Sure enough, the room that came into view was the luscious, remodeled, newly dubbed 'guest room' of his old Kansas home.

Having a father with a construction business really did come in handy, he noted absently as his eyes scanned the room. Sam guessed they had torn down the wall between Sam's old childhood bedroom and the hall closet. As the room was bigger than Sam remembered it being from their last visit, but Dean was still crashing in his old room.

It seemed none of his family wanted to leave his side at the moment.

But they're not real. You're trapped inside you're own head. And Dean's gonna die if you don't get a fucking grip!

I want to go back.

He pleaded and pleaded. The way he had when he had returned to Grandville and desperately wanted to come back here. It had worked then. Why was it not working now?

Obviously the curse would play off his natural desire to live in this place. Whoever had cast it on him, knew him well. They knew how desperate Sam was to have a normal life. They knew it and they fed off it, used it against him, used it to get to Dean.

The logic didn't make him feel any better. He needed to get back, but he couldn't make it happen.

Tears of frustration formed, but he blinked them away rapidly. The urge to punch a wall until his knuckles bled surfaced, but he fought it down. He had to think clearly. He had to figure this out.

Okay, what would Dean do?

Sam calmed considerably as his big brother's voice sounded in the back of his mind. A memory, he realized.

"You gotta keep you're cool Sammy." A fourteen year old Dean reminded him gently. "If you don't know what'll kill it, back off until you do."

"I know." Ten year old Sam snapped. But his annoyance was masking fear and he grabbed a fistful of the back of Dean's T-shirt when a strange noise sounded somewhere to their left.

"It's okay Sammy." Dean assured him, but raised his gun a little higher. "Dad's taught me a dozen different ways to kill a spirit. We'll be okay."

Dean's voice was confident and sure, putting Sam at ease slightly. They were lost in the woods, separated from their father, with a killer ghost after them; but Dean was here, so Sam was safe.

"The hunt is as important as the kill, more important, really. Because with no hunt, you'll never find what you're trying to kill." Dean spoke again, once he was positive that the sound had been innocent. "The kill is the prize at the end. The hunt is the work. The hunt is our lives, it's what we do. You hear me Sammy? We're hunters. And damn good ones at that."

Hunters. Sam thought now. We're hunters.

Sam had all but forgotten that night in the woods. He realized now that Dean had probably only been speaking as much as he had, to keep his own fear at bay. Sam didn't know it then, but fourteen year old Dean, lost in the woods with his ten year old brother, was capable of feeling fear.

Back then though, Dean had been a superhero.

The hunt is as important as the kill. The hunt is the work.

Most of the time, Sam hated the way their father had raised them. But right now, he was grateful for the insight.

He had to focus. He Couldn't do anything until he knew what he was dealing with.

He was trapped inside his own head, with aid of a curse. That much he knew. But now, in the real world, Dr. Kabala was drugging him, using him for something. He was in danger. So was Dean.

He went over it again and again. He examined it from every conceivable angle, but every single time, he hit a wall. A stupid, impenetrable, brick wall, that left him standing there scratching his head like a moron.

Dr. Kabala was evil. But had said he had no affiliation with whatever was causing Sam's reality shifts. Of course, Sam really didn't think he was all that trustworthy. Then again, why would he bother lying about that? After everything else he admitted, or alluded to, why hide that?

He was once again at a loss. There was nothing to do. No way of helping himself. No way of doing research or contacting the real Dean. He was useless.

"You look anxious." Jessica's voice from the bathroom door made him jump and swing his legs over the side of the bed, finally sitting up. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Sam couldn't help but notice how good she looked, her half dry blonde hair framing her face. Old, worn, comfortable, jeans and a simple T-shirt. She was as beautiful as Sam remembered. Yet Sam couldn't enjoy as much as he had just hours before.

"I'm fine." He got up off the bed and walked over, kissing her fully on the mouth. As he had expected, he did not get the same sense of wholeness he had before.

He felt like he was faking it somehow. Acting.

"I love you." But it still felt real too.

Sam needed to do something, and he needed to do it soon.

"Love you." He told her back, and he knew he still meant it. Meant it with every inch of his heart. But Dean...

