Disclaimer: I think Dean and Sam's next fake ID on the show should say DISCLAIMER – sounds like a professional title, doesn't it? Lol well maybe not…
WARNING: I'm really repeating what I said before here, but it's just that – I CANNOT POSSIBLY EMPHASIZE ENOUGH HOW ANGSTY THIS WILL BE! READ UNDER YOUR OWN RISK; don't say I didn't warn you lol…I am actually scared of posting this chapter…
Chapter 8 – Nightmares Are Real
Smoke was rising high and thick in the distance, spreading dark fumes everywhere, and Dean couldn't help noticing that the smoke was turning the peaceful blue of the sky into hopeless black. Why did hope have to die so fast?
As Dean drove the familiar way back home he noticed they were coming closer to the smoke, or was the smoke extending towards them?
He drove numbly, his mind blank. He slowed down the car, preparing for the red light that came inevitably in his way and stared out the window at the children talking and playing happily on a big yellow bus, obviously on their way to school. Smiling absently, he imagined Andrew on that bus a few years later, enjoying the ride with little friends, messing around and annoying the hell out of the bus driver.
Dean would make sure his son got the normal and safe life Sammy had always dreamed of. That he himself had always dreamed of as a small child. But that didn't matter now. That had never mattered. And it had certainly rarely mattered to him as he grew up; there was no time for dreaming when Sammy needed him so much.
The light turned green and he went on, his mind still blank. He refused to believe that smoke was coming from anywhere near his home and therefore, he was calm. Sam hadn't said a word since the smoke had made itself visible to the Winchester brothers, but that didn't mean anything. Dean's mind was blank.
Sam kept throwing nervous glances at Dean, expecting him to freak out, clench his fists, shout angrily at Sam or anything whatsoever to express his fear, except for what he was actually witnessing: Dean seemed calmer than ever, looking mildly interested at the smoke and then turning his head towards a bus that stopped next to them in front of the red traffic light.
His hazel green eyes turned distractedly back to the street as red switched to green and Dean drove on, again eyeing the smoke, almost stupidly casually. Sam wondered if the fever could be making his brother act so strangely, but he dismissed it. He had been around a sick Dean for years before he went to Stanford and all fever ever did to him was make him even more of a pain in the ass than he normally was.
And then it hit him.
Denial. Dean was determinedly denying the fact that the smoke that rose in the air was coming from his property. Sam became more and more aware of this as their destination appeared to have become that dark cloud, because it seemed to have the same address as Dean.
They were so close now, that the origin of the smoke was painfully obvious. And still his older brother hadn't said a word. His face was blank, expressionless and unreadable, just like his mind.
All of a sudden, Dean stopped the car in the middle of the road. Not that it mattered; hardly anyone drove around here anyway, since the oldest Winchester still preferred his privacy and so his land was a little out of town.
He got off, and walked on unsteady feet the rest of the way. Sam followed, but didn't dare try to help him. He didn't even dare say a word. He kept himself near his brother in case he was needed, but other than that he made no interference with his brother's intentions.
Dean crossed the main gates, looked around at the scene that hit him hard in the face, but he walked on, as cold and empty as a stone. There seemed to be an entire rescue team of police cars and ambulances parked messily in front of the house, some ruining the front lawn and the once healthy little plants. Nacha's gonna have their asses. That was the only thought that crossed his mind, and quickly vanished leaving his mind empty again.
He absently glanced at the remains that used to be his beautiful home. Behind the commotion of cars and loud voices and shouts, only a gross black skeleton of stone was left, the rest of her having been burned away into ashes.
It would be okay. Dean would take Nacha and Andrew to live with Sam for a while and he would fix this mess in the mean time. After all, the insurance company would pay for the loss and although they would probably have to live a little less comfortably than before for a short period of time, it would be okay. There would be time to get back in track.
"I'm sorry but you can't go in there," said a voice, bringing him back to the present.
"What… what happened?" asked a tiny terrified voice next to him. Only then he realized Sam had followed him out of the car. Why did he look so scared? Didn't he know it would be fine? Sometimes Sammy worried too much. He'd laugh at him about it later. Now he had work to do.
"I'm the owner of this property," said Dean flatly, no sign of any kind of emotion in his voice.
"You… are you Mr. Dean Winchester?" asked the police officer, his tone having softened dramatically at Dean's words.
"I am. Does my wife know what happened? Actually, I'd like to speak to her, do you know where she is?"
The officer said nothing. He looked down at the floor and Dean heard Sam stop breathing. What was wrong with that kid today? It wasn't like him to be all jumpy for no reason. Dean on the other hand, waited patiently for the man to reply.
"Sir… there was… there was an electric storm in the area last night…"
"Look, as much as I love the incredibly exciting headlines this town's papers have, I really don't have time for this right now-" Dean tried to walk past the officer. He was making him waste his time. All he wanted to do was see his family, why couldn't some people understand that? And again the man blocked his way, and eyed him pitifully.
