Part 2 - follow me, sammy
If Sam was being honest with himself, he wasn't even sure if the machine had worked, if he and Cas really were in Dean's mind at all. Standing clearly what appeared to be a door to the inner workings of Dean's thoughts and memories, the things that made Dean who he was. If that was what this was. This innocuous looking door with its simple design, something that could've been taken from any building in the real world. He turned to look at the angel, and was inwardly disappointed that Cas looked just as unsure as Sam felt.
He licked his suddenly dry lips and asked, "Should I, you know...open it?"
Because surely that was the only thing they could do. There was just this door in this vast darkness. Just this door and themselves. Unless there were other doors just as similar if they walked far enough. Maybe windows too. Or buildings. Maybe Dean himself was standing just around the corner. But the thing was, Sam couldn't see anything else. It was dark everywhere else.
And deep down he was afraid.
Afraid of getting lost. Afraid of not being able to find Cas. Or Dean. Afraid of not being able to get back out. He tried to squash those thoughts. Pushed them as far down as possible, until he was sure he couldn't find them again.
Jack's earlier comment ringing in his ear, loud and so certain, like he was right there with Sam, "I won't let anything happen to you guys out here. Promise." Jack was keeping their bodies safe. They were going to be fine.
"Sam, we're going to be okay," Cas's voice, suddenly so close, his hand coming to rest on his shoulder, almost had Sam jumping in surprise. The angel's hands steadied him and Sam found himself taking a deep breath, nodded. "Let's go in. That door is calling to me. I believe it's one of Dean's memories."
Before Sam could reach out to open it, the door swung open of its own accord and he could hear the faint hum on the other side, beckoning for them to enter. A chill ran up Sam's spine, but he forced himself to start walking, because this was for his brother.
They had to rescue Dean.
Sam remembered when he was four years old and Dean was eight, sitting in a motel room, just like the one they entered into. The same flowery pink wallpapers, the edges peeling in places that made the room look old and rundown. The light pink curtains someone thought would match the room perfectly. There was one small bed and an old, hard cushioned couch with a small TV. He took in the tiny kitchen, a mess of cereal boxes and used bowls sat atop the counter. Vaguely familiar. He stepped further into the room, his eyes sweeping over a lamp on a desk with a white binder and a couple old, well used books that looked like they'd been bought from thrift stores. Next to a half chewed pen sat a mini fan that was currently turned on full blast. It was perched to face the couch.
He turned around to see a younger boy with dark blond hair and green eyes staring at the TV. Sat down next to him was an even younger boy with floppy brown hair and hazel eyes. He was smiling and laughing and pointing at the screen.
Sam found himself rooted to the spot. That was him. A four year old version of himself. The longer he stood there and took the scene in, the more he remembered.
"Summer of 1987. You were in Texas. Your father was working a werewolf case in Austin, wasn't he?" Sam startled at the sound of Cas's voice appearing next to him.
"Oh, uh, yeah," Sam said once he collected himself. "I think so. I didn't know about the supernatural back then though. I just remembered it was sweltering and I hated it here." He huffed a laugh as he remembered how he threw a tantrum when he was told they'd be staying here for a week and their father wasn't coming back until he finished a job. He hated the pink colored curtains and wallpapers and didn't understand why they couldn't just stay with Pastor Jim who they'd been with a month prior. Dean did the best he could to cheer Sam up. He made stupid faces and played pillow fort, let him have all the cereal he wanted and introduced him to some of his favorite cartoon shows like Scooby-Doo. He watched as his younger self laughed delightedly at something on the screen again. The younger version of his brother smiled faintly, ruffled young Sam's hair and leaned back, looking vaguely like a proud parent.
Sam tried to ignore the guilt crawling around in his stomach. Dean should never have to look like that. Yet he did. And over something as small as Sam laughing and smiling.
Cas cleared his throat, causing Sam to turn to look at him. He was secretly glad the angel was here as a distraction. "Not to keep you from reminiscing any fond childhood memories, but do you have any idea why we would be in this particular one?"
Sam ignored the way Cas said the word 'fond'. It certainly wasn't a great memory for Sam. He wasn't so sure if it was for Dean either. As for why they would be here of all the memories Dean had. Well. Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. He looked around once more, trying to find anything out of the ordinary. "We stayed in a lot of different places growing up. There isn't anything that would make this place stand out more than any others. At least not for me."
Besides me being a whiny brat maybe, he couldn't help but think.
Suddenly the scene shifted. The room darkened and Sam couldn't see anything. For a brief moment, he panicked. Not only did he lose sight of the younger versions of himself and Dean but also Cas. Then the lights came back on and he could see Cas right beside him again and Sam let loose a shaky breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thank god, Cas," he said to the angel, "Seriously thought I lost you for a sec."
