What If Dean Had Asthma?
Chapter Four: Endurance
Sammy climbed off the school bus. He sighed, these were his last minutes of freedom before school and he hadn't done his English homework, so he could already tell it wasn't going to be a good day. His teachers despaired of him sometimes, he was such a gifted child but he didn't always put his gifts to use. His grades had taken a slight, but noticeable downturn since the beginning of the year, because the work had actually started to get that little bit more taxing and so required actual effort to complete.
Many people had, by now, pulled the 'what would your father think?' card. The Miltons had started it and then from there it had spread to his teachers when they took him aside to speak to him. Sammy thought it over every time, how Dad had only really paid attention to Dean's grades when they were getting dangerously near failing and teachers were starting to interfere. Every time he was able to look the teacher, or Ed or Barbara in the face and say with the utmost truth that his father wouldn't have cared. The teachers usually took it to be teenage petulance, being contrary just for the sake of it but Ed and Barbara now believed it. They'd seen enough of what John had taught his son and heard enough stories of Sam's past that they believed him. They quite didn't understand Sammy's loyalty to John, knowing only half the story as they did, but, they supposed, a father was a father and Sammy was going to stick by him.
They thanked God with all their hearts that Dean had been there for Sammy.
Sammy was making his way towards the school building when he saw some kids throwing books around. But not their books. No, there was a kid lying on the floor in the middle whose books they were. He'd seen that kid around, smiled at him a few times, had no idea what his name was but no one deserved what was happening to him now. Sammy felt particularly protective over him, even though he didn't know him, because he had asthma. Sammy felt a need to look out for people with asthma. The last thing he wanted was his brothers last moments playing out before him through someone else.
So, Sammy went over to the four of them and used his newly-gained height to snatch back the books and used the extra year he had on the three bullies to tell them to piss off. He the knelt down beside the kid who'd been kicked to the floor to hand his books back. He could hear the wheezing.
It was a sound that sent Sammy into panic. It made his brain scream at him to wake up, so he didn't have to watch what came next. But he wasn't asleep and nothing bad had to come next. He got himself under control, berating himself that his dad certainly hadn't taught him to panic in a difficult situation.
"Where's your inhaler?" he asked.
"Bag," said the kid, pointing to a bag lying forlornly a few yards away, contents spewed out across the tarmac. Sammy ran to it and dug around inside it, finding nothing he searched the side pockets. Of course, he searched through every other pocket possible before coming to the right one. Inhalers hadn't changed since his brother used them. He hurried back to the kid, who was just getting back on his feet.
Sammy picked up the kid's stuff and shoved it back in the bag while the both of them recovered. Sammy's heart was beating far too fast for a situation where no one's life was being threatened. He handed the bag back to the kid, who inundated him with thanks. Sammy felt a little stupid for panicking so much now, though he was glad the kid wasn't anything like Dean, he knew Dean would have rather died than let anyone help him like that. Sammy inwardly cringed at his choice of words.
"Are you okay now?" he asked,
"Oh yes!" the kid beamed, "Thank you so much!"
"Nah, it was nothing. I'm Sammy, what's your name?" the kid looked like this was his best day ever. Not only had someone helped him but they wanted to be his friend as well! It was embarrassing how few he had.
"Dean," he informed Sammy. Sammy took such a sharp breath that he started choking and their conversation had to go on hold for a minute while he stopped coughing.
"Oh gosh, what's the matter?" Dean said, he put his hand tentatively on Sammy's back, not really sure if he was allowed this much contact already. Sammy finally straightened up and cleared his throat.
"I'm fine, it's just that that was my brother's name," Dean was a quick kid, he'd heard the past tense and worked out what it meant.
"Oh, sorry," they stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment before Dean's curiosity overcame him. He'd always been a curious child, "Would you mind if I asked how he died?" Sammy looked down at Dean, it was a ridiculous coincidence, that he'd found someone called Dean with asthma.
"Asthma attack," Dean stared at him for a moment.
"Oh," he said and then "Oh," in realisation. "I remember that!"
"Yo do?" said Sammy in surprise. Who remembers random news reports from when they were eight?
"Yeah, my parents got way over-protective after that. You know, someone called Dean dies from asthma and they have a son called Dean who has asthma, they freaked out. I got so tired of them reminding me to take my medicine. They did it almost four times a day! Gosh, this is really insensitive of me, isn't it? Sorry," but Sammy was smiling. It was weird hearing about it from an outsider, someone whose world it didn't change completely, he'd never thought about how it sounded to strangers before.
"No, don't be sorry. It's kinda cool that you remember it."
Dean stayed with Sam at the lockers, making small talk and that was how Natalie found them. She bounced up, ever her happy self and smiled at Dean.
"Who's this then?" she asked.
"Dean," replied Sammy. Natalie blinked a few times and shook her head as though she didn't think she'd heard properly.
