Sam has always had weird dreams.
He clearly remembered the first one, a not-scary nightmare as he and Dean had defined it as kids.
Dean left. the motel to go play. withOut him. - a cloaked figure curled around him. It seemed hun gry. Dean re turned and froze with - surpriseand - fearand horroranger -Dad sudden ly there pushing Dean away and yelling and angry and sharp and loud coughs that sounded like thunder-
It had been weird because other than the fact that it was sharp and fragmented unlike his usual dreams, it came true. He quietly believed from then on that he was magic, despite what Dean told him. The fragmented dreams that followed weren't as strong, but sometimes what he felt in them would then happen when he was awake.
He found some patterns over the next year.
Sharp fragments that felt successful would parade through his head before Dad would return, usually hurt somehow but grimly smiling at them.
There were wobbly fragments, annoyed or scared, that would teeter through. After he felt it somewhat regularly he noticed that Dean would be less tactile, a bit more watchful of him, or sometimes favor a limb - or even be careful how he sat. (It would still take Sam some time to understand what it meant, though.)
Soft fragments were rare but they'd amble across Sam's mind peaceful and happy. Fun, explorative days with Dean would soon follow. Especially if Dad set up shop in a larger town or expansive city. Dean would lead him and their stomachs on an adventure along the streets, a palmed kodak snapping along the way.
Proud fragments would flaunt and became Sam's warning of their departures.
Two years pulled them across the states, through schools. They would spend a week or two sporadically with Uncle Bobby while Dad went off. They occasionally spent time with Pastor Jim too. Dean turned 12 and felt like such a grown-up. Sam started to wonder more seriously about his life. Dean would run errands to help Dad with work. They visited Uncle Bobby at the end of summer. Halloween passed without a word from any of them. They spent Thanksgiving with Pastor Jim (Dad wasn't too happy about it). Christmas crept closer.
Something new happened for Sam two weeks before Christmas. Dreams with images of their motel quickly followed those familiar successful, proud fragments. It unnerved Sam a bit, he wasn't sure what was coming.
The voidsad, angry, stolen fragments of the motel room had him searching though, because clearly his magic dreams were always trying to tell him something. Maybe he could do something to prevent those empty feelings.
He looked in all the places that flashed through his mind at night - under the beds, the bedside table, the closet, the room safe (not that he could actually get in), those tall hard-to-reach places. Every day he checked each place; what were the dreams trying to tell him?!
Three days later Dad returned as the pride had told him and they left. Sam hadn't found anything but that didn't stop him from looking in the same places that first night when Dad and Dean went to pick up some dinner. He came across Dad's leather jacket which had been switched out for a heavier coat for the snowfall they found themselves in. Sam fingered the soft-worn material and gasped - happyscared, alone, scaredangry, worried, sadscared, protectiveangry - a barrage of emotions crawled up Sam's fingers and flung themselves at his heart. He tore his hand away to stop the torment.
His hands shook slightly as he moved to close the closet door when he noticed how it hung - weighted on one side. He pulled his sleeves over his hands to pull the weight out of the left pocket.
It's a leather-bound journal. He was hesitant to touch it with his bare hands after what he experienced with the leather jacket. He turned around to quickly drop it on the unsteady table. He readjusted his sleeves over his hands before he opened it up.
He took two days to completely go through the journal. He wanted to handle it as little as possible - accidental brushes over the cover and the pages proved it to feel just as strong and confusingly goodnegative as his dad's jacket - so he was thorough.
He didn't know what to believe anymore and wasn't sure if anyone deserved a present but he sloppily wrapped the small gift he'd chosen with Uncle Bobby a few months ago. He took his frustration out on Dean, driving him out of the room. It gave him some more unpressured time to think.
"Thought you went out," he reluctantly engaged Dean when his brother came back not long after his departure.
"Yeah, to get you dinner." Dean joked as he tossed Sam gas station food. "And don't forget your vegetables." A bag of Funyuns landed on Sam's lap with a wink from his brother.
Sam sighed as Dean cracked open a soda. Words dripped from his lips, "I know why you keep a gun underneath your pillow."
Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry. He whipped back his pillow to check - a gun laid naked on the mattress. "No, you don't. Stay out of my stuff." He snapped, good mood gone as he became defensive.
Sam moved over to his own bad, stared at Dean's clenched jaw for a moment before he decided to press on. "And I know why we lay salt down everywhere we go."
"No, you don't. Shut up."
But Sam could tell that Dean wasn't angry, he felt cornered, nervous, and panicked.
With a huff Sam turned and grabbed the journal with the edge of his blanket from underneath the mattress. It dropped with a thud to the bedside table between them.
His brother was on his feet in an instant. "Where did you get that? That's Dad; he's gonna kill you for reading it!"
"I found it," Sam replied mulishly and jutted his chin out. "Tell me the truth Dean, I'm not a little kid anymore."
