AN: Sorry it took me so long to get this out. Getting back into the swing of things at school is hard. I've been here a week and my roommate still hasn't moved in, so none of my stuff is all that organized, I don't know how we are going to set it up, and I don't have any pictures up so it feels really empty and sad. Should work itself out soon though. Just wanted to thank everyone who has been kind enough to review so far. You guys rock and your comments and compliments are very much appreciated. Also, expect one more chapter and an epilogue after this one. Thanks again guys:)
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A Little More Tequila, A Little Less Demon Hunting
– – Chapter Six – –
Truth
When the brothers arrived in New York City, they were amazed by the sheer size of the place. They had lived in a few cities throughout their lives, but none quite as intimidating as New York. Dean could tell that this would be a good place for them. It would be easy to blend in, fade into the background. It was a place where they could disappear; a place where their father would have a hard time finding them.
They found the apartment building that Michael had sent them to, and they met his friend Alex, who assured them that friends of Michael's were friends of his. He told them that they could rent an empty apartment on the third floor, and that he would do his best to make sure they could afford to stay there. Dean was hesitant about letting Alex give him a cut in his rent for awhile, but they finally reached an agreement. Dean would pay half the rent until he could start paying the full rent, and then Dean would start paying him back the rest a little bit at a time until they were even. Dean didn't want to take advantage, but he didn't have much of a choice, and he felt good knowing that he would pay Alex back in time for his kindness.
The apartment wasn't as bad as most of the apartments in New York. It was infested with bugs nearly all year round, but occasional exterminations got rid of them for a time. There were no rats, there was usually clean hot water, and the walls were crumbling in a few places, but overall it was the most amazing place the brothers had ever lived, and they were incredibly grateful toward Michael and Alex for helping them get it.
They got settled in, and soon Dean found a job in a garage nearby. He was able to get Sam enrolled in the local public school, and Sam was happy to be going back. Dean was hesitant at first to allow him to walk the ten blocks to school: New York was a dangerous city, Dad might find them someday…. But Sam eventually convinced him that it wasn't worth the money to get a cab to drive him. After Sam gave him the patented "you can't say 'no' to me" look, Dean agreed to let him walk.
The first thing that Dean bought was a pair of cell phones. When he found out that cell phones were not allowed in school, he made sure that Sam knew to always keep it buried deep inside his backpack with the sound off. Dean felt better about letting Sam go when he knew he had his cell phone on hand at all times. He didn't like leaving Sam alone when he went to work, but Alex agreed to keep an eye on him after school while Dean was working.
Dean worked six days a week for as many hours as he could. He always tried to get home before Sam went to sleep, but most nights Sam made dinner for himself, storing the extra food in the fridge for when Dean came home. When Dean got back, he would make sure Sam was safe and sound in his bed before showering, eating his own dinner, and falling asleep in his own bed. For the first time since they were young kids, the two brothers had separate rooms.
Sam, meanwhile, threw himself into his schoolwork with an even greater vigor than before, and when he entered high school and brought home A after A to show his brother, Dean knew that Sam would be able to do great things after high school if they could ever get together the money.
One day, Dean came home from his job at the garage, and Sam told him that he had gotten a part-time job after school in a grocery store down the street. Dean wondered if the job would interfere with his grades. Dean had never liked school, never really felt like he belonged there. But he knew that Sam liked it, and that he was good at learning and retaining information. He didn't want anything getting in the way of the things he could do with a good education.
But Sam reassured him that he wouldn't let it get in the way of his grades. He wanted to work so that he could help Dean support them. Dean told him he didn't need Sam to help him, that he could do it just fine on his own. That he would save up some money to help Sam go to college when he graduated from high school.
But Sam wouldn't take no for an answer, and so he started working after school and on weekends at the grocery store. Dean felt guilty. He was the big brother after all. He was supposed to support Sam. But after awhile, when Sam continued to bring home A's and hold down his job, Dean realized that Sam could handle it just fine. He brought home enough money to start helping Dean pay the rent, and eventually they were able to pay Alex back for the rent cuts he had given them.
