Chaos

Chapter Three

victorious_1314

AU: Hi, I haven't updated this story in months but I really like it and don't want to stop any time soon. I must apologize for my lack of updating, but my depression gets in the way quite a bit. I love reading your reviews, they honestly make me so happy. I check for new reviews even when I haven't updated in forever. I love all of you for reading my stories and putting up with my bullshit. Sorry so this is so long. Anyways, Thank you for your kind reviews, favorites, and follows! You are the reason I keep writing. :)

Warning: Sensitive topics, self harm, suicidal thoughts/actions, mentioned torture/abuse, mental instability, insanity, frightening scenes and flashbacks

Dean's previous anger diminishes slightly and is replaced with bewilderment at Sam's words. "What the hell are you talking about?" He manages. Sam's eyes glimmer with a wave of courage and he repeats, "I'm from the future."

Dean scoffs in annoyance, his furiously back at large, "Stop joking and tell me who hurt you!" His fists are balled tight and his eyes are wide and dangerous. Dean's emotions could be compared to a wild animal protecting their young, although he would never admit that to himself, let alone anyone else.

Sam exhales angrily, exasperation oozing from his every pore. Lucifer isn't bothering him for the time being, however, so he is largely grateful for that aspect of the situation. "Think about it, Dean," Sam tries, his voice strained, "Why did I ask for the date? How did I know how Dad's hunt would end? How did I know that stupid song in it's entirety?" Sam's big brother continues to stare at him blankly so he continues, "I knew the fucking song because I remember singing it with you, I asked for the date because the last time I checked it was 2011, and I knew how Dad's hunt would end because I remember not only hearing about it, but reading about it in detail from his journal!"

Dean blinks a few times, his brain feeling strangely numb and inactive. A chill slowly travels up his spine and his eyes enlarge with a new emotion, panic. Almost a minute goes by in complete silence before Dean speaks again, "Prove it," he says, his voice so quiet that Sam almost missed it. Sam shakes his head, "How?"

Dean thinks for a few moments until he answers, "Tell me something that I haven't told you yet... That I tell you in the future."

Sam sighs again and tries to think. Eventually, something that fits his brother's description comes to mind, "When you were 18 you wore pink panties because Rhonda... something-I don't remember her last name, told you to, and you liked it."

Dean's cheeks and the tops of his ears redden in shame and he hangs his head low to his chest. "How did you know that?" he mumbles.

"We got really drunk once and you told me. I think you thought I forgot, but I didn't," Sam replies, his voice still unsure but this time with a slight humorous undertone. Dean feels like he was just slapped in the face when the realization that Sam might actually be telling the truth hits him.

If Sam is telling the truth, he would know things about their future and could help prevent bad things from happening, right? Like hunts gone wrong and injuries. This could be an amazing thing, but, where is his Sammy? Is he.. is he dead? No, he can't be, Dean refuses to give that possibility a second thought. His mind feels like a bees nest, all of his thoughts enter and exist his head like a wasp infestation. Dean feels like he may pass out if he doesn't distract himself soon from the dangerous path his mind is traveling down. Thankfully, Sam finally speaks up,

"I don't know if I can tell you much because I'm not sure if it will effect the future," Sam looks off at Lucifer, "Not that, that would necessarily be a bad thing," he murmurs under his breath." Dean catches his words, "What?"

Sam shakes his head, "Nothing, don't worry about it," he attempts to run his swollen hand through his hair but grimaces as he tries to lift it up. Dean observes his right wrist and and lightly pokes and prods it with his fingers. Sam is silent throughout this process. "Why aren't you screaming your head off?" Dean asks nonchalantly. Sam tilts his head in confusion, "Wha-" Dean cuts him off, "Your wrist is sprained and I'm poking at it. Is it numb?"

Sam shrugs his shoulders, "It hurts but there's no use in being loud and obnoxious, is there?" Dean frowns and reaches into the first aid kit to grab a sling that's neatly folded at the bottom. He begins gently fastening the strap around Sam's arm and shoulder, "I guess not..." Dean continues cleaning Sammy's wounds, including, but not limited to, two cuts on his upper and lower lip, a leaking, bruised, and puffy right eye, a scraped and gravel packed wound on his left cheek, and a deep cut on his arm, possibly from a switch blade. Luckily, he wouldn't require stitches so Dean won't have to break out the whiskey and dental floss.

