Turning Points - 9

Disclaimer: Nothing 'Supernatural' belongs to me. I've just borrowed and not for profit.

Summary: A series of snapshots about turning points in the lives of the Winchesters

Author's Note: This is the ninth in a series of snapshots of the Winchesters – A look at some of Sam's life changing experiences.

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I decided it was time to have a look through someone else's eyes again (I could spend far too much time with Dean! If you know what I mean.) Mind you, although this is Sam's P.O.V., it still centres quite distinctly on poor Dean who gets to do some suffering.

Turning Points – Sam

He remembered when it happened and where he was at the time and it was one of the most loathed memories he had. In some respects he hated it more than the knowledge of what had happened to his mother. He knew it marked the change and he still thought Dean had deserved better and Dad should have known better. The fact that Dad thought it was all good and Dean just sucked it up and went on as if it was fine didn't help. In fact, the more he thought about it, he was almost as angry at Dean as he was with Dad and that didn't entirely make sense.

It was all about choices. The problem was he and Dean didn't have any but Dad, well he seemed to have plenty but he, at least as far as Sammy was concerned, seemed to consistently make the wrong one.

They had both been training and sparring for as long as he could remember. For protection, well that was what Dad had always called it but Sammy had realized that just like most parents 'lied' to their children about Father Christmas and the tooth fairy, his Dad lied about his motivation for what they did; they all believed their intentions were good. Sam wondered if that was enough for his family, particularly given the possible outcomes. Right now, aged 15, he couldn't see any good endings if things didn't change and it had been that way since he was 9.

Now he knew more and that night and the following day still didn't seem to sit any easier in his mind. He knew Dean remembered Mom, he knew Dean would do anything to protect him and he knew that, unlike himself, Dean would blindly follow his Dad no matter what – or at least it often seemed that he would. He knew there was one exception to that – anytime Dean thought Dad was putting his younger brother in danger, but that didn't make life any easier for Sam. In fact, the older he got, the more he felt like he was as bad as Dad for endangering Dean, it was just done with less foresight and intention, it didn't make him convinced that it wasany more acceptable.

That night, the first time Dean had actually hunted with Dad was etched indelibly into Sam's brain. The false bravado that was now so much a part of Dean had really kicked into gear then. He'd seen it before, in fact he was pretty sure that Dean had been using it from the first time Dad hadn't come back when he should and Dean had been left looking after them both and making sure that everything carried on as it should. It wasn't really a part of Dean, it was like a coverall helping to prevent mess spreading. As he grew older, Sam wondered which way the mess was being stopped from going; from inside Dean to the out or from outside to the in.

It was funny that he remembered more about the run up to that night, the event and its aftermath than he did his own first hunt. Well not funny, but something; nothing was funny about their life. They had trained intensively for years, fitness and stamina, martial arts and boxing, weapons training. He remembered being about six, at school and the other boys in his class talking about the latest toy gun that one of the other kids had received for a birthday and wishing that he could have had a toy gun instead of a real one, wishing that he didn't know how to shoot, why they learnt to shoot and that he didn't have to spend his life cleaning it and practicing how to use it properly. By that stage, Dean, aged ten, had a collection of weapons under his bed, knives and guns, and not a single reminder of the child that he should have been, no footballs or baseballs. Dean wasn't a child at ten; he was a warrior in training.

That night wasn't the first that the boys had been with their father when he went hunting, it was just the first that either of them had actually been part of the hunt. Usually, they waited in the car for Dad to come back, Dean armed to the teeth with absolutely anything he might be able to use to protect his brother if something came there wayand a bag of distractions to keep his brother occupied, colours and paper, homework, playing cards and books and hidden somewhere, the last resort, some candy as a bribe in case he wouldn't keep still and quiet. It had become quite a familiar routine for Sammy to pass the time quietly in the back of the car with his brother – it was in a bizarre way, their time and their world, almost a respite from the constant moving, the training, their father, a warm reassuring constant in a dark and transient life. He remembered the comforting feeling he would get, when fed up of colouring and cards, he would curl up against his brother and Dean would read to him until he drifted into sleep.

Maybe that was part of the reason that night stuck so vividly in his mind. It had dragged interminably, so much longer than any other time his father had hunted, Sam had thought it was all over, father and brother killed and he was the only person left in the world, then he would look back at the clock and see barely any time had passed at all. Without Dean there, he didn't want to colour, do his homework or read; he just stared aimlessly out of the car window as if it would bring his brother back sooner.