Dean's jaw and fingers clenched.
"Are monsters real?" Sam demanded stiltedly, eyes bright.
"What!? You're crazy."
"Tell me!"
Dean sighed and hesitated. He uncurled his fists to rub at his arms. "If you ever tell Dad I told you any of this … I'll end you." He threatened like only an older sibling could.
"I promise." Sam felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin with anticipation.
Dean dropped heavily onto the foot of Sam's bed. "Yeah," he confessed, "monsters are real. But-!" he hurried to reassure Sam when his mouth dropped into a frown that wobbled slightly. "But Dad's the coolest and the best, like a superhero; he fights them. He's fighting some right now."
Sam furrowed his brow, as worry intruded in on his anger and sense of betrayal. "But Dad said that there weren't monsters under my bed." He pointed out, stuck on his point of them not telling him the truth.
Dean smiled and shook his head. "That's cause there aren't, he checked."
A responding smile wanted to break out on Sam's lips but he didn't let it. He was still mad and now, scared.
"All of them?" Sam wanted to clarify for himself and had to when Dean frowned in confusion. "Dad fights all monsters?"
"Well, yeah, they're monsters Sam. He does it to keep people safe. To keep us safe."
Sam sat with his unease for a moment. Let the anger and fear and uncertainty wash over him and tried to see if they'd settle. They didn't. "What about witches?" His voice betrayed him, it wavered on the last word. "Psychics? Are they monsters?" His bare toes curled nervously against the rough carpet.
Dean frowned even more at the question. "Why? You're not going to fight 'em and Dad won't let 'em get to you."
"So they are." He couldn't stop himself from shaking. Panic started to creep into his voice.
"Witches? Yeah, they're monsters. And disgusting." He added on as an afterthought as his face twisted at a gag-worthy memory.
A few tears drip-plopped down Sam's still baby-chubby cheeks.
"Sam?! Come on, things are fine." Dean tried to soothe his brother. "Dad's smart and not going to get hurt and we're safe as long as we follow his rules."
It didn't affect Sam's tears nor his fear. He whisper-wailed as more tears fell down his cheeks. "Is he going to hunt me?"
Dean blanched, completely taken aback. "What? Why would you even think that?"
"Because I'm a witch Dean!" The anger crawled back into Sam's chest. He heaved for breath.
Dean floundered in the face of it. His voice was muted from his shock. "Yo-you're not a witch, Sammy."
"Yes," he ground out as he stood up to stand in his brother's space. "I am! I see things Dean. I feel things that let me know when stuff's going to happen. And it's getting stronger." He gasped for air for a moment before his face crumpled. "And you knew, Dean! When I told you about "the not-scary nightmare", you knew I was different. And you lied to me."
Dean's expression hardened. Sam readied himself for a fight, to be hurt.
"It was to protect you!" His voice was indignant that Sam would question that.
"Protect me?! How is ignoring something protecting me?"
"You're just a kid," Dean's voice broke slightly as angry, desperate tears welled in his eyes. "And who knows what's going on with you?"
"If we just told someone we might figure it out!"
"And risk you being taken away? I'm not going to lose you Sam!"
And that made Sam pause. They both breathed heavily into the silence between them. A knock on the door startled them and after a moment Dean went to check, shoulders tight. He peered through the window next to the door and Sam could feel him put on false cheer.
"Hello?" Dean asked meekly as he opened the food.
A female voice spoke from the other side. "Everything alright? I'm a room down and heard yelling."
Dean nodded and though Sam couldn't see his face he knew that his brother's eyes were wide and sweet. "My brother and I are just playin', sorry."
Sam saw movement, like the woman shifted to try and see inside. "Is your mom or Dad here?"
"Dad went out for food and Mom's down doin' laundry."
"Alright well, just try to keep it down with your brother. It's starting to get late, people might be going to bed early, okay?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, sorry."
The door shut.
Sam flipped to the other side of his bed so he faced away from Dean. He listened as his brother made his way back to him. Uncertainty colored the air.
"Sam?"
"Just leave me alone Dean." Against Sam's wishes, angry tears of betrayal welled up in his eyes when Dean did what Sam asked and settled on the sofa to watch some tv.
The entire next week was tense between Sam and Dean. Conversation was short and stilted. Sam was still taking in the truth of everything and trying to deal with both his own emotions of betrayal and Dean's uncertain emotions. And that was new, to feel other people's emotions. Because it wasn't just Dean who Sam felt though he was the strongest. There were flashes of emotion from people on the street and around the motel. The convenience store clerk was starting to grow suspicious and worried about the two young boys. Sam tersely told Dean that they should go to other places for food.
And then it was Christmas Eve.
Any other year Dean would be assuring Sam that Dad would make it back in time to celebrate with them. However, he seemed to know better than to try and promise those things to Sam this time around. But he did assure Sam that Dad was safe and coming back.
