You're Not Alone

– – Chapter Two – –

Shutting Out the World

Sam followed the directions that Dean gave him. Once again, Dean was surprised at how easy it was for him to remember how to get around this area. The last time he had been here was when he was ten, and he didn't realize that he had been paying enough attention back then to be able to find his way around now. The memories that had washed over him in Chelsea had been even older, and Dean couldn't help feeling that it was Fate's way of screwing him over. He never once thought that he could remember all those things because they had been so happy. All he could see them as now was painful, and remembering them was nothing short of a punishment. And now the thought of returning to the cabin that held even more happy memories for him scared him to death.

But Dean tried his best to ignore the emotions that were threatening to suffocate him, and he decided that this was for the best. The only way he could really put the past behind him was to face it.

Finally, Dean saw the sign for the park, and he marveled over how quick the ride had seemed. Suddenly, he remembered the feeling of driving up here with his mom and his dad and his little brother and thinking how the mere one hour drive had seemed to take days and dozens of 'Mommy, are we there yet?'s.

The daylong drive it had taken them to get here this time seemed instantaneous in comparison.

Sam stopped at the entrance booth, and when the ranger inside asked them where they were staying, Sam looked quizzically at Dean, and Dean told the man quietly that they were just there for a day visit. As it was nearing five o'clock already, the ranger seemed a bit surprised that they had come so late in the day, but he didn't question it. Sam paid the man the small entrance and parking fee, and the man handed them a map and showed them where all the best picnic spots were. Finally, he let them go with a small wave, telling them to enjoy their evening, and Sam thanked him and continued driving.

Dean turned to stare out the window again, watching the trees move slowly past him, and he sighed at the thought of what was coming.

Finally, Sam broke the awkward silence in the car.

"What are we doing here, Dean?" he asked, a hint of accusation in his voice.

Dean looked at Sam. "You don't remember this place?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "You told me…." At this Sam paused, seemingly lost in thought, and Dean saw a look of pain flash through his eyes before quickly disappearing. "Back at the hospital," he continued, and Dean realized that Sam was remembering what had happened after the car crash. Dean turned back toward the window, as Sam continued talking.

"You said that I was here when I was six, but I don't really remember it."

Dean sighed. You're lucky, he thought to himself.

Silence descended on the car again, and when Sam reached an intersection, the silence was broken by one word: "Left."

Sam turned left and they continued down the road in silence. After awhile the trees became thinner, and Dean noticed a few cabins thrown here and there amongst the foliage.

Finally, a few minutes later, the lake came into view on their right, and Dean told Sam to turn right at the next fork. He did, and more cabins came into view hidden amongst the trees. The lake came closer, and as it did the trees grew more and more thin. Finally, they road reached another fork right at a small beach, and Dean told Sam to turn right.

They continued driving, and Dean saw the cabins right on the shore's edge, with just small patches of grass leading up to patches of sand that led right into the lake. Some of the cabins even had small docks attached to them.

"Dean…."

Sam turned to his brother, and he noticed a look of recognition on his face.

"Are we going to the cabin?" Sam asked, and Dean closed his eyes, fighting the emotions that the simple mention of the cabin dredged up.

"Yeah, Sam," he said quietly, and he turned his gaze toward his lap, wanting nothing more than to just melt into the floor.

Dean sat in the parked car and stared at cabin number 87. He stared at the trees surrounding it. He saw the now ancient tire swing attached to the biggest tree in the yard, and a memory played itself unbidden in his mind.

"Push my higher, Mommy! Higher!"

"Not too high, Dean. I wouldn't want to you fall off."

"I won't fall. You won't let me fall, Mommy."

"Never."

Dean turned around his head around to look at his mother, and he smiled happily at the look of happiness on her face. He turned back around, and he saw their car stop in the driveway in front of the cabin.

"Daddy's home!" he said happily, and without thinking he jumped off of the tire swing to the ground. But the ground was too far away, and his legs wouldn't hold him and he fell on the ground hard.

His hand hit a rock, and he started to cry because it really hurt and there was something red coming out of his hand and it stung.

"Oh sweetheart," he heard his mommy say. As Dean continued to cry, he felt his mommy pick him up, and he wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his head in her shoulder, crying loudly as she carried him slowly up the porch and into the cabin.