"What?"
"Dean," said Sammy again, "What's your last name?"
"Surrey,"
"Dean Surrey," Sammy told Natalie, with a smile.
"Not Dean Winchester, then?"
"Umm, no. That wouldn't be possible,"
"Yeah, I know, I thought you were showing me some crazy example of reincarnation or something. Hello Dean, I'm Natalie," she held out her hand for Dean to shake, which he did with a slightly confused expression. Then the bell rang and the three of them had to break up their small meeting and get to classes.
"That was a really nice thing you did for Dean today," Natalie told Sammy at the end of the day as they walked out of the school grounds. They'd let Dean hang around with them at recess and during lunch and he'd turned out to be quite a funny kid, not half as boring as he looked. Even Ben had seemed to like him, and Ben could be really moody these days. Sammy just nodded and smiled, "Those were some, uh, interesting theories he had about how stuff keeps ending up on the roof," Sammy laughed, Dean had enthusiastically told everyone about the ghost he'd seen in a classroom once for a split second and how it was the ghost that was putting things on the roof.
It had been the ghost putting things there up until about two months ago, Sammy was pretty sure it was some seniors that were doing it now, because it sure as hell wasn't the ghost. "You remember when you told me ghosts and all that crap are real?" laughed Natalie. Sammy looked up at her, "That gave me nightmares, you had a really good imagination,"
"You didn't believe me?" said Sammy,
"Oh I believed you, I was so gullible when I was little. My mom almost marched to your house and told you off,"
"So, you don't believe me now?"
"Believe you now? You mean, you still believe in ghosts and everything?" Natalie was looking at him as though she was trying to work him out. He could be a difficult one for that.
"I don't believe, I know in ghosts and everything,"
"You what?"
"I've seen ghosts, fought demonic monsters,"
"Right," said Natalie, clearly not believing a word of it, "Can we get back from your little world of fantasy and talk about something real now?" Sammy sighed, it was a fair reaction, really, Sammy hadn't spoken much about his after school activities for fear that someone would overhear and ridicule him.
"Fine, do you want to come over tonight?" he had something he could show Natalie to make her believe.
"I don't know, I've got a lot of homework that really needs doing,"
"Please? Not even for an hour?" he looked at her pleadingly, in a way that always got Natalie to do what he wanted. She sighed.
"Fine, yes, okay, just turn off the puppy-eyes. One hour, that's it," Sammy grinned and nodded.
"Come over after dark,"
"What are you going to do? Show me a ghost?"
"Yes," Sammy answered, completely serious. That was exactly what he was going to do. Natalie just rolled her eyes.
"You're ridiculous!" she said as she turned away to find her parents' car, "See you tonight!" she waved goodbye and Sammy started walking back to his house.
At five O'clock, just as it was getting dark, the doorbell rang and Sammy hurried down the stairs.
"Have you done your homework?" called Barbara.
"Yes!" came the automatic reply.
"Sammy, don't lie to me, have you done it?" Sammy stopped with his hand on the door handle. He turned to face Barbara, looking a little sheepish.
"No, I'll do it after dinner," Barbara stared at Sammy for a moment longer and then shook her head.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"You've adopted me now, you'll just have to live with me," said Sammy. Barbara sighed and went upstairs to do some put the laundry away. Sammy opened the door to Natalie, standing in the porch with a thick coat on. She quickly nipped inside and Sammy shut the door behind her.
Once Natalie had almost completely warmed up, Sammy decided it was time to show her the thing that would prove to her that ghosts were real. They went to the bottom of the back garden, into a little cove created by the bushes that couldn't be seen from the house. He pulled out a shoebox, looked at Natalie and then took off the lid.
"Oh Sammy, that's disgusting!" and it was. Sammy didn't like dealing with the remains of a few-years-dead Yorkshire terrier either, but this particular job required it. He poured salt on the remains and then some gasoline, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Just wait and watch," Sammy said and Natalie did, if only because she wanted to see where this was going. Sammy began calling quietly, as if he were calling the dog in the box, to get up and walk to him. Then, and Natalie almost overbalanced from the shock of it, a Yorkshire terrier materialised out of nowhere, all silvery and shimmering. Sammy smiled at Natalie's open, gaping mouth, but always kept an eye on the ghost. Natalie knew when to admit defeat and on this particular point she'd been wrong.
She regained control of herself again and began to creep towards the dog. It looked very sweet, despite it being dead. Sammy put an arm in front of her to stop her.
"Watch out, it bites," he whispered, trying not to get the dog's attention now it was here.
"Bites?" Natalie hadn't ever given the idea of ghosts that much thought beyond scary tales, but she didn't think they'd be able to hurt anyone once they were dead, surely they were just shadows of their living selves? Apparently not.
