Another chapter! This one from the point of view of Dean's son. Hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the OCs.
His heart was hammering fast against his ribcage. He was trembling, his fear making it impossible to make his brain find a solution for his problem. It was one of the rare occasions his brain failed him. The pain didn't help either. He didn't know if it was minutes, hours or days since the pain started. It was immensurable. It was all-encompassing. It was never-ending.
"I'm so sorry, James" a male voice sounded through his pain-filled state of being, soothing and at the same time, terrifying "This is for your own protection. You will not remember anything"
James screamed, tear-filled eyes closing against his will. A black abyss greeted him, bringing alongside relief to his pain, and he knew no more.
He woke up with a start.
'This nightmare again' thought James groggily, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes. He eyed his surrounding, sharp cobalt eyes picking all small details. He was in a plane, going back to Cambridge to his final year of his chosen career. Robotics.
There were rows and rows of people sleeping, with the odd ones messing with their phone. James frowned. He hoped those people put their phone on airplane mode.
The nightmare wasn't new. It started one year ago, after an incident that gave him a concussion. Back then, the nightmare wasn't so clearly defined as it was now, just a feeling of unbridled terror and indescribable pain. As time passed, bits and pieces of the nightmare were clearer, scaring the living daylights out of James since it resembled a memory more than a nightmare. And somehow, he forgot about it. Him, who remembered as far back as his first word ("badma!" he was delighted; "I can't believe your first word is Batman" his mom was exasperated) and never forgot anything again. And the scariest part was that he didn't know what happened. He knew he was in pain, but not why. He knew there was someone else with him, but not who. He knew that that someone was responsible for his pain, but not how. And for someone who prided himself about being able to know every other thing that was thrown his way, it was beyond frustrating and terrifying.
"I can hear that head of yours thinking a mile a minute from here, Andrews" a sleepy voice broke through his pondering.
His best friend and partner in crime, Terry Knight.
He was an eighteen-year-old teen with golden brown eyes and hair. His frame was lean, with no muscles to speak of, and he was quite the chatterbox.
They met in their first year at university, Terry being a year older than him but the closest to his age than the rest of the people. To James surprise, he was from Washington too. James didn't make friends easily, his quiet nature and intelligent gaze putting off several people, with the rest being annoyed when he analysed them and deduced things correctly. Another problem was the fact he always tended to be the youngest among his peers. Terry was the second one after Linda, his first best friend, to see him as someone who was worth befriending. He wasn't put off by his gaze or silence, filling the quiet with constant chatter and jokes. It wasn't forced on his part, him being a natural extrovert, and sometimes James wondered what the other boy saw in him. He laughed when James made an observation, and constantly pestered him on the days he wanted solitude from the outside world, not that James minded. He grew accustomed to the other's presence beside him. It was actually pretty lively having him around. His mother was quite proud of him for making another friend besides Linda.
Terry wasn't lacking in the intelligence department either. He excelled in maths and quantum physics, and his diligence made him an excellent study partner. His goofy nature hid his sharp mind, often surprising people when he made insightful comments. It was easy to discuss with him topics the average person wouldn't discuss normally, not even Linda. They would debate often and adopt different postures for different topics to liven up the conversations. For James, who, before Terry, had to constantly hold back comments as to not appear rude, it was a refreshing and stimulating change.
Another contrast between them was sports. James loved doing all sort of activities, for the sole reason of shutting down his mind for a little while. The constant movement of his body distracted the otherwise endless input of information his brain dealt with. Terry, on the other hand, abhorred all type of sports without shame. For someone who appeared to have a source of limitless energy within his body, Terry was quite sedentary. He preferred long walks but when it came to sports, he always seems to evade the topic. Linda was the opposite, they bonding over sports and martial arts, but Terry went all silent when the topic was broached. James didn't know what was up with that, but he didn't pry. Terry was not the only one with issues best kept hidden.
"When am I not thinking, Knight?" answered James sassily.
"True" Terry acknowledged "But somehow, you are thinking more loudly than normal, so what has your panties in a twist?"
"My nightmare" admitted James reluctantly, knowing that if he didn't relent, the other teen would pester him till he spilled.
