The 2 A.M. Creature Feature
K Hanna Korossy

The monster was going to get her.

It climbed out of the lake on all fours, streaming water, and rose to its full impressive height before clumping toward the blonde in the tight sweater. She had her back to it so she didn't see it coming, and of course they never heard the footsteps until it was too late. Sam grinned as the woman turned and gave a dramatic scream right before the creature pounced.

Behind him in the bed, Dean murmured something and shifted in his sleep.

Sam turned away from the TV to look at him, growing serious as he took in his increasingly restless brother. Dean usually slept like a rock—an unconscious, sprawling rock—so this fitfulness that night was unusual. Sam watched him as his face contorted and his lips moved before he finally settled into sleep again.

Hmm. Sam went back to watching TV, but the monster was just returning to the water and the blonde was nowhere in sight. Darn, he'd been curious if the thing was carnivorous or just liked to kill people. The police and the blonde's boyfriend soon converged on the scene, discussing her disappearance in serious tones. Because cops never turned a blind eye to the unexplained, Sam thought wryly. Then again, that was probably what let Dean and him get away with as much as they did. People didn't see what they didn't want to.

Dean stirred again, and as Sam leaned forward to turn the TV's whisper even lower, he finally heard what his brother was mumbling. He rose instead and went over to beside Dean's bed, frowning down at him. Dean usually let him wake himself from his own nightmares, but Sam wasn't sure that was a kindness, and if Dean was dreaming about what he thought he was…

He leaned in, knowing better than to touch the agitated sleeper, and said quietly, "Dean." He'd woken his brother with less before.

Dean didn't disappoint. Sam froze as his brother rolled up on one elbow, his knife biting into Sam's throat before he could even think to move.

"Dean," he said evenly, "it's me, it's Sam. Your brother. Sammy?"

Dean blinked, and the knife retreated. " 'Sammy'? Way to make me think it's not you," he said thickly, then his head dipped to one side. "Sorry." A flash and the knife was gone.

Sam resisted the urge to rub his intact throat. "S'okay. I always knew you wanted to be an only child."

"Yeah, right," Dean grunted, because they both knew how true that wasn't. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and sat up, glancing over at the TV. "You're still up?"

Sam smiled. "Creature Feature—couldn't turn it off. You never know when we might learn something." Actually, it wasn't so much "still up" as "up again" after nightmares of his own, but Dean worried enough about that as it was.

Dean was pulling on a t-shirt. "Hey, is this the one with the blonde chick in the—"

"You just missed her," Sam said apologetically.

"Man, she's the best part of the movie." But Dean was still pushing himself up to sit against the headboard, and Sam turned the volume up on the TV and then went to sit next to him, nudging Dean with one shoulder to move over. His brother obeyed without complaint even though Sam's bed was two feet away. It reminded him of a thousand other hotel rooms, he and Dean flopped on their bed watching TV while their dad worked on his weapons or studied at the table across the room. He'd let them have as much of a childhood as he'd been able to around the crusade he was on, and, in more charitable moments, Sam could be grateful for that and the many good memories he did have.

They watched in semi-absorbed silence as the monster made a move on the now-alone boyfriend, only to be scared away as the guy shot wildly at it.

Dean laughed. "Now why didn't we think of that?"

Sam laugh was softer. "I wish they ran away like that when we shoot at them."

"Naw, then we'd just have to run after them into their cave or lake or whatever. It's easier when they stand and fight. Or come after you."

Sam gave him a look. "You're suicidal, you know that, right?"

Dean's shoulder hitched carelessly. "Yeah, whatever."

Sam shook his head and turned back to look at the TV. The boyfriend was hunting the creature now, the music melodramatically spooky. But Sam was paying attention to Dean, waiting until he was engrossed in the action before asking, "So, what were you dreaming about?"

His brother didn't look at him but Sam caught the faint twitch of the mouth. Sourness at the memory or a smile at the question, he couldn't tell. With Dean, maybe it was both. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he answered without looking over.

"You already know what I—"

Steely hazel eyes, just a few shades off from his, swung his way. "Don't even try, Sam—every time I bring it up, you change the subject. Well, consider the subject changed."

He thought about it, ignoring the screams from the TV as the monster finally caught the boyfriend—not carnivorous, apparently, just vicious—contemplating talking to Dean if it meant Dean would talk to him. It would probably be worth the trade, and he could feel his brother waiting for answer.