"Let's go see what your brother attempted to cook, huh?" Jess said with a grin and Sam followed her out the bedroom door without much thought.

That's something he had forgotten about daily life in a normal world; extensive thought was not put into mundane activities.

There were times at school where Sam could drift in and out of classes all day, not bothering to do anything but be there; and no one ever noticed. It was a depressing thought about everyday life, and he wasn't surprised that he had pushed it away.

When he was hunting, Sam remembered, almost fondly, he had to be sharp all the time. One slip, one daydream at the wrong moment, and he could die. Or worse, an innocent person could die; worse still, his brother.

No, every Winchester possessed the ability to be sharper and more focused than almost any other human being on the planet. At least, in the real world they did.

Here, however, they were all normal. Everyday, common folk. Standard in every way plausible.

"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed happily when the couple appeared in the kitchen.

"Kiddo," his father spoke the term of endearment with annoyance. "Could you please come over here and show your brother how to flip a pancake."

"Hey," Dean exclaimed with laughter as he was pushed away from the stove. "It's not my fault the thing broke in half."

"Sam." Mary said his name in mock desperation form the kitchen table. Obviously begging him to get his father and brother to quit squabbling like children.

Oh, if I had that power. Sam thought wistfully, before moving to the stove and shaking his head sadly at Dean.

"Do I have to do everything?" He joked lightly as he snatched the spatula away from the older man.

"You know what, Sam..." He let the sentence trail off threateningly and took a step forward.

"What?" Sam asked, stepping forward as well, accepting the mock challenge.

Their mom had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and thrust a pile of plates at her eldest son's chest. "Go set the table, why don't you?"

"Mom." He whined, but gave it up almost immediately. He settled for throwing a glare in Sam's direction, before moving to the round kitchen table.

Sam rolled his own eyes and flipped a sizzling pancake. He couldn't help but recall, that in the real world, Dean had been the one to teach him to do so. Dean had always cooked when they were younger. And older, if you considered being the one to grab the take out, cooking.

"So, what's everyone doing today?" Mary threw the question out as she helped Dean place everything at their appropriate places. Sam remained at the stove, Jess by his side. Their dad was leaning against a counter near the corner of the room, quite obviously trying to stay out of the way.

He was the first one to speak. "I've got those five apprentices from the community college to work with." He said gruffly, picking at the apple he was toying with. I've been putting it off for too long."

"You should just get Aaron to do it." Dean said, not taking his eyes away from the dishes. "They won't know the difference."

"They will when Aaron teaches them how to do something wrong." John snapped, although it lacked malice.

"I thought you liked Aaron." Sam ventured. Aaron was the recently hired, head of the finical department; or so Dean had told him.

"I did." John said evenly, sending his youngest son a look somewhere between shocked and proud, but his voice did not change. "Until he screwed up the Ramsey's order and we ended up with thirty-two extra boxes of roof shillings."

Mary clucked her tongue, seemingly amused. "You're way too critical." She scolded her husband lightly.

"Yeah, Mr. W," Jessica threw in. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"He's made too many." John sounded set in his decision and was left scowling at the wall for a moment. Before shaking his head and seemingly deciding to let it go. "Anyway, I'm gonna need your help today Dean."

"Well, that answers that question." His brother was now lounging in one of the wooden chairs, his hands folded behind his head leisurely, the table was set and ready to be used.

"What about you two?" Mary directed at her youngest child, and the girlfriend they had all come to consider as family.

"Diana and Allen are sending the rest of our things over." Jessica said, while taking out a serving plate for the pancakes, and other breakfast side dishes that had been cooking along with them.

The friends from California who had lived next door to them and agreed to use their spare key, go into their apartment and pack up all their things and send them over. Seeing as no one in the Winchester family wanted to fly halfway across the country to do it themselves.

Diana and Allen did not exist in reality, so Sam just shrugged and kept quiet when they were mentioned.

"You can borrow the truck." Dean added helpfully, referring to the one they used in their business. "We won't be using it today."

She shrugged lightly, "I probably won't need it. The car'll be fine."

"I'll go with you." Sam said to Jess.

"You don't have to." She assured him. "It's just a couple little things, you know," she shrugged. "Dean helped me with all the bigger stuff, last week."

