Fields of Jasmine

Chapter 22 ~ Flashbacks

Sam had been having seizures for the past week.

They had no clue what triggered it, or why. None of them had an idea where they came from. Well, not everyone.

Dean Winchester had a certain file that a certain scrawny alpha had given to him a while ago. He hadn't thought about it until the seizures started to happen on a daily basis with more and more detailed pictures and thoughts.

Sam told him everything, in a desperate need for the visions to stop. Maybe Dean and the others could help him, like they had before. Maybe they could tell him what this was, since he didn't think that these were visions.

It felt a whole lot more like flashbacks. Each time he remembered, he'd feel all weird and as if he was supposed to remember. But he simply didn't.

He couldn't.

Actually there weren't specific things that seemed to trigger those flashbacks. One time it was the clattering of cutlery, which catapulted his mind back to where he was actually cooking for himself on a tiny stove in something like a motel room. Another time he found himself looking through his own eyes (though unable to control a single thing) into the ones of a woman with fangs and cat-like eyes and claws. Another time he found himself hurt in the woods, running from something, or lighting up a cabin.

So, while Sam slept after his last seizure-like flashback, Dean got the folder Garth had given to him and started to flip through it. He made his own notes and read each page a couple of times. He even tried to put hints together on what this "Shadow" looked like. But there was nothing but his size described and there were a whole lot of tall people wandering the world. So it didn't mean that it had to be Sam being the "Shadow."

Though … due to the things his mate had described to him, it looked a whole lot like Samuel T. Harvelle had been a hunter. And maybe even more than that …

On top of the current problems with Sam, which never seemed to truly stop (the kid never got a break), there was John Winchester locked up in Bobby's panic room.

Dean hadn't been down there ever since Bobby and Ellen had taken the man there, but he had warned them to not let him go or let him walk in the yard freely. Not after he had tried to kill Sam. Not when he was a threat to his mate.

Bobby had assured him that none of the tests worked on John, which meant that the man down in the basement had to be human. His old friend had also told him that John was pretty much John and that he had warned them to trust Sam because of several reasons.

Well, he had known about Sam being a psychic and he had known that Savanger hadn't really been a vampire. He had also known that demons were involved in the case and that the girl's name was Meg Masters, former student and now demon's host.

He … or she … or it … had vacated Savanger's body before, do it was one and the same bastard.

John also seemed to know that Sam had been carrying one of Orthos's children inside of him, but what he didn't know was that that was no longer the case.

His father thought that Sam was still infected by the evil spawn, so he had fought for almost three days to let him out and prove what he was saying. Obviously, the older Winchester thought that Dean was in serious danger if he stayed with the omega.

He fell on deaf ears.

John Winchester had left his son to think he was dead. He had left Dean in a hospital all to himself in a coma and hadn't cared about saying at least hi after he had woken up.

Nope.

It had been Bobby who had been there most of the time, sitting by his bed and talking to him. He had been the one who had told him that John was most likely dead. He had seen Dean Winchester fall apart, after three months of being in a coma, due the fact that he hadn't been able to save his father.

So no. John Winchester didn't deserve any less than being ignored by his son.

Dean wasn't even sure if he'd be able to forgive his father for pulling this stunt ever. He had thought he was dead. DEAD. Like six feet under.

~ 67 Chevrolet Impala ~

Dean decided on the eighth day that it was about time to visit ol' John, who was still on lock-down in Bobby's basement. It wasn't that bad after all. He was surely better than lying with a ripped open rib cage in some werewolf's den, choking on his own blood.

Or so Dean thought. When he was a kid – even as a teenager – they had way worse homes. Dean figured that his father could deal with the panic room for another week. Then again … he wanted to get past this.

Sam sat on the couch, rubbing his left temple. Dean was currently in the kitchen, heating up soup with noodles for his boyfriend. The omega had just woken up half an hour before and was sore all over.

First off because he had hit the kitchen counter with his left shoulder when he fell and second from spasming and thrashing around as he seized.

Dean hadn't noticed at first, since he had gone to the back of the house to put logs into the central heater. Only when he came back inside and heard those choking noises did he know what was going on and was beside Sam in an instant. He rode it out with him; made sure he wouldn't swallow his tongue or choke or hurt himself anymore. He turned him onto his side and held him there until he went lax.