But it wasn't pride, or shame, or a dozen other motives he could have overcome to set Dean's mind at ease. It was fear for Dean's reaction, for the inevitable repugnance his admission would cause, that he wasn't ready to face yet.

Sam silently, helplessly shook his head.

Dean sighed, no doubt disappointed in him, but he surprised Sam by patting him on the leg once before returning his attention to the movie. In his own way, he understood.

And somehow, yet again, the tide had turned as it always had to what ate at Sam, not Dean. It wasn't the first time he wondered how accidental that was.

Actually, Sam had a pretty good idea what was haunting Dean's dreams. He'd seen the way Dean had gotten attached to Lucas Barr, the bond they shared of watching a parent die that Sam couldn't quite understand. He'd heard Dean's confession to Lucas about missing their mom, and seen his brother's anguish while they'd performed CPR on Lucas's lifeless body, nearly losing him, too, before he'd sputtered and choked back to life. Sam had been pretty sure that hadn't all been lake water streaming down his brother's face afterwards. And it didn't take the psych course he'd had in college to figure out all that had probably stirred up memories of their mom's death Dean usually kept safely tucked away.

Nor that Dean would rather have faced that monster in the lake unarmed and blindfolded than talk about what was on his mind. Sam smiled to himself, just as one of the onscreen cops also bit the dust.

"He didn't even try to shoot it," Dean grumbled, yawning. "Amateurs."

"Does that make us professionals?" Sam asked whimsically.

"Dude, it's our job."

"It's our calling," Sam corrected. He canted his head and added more softly. "You know, I get that now. I didn't before Jess, but…I know now why you and Dad were always so driven. I just didn't feel that with Mom."

Dean didn't answer, but he didn't change the subject or leave, either. For Dean, that was nearly soul-baring.

Sam smiled painfully. "You know how much I envy you sometimes for remembering her? Even if it means memories of that night, too, I wish—"

"Sam, I was four. I don't remember all that much, either."

"Still…"

Dean looked him in the eye very soberly. "Look, it is what it is. Sometimes I wish I didn't have the memories, that I was free to…" He licked his lips, shrugged. "But it's not the way it is, not the way we are. So this 'I wish' stuff, it's useless. You had Jess for a while, I had Mom, and now they're gone and we've got a job to do."

Sam looked back at him for a moment, then gave a weak laugh. "I know. Sorry. Must be the movie."

"Yeah, this one always gets me all choked up, too," Dean said dryly. "And before you start wringing your hands again, I'm fine. It's just an old dream."

"About Mom," Sam said quietly.

Dean flinched minutely, but then he tsked, tsked a finger at him. "You show me yours…"

Sam suddenly brightened. "Hey, look, I think they're about to get it." The cops were closing in on the monster, who suddenly looked trapped and pathetic.

Dean snorted next to him. "Did Jess ever buy this act?"

No, the secrets he'd kept from her she'd never even known to look for. Sam ignored him, knowing Dean wasn't really expecting an answer, and watched the chase scene as the monster dove back into the lake. The humans gathered at the shore, still shooting wildly. They should've cut it off at the lake to begin with, maybe put down a layer of salt or oil along the edge to keep it from going back to its lair; water creatures usually hated both substances. Then again, if Sam were writing these movies, they'd probably end up a whole lot shorter.

He turned back to Dean, opening his mouth to ask if he'd ever considered screenwriting—Sam had read enough of his brother's journal to know that college or not, Dean was a good writer—only to find his brother's head had sagged to one side and his eyes were closed, breath slow and deep.

Sam slipped off the bed and reached to turn the TV completely down, just as blood bubbled up on the surface of the water and, amidst a grand crescendo of music, the credits began to roll. Poor monster. He had no idea why, but he felt kind of sorry for it.

The next movie, this one about giant killer bees, began to play a minute later. Sam glanced back at his brother.

Dean's neck would ache, sleeping like that, but moving him would wake him and he needed the rest. He clearly hadn't wanted Sam to know, but he'd swallowed a lot of that icy lake water the day before, and even the tea Sam had forced on him at bedtime hadn't completely taken away the slight wheeze in his breathing. But he would insist on driving the next day, of course, and Sam could always sleep in the car.

He climbed back into his own bed and pulled the covers up to his chin as he watched the muted movie, occasionally glancing over to check on Dean.

His brother protected him from enough. For tonight, Sam would watch over him.

The End