"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered and shook him awake early on Christmas morning. "Wake up!"
"Wha'd'ya want Dean?" Sam asked blearily.
"Come take a look!" Dean pulled on Sam's shoulder till he rolled over. Outside the window, snow fell. "It's a White Christmas, Sammy."
Sam couldn't stop a smile and sat up. On the other side of the sofa, lights twinkled. "What - Dean, what'd you do?"
"Couldn't have Christmas without a tree Sammy. Come on, there's presents too."
Sam couldn't help himself, he was just a kid, he was excited at the prospect of presents. He clambered out of bed to settle on the sofa in front of the dinky, needle-bare tree. Dean placed two small, awkwardly newspaper-wrapped presents in front of Sam.
"Go on." Even Dean was excited though nerves bled through too.
Sam didn't hesitate to pull the newspaper open. The slightly bigger present was two candy bars and a quarter machine toy. Sam grinned at Dean but his brother was worrying at his bottom lip. Sam picked up the second present - it had way more weight to it. Curious, he unwrapped it with just as much excitement as the first present. He was shocked when the paper revealed a shiny, silver handle. "What is it- where did you get it?"
"It's a switchblade." Dean admitted, eyes downcast as he picked at his nails. "I found it at a pawn shop. I think it's actually silver too."
Sam's mind immediately recalled that Dad had found that silver worked to hurt a lot of different monsters. He stared at Dean in quiet disbelief for a few moments. "A switchblade?" He finally asked, incredulous.
Dean shrugged a single shoulder. "I don't want you completely defenseless, alright? I'll teach you how to use it safely and properly." As if that assurance was to be enough. But strangely, for Sam, it was.
He leaned back against the sofa and picked up the switchblade, fingers stroking along the handle to feel the embossed, swirling pattern. He found the button on the side that released the blade. A small smile curled Sam's lips as the weapon flipped open. "Thanks, Dean." He carefully pressed the blade back into the handle before he got up from the sofa to rifle through his backpack. He returned to the sofa with a small present and thrust it towards Dean.
"Isn't this supposed to be for Dad?"
Sam shrugged. "He's not here for me like you are. I want you to have it."
Dean floundered slightly but Sam could feel his happyexcitement and pride. He carefully took the present and opened it. A bronze amulet shined in the light up at him. A smile stretched across Dean's across. "I love it Sam, thanks." He immediately slipped it around his neck.
Sam's smile slowly slipped and he nervously played with the hem of his shirt. "I'm sorry about getting so angry before."
Dean shook his head even as he looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I get it Sammy. 'M sorry too."
"Are you going to tell Dad? That I know about monsters and stuff? About me?"
Dean pursed his lips as he thought and slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. At least not right away. You know how he is around the holidays, let's give him some time. But I'm sure it'll be okay. He told me when I was younger than you, I don't see him being too mad about it."
But Sam could sense unease swirling in Dean's stomach. "Even about me?"
Dean's expression shuttered minutely before he was smiling again. "Yeah, I'm sure he'll understand Sam. He'll know you're not a witch."
Sam felt his face crumple a bit. "But I am, Dean."
Dean shook his head and spoke softly. "Witches sell their souls for power, Sam. Unless you've made a deal with a demon that I don't know about?" Dean attempted to tease but it fell flat halfway through.
Sam's lips part in surprise as he mentally flipped through the information on witches Dad's journal contained. He's simultaneously surprised and disappointed with the revelation. "But then what … what am I?"
"I think you're a psychic Sam. They're people who have like an extra sense for things and some can see the future. I think Bobby knows one."
A sense of relief washed over Sam and he slouched more against the couch, head lolling back. "So they're not bad? Dad's not going to hurt me?"
Dean shakes his head furiously. "No. There's nothing wrong with you and I won't let you get hurt."
An exhausted kind of smile graced Sam's face. He stretched his legs out so he could wiggle his toes under Dean's thigh. "Thanks Dean."
A small blush pricked at Dean's cheeks. He tried to shove Sam's legs away but Sam was playfully stubborn. "Yeah, whatever. Come on, let's watch some Christmas movies." He turned away from Sam and turned the small tv on.
Thankfully one of the seven channels was having a Christmas movie marathon. The boys binged on the movies and bad food and Sam shared the chocolate bars Dean gifted him. And for all that Sam could feel others' emotions he was too focused on the happy, content moment to consider anything other than Dean's peaceful smile and commentary about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Otherwise he might've felt the queasy uncertainty Dean felt in his stomach for as much as he wanted to be sure that things would be fine, he wasn't. And the lie he told Sam, told himself, about Dad being okay with … everything sat heavy on his chest. But at least they'd have this, a light-hearted evening and a hopeful holiday for when Dad came back that things would work out.