Revelation

Sam looked up from the book he'd been reading from. The book itself was a unremarkable, about the size of a paperback novel and bound in soft brown leather. It was the words he'd just read that had shocked him into the look he now wore as his eyes met Dean's across the room from him. Dean of course turned away, intent on avoiding an emotional scene as usual.

"I don't remember any of it. I mean… you've been carrying this around all this time?" The thought of the obvious pain his older brother had suffered, probably still suffered blew Sammy's mind. Dean was the untouchable one, the protector, the family rock.

"So that's what the dream was about then?" he asked Dean, who was still wiping unshed tears from his eyes. "Yeah, well… Let's just not make a bit deal about it, okay? I'm fine." Sam looked at him skeptically, obviously not buying it. "Unh-huh I can see that." "We're not going to have another go at the touchy-feely chic-flick stuff are we? 'Cause you know, I'm really not in the mood for it right now Sammy." Dean was irritated at his momentary lapse of weakness and Sam wanted to help, which just irritated him more. Dying had been easier than this.

"Dean?" Sam hesitated. "What is it Sam?" He asked wearily, suddenly very tired. "We, um… we could go back." It was an innocent suggestion, and he'd meant well but Dean would have none of it. "I can't do that Sam. I won't. Ever." The discussion was over. Dean sauntered moodily to the bathroom to shower before hitting the road again. Sam just stared after him, puzzled by this new side emerging from his brother that he'd never known existed.

There was a good reason why Dean would never go back there again. He relived it as salty tears fell from his cheeks, silently blending with the shower water. First there had been the newspaper article a few days after they'd left the Morgan's. It had made front page in six different states. It was being considered a murder-suicide. He had known better. The night they had died had been a full moon. The werewolf that their dad had killed hadn't been the one that had bitten Jack. Jack had begun to change, or maybe already had changed. It didn't take a genius to know that he or the other wolf had attacked the rest of the family. Silver bullets had been left with Mr. Morgan with instructions, just in case. Apparently they had needed them.

Sam read the next entry in Dean's journal before putting it back in his bag for him.

"Dad and I went back there one last time. We left Sammy with Pastor Jim and took nothing but ourselves, the shotguns, and our entire arsenal of silver bullets. It took almost an entire week to smoke out the bastard, but we found him. His pack was ten strong, but we'd had surprise on our side. Not one of them lived to see the light of dawn. I was the right thing to do, I know it was. I guess I just thought I'd feel better once it was done. All I can think of is that she's gone, they all are. I wish they weren't. I'll never be the same again.

Thinking about what happened to them… what it makes me feel is too scary to put into words. One thing's for sure though, God help the s.o.b. that tries to take away Dad or Sammy. I won't let them do it and if by some freak twist of fate they succeed I won't be held responsible for my actions. They're all I have. Without them…well, there is no 'without them'."

The page had several tiny smudges here and there that Sam was positive had to be tear stains. So they were gone then, the whole family. Now Dean was having dreams about them after all this time. Or had he been having them all along? Sam would never know.

Dean took a good while longer than he usually did in the bathroom. When he finally emerged he seemed to be feeling a lot better if still a little subdued. They packed up the car and hit the road in silence. Sam understood. He fished out one of the tapes from the box on the backseat and soon AC/DC was blaring and Dean began to relax.

"Hey Sam? I'm thinking breakfast. There's this diner about an hour from here, just off the interstate. The food is pretty good, and the waitresses… let me just say they make the hour's wait worth it." Sam smiled, Dean would be just fine.

Dealing with it/ Keeping up Appearances

I woke up today in… hell, I don't even really know where I was anymore. I had the dream again. Damn near made me look like a wuss in front of Sammy too. What the hell is it with this family and dreaming anyway? I just don't know…

I must have screamed at some point because Sammy had been trying to wake me up. He said he'd been trying for awhile. Must have been that part after she died. That's where the werewolves usually come in. It ended like it always does, with the werewolf on top of me and Dad prying it off and praying out loud that I hadn't been bitten or killed. I was still slashing away at it, covered in its blood, as I lay there on the ground. I woke up with Sammy on the business end of the knife I keep under my pillow at night. Ironically it's the same one Dad gave me to use that day.

I haven't dreamed about her, or any of it in so long… It's been sixteen years already since… God, sixteen years almost to the day. I wonder what she would have looked like all grown up. I wonder if she would have managed to keep the innocence through life. She was stubborn, good Lord but she was stubborn. Now that was a trait she would have kept throughout the years. I shudder to think what our kids would have turned out like. Her stubbornness and curiosity, my temper and 'act first, ask questions later' attitude… Well it doesn't really matter now, does it? She's gone, and she's never coming back. Even if she were still alive… well, that's a decision that was made for me a long, long time ago. Wasn't it?