"Can you at least tell me a little about the future?" Dean asks, he's been waiting patiently for Sam to be nodding off to sleep. Sam's eyelids slightly open before drooping closed again. He groans quietly in response. Dean waits a few seconds before continuing his half-hearted questioning, "What's it like?" his voice is soft, as to not wake Sam up enough for him to realize what he's saying.

Sam's face scrunches up and he half says, half yawns, "Not good."

Dean sighs and wakes Sam up enough to help in change out of his soaking clothes and into his pajamas. He lays him onto his bed and before he lets him sleep, he remembers to perform a few tests to see if he has a concussion. He sadly finds that he has mild head trauma from the beating he took. Dean lets out a breath of air sadly, he pushes a few strands of hair from Sam's eyes and pulls the blanket up to his younger brother's chin. He hasn't shown this level of affection to him since Sam started pulling away from his hugs when he turned around 13. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Because of Sam's concussion, he'll be bed ridden for at least a week and Dean will have to closely monitor him and wake him up periodically. Dean turns off the light and heads into the kitchen. He turns on the coffeemaker and prepares for yet another sleepless night.

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The next few days pass by quickly for Sam, his only conscious actions are being awoken by Dean to take pain killers, be fed cereal, and being escorted to the bathroom from time to time. The rest of the period he spends fast asleep, his wounds healing as he is unconscious. Meanwhile, Dean spends the entire time worrying his ass off over what he's going to tell dad when he gets home. Perhaps he should say, "Hey, Dad! Sorry that Sam can't talk right now, he was beaten to a fucking pulp by some bullies. He's passed out from all the pain medications I've been keeping him on and his concussion. Also, you should know that he isn't our Sammy at all, this is future Sam in younger Sam's body. Don't worry about it though. Everything is under control. How was the hunt?"

Dean can practically imagine his father's face slowly turning red and the storm that would be unleashed upon him. Although, he would deserve every minute of it. What the actual fuck was he thinking when he made Sam walk home alone. He knew he'd been acting strangely, yet he still left him to fend for himself. God, he can't wait to fucking murder those asshole's who did this to his brother. Dean has spent the past few days contemplating how Sam could have possibly traveled through time. Part of him feels that everything he said about time travel was just made up shit he was babbling because of his head trauma. But even as he thinks that, there is an annoying voice in the back of his head pointing out all of the strange things that have been occurring with Sammy the past two days.

It's possible that he could have just been messing with him when he asked the date, he could have just guessed correctly about their father's hunt, he could have somehow learnt the song that morning, and he could have said all of those things while Dean was cleaning his wounds because he was delirious. Dean tries to assure himself that time travel doesn't exist, but that nagging voice returns to remind him that they hunt monsters for a living and just because they haven't experienced it as hunters, time travel may very well exist.

Dean swallows a spoonful of cereal and places his plastic spoon in his Styrofoam bowl, a high pitched squeaking noise is heard from the action as Sam stumbles out from the bathroom. Dean stands suddenly and rushes over to his little brother, "What the hell are you doing up?" He hadn't even see him get up from the bed. Sam presses the palms of his hands into his eyes and mumbles, "I wanted to brush my teeth."

Dean laughs softly and starts to lead Sam back to bed, "C'mon bro, back to sleep." Instead of going with him, Sam stays rooted to the ground, "I feel fine, I'm not tired anymore."

Dean frowns and his hands fall from his brother's shoulders, "I'm going to grab your meds," Dean starts to walk towards the ajar bathroom door, but Sam grips the back of his sweatshirt, with his good hand, in order to stop him. Dean turns around and a look of confusion riddles his features. Sam walks to the couch and throws himself onto it, "I don't want to sleep anymore." He reaches for the remote, which is wedged in between two couch cushions and turns the TV on. It's the evening so the light bounces off Sam's cringing face.

Dean sighs dramatically and joins Sam on the couch, "You're head and sprained wrist will start hurting real badly and you'll be begging me for a dose."