Then Dean made sure that all the money Sam made was put toward getting him to college. Sam told him more than once, almost everyday, about how much he wanted to go, and Dean finally told him that he was not going to let him help with the rent. All the money Sam made was for Sam to use how he wanted, and Sam wanted to go to college.
Sam started taking a few courses at NYU when he graduated from high school, and he continued to work full time at the grocery store. He told Dean that he didn't want to move away anywhere, that he wanted to stay with him, and Dean had been relieved to hear that. If Sam wanted to go away, Dean wouldn't have been able to stop him. But Sam told him that he wasn't ready to move away yet. So the two brothers continued to live together, Dean working at his garage and Sam working at the grocery store and studying pre-law.
Then one night, when Sam was twenty, he had another vision.
Dean got home from the garage late at night. He was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was collapse in bed and sleep for a few days. But as he walked past Sam's room toward the bathroom to take a quick shower, he heard a soft moaning sound coming from inside, and protests of "No. God no. Please."
Dean flung open the door to his brother's room to find Sam tossing and turning in bed, wrapped up in his sheets, his arms flailing and his face covered in a bright sheen of sweat. Dean ran toward his brother's side and shook him, gently at first then harder when he didn't respond. He called his name a few times, yelled it, and finally Sam jerked awake, flying up in his bed and panting. Dean was going to ask him what was wrong when Sam blurted out "Someone's in trouble. Someone's gonna die."
Dean felt his heart skip a few beats. He stammered out a few words of nonsense before he got himself under control.
"What are you talking about?"
"I saw it, Dean. A woman. A woman's gonna die. In the park. Central Park. She…some thing…I know where it is. Where she's gonna be. We have to do something."
Dean was at a loss. This couldn't possibly be real. There was no way. It was just a stupid nightmare. He told Sam as much, but Sam wouldn't listen to him.
"It's real, Dean. I saw it happen. I…I felt it happen. It was so real. Like…like the night we left Dad's place."
"Sam…it's not real. It's just a nightmare. Nobody's gonna die."
"Dean! Please! We have to do something. We don't…I don't think there's much time. We have to help her."
Sam started to get out of the bed, but Dean was faster. He grabbed Sam's arms and pulled him back down to the bed. "We're not going anywhere."
Sam stared at his brother. "We have to. She's gonna die if we don't do something!"
"Sam, it's not real! None of it's real! These nightmares…that's all they are. They're just dreams."
"They don't feel like 'just dreams.' I know 'just dreams,' Dean. These aren't dreams. They're like…visions or something. Visions of the future."
"Sam-"
"Then how do you explain that night, Dean? How do you explain Dad coming home and…and…he almost killed you, Dean. And I saw it happen. And then it was happening for real. I saw it. I'm not crazy. You almost died that night. You might have…you really might have…." Sam couldn't say the word, but Dean knew what he was talking about.
Sam continued. "But I stopped it, Dean. I stopped it. These…these visions…I don't know why I have them, but…Dean, please. We have to help her. We can go out there and get her, make her go home before…before that thing gets her."
"What…what thing, Sam? What are you talking about?"
"It wasn't a person. It was…it was something else. I don't know. It looked…like a wolf, or a dog or something. But it walked like a man. It looked…like maybe it was a werewolf or something."
Dean felt his heart drop down into his stomach. This was crazy. There was no way in hell a werewolf was lurking in Central Park waiting to chomp down on some innocent girl. No way. Werewolves weren't real. No way.
"Sam…this is crazy."
Dean watched Sam's face fall.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"Sam…werewolves, Sam. Come on. It was just a dream."
"Mom died on the ceiling, Dean. She burned away on the ceiling over my crib, pinned down by something that ate away at her with fire. Mom didn't just die, Dean. Something killed her that night, and it sure as hell wasn't human."