Then Dean had carried him into the bedroom like so many times before and let Sam sleep it off.

The ex hunter sighed and shook his head at what had happened only two hours ago. He remembered the way Sam's face had been scrunched up and how taut his body was. The alpha remembered too clearly how helpless he felt.

He didn't feel comfortable with the thought of leaving Sam on his own in the cabin after this either.

But what was he supposed to do?

Sam wanted to be alone after those events – mostly. Sure, sometimes when he woke up, he searched for Dean's closeness and comfort in calloused hands. But sometimes – like today – the young omega seemed as if he needed to be alone to process what he'd seen.

Sam would be jumpy and close to panicking whenever Dean would try to come any closer than necessary. And it hurt. It hurt Dean really badly that Sam didn't feel the safety he was supposed to feel when he was with his mate. With Dean.

Dean could tell that the omega knew that. The way he gazed up at him under hooded eyes, filled with sorrow but still flinching away from the alpha's hand.

Sam had apologized for that and had said that he didn't know why he acted that way sometimes. He couldn't even explain it properly to the other man. He could only tell that he was so sorry and that it wasn't because of Dean.

The microwave dinged and Dean was torn away from his thoughts. He got the huge mug with noodle soup and brought it into the living room, where Sam was still sitting on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and looking so miserable it tore at Dean's heart.

The alpha sat down beside the younger man and ignored the slight flinch and the way Sam leaned towards the other side, away from him.

"Soup," Dean spoke softly and placed it onto the coffee table with a big spoon. He shoved the mug right in front of Sam.

He wanted so badly to be closer, to wrap his arm around Sam's back, or rub it up and down. He watched Sam putting his shaking hands into his lap.

"I don't mean it," the omega murmured softly. He blinked up under bed hair and bangs and blinked at Dean. "I … I just … I can't..." He sighed, tears springing into his eyes. "I don't know why, Dean."

"It's okay," Dean tried to smile, but failed. He knew that Sam knew that this was a lie.

"No, it's not," Sam croaked out. "It hurts you. I … I don't want you to be hurting because of me..." He swallowed. He had messed up the whole day again. Dean had wanted to check on his father – the man in the basement – and now this … "You know, you can go, right? I'll be okay..."

Dean's gaze turned a bit harder. "Sam," his voice held something wary.

"Dean," the omega sighed. "It's fine. I'm fine. For now."

Dean watched the younger man's fingers intertwine to still his shaking hands. He watched him for another long moment rather skeptically.

Sam didn't look fine.

"It's not like… like I don't want to have you around…" He opened his mouth again, but Dean stopped him by talking up.

"I know. So … you'll be okay for an hour?" He raised both eyebrows, waiting for Sam to hesitate, but he didn't.

The omega gave him a weak, but sweet smile, really adorable in fact. "I'll call you, okay? If anything happens, I'll call. Or if I need anything, anything at all, I'll call too." Yep, Sam knew how to reassure the alpha, standing his skeptical gaze like a pro. "I'll go lie down again, anyway."

When Dean didn't speak, Sam continued. "It's just a few yards, Dean," he tried to assure him again. It wasn't like he really wanted to get rid of his mate. But he felt the need that Dean felt to go and talk to that man. He knew that he needed answers, that they needed answers.

And to be honest? Sam was more of a liability. Even more now than he had been before. Dean shouldn't think that he'd need to have an eye on Sam each moment of the day.

"But..."

"No buts. I know how important this is to you. You guys need to figure out what's going on and … John … most likely knows something," Sam explained softly. "It's important to you guys."

"YOU are important, Sammy." The alpha smiled sweetly.

The omega blushed and turned his gaze away shyly.

Dean sighed. "Okay, okay." He was about to reach out to cup Sam's face in his hand and pull him in for a kiss, but he stopped himself as he saw the wary expression on Sam's face. Once more he had to remind himself that Sam didn't mean it like that.

Maybe it was better to leave his mate some space without him hovering over the omega.