Sam's eyes flicker to Lucifer, who is licking the blood off one of the meat hooks that are hanging from the ceiling, and then turns back towards the television, "I keep having nightmares and I can't wake up from them when I'm drugged that heavily."

Dean searches worriedly over Sam's troubled face and subconsciously leans closer to his little brother. He's about to comment about how, 'Sam can always talk to him about anything,' but he instead remains silent, the sound of the daily news filling the dark room and tense space between them.

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Dean ends up dead asleep within a mere thirty minutes, due to the bare minimum of shut eye he's been limiting himself to for the past week. His eyes flutter open and his ears fill with the soft, low grumbling of the air conditioner and the rumble of cars on their way to work for the day. Streams of light project onto his face from the half open blinds covering the window, making him groan and shield his face. He forgets where he is for a few seconds until he hears his brother's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. Dean forces himself into a sitting position and winces from the pain that flares throughout his lower back from his previous sleeping position.

Dean stands up and waits for his blackened vision to return to normal before stumbling towards his brother's voice.

"Like I keep saying, I'd take Leviathan over-" Sam hears Dean's footsteps approaching him from behind. He spins around and his features transform into an expression of poorly masked shock. Dean squints his tired eyes and peers around Sam's shoulder to find no one there. Dean opens his mouth, but before he can speak, Sam interrupts, "Oh, you're awake, huh? I was just, uh, I'm already up... What are you-" Sam takes a step towards Dean but wobbles a bit, his amber drink sloshing over the sides of his Styrofoam cup as he does so. Dean frowns and snatches the drink from his brother's grasp, "What the fuck is this?" Dean sniffs the cup and scowls, "Fucking whiskey, are you kidding me, Sam?"

Sam chuckles and throws himself onto one of the fold out dining chairs. He runs a hand over his mouth before speaking, "I'm twenty-eight, dude."

Dean dumps the drink out in the sink and sits on the opposite side of the cold, beige table. There is a brief moment of silence until Dean's deep, tired voice sounds from his grimacing and twisted mouth, "This whole time travel bullshit needs to stop, Sam."

Sam laughs bitterly at his elder brother's words, "I agree, I can't handle this right now, man." Sam's eyes meet Dean's intense glare with an incredulous expression, "I'm too fucking tired for this shit."

"Watch your mouth," Dean seethes, his teeth grit together so hard he feels they may push up into his gums. Sam ignores his brother's threatening demeanor, either because of his annoyance or his intoxication, and stands up, "No, you watch your fucking mouth. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be here with you," he turns and points to the wall, "I shouldn't be with you," he turns back towards Dean, "and I shouldn't have to sit here and listen to you preach to me like I'm a goddamn child! I sacrificed myself for you so you could have a normal life, and now I'm stuck back here in a child's body, and am going to have to live it all over again. I'll kill myself before I say yes again, it will work this time. I'll make it wor-"

Dean hooks Sam in the jaw. Sam falls to the ground with a soft grunt and smiles up at Dean, blood staining his previously white teeth. Dean grabs his brother by the collar of his shirt, "Stop. Acting. Crazy!" His voice rings in Sam's ears but his smile broadens nonetheless. Sam maneuvers out of Dean's grasp and stumbles backwards until the backs of his thighs hit the thin wall. Sam wipes some of the blood dripping from his nose with his good hand and laughs softly.

Dean yells in frustration and launches himself at his brother. He doesn't understand what is going on at all. Sam could have just spoken gibberish for a minute straight and it would have had the same affect on Dean as his previous mad ramblings. Is his brother insane? Fear clutches at Dean's heart and a sensation of ice travels down his spine. Sam continues to smile up at Dean before Dean speaks again, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean slams Sammy against the wall for emphasis. Sam's head lightly knocks against the wall and his smile finally falters. Dean breathes a mute sigh of relief and Sam's gaze directs to behind his shoulder.

Dean turns his head quickly and his grip on Sam goes slack. John Winchester stands with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The motel door swings closed behind him.