Dean hadn't wanted to go on the hunt and had argued ferociously with his father. Those sorts of arguments were few and far between, when Dean would actually stand up against John Winchester's decisions, but in some ways, it made them more focused, more anguished in their fervency. He remembered Dad accusing his brother of cowardice and the shutters coming down on his brother's eyes and the argument was over. He also remembered that to that point that Dean's argument had not been about whether he should go with his Dad but about leaving Sammy alone in the car unprotected. Dad had accused Dean of hiding behind his younger brother. Even though he hadn't fully understood everything they were arguing about, Sam had known then just as well as he knew now, that Dean never hid behind Sam and never would, that he always put Sam's safety above his own. It was a low blow and one guaranteed to ensure Dean's acquiescence to his father's orders.

He knew that they had parked just off the road out of sight and that the two of them had set off for an abandoned house with a poltergeist down the track, leaving him in the car. The family had moved out intent on protecting themselves first. Sam wondered now, what the father of the family would have thought had he known that the stranger he had paid to sort out the problem would be taking his son, newly 13, with him. That father had been willing to abandon the house to ensure his family was safe, not considering the cost, putting his family first.

Sam remembered acutely the relief he had felt when he saw his father and Dean staggering back down the path to the car, having stared into the darkness blindly for so long. The first assumption that it had been a rough fight and that both of them were exhausted had disintegrated as they came closer to the car. He could see the pain on his brother's face, he recognized the concern in his father's eyes as he rushed from the car to help, the initial relief being replaced with near-panic as close up he could see blood spreading across the shirt Dean was wearing and running freely from his head.

Poltergeists – he still hated them now. Whenever he and Dean faced one, he really wanted to stand between his brother and the evil they faced and save him from whatever was coming because he hoped that one day it might replace the memory of that night. He knew that was the night he had stopped being a child and faced up to the enormity of what their life really meant. He fully appreciated for the first time the reality of his life: he could lose his family at a shot now, a misstep, an accident; it wouldn't necessarily take a lot of evil to leave him alone in the world. A world he didn't know how to face without Dean. A world he hated for what it did to his family. A world he didn't want to be a part of.

Back in the car that night, John had done the bare minimum to staunch the blood flow from his elder son's injuries before starting to drive away leaving both boys on the back seat, their positions reversed from the norm. Sam, used to falling asleep wrapped securely in his brother's arms, hung onto Dean now as if holding him tighter would keep him alive. His brother lay limply, barely breathing and Sam wondered what made them deserve this life, would there ever be a way out for the two of them with their father or would they have to leave him behind.

John had driven for two hours without stopping to check on Dean himself, counting on the strength of both boys to keep him alive and breathing. The one thing John knew was that Dean would fight for Sammy to be safe and protected, and that he believed himself to be the one to do that protecting, and so John also trusted that the younger son's arms would keep the older fighting now until he could stop and look properly at the damage done.

Finally he pulled off the road into a motel parking lotand went to see if they had a room. He'd changed his shirt before going to check in, removing the one soaked with his son's blood and throwing it to the passenger seat, replacing it with a clean one from the bag in the trunk. Returning to the car, he drove to the end of the lot, parked as close to their room as he could, then passing the door key and first aid kit to Sam he had got out of the car and opened the rear door, manoeuvring Dean's unresisting body so Sam could get free to open the motel door. As his brother's warmth left him, Sam heard a moan escape from Dean's lips, the first sound from his brother since they had reappeared after the hunt. Sam didn't know whether to be reassured or more worried, but was comforted that the one thing his brother seemed to be aware of was his presence or rather his absence.

John was right behind him as he opened the door, carrying his brother to the bed nearest the bathroom and laying him down gently. Sam closed the door, passed his father the first aid kit and went back to lean against the door. He watched in silent horror as Dean's t-shirt was cut open to reveal the damage below. He remembered his father's words, 'It's not too bad, it just looks it.' That was the moment he fully realized the difference in priorities for life between sons and father. Dean would fight to protect his brother and himself but didn't like to injure anyone seriously. Sam had seen him fight off the playground bullies, using his skills to manoeuvre them into capitulation and exerting enough pressure to gain submission but not actual serious physical injury, just the warning that he could do it, so they better not try anything again. For himself, Sam didn't like violence and wanted nothing more than a peaceful life. John was different; he chose this life, seemed to relish the fight with evil and accepted injury as a minor hindrance along the way. That was the biggest part of the problem; he accepted not just his own injury but his son's as an irritant, a hitch not a glaring unacceptable state to be in. For the first time in his life, Sam really wanted to make something, or more truthfully, someone suffer for the injustice heaped on his brother and that was awkward to understate the situation, because even though he knew the poltergeist had injured Dean, Sam blamed his father for it. Funny that, because at fifteen, his conviction hadn't changed, he still blamed his father but now the list of transgressions was longer, he wondered if it would ever stop without one of them being dead.