Dean felt an anger grow inside him. "Don't bring Mom into this, Sam. Dad…Dad lied to us. She didn't die like that. He was drunk. He's been drunk all his life. We can't trust anything he tells us."
"But this is real, Dean. It's really going to happen. We have to do something about it."
Dean didn't know what to think anymore. If this was real, if Sam really could see the future…did Mom really die that way? Did something…supernatural – something evil – kill their mother?
"No, Sam," Dean finally replied. "No."
"What?"
"It's not real. It's just a nightmare. Just go back to sleep and things will be better in the morning."
Dean let go of Sam's arms and got off the bed, backing away toward the door.
And suddenly, Sam was staring at him in anger. It was the first time Dean had ever seen that look on Sam's face directed at him. Dean's muscles tensed when he saw Sam get out of the bed, and Dean moved closer toward the door, knowing what his brother would want.
"Then I'm going. By myself."
Dean found himself growing angry. "Don't be stupid, Sam. I'm not letting you go out to Central Park at midnight."
"You can't stop me," Sam said with determination, and he took a step toward Dean.
"Sam, you aren't thinking straight. This nightmare-"
"It wasn't a nightmare!"
"-is messing with your brain."
"Dean…you can't stop me. I can make my own decisions."
"I'm not letting you leave, Sammy."
"Don't call me 'Sammy'."
It wasn't the first time Sam had said it. But it was the first time when he had said it with anger in his voice.
"Sam, I'm not letting you leave this room."
"Try and stop me," Sam said, and he took a step toward Dean. Dean didn't flinch, didn't move.
"What are you gonna do, Sam? What could you possibly do to help her even if this was real? You think you're just gonna walk into Central Park and chase off a werewolf with your good looks?"
"No." Sam turned around and headed toward his closet, reaching up to the shelf on top, and he pulled down a box. "I've got this."
And he opened the box and pulled out a gun.
Dean was surprised. "Sam, when did you get a gun?"
"When I turned eighteen."
"Sam…I didn't-"
"Don't act like you're surprised, Dean. I know you have one stashed away in your closet. You've had it since we got here. You had Alex get it for you when we moved in."
"Sam…"
"You don't have to protect me anymore, Dean. I can protect myself. It's not your job."
"It is my job, Sam. I'm your big brother. It'll always be my job to protect you."
Sam didn't respond. For a second he looked like he wanted to, but he didn't. Instead he turned back to his closet and threw on some pants over his shorts and a jacket over his T-shirt. He stuck the gun in his jacket pocket, and he turned back to Dean.
"Move."
"No, Sam."
"Why won't you let me go, Dean?"
"You aren't thinking clearly. You're being ridiculous-"
"Is it because you don't believe me, or is it because you do and you're afraid about what will happen to me if I'm right?
Dean paused, mouth agape. How did he do that? How could he always tell what he was thinking? Because the truth was, Dean was scared. He was afraid about what would happen if he really was wrong about Sam's dream. Dean was scared to death that he could be wrong about this.
"Sam, I'm not letting you leave."
"Get the hell out of my way!"
"Yelling at me isn't going to help, Sam," Dean answered, his temper flaring, his body shaking slightly.
Suddenly, Sam lunged for him. Dean never saw it coming. Sam grabbed him by the arms and pushed him aside, but not hard. Dean managed to keep his footing as Sam walked out the doorway and headed down the hallway.
"Sam!" Dean yelled. There was no way this was happening. He couldn't let Sam leave. He had to do something, but he didn't know what. So he did what he was good at. He flew down the hallway and managed to get around Sam, stepping in front of him before he could get to the door. He stood his ground between Sam and the door that led to the danger and evil and sadness that the world outside represented.
"Sam, don't."
Dean didn't see it coming. One minute his brother was staring at him, his face a mixture of pain and anger and sadness. The next, Sam's fist was connecting with his face.
Dean felt the blow knock his head to the side. He reached up, clutching at his face, and he winced against the tears of pain he felt welling up. The blow was like nothing he had ever felt before, and it hurt like nothing else ever had.