"Let your brother go, Dean," John's voice is flat and frightening. Dean immediately takes several steps back as shame litters his features. John observes his younger son with his piercing eyes. Sam is standing, slumped against the kitchen wall, his right arm is hanging in the sling from their first aid kit, the skin around his right eye is slightly raised and discolored, he has blood traveling from his nose and streaming into his slightly parted lips, and Dean is hanging his head like a convicted murderer during his sentencing.

"I'm going to give you thirty seconds to explain exactly what the hell is going on here before I assume you're a demon and knock you out," John says to Dean. John's duffel bag is discarded by his feet, his hair is windswept from the drive, his faded leather jacket is stained with gun oil, his sneakers and jeans are covered in dirt from grave digging, and his face is devoid of any emotion at all. Sam giggles like a madman and John glares at him.

Lucifer smiles, "Oh, the drama! I swear this is like a soap opera, Sammy!" Lucifer is almost tolerable when Sam drinks. It's almost like he is a companion, rather than a tormentor.

Dean's voice has raised several octaves as he starts to speak, "Some kids beat Sammy up and now he's acting crazy!" Guilt is gnawing at Dean's insides, as he's never struck Sam before, "He thinks he's from the future and he's drinking!"

John raises one eyebrow, showing his first real signs of emotion since he's returned.

"It's zombie dad!" Sam says, his voice bubbling with laughter, "back from the dead to yell at us some more!"

John frowns, "What are you talking about, son?" This situation is quickly becoming stranger and stranger. Sam starts laughing harder and John slowly approaches him, Dean quickly moving out of his way. "When did he start acting like this?" John asks, worry evident in his speech. Dean rubs his creased forehead with his hand, "He's been acting weird since the morning on his first day of school."

Sam sits back down at the small motel table and listens to Lucifer's humming of an ancient Enochian song. Sam mumbles the words to the song under his breath. John looks at Dean in confusion, "What's he singing?"

Dean turns his head and moves closer to listen to the strange sounding song. The words sound like complete gibberish to him. John sits across from Sam at the table.

"Well it's definitely not more Brittney Spears," he retorts. John listens carefully, "It sounds like some ancient language..." John says, "Any signs of possession that you've observed while I was gone?"

Dean shakes his head, "No, not that I've seen." Sam stops singing the song and his eyes seem to clear up somewhat before he speaks, "You should have let me die at Cold Oak," his voice is strangely calm as he says, "Not that it would matter, but at least you wouldn't have had to go to hell for me," Sam cringes as he finishes his last sentence. Dean gasps, "What if he's telling the truth, dad?"

John clears his throat and mutters, "Time travel doesn't exist, Dean," he leans back slightly, "Even if it was, wouldn't Sam be older?"

Sam breaks his tense silence, "I know right? That's what I keep saying! This doesn't make any sense at all! I should be in the hospital right now." Sam's voice is cracking and filled with a sense of panic. The oldest Winchester places his hand on his son's narrow shoulder in an attempt to comfort the babbling teen.

Sam jerks away before his father can speak words of assurance, "Don't you fucking touch me!"

John and Dean exchange frantic glances. John puts his hands up in surrender, "I'm not going to hurt you, son." His voice is soft and kind, despite the fear coursing through his veins.

Sam bursts into laughter yet again. Once he can breathe he slurs, "Oh, well maybe not now! But, before you die you tell Dean to kill me if he has to! You also hide the fact that I'm one of Azazel's chosen one's from me. Fuck you, dude. Mom chose you over me. I hate you. I hate you so much and I'll never forgive you!" by the end of his rant his face is red and his voice rings in John and Dean's ears.

John is rendered speechless, his fists clenched, along with his jaw, he doesn't even breathe for what seems like an eternity. The eldest Winchester seems to have grown several shades paler. The only sound he hears is his own heartbeat beating in his ears.

Dean is the first one to break the silence, "Who's Azazel?"

John jumps out of his chair and takes a cautionary step backwards, "How do you know that?" John instinctively grips his flask holy water in his back pocket. Dean subconsciously inches towards Sam, his dad's behavior making him even more nervous.

Sam groans, "How many times do I have to tell you guys this?" he stands up on wobbly legs, "I was in the hospital. I was being electrocuted by a demon. I passed out and then I woke up in this body. I don't understand what's happening any more than you do!"