Dean hated being pitied. There was nothing that could possibly annoy him more than that. He wished the man would stop giving him that look. He wished the man would stop looking at him. There was no reason to pity him, no reason whatsoever.
"Sir…" he began timidly, but bravely one more time, "according to a passerby, a lightning hit the house and somehow it caught fire." The man took a deep breath and Dean listened intently to every single word, deep inside knowing exactly what the man would say, but most of him was still denying every intuition, every word, every look he was getting from Sam, the officer and other workers who had noticed the commotion. "Your… your family… they were sleeping when it all happened. And then it just… it was too late. There was nothing that could be- I'm so sorry, sir," finished the man sincerely, but Dean was already walking past him, his face as blank as ever. His mind even blanker than it had been before.
Dean's legs were failing him, but he didn't notice. He kept walking in silence, unaware of the looks, unaware of Sammy's voice, who kept trying to call him back. He walked slowly for what seemed like hours past vehicles of all kinds, past blurry faces and finally past guilt-ridden paramedics. He noticed the tire of the ambulance was crashing his wife's favorite flowers. Nacha's gonna have their asses, he thought again.
He looked everywhere, noticed every detail of everything, because his eyes refused to land on the most obvious spot. They refused to focus on what was surrounded by people, perfect strangers who gave him morose glances as if they knew him. Pathetic, he couldn't help thinking. He looked everywhere for Nacha and looked everywhere for Andrew, the only faces his tired eyes would focus on.
But they weren't walking around like the other people.
"Dean?" muttered Sammy. God, he sounded younger than Andrew. 'What is it, Sammy?' he wanted to ask, but no sound left his mouth. Instead, he simply opened and closed it again. "Dean, look at me," he said soothingly and pleading at the same time. Dean obeyed the voice he could never refuse and realized Sammy was sad. He had tears in his eyes. Tears that shouldn't be there. What had he done this time to make Sammy cry?
Although Sam said nothing, Dean knew the younger man was silently begging him to accept reality. And so Dean dared look down at the floor, a few feet away from them.
There were two shapes on the floor. They were covered by something that looked like plastic. One of them was the size of an adult. The other one, the size of a child. Not even a child, because that brought to mind a growing ten year-old. The size of that particular shape was that of a toddler, of a tiny little person who had barely just learned to walk, who had just started to live.
Dean shook his head slowly from side to side. This was ridiculous. People didn't just lie down under a piece of plastic and let others stare at them. Then, what was under the material? Probably nothing important, but he had to see for himself.
He stepped forward and dropped on his knees next to the larger shape. He extended a shaky hand hesitantly towards it, but before he could even touch the sheet, someone had laid a gentle hand on his right shoulder. Although that didn't physically stop the motion, something in that touch convinced him to stop anyway. He looked up at Sam's meaningful but innocent eyes and suddenly, everything dawned on him as hard as a bullet, and much worse.
He didn't notice how his whole body began shaking uncontrollably or how much more difficultit itwas becoming to breathe. He tried breathing harder, but the sobs were making him choke. Sam tried to hold him to stop his shaking, but Dean tried to push him away with all his strength.
But his little brother wouldn't budge and he was holding him tight. Dean began realizing how comforting the touch was and how much he needed it. He let his body relax to it, which made him experience something he didn't remember ever doing.
Crying.
Dean cried and let everything out on his brother's shoulder. He cried desperately and felt how wet Sam's shirt felt under his eyes and he wished he could just drown in his own tears. He kept crying because he couldn't control it and because he didn't care anymore. He didn't care that all those people were watching him; he didn't care about anything in the world because from one second to the next, the world had become a place that meant absolutely nothing to him.
His indifferent and careless body decided to give up before his shattered heart allowed it and finally the high fever and physical pain won the battle. Dean let his body fall completely on his brother's thinking that maybe, just maybe he wouldn't wake up again, or if he did, it would all have been a nightmare. But at the moment, door numberone seemed more attractive, since he had long ago learned that sometimes – no – most times in the Winchesters' life, nightmares are real.
A/N: I am SO sorry! I know many of you really liked Nacha and little Andrew and I feel like a total bitch now lol… but think about it like this: it's just a fic! So please don't hate me too much, you can't say I didn't warn you! Thank you so much for all those wonderful reviews, you guys rock! I wish I could have made this whole thing happier without deaths and things, but I just couldn't: the chapter above was the original idea and it simply had to be that way. I'm so sorry, guys… please don't hurt me!
WARNING: Yes, you have learned the hard way now to respect my warnings lol – THE HORRIBLE HORRIBLE ANGST IS SOOOOO NOT OVER YET, SO GET READY TO SUFFER…. Well actually, not until a few more chapters, I think.
Random Note: I don't even have the heart to think of a random thing to say today lol… Ah… what have I got myself into?