But he forgave Sam the instant it happened.
Dean turned back to his brother, and he felt his heart break at the look of complete and utter horror on his face. He heard Sam start panting. "Oh god…Dean…oh god." Sam put his hand to his mouth, tears forming in his eyes as he looked at the ground, at the wall, at anything other than Dean.
"Sam, it's okay," Dean said, pushing himself away from the door.
"Dean…I'm…god, Dean, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," Dean said, moving closer to his brother.
Tears started falling down Sam's face, and he turned his gaze back to Dean.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking, and he covered his face with his hands and turned away, his body trembling.
"Sammy…." Dean reached out and put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and, gently, he turned Sam around and put his arms around him.
Sam's breath hitched in his throat, and he wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him closer as he started crying.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"
"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay."
Eventually, Sam's legs gave out, and Dean held on tight as Sam pulled them to the ground. He wrapped his arms tighter around him, running his hand gently along his back as Sam continued to cry, muttering over and over how sorry he was, and he continued to reassure him that it was okay, that everything was going to be fine.
Soon, Sam stopped crying, and Dean was able to urge him up. He helped Sam back to his room and into bed. Sam obeyed, pulling the covers up close and curling up tightly, staring at him.
Dean could imagine what Sam was going through. He himself had had nightmares where he lost all control over his anger and beat his little brother, becoming the one person he'd always feared of becoming, and doing the one thing he'd always been most afraid of doing. The feelings of guilt and pain these nightmares brought was powerful enough to force him awake, tears he had unconsciously shed drying on his cheeks.
Dean got a chair from the other side of Sam's room, brought it next to the bed, and sat down. Sam stared at him for a long time, almost as if he was afraid that if he closed his eyes Dean would disappear. Eventually, Sam couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, and he drifted off to sleep.
Dean sat in the chair next to his brother all night. He fell asleep only once, jerking awake and kicking himself, but he calmed down when he noticed Sam still sleeping quietly.
He stayed next to Sam until he woke up and got ready to go to work. After Sam left, Dean took a shower and headed off to the garage. On his way, he passed by a newspaper stand, and a headline caught his eye:
BODY OF A WOMAN FOUND MUTILATED IN CENTRAL PARK
He bought the paper, his hands shaking as he handed the man the money for it. Dean read the first three sentences before the paper slipped out of his hands and the world as he knew it fell apart.
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Dean didn't go to work that day. He went back to his apartment and threw up his breakfast and called in sick. He crawled into bed and lay there all day, staring at the ceiling, getting up only once to throw up again in his trash can.
That's how Sam found him when he came home at six that evening. Silent, unmoving, staring at the ceiling.
Dean still felt guilty about that night. Not guilty for not letting Sam leave – he could never regret that – but guilty for not believing him. For not trying to do something himself. For just letting it happen when Sam had told him it would.
The next morning, Dean pulled out a phonebook and called the first psychic he could find that sounded remotely legit. He visited a woman who appeared to be about the same age as his father, and that day she told him everything she knew about the world of the supernatural. She gave him a few books and he went home and read them all.
He went back to work a few days later, his mind swimming with the information he had just taken in.
He believed it all.
When he got home after his first day back at work, he told Sam what he had learned, and Sam didn't doubt him. He listened quietly as Dean told him everything, and when Dean told him that he was sorry he had ever doubted him, Sam reassured him that it was okay; that Dean, like himself, was afraid to admit that what Sam saw was the truth, because then it would have meant admitting that what had happened to their mother was the truth, and the truth was too hard to handle.
That night, Dean promised Sam that if he ever had any more visions, he would do his best to see that they never came true.
As the years went by, Sam had two more visions in the form of dreams. The first vision he had dealt with something Dean thought the police could handle, and he called them from a pay phone to tell them that a woman was going to be raped and murdered by a man outside of a place called Mike's Bar sometime around four in the morning.