"There have been a few unexplained animal attacks around here recently. Here's the explanation," Sammy reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of matches.
"What are you going to do?"
"Get rid of it," he lit the match and threw it into the shoebox, where the gasoline did its work. The dog noticed the occupants of the little cove, now that its link with the living world was being broken. With one last desperate attempt at... something, whatever it is ghost dogs think they're supposed to do, Sammy wasn't sure, it leapt at Natalie, teeth bared and claws out. Luckily it burned out of existence before it really got stuck in, but Natalie still felt the scratch.
There were lines on her arm where it had touched her, nothing deep, the bleeding had already stopped, but she still looked at Sammy in complete shock.
"Sorry, that can happen sometimes," he shrugged, "So, do you believe me now?"
"Believe you? Jesus, Sammy! How the hell do you know how to do that?"
"It was what my family used to do. Find these things, hunt them down and kill them," Sammy watched Natalie's face carefully. He'd never told that to anyone outright before. Not even Ed and Barbara knew because they would freak if they knew about the bag of weapons he kept under his bed. It was quite easy to keep the secret. It wasn't like there was an overabundance of the supernatural around, he merely went after something if it turned up near him, he couldn't go chasing after things like his dad had.
"So, your dad..." Natalie wasn't sure quite how to word her question, "He wasn't really killed by a pack of wild dogs?"
"Sort of, they were dogs of the hellish variety." It was strange how talking about his dad's death didn't make him hurt. He thought it should, really, but right now he was more worried about how uncomfortable this conversation was for Natalie as she tried to negotiate her way through the subject without causing any harm. Sammy had locked all the hurt and pain away, where it couldn't bother him in his day to day life. Sometimes it overflowed and even though seven years had passed, seven whole years, there were still mornings when he almost couldn't see the point of getting up. But for the most part, there was just a small amount, always there, like background radiation.
"What about Dean?" Okay, so that subject could still pack a bit of a punch. It was probably because it was the last thing Sammy would have thought of happening to Dean. Spirit threw him down the stairs? Fine. Black dog ripped his head off? Completely expected. But asthma attack? It was too against Dean's nature, it had been too much of a surprise and it still seemed slightly wrong.
"No, that really was an asthma attack. I found his inhalers back at the motel afterwards, he'd forgotten to take them with him,"
"Oh, Sammy!" was all Natalie could say before she flung herself on him.
It was weird to have someone other than Pastor Jim that knew about his past. Well, no one could ever understand it quite like Pastor Jim did and Natalie didn't understand everything that hunting involved, but it was a small relief to have someone else that knew. It was a bigger relief to find that Natalie didn't change how she acted around him at all. She still went home exactly an hour after she'd arrived.
The rest of the evening passed in exactly the same way every other evening had that week, with the exception of him actually doing some homework. The disappointed looks Ed and Barbara gave him sometimes were just starting to get to him and make him feel bad.
So, because he had done at least some of his homework and because Natalie knew the truth, Sammy went to bed with a very light heart. He thought maybe it was light enough for him to finally finish reading his dad's journal.
Sammy pulled his dad's journal out from under his bed, where it lay next to his weapons. He'd been avoiding this for weeks, months. It was the final entry. His dad's personal entries had been getting fewer and further between as the years went on. Most pages were full of newspaper cuttings and pictures, information on new monsters he'd found and safely dispatched.
Sammy stared at the leather cover for a long time, thinking over all the times his dad must have touched it, all the time he'd spent writing in it, transferring knowledge into it and then referring back to it. He stroked the old, beaten leather and then opened it. He slowly turned each page, treating each of them like a thin sheet of glass and reading a few words on each page, reminding himself what had happened, what his dad was like. Then he came to a few notes on hellhounds. Little extra notes to add to what information there already was.
Sammy turned the page and there it was, the final entry. Just a few lines, a few lines he didn't want to read. But he had to.
Just read it already, for Christ's sake he told himself, annoyed with being so wary of this last entry. Come on, it was hardly going to kill him. He focused back on the browning paper and his dad's handwriting.
August 25th 1992
Found small pack of hellhounds, should be easy. Taking Dean so he can learn. Don't like leaving Sammy alone so should get it done quickly. Will take Dean on more hunts if all goes well.
If all goes well. Sammy stared at those last few words, the last words his dad had ever written, anger building up inside him until he was almost shaking. He threw the journal at the far wall and found himself yelling at the top of his lungs.
"What if all doesn't go well, Dad? What then?" He slid off his bed onto the floor. He'd meant to go pick up the journal, pick up the pictures and papers it had spewed everywhere when it hit the wall, but he couldn't. He felt drained. He was angry at his dad for taking Dean, angry at Dean for going, angry at the hellhounds for existing. But being angry at dead things was pointless and exhausting, so he merely looked at the journal where it lay.
If all goes well. He could have laughed.
TBC