Anyway, after having to fight me and the knife off like that Sammy wasn't exactly going to let me off the hook. I really wasn't in any shape to say anything about it, so I didn't. I pulled out my journal and gave it to him to read. Aright, I opened it to the entry I wanted him to read. I sure as hell don't want him reading any of the rest of it. I could barely look at him while he sat there reading it. That expressive face of his'll be my undoing one of these damned days. I don't know which was worse: the surprise as he started reading, the goofy happy look he had when he was reading about her and I, or the incredible sadness at the end. Thank God he didn't get to the next entry, the one about her death. He'd probably have had me crying with those puppy dog eyes of his. Stupid touchy-feely chic-flick crap. Normally I can just let it go… not her. Never her.

Cassie reminds me an awful lot of her There's not much difference between the two really. Well, maybe there's a little less of the innocence in Cassie and a lot more of the stubbornness and curiosity. God the woman can argue. I love arguing with her almost as much as I love making up afterwards. I've caught myself starting an argument once or twice (or more) just to see her get upset. It's a thing of beauty the way her eyes flash and her skin becomes flushed. If things were different … Well there's not much use hashing that one over either. There's just no future in us. Now matter how much of a hard ass she pretends to be with all that attitude, try as I might I just can't picture her hunting. The things we see… Christ, some of it even makes me sick. Over time the life would break her. She needs hope, stability. There's not much of either in this line of work.

So I haven't really been myself today, though I've been trying hard to keep up appearances for Sammy. I think he's bought it so far… well except for the fact that I keep staring off into space without realizing it. It happened at the diner we went to for breakfast. I didn't even notice Candy come up to the table with our coffees… although how the hell I could have made that little oversight I'm still not really sure. Sammy had to kick me in the shin under the table to snap me out of it. I know that one didn't go unnoticed. I'll be answering questions about it on the road later, or trying hard to avoid the questions when he asks them later.

I know he's worried. I would be too if he were to wake up with a knife to my throat after crying and screaming in his sleep. I don't want him to be. I'm the protector here. I've taken care of him since he was a baby, in all the ways Dad couldn't and then some. He's got enough on his plate with the whole psychic thing he's got going on. On top of that losing Jess that way… that really took its toll on him too.

I know he's worried because he's the one who suggested going out tonight. Usually he's really uptight about that kind of thing. I mean, he found us something to hunt out in New Hampshire and normally he'd have us driving 'till we got there. Then we'd spend the first day or so getting the facts straight and doing the necessary research. Instead this afternoon he looks over at me from the passenger seat with those puppy-dog eyes and tells me he thinks we should take the night off. 'You know, go out and have some fun like you're always telling me I should' he says. Yeah, sure… now he decides to take my advice. Still, I'll take it if he's up for it. Maybe a night out really will snap me out of my funk. Okay, probably not… but a couple of drinks might help me sleep tonight. Hell, the last thing I need is a repeat of this morning's performance.

A Brother's Prerogative

The roles couldn't be any more reversed. It's scary. I mean, Dean having nightmares? The guy could wake up to a nuclear explosion smiling. I'm not exactly sure why I woke up at three in the morning. Usually it's my own nightmares that do it, but this time I hadn't been dreaming at all. I thought maybe there'd been a sound, maybe something was wrong… but Dean was still sleeping and he's usually the first one to react to stuff like that. He's the lightest sleeper I've ever known. I mean I've seen him jump out of bed at the sound of a towel dropping in the bathroom. So when I looked over to the other bed and he was still lying in it… I didn't know what to think.

The room was quiet, everything seemed normal. As normal as they ever get anyway. Then I heard the sniffle. I didn't think Dean was capable of sniffling. He has a hard enough time when I get anywhere near emotional. I can honestly say I have never seen him cry. Oh, he's come close a few times. He's got anguish and anger down pat. But cry? Nuh-unh, not Dean.

I had to see it, I had to be sure. So I snuck across the room as soundlessly as I could, scared I'd wake him before I got close enough to see anything. Sure enough there were tears just pouring out from under closed lids. His pillow was wet with them. I knew he'd probably kill me for doing it, but I couldn't stand seeing him suffer like that so I tried to wake him up. Tried being the operative word here.

Normally I could wave a hand in front of his face and it would be enough. There was nothing normal about this. I shook his shoulder a little hoping it would be enough and that's when he screamed. I was the freakiest sound I've ever heard. Don't get me wrong, Dean has screamed before. Growing up, especially when we were teenagers, we screamed at each other all the time. On the odd job, when things turned sour, he's screamed for various reasons… This was different. The sound… It was sadness, fear, anger and loss all wrapped up in something between a moan and a wail. Even just thinking about it now… I feel sick about it. But that wasn't all. No, that was just the beginning. Yeah, then he started tossing and turning, fighting off the sheets that covered him. I called his name, shouted at him to wake up, shook him again. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. He pulled his damned knife out. The freaking big one he sleeps with. From that point on I wasn't trying to wake him up anymore, I was fighting for my life. I don't know how long we fought… we tore the room apart in the process. He slept through the whole thing. Reliving something awful.