The next day, Sam and Dean smiled when the headline on the paper read: ANONYMOUS TIP LEADS TO THE CAPTURE OF A WANTED MURDERER.
The next time Sam had a vision, a woman was going to be attacked by what looked to be the spirit of a long dead man. This was the first time Dean had handled something like this, and Sam wanted to go with him, but Dean refused point blank to let him come. He went to the woman's home, a newly purchased shotgun hidden inside his shirt loaded with rock salt. The psychic had told him that rock salt could be used to repel spirits, and Dean arrived at the house, his nerves and muscles tense, scared of what he might find inside the house.
That night, he found out beyond the shadow of a doubt that ghosts were real.
He paused when he saw the spirit, who was pinning the woman against a wall, choking her to death. He pulled himself together in time to shoot the spirit with the rock salt before it could kill her, and the woman fell to the ground panting. She thanked him over and over for saving her, and he told her, his hands and voice shaking, that it wasn't over, and that it would come back unless he found it's body and salted and burned it. All of this was so new to him, but Dean easily fell into the role of protector, promising himself that he would protect this woman, this stranger, as best as he could.
She told him that she knew who it was. She told him it was her old ex-boyfriend, and she knew where he had been buried. Dean went to the cemetery that night after buying a shovel, salt, gasoline, and matches, and he started to dig up the man's grave. After a long time of hard digging, Dean hit wood, and he broke the coffin open. He got out when the body was exposed, his stomach lurching from the smell and the sight of rotting flesh. He threw salt over the body, and when he started pouring on the gasoline, he realized that, as new as this was to him, he felt himself easily falling into this role as well, almost as though he had been meant to do stuff like this all along.
He lit the match, and he was just about to throw it in the hole when the man's spirit appeared before him, throwing itself at him. Dean felt himself grow cold and weak, and he threw his arm out, reaching for the shotgun he had thrown on the ground.
It lay just out of reach.
Dean felt himself grow colder and weaker, and suddenly he heard a shot ring out, and the spirit vanished. Dean sat up, panting, and he looked around, but he didn't see anyone. Thinking fast, Dean worked past the pain in his lungs, sat up, and grabbed the matches. He lit one, and just when he felt the spirit moving toward him once more, he threw it with all his might into the hole.
He sat back and watched as the spirit burned away before his eyes, and he didn't get up for a long time.
Finally, he pulled himself to his feet and went back to the woman's home. He told her that the spirit was gone, and that she would be safe. She wanted to thank him, to do something to repay him, but he insisted that he didn't want anything. He left that night and headed home. Sam was pacing about the kitchen, and when he came in, Sam pulled Dean into a fierce hug, telling him how worried he had been.
That night, Dean yelled at Sam. He told him that he knew it was him who had been there that night. He knew he must have been following him since he left the apartment. He knew he had gone against his wishes. Dean yelled at Sam more than he had ever yelled at Sam before.
But Sam stood his ground, reminding him that he had saved his life, asking what he thought it would do to him if Dean had died that night.
The night ended with Dean fighting back tears as Sam hugged him close, telling him that he didn't want him to go alone next time.
Sam ended up sleeping on Dean's floor that night. He didn't want to leave Dean's side, scared about what had happened that night. Dean climbed into bed and watched his brother fall gently off to sleep, and just as Dean was drifting off, Sam woke him up and made him promise that the next time he had a vision, Dean would let him go with him to help whoever was in need.
Dean hadn't promised, and he could tell that Sam was upset, but eventually, Sam drifted off into a fitful sleep, and Dean prayed that Sam would never ask him that again.
Thankfully, Sam had not had a vision since that night. Dean hadn't hunted anything since that night either, and he hoped that, the next time Sam had a vision, if he even had another one, it would be something the police could handle.
As much as he wanted to help people, he wanted to help Sam more, and the best way Dean knew to help him was to keep him away from the dangers and evils of the world – the things that went bump in the night, the insanity of human kind...and their father.
TBC...