The full name. Dean knew he was in trouble. He only got called by his full name when he was in trouble. He wondered what he could have done as he raced downstairs to the kitchen. Dean could tell his dad was angry about something. It was written all over John's face.
"Dean, did you tell Sammy that your mother used to hurt you?" asked John with more than a hint of anger in his voice.
Dean glared at Sam. He couldn't believe Sam told their dad after he asked him not to.
"Sam, you just can't keep your big mouth shout can you!" hissed Dean.
"I was worried about you Dean," said Sam.
Dean started yelling at Sam and called him all kinds of names until John finally spoke up.
"Enough. Now Dean, why would you say something like that?" demanded John.
Dad's pissed thought Dean. This is why I didn't want to tell him because I knew he would be angry.
"Dean, I'm waiting," said John.
"I didn't say that, Dad," answered Dean.
"Well, Sam says you did and he doesn't usually lie to me. Look, I had a feeling that something is up with you these past couple of days, but I thought if something was wrong you'd come and tell me. Instead Sam comes and asks me this ridiculous question about your mother abusing you, your mother who loved you more than anything. Now I want to know what's going on now Dean," said a still very angry John.
Dean stood there silently for a few moments before sitting down at the kitchen table. He refused to look at John. Finally he began speaking.
"I've been having these nightmares about Mom. I can't quite figure out what's going on in them, but I think something happened when I was about three. All I know is that I'm in a room with Mom and all I can feel is pain. So much pain that I can't stand it. I keep begging her to stop, but she doesn't and the pain gets worse. No matter how much I beg she won't stop. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd be mad," said Dean.
"Oh my God," said John sitting down at the table.
A flood of memories came rushing back to John. He was pretty sure he knew what Dean talking about. But he was so little then, how could he possibly remember that? thought John.
"I think I know what you're talking about Dean, but you're wrong about your mother. She never hurt you. I don't know why you having nightmares about it now," said John.
"What is it?" asked Dean.
"When you were three, you got burned pretty badly on your back. I had just given you a bath and put a clean diaper on you. Mary was in the kitchen making dinner. You kept calling out for your mom, so I did something that I have regretted every day since. I took you downstairs without putting your pajamas on. You kept squirming to get out of my arms so I put you down and let you walk. You ran into the into kitchen, shouting out for Mommy. I didn't know your mother had just opened the oven. You started racing over to Mary by the oven. The next thing I see is you slipping on some water on the floor and falling backwards. Before either of us could grab you, you hit your lower back on the hot oven door. Mary quickly grabbed you up. You were howling at the top of your lungs. I had never heard you scream like that before. We rushed you to the hospital. You had a second-degree burn over the lower half of your back. Your mother and I were so worried about you. They had to sedate you in order to treat your back. You looked so tiny lying on the hospital bed. Your mother held your hand the whole time. She couldn't stop crying. When we were finally able to take you home the doctor said that we had to apply ointment to your back twice a day to prevent infection. That was the worst part. You couldn't stand having the gauze pad removed from your back and the ointment applied," said John finally pausing to catch his breath.
John looked like he might start crying. The memories were emotionally painful for him. He had hated seeing his baby in so much pain and knowing it was his fault. He wished that he had never taken Dean downstairs that night. His baby boy paid the price for John's misjudgment.
"Dad, in my nightmare Mom said it has to be done. What did she mean by that?" asked Dean.
"Whenever we had to put the ointment on your back you struggled with us. It was so painful to you. Your mother held you in her lap while I applied the ointment. I couldn't stand to see you in so much pain. I almost couldn't continue. Your mother kept telling me it had to be done, so you didn't get an infection. Eventually you would pass out from the pain. Afterwards I would carry you upstairs and put you in your bed. Do you know what your mother would do? She would go in our bedroom and cry. She would sob for several minutes over the pain you were going through. She hated seeing you in so much pain. After she finished crying she would go and sit by your bed all night long, making sure you didn't turnover in your sleep. The first night Mary fell asleep and you rolled over onto your back. Your screams of pain woke her up. After that she made sure she didn't fall asleep," said John his voice quivering slightly at the end.
"Why don't I remember any of that?" asked Dean.
"You were so little when it happened. Thanks to your mother's diligence your back healed up nicely with no scars. We didn't talk much about what happened. I think we were just grateful that you were okay," said John.
Dean couldn't believe what his Dad had just told him. He didn't remember any of that. However, he was extremely relieved to find out that his mom hadn't hurt him.
"Dad, why I am have these nightmares now, if I was too young to remember it when it happened?" asked Dean.
"When did they start?" asked John.
"I had the first one Friday night. The second one was Saturday at the movies. The third one was Saturday night. The fourth one was last night while watching tv," said Dean wincing as he remembered pushing Sam into the coffee table.
"He must have had it all last night because I had to wake him up at least three times," said Sam.
"Why didn't you tell me after the first one?" asked John raising his voice slightly.
"Because I was afraid you would be angry with me for even suggesting that Mom may have hurt me," said Dean.
"Dean something like this starts happening you need to come and tell me," said John.
"Yes, Sir," replied Dean.
"Dad, do you think the nightmares will stop now that Dean knows what really happened?" asked a hopeful Sam.
"I don't know, but I hope so," replied John.
Dean was feeling tired so he decided to lie down on the sofa. He was silently hoping, like Sam that the nightmares were over. Due to lack of proper sleep, Dean was out quickly. However, his rest was anything, but restful. The nightmare was happening again. Dean started thrashing around violently on the sofa. John heard all the noise Dean was making and quickly rushed into the room.
"Mommy, stop. Please stop, Mommy" pleaded Dean in his sleep.
"Dean wake up," said John as he grabbed Dean by the shoulders and tried to hold him still.
John tightened his hold as Dean started to struggle with him.
"Let go of me!" shouted Dean as he sat up suddenly and shoved John away.
John fell backwards and landed hard on the floor.
"Dad?" said Dean as he slowly began to realize where he was.
"Oh my God! Dad are you okay?" asked Dean. First Sammy, now Dad, he thought.
"I'm okay son. How about you? You were having the nightmare again, weren't you?" asked a worried John.
Dean nodded. Why is this still happening to me? thought Dean. Shouldn't it have stopped when I learned the truth?
"Dad, why is this still happening to me?" asked Dean.
"I don't know son, but we'll figure this out," said John.
John was beginning to wonder if maybe there was something supernatural going on. He knew a little bit about dream demons. He decided that he would give his old friend Caleb a call. He knew a lot about nightmares and dreams.
While Dean was making himself something to eat, John went into the study and rang Caleb. John skipped the niceties and quickly explained what was going on. Caleb wasn't so sure it was a dream demon, but promised John that he would look into and get back to him right away.
The memory demon stood outside the Winchesters' small house, pleased with itself. Pretty soon it would have what it wanted, what it needed.
More to Come