John blinks once, then a few more times before he takes another step backwards. Dean again, breaks the silence, "Who's Azazel?" he repeats.

John flinches and turns to his eldest son, anger and fear filling him to the brim, "The demon who killed your mother."

The room grows silent yet again and Sam breaks into poorly timed laughter again. He'd be better at controlling himself if Lucifer didn't keep saying such hilarious shit at the worst times. John shoots an enraged look at Sam, how dare he laugh? Dean tries to swallow the lump in his throat and murmurs, "I don't understa-"

"Should've left me in the fucking fire," Sam mumbles before stalking off. His emotions are all over the place. He slams the bathroom door behind him, neither his brother, nor his dad try to stop him. He locks the door and stares into the mirror. His reflection, yet again, shocking him. You'd think he'd be used to being young again at this point. Sam's vision is blurry, both from alcohol and hot tears spilling freely from his eyes. Sam observes his bruised flesh and scratches off some of the dried blood under his nose.

Sam turns on the shower and stares himself down in the mirror. He lifts up his shirt to take it off but stops at the sight of the purple bruises and scrapes on his torso. Sam lets the edges of his rock band t-shirt fall from the tips of his fingers. The cast on his arm is causing uncomfortable itching at this point.

When Sam looks back up at the mirror, Lucifer is standing behind him. "Why are you still trying, Sammy?" Lucifer chimes. Sam stifles a sob and weakly shrugs his shoulders. Lucifer continues, "We could be together again, Sam. Don't you want that?" Lucifer asks. Sam shakes his head quickly, his bangs covering his hazel eyes.

Lucifer smiles sadly, "I know you think you don't like me, but you really do," Lucifer wraps his right arm around Sam and rests his palm upon his rapidly beating heart. "Don't you remember?" Lucifer whispers. Sam's eyes widen and his breathing becomes shallow. Lucifer towers over Sam now, making him seem even more threatening.

"Don't you remember all the fun we had? Huh, bunk buddy?" Lucifer's voice grows deeper with every word, until it's rumbling and hushed, "Remember how I touched you?"

Sam makes a panicked choking noise and rips open the mirror cabinet. His dad's spare razor blades sit in a small wooden case on the top shelf. He picks them up with shaking hands, he needs to make Lucifer shut up. He can't remember, he won't remember that. The box slips from Sam's hand and the blades fall out onto the floor after the container pops open. The sound is loud and echoes around the bathroom, no doubt heard by John and Dean.

Sam kneels down and picks one of the razors up between pinches fingers. Sam hears rushed footsteps coming towards the bathroom door and flinches when the knocking begins.

"Sammy?" Dean calls, fear thick in his voice.

Sam rips the sling off of his right arm and grips the blade tightly between his left index finger and thumb. He has to put an end to this, now. He can hear John's voice, asking Dean what's happening and Dean's frenzied shouts as he bangs on the door, the lock keeping it shut. Sam knows that Dean can easily break the door down if it comes to it, so he has to work fast.

Sam stares at his bruised right wrist and grits his teeth.

"Remember, down the road, not across the street," Lucifer pipes in.

That's enough for him to wedge the corner of the blade a centimeter deep into his wrist. Sam whimpers softly, images of the cage terrorizing his fragile mind. He jerks his left arm down and the blade rips through his soft flesh. Sam slices all the way down to his elbow crease. Blood spurts from the wound and begins to coat the tiled floor. Sam throws the blade into the ground and steps into the shower. The water immediately soaking through his clothes and mixing with his rushing blood.

The sound of his dad and brother knocking down the door is muffled and distorted. Water clouds his vision and he can barely feel himself being lifted out of the tub.

A familiar tingling feeling fills his ears. A coldness slowly begins to travel up his body. Where has he felt this before? The freezing cold sensation reaches his hands and stomach. His eyes roll wildly around in their sockets, searching for something through this thick fog. The coolness is at his neck now. He looses his hearing first. The sensation is almost relaxing at this point.

It's when his sight goes that he remembers what is happening. Just before his brain ceases to function, along with his physical body, he has one last somber revelation: This is death.