Part 6 - march 1995, part 2
Sam stared down at his much smaller, chubbier hands. He flexed his fingers, testing them just to be sure, but they moved on his command, same as always. They were just smaller than when he'd been an adult. He looked up to see his reflection in the mirror staring back at him in equal horror and the realization that he was back to being eleven years old as he was pulled into one of Dean's memories was trippy as hell. He'd never been in this predicament before, though a lot of weird shit has happened to him over the decades of hunting. There just wasn't a protocol in place in case he shrunk down to the size of a runt while trying to find Dean, real Dean, before the archangel Michael found him. He missed Cas, wondered where the hell the angel went, when he could really use some angelic support of his own.
He squinted in the mirror, took in his floppy dark hair that was a lot shaggier than it was now, like he didn't care much to brush it out. He looked so different when he was a kid, much smaller than he'd grow up to be. It was a little funny. He turned away and darted out of the bathroom. He didn't remember much from when he was eleven, when they stayed in this small town while their dad left for another hunt. It was just a nameless town out of many to Sam. The towns and states, they all seemed to blend together when they had been on the road for all of his childhood. He made friends here and there but they were never in a town long enough for him to consider anyone a best friend. Not until he hit college did the names of people he met stick. He used to feel so guilty about it, about never remembering his classmates he used to hang out with for a full week, maybe two if he'd been lucky, before getting into the car and driving off somewhere else. It was the same thing here. He hardly remembered this middle school, forgot the layout of it as he rushed past the crowd of students on their way to class. He'd forgotten his teacher's name, forgotten where his class had been. He shoved down the small ball of guilt, his eyes darting around as he tried to remember anything that might be even slightly helpful in finding his brother. There was some kind of significance to this memory or else Michael wouldn't have buried his brother here. But he had no idea what it could be and as much as he hated to admit it but the archangel was right. It was killing Sam that he hadn't the slightest idea why his brother would hate this memory so much.
Did it have to do with Sam? With the hunt?
What the hell could it be? He tried desperately to remember any kind of detail of Dean. Dean would be sixteen by now, just barely. Dad would've given over the Impala because Dean was handed the keys on his sixteenth birthday. He remembered that day vividly, like it happened yesterday, because he'd never seen his brother so goddamned excited over anything in his life, even when he'd been given his first sawed-off. It was like dad promised him the moon or something. But this was...this was after that.
What happened after Dean turned sixteen?
He shoved past a small group of kids, nearly tripping as one of them stumbled back and dropped a couple books. He didn't stop, even when a couple of them turned to shout at him, staring at his back as he burst through the large double doors that led straight into the parking lot. A sudden image of Dean hit Sam like a brick and he had to grip the railing to keep from stumbling forward and crashing down the steps. Dean looking pale, a little gaunt, a little more reserved. He suddenly remembered coming back to the motel one day to see Dean sleeping, the thought that his older brother looked a little different crossing his mind in a flash. But he'd been eleven and he shrugged it off after a second glance because after a week of Dean acting weird, he was back to normal and didn't mention anything out of the ordinary.
Sam stared down at his shoes, panting heavily as the memory slowly retreated to the back of his mind again. He clenched his fingers, knowing he had to find Dean even more. His brother needed him more than ever. He looked up to stare at the building just across the street. Monroe High School had been where Dean went to school. He'd be there. Hopefully. He took off with the intent to save his brother before Michael could effectively crush him.
Dean was not at the high school. Sam made sure to check every nook and cranny, ignoring all the stares he got from the lingering memories of the people at the school. They weren't real and yet it still felt like he was being judged. He even tried to walk up to a man wearing a suit and tie, one of the teachers, to ask about his brother but the man ignored him like he didn't exist. In a way he didn't. Not here at least. The real eleven year old him had never skipped class to go to the school just across the street. He was going off script, an intruder in his brother's mind.
After hours of frustrating searching that led him back to square one, Sam had no choice but to leave. He had no idea where Dean could be. Sometimes Dean liked to skip class but he didn't know where Dean would go if he wasn't at school like he should have been. He went back to the motel hoping Dean would be there but he found it, unsurprisingly, empty. He found himself sitting on the edge of his bed and let out a sigh. He was actually exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lay his head down on the soft pillow and sleep. The thought startled him.
He didn't think he could actually feel tired since this wasn't actually real. His real body was still out in the bunker, next to his brother's and Cas's, being guarded by Jack. He shouldn't feel tired or hungry but then again this wasn't actually dream-walking and Michael had a lot of control over his brother. Maybe it was just another way to make it harder on both Cas and Sam. The thought had Sam clenching his teeth. He hated Michael with every fibre of his being. He didn't give a damn that the archangel had lost his sanity as he waited for Chuck's sorry ass to show up. Chuck wasn't the type to be super hands on as the Winchesters had experienced. It had been like pulling teeth with the guy trying to get him to do something about his sister. He would have rather hid in some box and write than do something to let his creations live. But the Winchesters didn't give up, even when everything looked so bleak. But Michael? This Michael? He'd given up. He'd lost hope and let his hatred seep into every pore and now he was hellbent on destroying everything, including his brother's soul.
There was no forgiving that.
Not in Sam's book.
Exhaustion ran through his body. He shuddered, laying down on the bed before he realized what he was doing. He blinked sleepily at the ceiling, hoping Dean would be okay if he just rested his eyes for a few minutes. Sam closed his eyes and slept.