I still don't know what finally woke him. He'd called out to Dad a few times during the fight… I found myself pinned against the wall, Dean's knife at my throat. I couldn't move. All I could think was that this was it. I was going to die. He was going to kill me without even knowing it, and it would destroy him. Through all the years, no matter what happened between us Dean had always filled the big brother role to perfection. I knew I never had to worry because whatever happened he had my back. I was protected. For this to happen…

As I gasped for breath, bracing myself for the final feel of the steel cutting through me I said his name one last time. I almost cried with relief when his eyes popped open and realized what he was doing. He looked confused, like he was there but somewhere else too. I know that feeling all too well, of being two places at once when still caught up in the dream. It took him a few to figure out what was here and now. When he finally did, the knife fell to the floor with a clatter that shook the room. He was quiet, too quiet.

"Sammy?" God, my confident bad ass brother sounding unsure? This was bad. "Dean?" I didn't dare ask him if he was okay. Nor even what was going on. I wanted to know… He still looked ready to cry though. I didn't want to be the one to make the tears fall. "Ah, hell!" he sighed sounding defeated as he scrubbed at his face with his hands.

"Dean?" I hesitated again. "Hmmm?" eyes closed again he still couldn't look at me, just turned and walked across the room and away from me. I thought he was trying to distance himself, pull himself back together. I watched him digging through his duffel, positive he was going to head to the shower and try to forget it had happened at all. I almost fell over when walked back, rifling through the pages in an ancient looking, worn out, leather bound book. His face clouded over when he found what he'd been looking for and handed it to me. Still not saying anything, he nodded at me to read it and sauntered back toward the window. He stood there staring out into space the whole time I read it. He stood stoic, expressionless and unmoving, a statue bathed in the weak morning sunlight just starting to seep through the curtains. I didn't realize 'till then that the fight had lasted hours.

Who knew that Dean kept a journal? I would never have guessed. Maybe he started it to try and purge his demons. To say I was shocked as I started reading is an understatement. Ten years old… he'd been ten years old when he fell in love. I should have guessed at something like that. Dean might keep up the solid hero appearance, but I know well enough that when he feels, he feels deep. With Dad, and me… it's why I've always been so surprised at the whole 'girl-of-the-moment' James Bond-ish mentality. I guess I kind of figured it was just one of the ways he kept up appearances. But no, all this time he's been protecting himself… and I guess to some extent the girls he's been with.

Reading about Dean being an actual kid… I had to smile. He wanted to be a high-school jock heh heh. Little Annie, she was really something special to turn him around like that. To give him hope. The whole Morgan family… I wish I could remember them.

Then the part about the older brother coming home unconscious in Dad's arms… I knew as soon as he mentioned the bite mark that it was a werewolf. Of course Dean would have taken care of all of us. The responsibility fits him like skin, it's what makes him such a great hunter. If we didn't make a difference I don't think he'd do it. He'd just walk away. I thought of Jess a lot when I read about he and Annie falling asleep watching the stars. Are we ever going to have a shot at being happy? Or will this life only leave us room for the scars that we bear?

I found myself hoping he'd want to go back and see her as I read the rest. He needs someone like that, someone who'll make him sweet milk and hold him close to help keep the past where it should stay: behind him. I kind of expected the 'no'. If he hadn't been in such bad shape I would have pushed a little. He didn't look like he could take a push though so I let it go… intending to bring it up again later when he felt better.

He cried in the shower. I could hear him, though he didn't make much of a sound. There was more to it then he had let me read. There had to be or he wouldn't still be crying. So I did what I knew he would do to me… I read on. Ten years old, he saw the front page articles and found out they had all died. Dad knew what to do… he took him back to finish it. Dean wouldn't have been able to live with himself or let it go unless he had a hand in ending it. To carry that with him… all this time.

I thought he'd be fine when we started driving and he suggested the diner, with the waitresses in mind. It didn't take me long to realize that he wasn't. He kept staring off into space looking utterly lost. When the waitress came over and practically offered herself to him with the coffee and he completely ignored her… I had to kick him to bring him back to here and now. Even then he barely noticed anything past his food. Yeah, he's not fooling anyone. I'm definitely worried.

Then I found our next lead in a New Hampshire newspaper. A teenager, attacked by a wild animal, had died of his wounds in hospital. I figured it couldn't be… the dream the night before, Dean's history with werewolves. Still, to be thorough I looked into the surrounding area and a little of the history. Sure enough There had been three disappearances over the last month, now the death of that kid. It may be nothing but I'd rather look into it to be sure. Who knows? It may be what Dean needs to purge the dream.

So I told him we're going to New Hampshire. He was indifferent. I wasn't surprised. I figure he needs to get out, clear his head… maybe find a way to deal with this. So I threw him and suggested that we take tonight off. Find a bar and some beers… hopefully he'll pick up a girl. I still can't believe he just ignored that waitress… Candy? She was everything he usually goes for.

Tomorrow I'll tell him why we're headed north. A little fun, some sleep and with any luck he'll be good old belligerent Dean by morning. I think I'll stick close in case he gets another nightmare though. Just to be safe.