'Get the towels and bring me some water to clean him up.' Sam didn't move, just stared at the image of his brother before him, the image burning irrevocably into his memory. 'Sam, pull yourself together, towels and water quickly. Let me get this sorted then we can all rest.'

'Rest?' Sam was incredulous. 'I won't rest 'til he's okay.'

'Well, get the towels and water then.' This time, Sam went. It's for Dean he thought, not Dad, Dean needs me to do this, follow Dad just a bit longer. Bringing them back, he put them on the table next to his father and moved round to the other side of the bed, resting his hand on his brother's shoulder.

'Sammy?' Dean's voice was barely even a whisper as he tried to crack his eyes open and look for his brother.

'I'm here, Dean. You just rest okay, we'll sort out here and you'll feel better when you wake up.'

'Uh-huh. It caught me by surprise. I think it was pissed off. Threw some stuff, I didn't see it, now it hurts a bit. I think we got it though, kiddo.'

Sam looked at his father, who nodded that they had indeed got the poltergeist. 'Course you did bro'. I knew you would. Now just hang on, Dad's gonna clean you up.'

'No! I can do it!' Dean's attempt to lurch upwards caught both father and brother by surprise. It was the pain from the movement that caught Dean by surprise, however, and he visibly paled as his breath caught and he held himself rigid unable to work out how to move to stop the pain.

Sam moved behind him, taking his shoulders and supporting his weight as he pulled him back down onto the bed, 'Hey, it's okay. It's easier to let Dad do it. It's in an awkward position for you to get at. It's no big deal.' He hated himself for saying it, for lying to his brother because it was a big deal, his brother shouldn't be here in this much pain with these injuries but means to an end and there was no way Dean could do it himself . He glared at his father, who just nodded encouragement that he should carry on holding Dean and keeping him calm, before starting to clean the wounds on his stomach and chest.

Sam reluctantly accepted that in fact, most of the wounds were fairly shallow and that it was the amount of them that had led to the overall bloody appearance of Dean's torso rather than the depth of them. Dad had strapped Dean up as the bruising appearing readily, hinted at the possibility of broken ribs. He had also cleaned up the head wound and put a couple of stitches in to make sure it held closed.

Once he was patched up and cleaned up, Dean had quickly fallen asleep. 'Get yourself to bed now Sam,' his father's voice broke the silence in the room.

'No.'

'Sam, I didn't ask if you wanted to go to bed. It's late, you'll go now.'

'No. I'm going to stay and watch Dean.'

'This is not open for discussion. You will get changed and get into bed now or you'll feel my hand.'

Sam looked at his father, making clear with one look what he thought about his father's instruction, but moved to do as he had been told. He got into bed, closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing as if he were asleep, but in reality, he lay listening for his brother.

'Dean, you're going to have to toughen up. You can't afford to make those sorts of mistakes again. You've got away lightly this time but if I hadn't been there, or had been further away, things could have been worse.'

Sam couldn't believe his ears and nearly gave away the fact that he wasn't asleep as he listened to his father blame Dean for his injuries. Indignation rolled through every muscle in his body and he had to force it down underneath to maintain his pose of relaxed sleep. His father moved to the bathroom and then got into his own bed.

Sam lay in wait until he was absolutely certain his father was asleep. It didn't take long for him to hear the snores that were typical of the elder Winchester's sound sleep. He got up and moved to his brother's side. Dean had moved from when Sam had gone to bed. It was odd but as he looked at his brother asleep, he realized that somehow Dean had moved subconsciously across in the bed leaving a Sam-sized space at the side nearest Sam's bed, the same space he left when there was a thunder storm or when Dad was away on a hunt, knowing that at some point his younger brother would move from his own bed for reassurance that his world was still solid, seeking out the constant in his life, his brother. He sighed and climbed in alongside Dean carefully, gingerly trying not to disturb his brother. 'Sammy…' a whisper for his ear alone.

'Yeah, it's me, Dean. You okay?'

'Am now.' Dean's arm moved across to rest over his brother, as if Dean also needed to know that some things never changed, his brother was still here and protected. Both boys fell asleep aware, not of their father's snores, but of one another's breathing, in and out, in synchronicity.