Terry was the only one who knew about the nightmare. He had watched as James started to have bags below his eyes and demanded to know what was going on. James, feeling exhausted after three days of constant terror, spilled the beans right there and then, and extracted a promise to not divulge to anyone what was going on. He was relieved to not be alone afterwards, so he didn't regret confiding with the other teen.
Terry was understanding, and helped him adjust to his new normal. He nattered constantly about everything, trying to pull James out of his funk. He would distract him with little things, like dragging him to a park or a library, or starting debates out of the blue. He never made any mention of the nightmare, and little by little, James started to ignore the scared feeling the nightmare gave him. It didn't go away, but James learnt to cope.
"Ugh, that again" complained Terry half-heartily, in an attempt to lighten up the mood "I think your nightmare is trying to tell you something, buddy. Like demigods' dreams"
"Oh, for God's sake, I still haven't read Percy Jackson, Terry" said an exasperated James.
"Why the hell not? I will have you know that the books are nothing like the movies. Seriously, what were they thinking when they made them? It is an insult to…" Terry continued talking enthusiastically, making James relax into himself with the sound of his friend's voice as background noise. Without meaning to, he drifted to sleep again, this time without the nightmare disturbing his rest.
The next time he awoke, they had already arrived to their destination and landed. He exited the plane, claimed his baggage alongside Terry, followed all procedures required and checked out.
They went to a hotel to spend the night there. They were going to ride a bus in the morning to go to students' residences on campus, since it was too late and they were too weary to go now.
They took a taxi, and once they arrived, they checked in a three-star hotel and didn't waste any more energy before collapsing in their respective beds. Within seconds, they were once again out like a light.
A touch against his forehead.
Pain. Fear. Agony is all James could feel aside from the dread.
'Make it stop' he thought desperately 'Make it stop, make it stop please pleasepleasemakeitstop'
"I'm so sorry, James" the voice pierced the pain "This is for your own protection. You will not remember anything"
Relief once darkness encompassed him.
Before blacking out entirely, he made out the shape of a man with wings seemingly made out of shadows. He forgot.
James woke up once again panting. And confused.
Why? Why was he having those awful dreams? What was the thing that he forgot? And why was he remembering a man with wings of all things?
That last part was new. He didn't know if what he saw was an hallucination or what. He didn't even know when the memory took place. He knew instinctively that it was a long time ago, but he was not sure when.
He turned on the lamp and grabbed his phone, intent on looking up all information available about amnesia and dreams. He would be able to read it quickly, and the data would become a permanent fixture in his brain.
He touched the browser, giving a cursory glance at the news.
His heart stopped. His ears started ringing. All thought of research flew out of his mind.
An impossibility stared right back.
'Sam and Dean Winchester once again walking among the living. When is the nightmare going to stop?'
Below the headline, there were two mugshots of two men in their twenties. One was Sam Winchester, making what it seemed like a pout directed at the camera. He seemed like a random college student caught speeding, and nothing like a murderer.
The other man seemed to be looking straight at him. James imagined those cold viridian eyes staring right through him and gazing directly at his soul, and he shivered with dread. It was like looking at a distorted image of himself, and he didn't like it one bit.
So absorbed by the news he was, he didn't know he woke his friend till his phone was out of his hand.
"What'cha looking at that is so important at three in the morn… What" started saying Terry, only to pause and stare at the headline too. And then the mugshot. And then at James. And repeat.
James would have considered it funny if he wasn't in a state of shock himself.
"What the fuck, Jamie" whispered Terry, looking confused and scared "Why are you being hunted by the FBI? Why does it have another name? What's going on?"
"That's not me" James forced himself to said through his shock "That's not me" he repeated "That's my fucking father" he spitted out the last part.
"Shit" was the only thing Terry could say.
James wholeheartedly agreed.
A moment of silence, and then:
"What are you going to do?" asked Terry quietly, a stark contrast from his normally perpetual cheerful self.
"I don't know" whispered James furiously, trying to keep his tears at bay. He was partly successful, but no so much since he was trembling uncontrollably.
That was the moment a knock sounded sharply against the door.
And then the police were bursting through the door.