Right, Sam thought stupidly. Last week, when he'd been in a coma, or in the real world fighting some lower level demon, or who knew what else.

He nodded. "You sure, cause I'm..."

"Not supposed to strain yourself." Jessica cut in.

"She's right Sammy." Dean said, and the rest of his family was nodding affirmatively.

"Fine." He agreed, just to placate them. "I'll hang out here today, but don't expect me to stay inactive forever."

"Never." Dean answered easily. "Just today."

"And maybe tomorrow." Their mom threw in with a smirk.

"Just the rest of this week." John pitched.

"Maybe..." Jess started, smiling widely, but Sam beat her to it.

"Alright, I get it." He laughed heartily. "I'll be good."

"Good." They chorused variously.

Breakfast was done minutes later and they all sat around the table, speaking of inconsequential things. Sam kept his mind off everything else, as he almost always did when was surrounded by his normal family.

It wasn't until halfway through the meal, when something unusual happened. Dean rose innocently from his chair, holding on lightly to his empty glass.

Sam didn't think much of it, he was focused on something his parents were bickering over. His eyes glanced to the left, for just a fraction of a second, but what he thought he saw made him do a double take.

He could of sworn Dean had blood all over him. Bruises and cuts, blood trickling down his chin in a steady trail. But it was gone when he looked again.

The weird dream. Sam remembered immediately. The one he could barely recall. Dean had been standing in this very kitchen, looking battered and beaten.

The flash was clearer now that he had something to look at, a helpful visual aid. He kept his eyes plastered to his brother, trying to dredge up memories from the night before. It was almost like trying to cup water in his hands, one movement could disrupt the whole fragile process.

"...you can't run...you can't hide...we're all waiting...all inside..."

The words echoed through his mind, and for a second, he was honestly scared.

"Sammy?" John Winchester called his son's name lightly. "You okay over there?"

Sam shook his head to clear it. "Yeah." He answered with a nod, looking back at the people seated around the table, which now included his brother, as he had rejoined them. "Just remembering something."

They all looked hopeful and Sam immediately wanted to smack himself. "About a dream I had last night." He added hastily and ignored the guilt their disappointed faces aroused.

"The one that had you all panicked this morning?" Jess asked concernedly and Sam shot her a glare. To which she simply raised her eyebrows, stating clearly, 'No, I'm not lying to your family about it.'

"Panicked?" Mary asked, sounding more than a little panicked herself.

"I'm fine." Sam was quick to assure. "It was just a weird dream. A normal, weird dream."

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. Okay, so he was lying, but it's not like he could tell them that. "You all worry too much."

John scoffed, "Well excuse us for being concerned, Sam." He said tightly. "But you did just wake up from a coma." He sounded tense. It wasn't a far reach from how his father would react in the real world.

In fact, his tone, even his words, were almost identical to a few recollections Sam had. Only in his memories, his father was always scolding Dean for trying to out do himself after suffering some injury.

"Dr. Malid didn't say anything about dreams being...warning signs, or anything." Sam said, trying to sooth his dad's anger.

"That doesn't mean that it doesn't mean anything." John argued. "We should call her, just to be sure.

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but his mom cut him off. "Your dad's right." She said, and Sam felt am inexplicable lump form in his throat at the words.

"Thank you." John nodded at her and Sam saw Dean roll his eyes.

"I'll call her today, while you boys are at work." She looked at her youngest son, and smiled warmly. "You're right Sammy, it is probably nothing, but I don't want to take any chances. Will you do us all a favor and humor me."

Sam nodded, all thoughts of protesting gone. This was what he'd always wanted. "Sure mom." The words felt so foreign on his tongue. "No problem."

"Good." She said. "Now that that's settled..."

The conversation drifted back to light and carefree. Every person at the table shot him a concerned look, at least every five minutes. But Sam didn't care.

0000000000000000000000000000000000

Sam was humming to himself lightly as he wondered throughout his house. It had taken him a couple seconds, but he realized now that the tune he couldn't get out of his head, was the one demonic Dean had said over and over.

You can't run. You can't hide. We're all waiting. All inside.

What did that mean? Did it mean anything?