So Dean made his way to Bobby's, after another few inner-mind-debates about the pros and cons of leaving Sam behind in the cabin. Eventually he managed to get his shit together and got dressed. It was still cold outside, so he chose his warm parker instead of the leather jacket.

His father's leather jacket actually.

For the first time since he could remember that the both of them were a pair, Dean didn't give Sam a kiss to say until later. He didn't kiss him goodbye.

Instead he returned Sam's waving hand and longing look and then got out of the house before he could decide otherwise.

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

It was quiet in Bobby's house.

Dean brushed his jacket off and threw it in the kitchen over one of the chairs.

The room was empty.

So was the living room.

No trace of Jim or Bobby.

Jim was back in Sioux Falls since Sam's seizures had started.

That was until he heard noises from the basement. Someone was talking.

He sauntered downstairs, not quite sure what he wanted to ask his father. Well, he knew what he wanted to say to him, but that had nothing to do with questioning.

Now that he was thinking about going inside the panic room and to face his father, Dean felt the anger flare up again.

Ellen and Bobby were there, right at the foot of the stairs. They looked up when they heard Dean's heavy boots on the stairs.

"Hey," Dean greeted them, a rather troubled expression on his face.

"Hey yourself." Ellen sighed and rubbed over her forehead.

"John's pissed, boy." Bobby sounded rather amused, while Ellen looked a bit annoyed.

"Welcome to my world," Dean gave them a smug grin and brushed past his both old friends. "His skull ain't broken, I take it."

Ellen chuckled. "No Winchester's broken his skull – ever."

"We'll see about that." And with that he opened the heavy iron door and stepped in. When the door closed behind him, he heard the lock being shut from the outside.

His gaze didn't leave the man, who was sitting in the chair by a small table. A bottle of water, apples, and a glass was there too.

Both men locked their gazes, one staring harder than the other one.

"You knocked me out," John Winchester was the first one to speak up.

"You knocked me out first," his son countered unimpressed. His voice was low and cool. Like the silence before the storm.

"Touché." His father chuckled and shook his head. "So. Bobby told you?"

Of course it was about the job. It was always about the job.

"Why don't we talk about the fact that you aren't dead? Why don't you explain to me, why the hell you couldn't AT LEAST leave me a sign that you were alive?" Dean paced the room as he continued to stare his father down. He did nothing to hide his red-hot rage from the older alpha.

"It was for your best, son." John's voice hadn't changed. Nor the way he spoke, all authoritative and husky. "I didn't plan on going down that road, but you catch the opportunity when you see it." He cleared his throat.

"You left me there to die," Dean hissed as he stopped in his tracks and made a step towards his father. "You left me in those damn woods to die, dammit!"

John's smile faded rapidly as he shook his head. "I didn't. Whatever happened out there, I can't remember. What I do remember is waking up in a hospital two towns over, one week after the day we went into the woods." His father looked a bit sad. But only a bit. After all it wasn't a marine's way to show emotions. "I took off the same night and when I heard that..." He huffed out a breath. "That you're in a coma and that … that you wouldn't make it..."

Dean's nostrils flared. "What DAD?" His nostrils flared some more, his chest heaving with raged breaths. "What? You just left me there to die?! You didn't think about staying there with me? Your SON? Your blood?" he spat at the older man. "Afraid I'd be a liability to you and the job if I'd get through it? Tell me, what exactly did you think?"

Dean could read it all over John's face. That this wasn't true. The old man was hurt by hearing what his son thought he'd done. But the younger Winchester figured he deserved it. He should feel all the pain he had felt.

"I thought about staying with you." John was oddly calm. "But then I saw Bobby… and I left. I couldn't stand there and watch you die. I couldn't." He sighed. "I figured you're better with Bobby than me." His lips quirked into a sad smile. "You know what a crappy and impatient father I was. I would've messed up everything." John broke eye contact and took a couple of breaths. "I've laid low for a few weeks and when I was healed up I've checked on you once. I've had a whole lot time to think about things. And I decided that… that for the job I had in line for the both of us after the werewolf that I couldn't put you into so much danger. So… I vanished." Dean pondered that thought. A bit of his rage ebbed away. "What job?" He already knew. He could see it in the way John's features hardened.