Dean blinked slowly as the image faded from his mind. He remembered that vividly now. She had taken him inside, poured antiseptic on the wound, and bandaged it up, whispering quietly to him as he continued to cry. Then she had wrapped him up in her arms and held him close until he stopped crying. He had looked at her and sniffled, and she'd asked how he was feeling. He'd told her it hurt, and she'd said, "I know, baby. Want me to kiss it and make it better?" He had sniffled again and nodded, holding out his hand. She had kissed it gently before kissing him on the cheek and the top of the head, and Dean remembered that somehow that had made the hurt go away, if only a little bit.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice broke him out of his reverie, and he turned to his brother. He had almost forgotten he was there.

"Do you want to get out?" Sam asked.

Dean looked back out the window, and he let out a deep breath before answering. "Yeah."

They both got out of the car, and Sam stood awkwardly by his door, waiting for Dean to make the first move. Finally, Dean walked slowly toward the front door. He passed a tree with a two small hearts carved into it. Dean could make out the initials carved lovingly into the bark inside one heart: JW + MS. There were four sets of initials in the second one: JW, MW, DW, and SW. And suddenly, he remembered sitting under that tree with his family.

Dean was sitting out on a blanket with his mommy and his daddy and his little brother Sammy, and they were having a picnic. The food had long ago been eaten, and Dean was playing quietly with Sam. Sam had a small stuffed bear that he couldn't seem to hold on to. Every time he dropped it, Dean would pick it up and hold it close to Sam's face, rubbing his tiny nose into the bear's soft fur, and Sam would swat at it with his tiny hands and smile or clap or make a little gurgling noise that Dean always thought was his way of laughing.

When Sam seemed to realize that if he kept dropping it Dean would keep tickling him with it, he dropped it more and more, and soon Sam was wiggling and gurgling so much that when Dean tried to give the bear back to him, Sam's flailing limbs knocked it out of his hands, and the bear hit the tree behind Dean and fell to the ground.


Dean smiled and picked it up, and that was when he noticed something on the tree.

"Mommy, what's that?" he asked.

His mommy stopped looking at his daddy and turned to him, smiling when she noticed what he was pointing at.

"Your daddy made that," she said, her eyes seeming to light up, and Dean turned his head back to the tree, tracing the heart and the letters inside it with his tiny fingers. "Six years ago, when we first met. We spent a whole summer in this cabin. See those two letters?" she asked, and she gripped his hand lightly and helped him trace his fingers over the J and the W. "Those are your daddy's initials. John Winchester." Then she moved his hand down and helped him trace his fingers over the other two letters. "And those are mine. Mary Smith."

Dean frowned. "But I thought your name was Winchester, too?" he said, stumbling slightly on the name he couldn't pronounce well.

She smiled at him. "It wasn't always. But then I met your father and I changed it. We all have the same last name now. Me, your dad, you and your brother. Do you know what that means?" she asked, and Dean shook his head slowly.

She lifted him off the ground, put him in her lap, and wrapped her arms around him from behind, and she took his hand in hers and helped him trace around the heart that surrounded the letters; that helped bring them together and wrap them up in a safe little world all their own.

"It means we're a family," she said quietly. She let go of his hand and kissed him on the top of the head. Dean continued to trace the little heart, smiling. "It means we'll always be together."

"Where's Sammy and me?" he asked quietly, gazing at the two sets of initials in the bark.

His mother looked up at the tree and smiled.

Dean then watched as his daddy took a knife out of his pocket and made a new heart. This one was a bit bigger than the other was, and he put in even more letters. When he was done, his daddy took him from his mommy and put him in his lap, and he had helped him trace out the letters just like his mother had. MW – Mommy. JW – Daddy. SW – little Sammy. And DW – him. As Dean traced the new heart, liking how all the letters were close together and protected in the gentle curve of the shape, Dean echoed his mother's words.

"We're a family."

"Dean?"

Once again, Sam pulled him out of his thoughts, and Dean frowned slightly when he realized that he had somehow found his way to the porch.

"Do you want to see if anyone's here?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at the door and realized that the last thing he wanted was to go inside this cabin and relive dozens of memories of the happy childhood that had been torn away from him. Memories of the happy childhood that Sam would never remember. Memories of when Dean felt safe and happy and loved, just like those letters must feel wrapped up in that little heart on the tree. Dean sighed and stared down at the ground, not wanting to go inside and realize what they could have had, what they had missed out on.

Not wanting to remember how it felt to have his mother hold him close and tell him everything was going to be okay and sing him softly back to sleep when he woke up from a bad dream.

Not wanting to remember his father lifting him up over his head and swinging him around in a wide circle.

Not wanting to remember rocking his six-year-old brother back to sleep when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, complaining about fire and heat and smoke and being scared and lost in a house that was burning down over his head.