Dr. Kabala's musings had led him to believe that hallucinations were expected side affects of whatever he was doing.

What the fuck was he doing? Could he be working with the person doing this to him?

Sam swallowed a lump in his throat as he thought about his brother. He had no idea how much time had passed in the real world. He knew he had thought about it before, but it was much more urgent now.

He'd been here for four steady days. Nights were a different consideration, but they didn't matter right now. Four days here, how many days in reality?

Was Dean hurt, or in trouble? Was he caught up in the hunt? Had Sam actually told him he would call? He did not remember anymore.

So many questions bombarded him, but he could do nothing about any of them. He was still trapped here. Now that he actually started to see it as a trap, he could do nothing to change it.

He was back at that idiotic brick wall again.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he made his way back to his room, deciding that a nice hot shower would not help in the least, but it would make him feel better.

"Hey." He said as soon as he opened the door. "I thought you were going...what's the matter?"

Jessica was sitting on the side of the bed, her face was red and puffy and she was hastily wiping tears away. Sam could tell that she had not expected him to walk in.

"Yeah," she said taking a deep breath. "I was just about to head out." Yet she made no effort to move.

Sam felt all his own worries and fears take a back seat, as he approached his girlfriend. He sat down next to her and hesitantly placed an arm around her shoulders.

He may have been better than his brother at excessive emotional displays, but that didn't mean he was actually any good at them. Still, comforting Jessica had never felt uncomfortable. He'd always felt the need to protect her. Not that she let him do it all that much.

Jess was extremely independent, which was why Sam always paid extra attention when something like this happened.

"Tell me what's wrong." He requested gently, pulling her into his side. God he loved her.

"Nothing." She choked out with a watery smile. "I'm fine."

"You're lying." Sam said unnecessarily, they both already knew that much. "Are you worried about me, cause I really am fine."

This world might be fake, but that didn't mean she was. Okay, maybe it did, but Sam didn't see it that way. She was still Jessica. She was still the woman that he had fallen in love with.

"That's not it." She admitted "I mean, I'm worried about you, but..." she shook her head.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." He placed a gentle kiss on her temple and wrapped his other arm around her. She burrowed into his chest, grapping onto the front of his shirt. "I love you."

He felt her take a few deep, shuddering breaths. "I..." she trailed off and Sam continued to rub her back soothingly.

"It's alright." He assured her.

"No it's not." She said, pulling away from him. Sam wanted to grab for her, beg her to never leave him again, but he stayed where he was.

Watching her stand up and wrap her own arms around herself. She started pacing and Sam knew quite suddenly that perhaps this wasn't alright. Jessica was not a nervous person by nature, and pacing was not something she did when she wasn't seriously stressed out.

"Baby," he tried, more urgency present. "What's wrong?"

"The night of the robbery," she started. And Sam wished briefly that she would just do what his brother always did, and blurt out whatever it was that was bothering her.

Still, he kept his growing apprehension at bay and prodded her along. "Yeah?"

"I was sick that night, or I thought I was sick." She took a breath and Sam fisted the blanket beneath him nervously. "I kept passing out at the hospital, and when Dean first called me. I thought I was just worried you know? In shock?" She let out a humorless laugh.

"Jess..." he started but she went on, as if she hadn't heard him.

"Dr. Malid took a sample of my blood one of those first days...she wanted to prescribe something for the flu, or I don't know, something." Another deep breath. "But then she came back with the results...God, Sam. You were in a coma, I didn't know what to do, nobody knew. So I guess I just pretended that it wasn't there. I ignored it..."

"Jess..."

She stopped pacing and looked him directly in the eye. Sam felt his stomach drop out from under him. Her next words were expected, but still felt like a sledge hammer to the gut.

"Sam." She paused and bit her lip. "I'm pregnant."

End Chapter.

A/N: Yeah, you know the drill. You review, and I'm more inclined to write the chapters. Of course, at this point, you could probably say anything, and I'd still keep writing.

This fic has gotten inside my head, tangled its way inside my brain, squeezed its proverbial tentacles and it will not leave me alone. When I finally finish writing it I...I have no idea what I'll do, but I'll be happy. Really, really, really happy.

Tootles for now.