"The thing that you give shelter, son." John rose from the chair. "The thing you are protecting."

Dean nodded, pursing his lips, looking at the far wall. "How long?"

John Winchester sighed. "Actually only a week. I followed its tracks to Columbus and … when the counselor told me that he wasn't living there anymore … I figured I'd be the one who saved his sorry ass." His father sighed again. "I figured it out after hacking into her." John seemed amused, for a moment at least, before his features hardened. "Can you imagine how surprised I was to read that MY SON fell for a monster? Someone who simply vanished after hitting sixteen?"

Dean raised both eyebrows, ignoring the names he was calling Sam for now. "You so sure about that, huh?"

John gave him a firm nod. "He's a psychic, isn't he? What's his specialty? Mind control? … Does he make you..."

Dean interrupted him with a loud laugh. "You think he's controlling me?" His eyes flared up with amusement once again. "Wow… Dad…" He sighed. "Obviously you didn't do your homework as good as we did ours." Dean raised both eyebrows as if the old man wasn't telling him anything new. He tried to hide his hurt about his father thinking that Dean was too dumb to notice a trap. "I know all about it." He pursed his lips and shook his head to the left and right. "Actually, he's not the monster here. If you'd done a proper job, you'd know that."

"Sure it is! He's a psychic. They chose him because of it! It means something, boy, don't you see it?" John was close to yelling now. "He's messing with you, son."

"We removed the parasite from Sam. He's clean. And he's alive. Sam was close to dying, you know? But he made it. So, thank you for your concern and all, but I really don't care what you are thinking." He wasn't sure what hurt his father more, the fact that he didn't care what John had to say about his mate, or that he kept cool like this. "You played dead for two years and left me to rot in that hospital. That's what counts, what I'm gonna remember." Dean calmed down a bit, his voice softer at its edges. "Sam's out of that case. I don't want you near him."

His father stared at him, flames in his eyes. He thrust his jaw forward like he always did when he was about to explode. "That little sneaky b-" The older Winchester didn't come any further.

"Let me tell you this much:" Dean was right in John's face the next moment; so close they shared breaths. Then he spoke calmly: "You try to pull something like that again, old man, I will kill you. You don't get near Sam. You don't get near our house." Dean swallowed, his voice turning a nudge sharper, threatening. He backed off a step. "Me and Sam. We're one. He's my omega and I'm going to protect him from whatever's out there. Even my own flesh and blood."

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

Sam inhaled the mug with noodle soup in hyper-speed.

And his stomach didn't feel full at all.

He knew where Dean kept the chocolate and candies. Even those tiny bits called Jelly Beans. There were those who tasted like vanilla. They had this white color. And others were brown and white and tasted like coffee …

Anyway, if he wanted them he had to get up and going.

Sam squinted towards the kitchen and thought about the pros and cons of getting up and getting them. After a mental plus and minus list, he decided that it was totally worth it to get up.

He felt a bit insecure on his feet, like a new born giraffe and his head gave him a slight stab at the change of height, but other than that he felt good. As good as he could possibly feel after it.

That made him think about the flashback he had been living through. Memories he didn't want to think about, if he was honest with himself. So far it all was so different from how he felt now.

One thing Sam was sure of. He'd been a hunter. He'd been hunting the same creatures Dean and Bobby were hunting.

Werewolves.

Wendigos.

Vampires.

Shtrigas.

Kitsunes.

The whole nine yards.

He could live with knowing THAT.

But what he didn't understand was, why he hid. He saw other men and women, too. Hunters, he supposed. But he never talked to them; he never went near them. Samuel T. Harvelle had been hiding away and flying under their radar. Even the emotions he felt weren't even close to those he felt now.

It was hard to explain though.

Back then he seemed calculating and though reckless at some points, brave and clever about whatever he was doing.

The more he remembered, the more confused he grew about how insecure he was feeling now. Sam thought that the man he had been back then was so completely different from the one he was now. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he'd be able to face one of these monsters without wetting his pants …

The train of thoughts ended abruptly as he found himself in front of the counter in the kitchen where the Jelly Beans and other sweets were stored.