Dean didn't want to remember any memories this place had to offer him, sad or happy. He didn't want to remember any of it.

And suddenly, Dean realized that he couldn't do it. He wasn't strong enough for this.

Not anymore.

He shook his head slowly, not trusting himself to be able to speak.

"What do you want to do?" his brother asked him quietly, and he saw Sam reach out to touch his shoulder, but Dean moved away, and Sam put his arm down.

"I want to be alone," Dean said quietly.

He saw Sam watching him, and he could see that Sam was upset.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Are you sure you don't want to…I don't know. Talk. About…about anything? Because I'm here, Dean-"

"Sam, just don't, all right. Please," Dean said. He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad. He just…wasn't anything.

Dean watched Sam's shoulder slump, his arms limp at his sides, and he watched a look he couldn't recognize pass over his brother's face. Confusion? Maybe. Normally Dean would blow up in Sam's face if he tried to get him to talk about anything. But Dean was beyond anger right now. All the anger he felt was locked up deep inside his heart now, locked away with his pain and sadness, and Dean had thrown away the key. He couldn't feel anything real anymore. He felt hollow and broken and alone in the world and he didn't know how to deal.

So he pushed Sam away.

"I just want to be alone," he repeated. He wrapped his arms around his chest carefully and walked slowly down the stairs and headed around the side of the cabin toward the backyard, wanting to be alone. He ignored Sam calling his name and walked toward the beach by the lake. He sat down on the sand where dozens of memories flooded over him. He saw Dad teaching him to play football; teaching him how to fish; building a campfire and toasting smores with him and his mother. He saw himself teaching Sam how to catch fish, laughing when his brother hit him in the face; chasing Sam up the beach before tackling him and tickling him until he begged for mercy. He saw himself and his brother and father Dean and Sam toasting marshmallows, stuffing their faces and throwing marshmallows at each other.

He saw himself sitting in this exact same spot at the age of ten. Dad and Sam were asleep, and it was dark, and Dean was alone. His eyes were welling up with tears at the thought that his mother was not there with them and she never would be again.

But even then he refused to let himself cry.

Three weeks ago had been a fluke. He had been dying, and Sam had wanted him to stay and he couldn't. Dean had wanted to be with his mother, but he wasn't ready to leave yet. He had opened up to Sam then, but he didn't think he could do it again. Opening up to people was too painful. It was easier to just keep it locked up deep where it belonged. Letting his pain lose on Sam would only hurt him in the long run, and he didn't want to do that.

So he kept it locked up inside, refusing to inflict his own pain on his brother. These memories were his to bear and his alone. They were his burden. Sam shouldn't have to deal with them, too.

So he shut himself off from the world.

From his brother.

Dean knew Sam only wanted to help him, but Sam didn't understand how much better off he was not knowing about their past. Sam couldn't know Dean's pain. Dean wouldn't let Sam suffer with him, because he deserved better than that.

So as the memories continued to wash over him, Dean silently let them. He didn't cry; didn't make a sound. He fought with his emotions, tried to push them away, tried to keep them away and hidden where they couldn't hurt anyone.

Where they couldn't hurt Sam like they were hurting him.

He stared at the sky. He watched the light blue turn to a pinkish orange. He watched it fade to a deep purple, then pass into a midnight blue. He watched the stars come out, bright in the dark sky.

Dean continued to stare at the sky, memories washing over him and tearing him apart. When Sam came over and told him it was getting late and cold and he knew Dean had to be hungry and that that they should head out and get some food and find some place to sleep, Dean got up quietly and headed back to the car alone. He turned back toward the cabin; took in the lake, and the beach, and the porch where his mother used to sit and watch over him silently; the tire swing; the two small hearts in the tree which only left him feeling sad now at the thought that that happy heart was cracked and the letters inside had burst out and scattered. Sam got in the driver's seat and closed his door, waiting quietly, and Dean took one last look at his past and shut it up in his heart along with all the pain and sadness and anger already crowding it up.

Then he climbed in the car, buckled up, and rested his head back against the seat. Dean closed his eyes and didn't look back at the cabin as they drove away, and Dean prayed that he would be able to forget that place and those memories, both happy and sad, and his parents.

Maybe if he forgot the past, he would be able to heal, and Sam would never have to know the things he knew.

Maybe if he forgot the past, he wouldn't feel so alone.

Maybe if he forgot the past, the simple task of breathing, of simply being alive, wouldn't hurt so damn much.

TBC...