The following morning, an angry John Winchester had woken Sam, dragging him silently sideways from the bed. Dean had woken instantly, 'Sam... Sammy?'

'I…I'm here, it's okay…' the surprise at being woken so viciously evident in his voice, 'Just go back to sleep.' He looked at his father's face for reassurance and got none.

''S okay. Awake now.' Dean's eyes rested on his father far quicker than Sam's had reached the same place. Dean said nothing but Sam knew he had taken in the firm grip that Sam was held in. 'Sorry.'

'What?' both Sam and John looked at him in surprise.

'I woke you up last night. I was uncomfortable and I couldn't get warm – I dunno, it helped you sitting by me.'

'But…' Sam started to respond.

'I guess we were both really tired if you feel asleep next to me. I'm sorry you must have had a rotten night.' John's grip relaxed on Sam's arm and gradually released completely, his hand coming up to tousle his hair.

'You should have woken me up, kiddo, if Dean wasn't feeling good. I'd have looked after him.'

Feeling traitorous at letting his brother shoulder the blame, Sam said, 'I didn't mind. He's my brother: I'd do anything for him.' Sam knew that whilst he felt guilty at letting Dean take the blame for him climbing into the bed, he also knew that they'd both needed the reassurance.

'Well, in that case, you dive in the bathroom first. I'm going to check your brother over and when you're dressed you can go and find us all some breakfast.'

It seemed reasonable so he set off to do as asked. Coming out of the bathroom, his father gave him some money and he set off. He'd got halfway across the parking lot when he remembered what he had overheard the night before, when his father thought he was asleep. He'd doubled back and hung outside the window which was cracked open, out of sight but listening to the conversation between his brother and father.

The conversation had obviously already started as soon as he had left, but he could pick out his father's voice with no difficulty, Dean's voice was too quiet for him to hear the responses. He heard his father again blame Dean for his injuries. 'You can't allow yourself to lose focus like that.'

There was a pause, during which Dean must have replied. 'You let it get your knife, Dean; it threw that at you, amongst everything else.'

He wondered what Dean said next, because it was hard to imagine how but his father sounded even more pissed off. 'I know it was the first time you'd been on a hunt, but that's no excuse, there are more different types of evil out there than we know about, you can't let yourself get injured every time you come across something new.'

Another pause in his father's flow followed by, 'Yes, you had better be better next time, otherwise you're worse than useless. I've spent years training you, I expect you to be an asset on a job not something else for me to worry about. If you've been paying attention… don't interrupt me, boy… if you've been paying attention, you should be able to handle this sort of thing without me, that wasn't even a vicious poltergeist as these things go.'

Sam waited, sure his father hadn't finished. 'Yes, I know you're sorry and so am I. But I am counting on you. You have to be a good soldier Dean, Sammy and I need this from you?'

Sam always remembered the feeling of almost choking on the indignation he felt that he was being used against his brother this way, but also knew he had had to go and find some breakfast before he was caught out. He would have to let Dean know he didn't agree with what his father had said when they were alone.

At fifteen, he knew he had spent the intervening six years, trying to convince Dean that they could get out, that this didn't have to be their life. When Dean had left school and got a job, he had believed for a short while that maybe Dean felt the same way and that he was just biding his time until he had got enough money to get them somewhere to live. At the same time, he had to acknowledge that he had heard his father's arguments with increasing frequency about why they did this, why they were needed, until he had succumbed with plenty of resistance and reluctance and taken part in hunts himself. He loathed every minute of it and couldn't wait until he was old enough to have an out. He just couldn't bear the thought of leaving Dean behind, or leaving behind what was left of Dean. His brother was a shadow of who had once been, absolutely formidable in a fight, single-minded and relentless, but away from the fight, he seemed to almost be a non-person. No-one who hadn't known him before would have seen it, because Sam also recognized that Dean was a consummate actor. When they went anywhere, Dean would flirt with the girls, charm the women, pal along with the guys and never give a hint of who he was. He followed Dad's orders unquestioningly, but even when Sam really looked at him, he couldn't find him, he just didn't seem to be inside, truly inside his own body any more, it was just the remains of his brother. He always worried that it wasn't the poltergeist that had done that to Dean but the conversation with his father the following day and that if he'd not turned away so as not to get caught, if he'd walked in and confronted his father that his brother would still be truly Dean.

But in Dean's own words, guilt gets you nowhere, actions speak louder than words and so Sam had started planning. He knew that he could get out, he just had to figure a way to get his brother to go too, and he had another year and a half to workthat part of the planout.

Author's note: Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. Reviews would be appreciated.