Cas's hand came to grip his shoulder reassuringly, "It'll take more than that to lose me. Remember, Sam, we're in this together. We're going to get Dean back."
Sam tried to smile. It was a little strained. "Thanks." He looked around the room again. At first glance, it looked like the same motel room, but no, that wasn't right. The walls were a different color. The couch was in the wrong spot. The desk was moved to the far end, with a lamp sitting near the edge. There was nothing else on it. Sam blinked, looked around again, trying to find his younger self and brother. He could hear the soft pitter patter of rain against the roof. It was dark outside and the room was dim.
He spotted himself sitting on the bed, under the covers. Dean, still young, was sitting next to him, holding a flashlight on a book. His voice was hushed as he read to young Sam, "Jack peaked out his window and gasped. He saw something very strange. In the very same spot his mother had thrown the beans, he saw a very giant, green beanstalk."
His younger self froze for a moment, his eyes growing comically wide. Then a smile spread wide on his face and he said in an excited, loud voice, "The beans, Dean! They're magic, aren't they?"
Sam watched, completely rapt, as young Dean grinned, "Well, yeah. How else do you think they got to be that big?" He remembered this too. Dean reading to him while they waited for dad.
Young Sam started to yawn and Dean took that as a sign to close the book. He smiled down at his brother when Sam started to protest. "I'm not tired, Dean," he whined, gripping his brother by the arm. His eyes were wide and innocent and Dean could be heard sighing, but he tossed the book on the edge of the bed and ruffled his hair.
"Come on, Sammy, it's already ten, and I can tell. You're tired," he said in that big-brother-knows-everything voice.
"Am not," young Sam said, his voice high pitched, making regular Sam wince.
"Yeah, you are," Dean said as he yawned. "And I am too, Sammy. Promise I'll read the rest to you tomorrow night." He cast a sleepy look toward his younger brother.
Young Sam grumbled, not ready to give up just yet, "But Dean, we're almost done. Please, can we just finish it?"
Sam could see how Dean's body tensed for a moment as he watched his brother. His younger self just continued to stare up at Dean. His eyes turned pleading and finally Dean just sighed and reached to grab the book. He settled back to sit next to his brother again and searched for the page they left off on. "Fine, but once we're done, we're both going to bed," he said.
Younger Sam was back to grinning, "Okay!"
Sam never thought he'd ever get annoyed with a choice he made when he was a kid, but this was just. He never realized how tired Dean had been but standing here and watching the scene, it was so obvious that it made Sam want to turn around. "I acted so…" he trailed off, embarrassed by how childish his younger self had been.
"Like a child," Cas said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "Because you were a child, Sam."
Sam whirled to face Cas. The words, "Yeah, well, so was Dean," on the tip of his tongue. The lights flickered once, then twice, and instead what came out was, "Cas? What's going on now?"
"Sam, hang on, I'm right here," Cas whispered as the room went dark again. But his grip on Sam's shoulder loosened, and then suddenly was gone.
Sam tried to look around but it was too dark to see. "Cas?" he hissed.
Suddenly he felt something brush against him and he tried to whirl to face whatever it was. It felt like fingers, small and warm, wrapping around his wrist. "Who's that?" he asked into the darkness.
Silence lingered. Then, "Sammy, don't let go. We gotta hide."
"Dean?" Sam asked, bewildered.
"Come on. Follow me," Dean's hushed voice said, and he was being tugged forward.
He almost stumbled but caught himself just in time, "Where are we going? And where's Cas?"
"We gotta hide, Sammy," Dean whispered again. A pause. "Don't worry 'bout Cas. He's somewhere safe."
Even though this was his brother's voice, Sam still worried. He continued to follow Dean in the dark. "What's going on, Dean?"
"Be quiet. You don't want him to find us," Dean said. They stopped finally and Sam felt the wall. He frowned. "It's a closet, he doesn't normally catch me 'til morning. It's okay, Sammy." He heard his brother jiggle the knob, heard the door creak open. "Get in first. Hurry." Before he could do anything, he was pushed inside.
Sam stumbled into the small, dark space. He heard his brother step in behind him, then pulled the door shut. He crouched in the corner, trying to get more comfortable. But the closet was tiny and cramped and he was 6'4. He felt like a giant. "Dean," he said at last, "who are we hiding from?"
"Shhh, he'll hear you," Dean said. He didn't offer any more explanation, but he didn't have to.
Another moment went by, before the door to the motel room swung open. Then Sam heard the familiar holler of an angry John Winchester, "Dean! Dean! Where the hell are you hiding this time, son?"