When Sam woke up, it was dark and quiet. He lay there for a moment, too tired to try and roll over. He could hear his own quiet breathing but there was something else too, if he strained his ears, he could make out someone else's faint breathing on the other bed. He wanted to get up because it had to be Dean. Who else could it be? But the person was quiet, the slight creak of the bed as if weight was being shifted on it was sudden and then it stopped and the breathing stopped too, like the person froze at the noise, like Dean was trying to be as quiet as he could so that he wouldn't wake up his sleepy little brother who was laying on the other bed.
Sam slammed his eyes closed, hoping if Dean were to come over to check on him, he wouldn't realize he was actually awake. Whatever Dean was being secretive about, he had to know. He was desperate to know. He heard Dean's hash breathing again, heard the bed creak again but he didn't dare move and Dean let out a soft sigh, relieved that he wasn't waking up. A moment later, Dean got up from the bed. Sam could hear the floor creak softly as Dean walked over to him.
"Fuck, Sammy," his brother whispered and he felt a warm hand on his forehead, then brushing his hair back. Sam tried his hardest not to react to his brother's touch. Was this the real Dean? He should be trying to convince Dean to wake up, to tell him that Michael was trying to bury him in this nightmare so that he could completely take over Dean's body, not pretending to be sleeping like he was actually eleven and this was all real. But he couldn't make himself move. Couldn't open his eyes to stare up at his brother, couldn't get his mouth to form the words, 'you're in danger, Dean, but I'm here to save you.' He couldn't do anything except let Dean drape a blanket over him and listen as his brother's breathing became heavier, almost panting. "I'm so sorry, buddy, b-but I, uh, I gotta do this. I gotta take care of us." His brother's quiet confession had Sam's heart racing, threatening to slam out of his chest. What the hell did Dean mean by that? What was he going to do? He wanted to grab his brother's arm and pull him down and hold him 'til he realized he wasn't going to let him do whatever it was that he thought he had to do. But he couldn't. His arms felt heavy, too heavy. "Money's tight, Sammy. Real tight. And dad. He...he called me when I was in class."
Liar, Sam thought. You weren't there. I couldn't find you.
"He's not going to be here for another week at least," Dean went on, and Sam's heart was pounding so loud and so fast he was sure it was going to burst. "Rent's been due for a few days now." He paused for just a second but Sam had a low, sinking feeling on what Dean was going to say next. "It's okay though. It's going to be okay. I got a plan, Sammy. Leave it to your big brother to take care of you. You're gonna be able to eat and sleep with a roof over your head. I promise. I just, I gotta go now and take care of that." Another pause and then Dean's hand was back to brush another strand of hair. He leaned over and kissed Sam softly on the forehead before he stood up. "Love you, little brother."
Sam heard Dean walk across the room, fishing out his keys and the door creaked open. Then he was gone. Just like that. Sam opened his eyes and sat up on the bed. He had to follow Dean, make sure nothing hurt his brother. But he knew. Deep down, he knew.
It was cold and raining and Sam shivered as he pulled his jacket to cover more of his small frame. He'd stepped into the parking lot and noticed that the Impala was still sitting at the far end. He made sure to stay out of sight but he could see his brother hunched over in the front seat, fiddling with the cassette tapes, probably trying to talk himself into whatever he was about to do. Finally after a few more minutes, the engine revved up and his brother was slowly pulling out of the parking lot. He looked pale and scared but determined and Sam wished he had an idea on where Dean was going. He looked around to see a car parked a few feet from him and knew what he had to do.
Sam learned how to hotwire a car at a pretty young age. Not quite as young as eleven but he learned to drive when he was fourteen and Dean taught him a lot of things after. He followed Dean a few streets down, until Dean pulled up into a semi crowded parking lot of a bar. Sam blinked, wondering if Dean planned to hustle people at pool. He didn't remember if Dean even knew how to play pool when he was only sixteen. Dad hadn't started to pull Dean into the scamming business until he hit eighteen but Dean was smart and quick to pick up on a few tricks so it wouldn't surprise Sam if it turned out Dean was already pretty good at poker and pool.
He parked the car in the far corner and watched as Dean got out. He looked nervous, hunching forward in the leather jacket dad gave him. Sam stepped out of the car he stole and followed his brother slowly as he walked over to the bar. He was sure he was going to go inside but Dean just lingered out in the front, looking suddenly unsure of what he was doing here. Sam watched as Dean picked a spot to sit, a couple feet from the entrance. A few people came out and Dean looked up every so often before looking at the ground again. Sam had no idea what was going on and he was just about to storm over to his brother when a large, burly man stepped out, looking a bit wasted from one too many drinks. His eyes fell on his brother and it was like a predator staring down at a prey. Sam swallowed, wanting to go over there to tell the man to back off. But this was a memory, it already happened. He couldn't do anything about it. But if this was really Dean, he should at least save him from reliving it, right? He couldn't get his legs to cooperate though. He watched in silent horror as the man took a few steps toward Dean and Dean just looked up at him with wide eyes.
The man said something but they were too far away for Sam to hear. Then Dean said something, a coy little smile playing on his lips. The man smirked and said something else, and held out a hand and it only took a moment of hesitation before Dean took it and said something back, jerking his head to the parking lot. The man shook his head as he hauled Dean up on wobbly legs. He leaned over and said something and Dean just nodded. Then the two headed to the parking lot, past Sam. Sam watched as the man led Dean to his truck, his large hand resting on the small of Dean's back, his brother stumbling along even though he was smiling. The smile was strained though, didn't reach his eyes. Sam could tell he was scared and unsure, but also determined, because he was doing this for them, for Sam.
Once they got into the truck and drove away, Sam felt his knees buckle. He stared at the ground in disbelief. He knew what Dean's secret was.