The young man rubbed over his face with a heavy sigh falling from his lips and reached up. The Jelly Beans were right in front of his nose, but he then decided to check out what else was in there.

After rummaging around, he found a Butterfinger, Mars bars, and a single Twinkie.

Since he couldn't decide which one he should eat, he took all three of them with him and moved his tired body back to the couch, where he slumped down.

Sam cast a longing look towards the door. Somehow he felt bad now that he had practically thrown Dean out of his own house. He felt bad for feeling weird about having Dean close to him right now.

It wasn't like Dean had something to do with what had happened in the flashback.

Well, not directly at least.

It was more about his father who was involved into all of this.

Obviously the man had been hunting for Samuel Harvelle. And that he didn't know because he woke up with the man's barrel in his face. It was because of the flashback. "John Winchester," Sam breathed and frowned at the fact that he had the feeling that this name was supposed to tell him something.

In his flashback, the man had been luring him into a trap, somewhere in the woods.

First it had looked as if Sam had been following the hunter and his companion into the woods for a werewolf. Well, not exactly one, but two to be correct. Sam had found out that they were hunting in a two-wolf-pack kind of thing, so those hunters were running into an unexpected scenario.

How Sam knew? He had no clue; after all he couldn't remember everything. Only what he thought and felt during the flashback.

Too soon, he found out that it had been a trap for him; that John Winchester knew that there were two wolves and not only one and that Sam would be there too.

John had ordered his son to take the other way around the pond in the small clearing, where a mauled body was laying half in the water and half on the shore. Though, instead of heading to the checkpoint, he took off into the woods to get a drop on the omega.

How? Samuel Harvelle had no clue; he only knew that was what happened. Which was even more disturbing.

But what John Winchester didn't calculate was the werewolves coming for them.

So John Winchester did truly get the drop on the young omega and let him walk straight into a bear's trap, tearing his skin and breaking his bone.

Sam had no clue how he got out of that thing, but he did and he found himself in a hand to hand fight with the other hunter, who muttered something about that he wouldn't let him live long enough to screw this world up even more; that he'd stop him from bringing hell over earth and a whole lot other shit.

And John Winchester nearly finished what he had come for: killing the omega, but only nearly. Until he heard his son yell in agony and pure horror.

For a moment it looked like John was about to kill the man beneath him, but another cry was heard and his head whipped around, which Sam used to get out under the hunter and disarm him.

After that everything went a bit fuzzy.

There was blood and there were green eyes. There were screams, mud, and more blood. He could remember his right leg hurting like a bitch as he managed to hobble along and get into a better position to get a good shot at the werewolves.

Okay, the older man looked as if he wasn't that bad off. The werewolf was dragging him away. Most likely into their den, so he'd have longer to live than the other one. The younger one seemed to need his help more urgently.

Even if he was too late.

So he shot the monster dead center into its heart with a silver bullet of his Taurus.

When he managed to get over there, the young man was already unconscious, blood welling up from multiple claw wounds all over his body.

Sam cast a look over his shoulder, glaring into the direction the wolf had taken off with the other hunter and hissed a curse as he put too much weight onto his broken ankle.

Then, everything became hazy and he found himself sitting behind the wheel of a car, pushing down on the gas petal with a thick stick instead of his broken ankle. Beside him in the passenger's seat was Dean Winchester, bloody, unconscious and going into shock, faster than he liked.

He didn't know how, or why… but the very next moment he found himself standing in the doorway to a hospital room, looking at a man on a bed. Sam put more weight onto the crutch and sighed. He still needed to go back and get the other guy out of there.

Even if the man had tried to kill him, Sam wasn't a murderer and this wasn't a fair fight. Leaving the hunter to the wolf would be as much as killing him with his own hands. And he couldn't do that.

Besides. It'd all be different soon …

Sam took the remote control into his left hand and turned the TV on. He didn't want to think about that right now. Wasn't he supposed to not remember these things? Wasn't that the reason why his old self had let them poke around in his head?

Wasn't that it?

Another sigh fell from the omega's lips and he ripped the mars bar open with his teeth, taking a huge chunk from the soft bar and starting to chew it slowly, tasting caramel melt together with chocolate and the soft filling on his tongue.

to be continued