Weaver, chapter 7

"You need a hug, Sammy?" Dean said to break the silence, leaning closer to him. "Because I know I could use one."

Unbelievable. Of all the times to joke, Dean always managed to pick the worst. Sam reached for the door. It was his own fault Dean was being so infuriating. He shouldn't have closed his eyes, let his guard down at all.

"You are such a jerk sometimes," Sam said.

He got out of the car and headed for the trunk, even though he didn't have the key to open it. Sam counted to five and timed Dean rolling out of the driver's seat to joint him perfectly. He saw a questioning smile on his brother's face and struggled to figure out a way to tell Dean what he had to.

"So I'm a jerk," Dean said without preamble. "You know I'm right about this. No dwelling on what could happen, only focus on what will – and that's killing this evil thing before it hurts anyone else. That's all that matters at the moment."

"You are right." Sam looked over at him ruefully. "I'm sorry. I know that. I guess I've been kinda off lately."

Dean nodded but looked unconvinced that that was it. Sam watched him make a show of popping the trunk and selecting weapons. Dean loaded a shotgun with rock salt shells.

"Yeah, and what's that all about again?" he said casually, snapping the barrel back in place.

"I'm not sure this is the best time to talk about it." Sam snapped the barrel of his own gun into place. "Let's get through this first."

"I'm starting to think there's never going to be a best time, so the way I look at it now's as good a time as any."

Darkness fell around them. He was pretty sure Dean saw him grimace. Dean froze, just stiffened; he didn't say anything. Rather than push him, Dean just started walking. Sam slammed the trunk shut and caught up. Still, his brother didn't say anything more, and Sam couldn't take the silence.

"Fine, then," Sam said. "It's about my dreams."

Dean stopped walking, so he did too. Sam kept his eyes on the ground, but a strong hand on his forearm made him eventually look up and meet Dean's eyes. Now would be a good time for a stupid joke, he thought.

"Your dream capital D dreams," Dean said, sounding as tense as the grip he had on Sam's arm. "Or just your dreams?"

Sam had a sudden inclination to plop down on the ground right there. He didn't know how to answer the question without sounding like a complete idiot or like that kid in The Sixth Sense spookily whispering about seeing dead people. He knew that despite the questions, Dean didn't really want to talk about it; he never did, as if not talking about it meant everything was fine. And if he was wrong about that, if Dean did want to hear about what had been bothering him, well that was worse than the steadfast denial his brother liked to maintain about Sam being anything other than a normal person. He didn't feel normal.

"I think just my dreams," Sam said. He hadn't woken up gasping for air from the last few ones, at least not in the same desperate way as the first one that freaked Dean out so much. They were…he couldn't shake them. "I'm pretty sure."

Sam watched Dean's jaw clench and unclench, the slashes on the right side looked almost black. The clear butterfly bandages managed to catch a little light. The dreams weren't the same as when he'd seen their childhood home or Max, but he'd seen Dean get those cuts before he actually got them. He just hadn't seen it happen in quite the same way.

"I don't know, Dean, it's hard to explain," he said. Dean didn't look like he cared how difficult it was, his eyes narrowing and lips tightening to form a harsh line. He finally let go of Sam's arm. "I don't think they're the same, but some things are."

"You've got to give me more than that," Dean said.

"At first they seemed real but I knew they weren't. The more I dream, the less I can tell." Dean looked frustrated, but didn't say anything. Sam stared at the cuts on his brother's jaw and tried to figure out how he was going to explain what he meant better. He didn't even know what he really meant. "It's like pieces of the dreams contain truth, but they're masked by all the unreality of the rest. I feel like I should be able to separate it out, and I can't."

"What do you mean?" Dean's frustration didn't fade. "Give me an example. Draw pictures if you have to."

"The scratches on your face. I saw you get them in a dream the night before last," Sam said. Dean's eyes widened and his jaw worked double-time. "But in the dream you didn't get them from a Black Dog attack. I didn't know what was going to happen last night. Specifically."

"But you kind of thought something might," Dean said, taking a couple steps down the road as if he was just going to head for the trap-site. He stopped, though, and turned around with arms spread out in front of him. In the dim light, it looked as though the shotgun was an extension of his right arm. "You didn't think I should know about this? Damnit, Sam, I've been asking you what was wrong."

"I know." Now that he'd finally said something, Sam realized part of what had been setting him so on edge was internalizing it. There was nothing either of them could do about his dreams or visions, but holding it in had been eating away at him. "Like I said, at first they were just crazy dreams. Not very much fun, but no big deal."

"Sam, you stopped breathing from one of them."

"Uh," Sam said. Dean straightened his shoulders and glared at him. "That happened more than once, I think."

"What? When?"

"Vegas. In-N-Out parking lot. I must have dozed off when you were inside."

He didn't want to mention that incident had been the start of Dean's appearance and major starring role in his horror movie dream fest. Sam wasn't even sure he could put a number on how many dreams he'd had since they first began. It hadn't even been a week.

"Dozed off and stopped breathing, you mean."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Dude, what do you think I've been doing?" Dean said after yet another long pause, his voice icy with anger. "Maybe you were right. Maybe this isn't a good time to talk about it, because now I want to kick your ass as much as I want to kill the Black Dogs."

Dean shook his head once, then turned around and started walking away again. Sam had known it would go down like this; that was why he hadn't wanted to start the argument in the middle of the hunt. He still felt the unhelpful desire to sit down, as if a great weight pressed down on him and made his legs weak. Sam willed himself to move, however, spawned by the need to stay near his brother despite the anger.

"And what would you have done if I had said something, Dean, huh?" he said, catching up with Dean easily. "All you've done in the past is pretend it didn't bother you. Pretend I'm not like the shit we hunt every day."

"You're not." Sam almost believed it. Dean glanced in his direction, but not directly at him. "You're not out to hurt people."

Tell that to Jess. Tell that to Max. Sam swallowed. Dean had qualified his statement; he thought Sam wasn't evil, just touched by it. Not worthy of hunting (yet), but something to be wary of. Sam had known that was how his brother felt for a while, of course, but he still felt gutted by the implication.

"We don't know that, really," Sam said. The air felt thick, his throat tight. He stared at Dean, whose jaw was clenched again. "We can't know that."

"I know it. Damnit, Sam, and you should too." Sam swallowed again, or tried to. The tightness in his throat made it painful. He wished he could blame the dryness of the air on his sudden affliction. It was like he couldn't really control it – he swallowed over and over again. "Maybe I would have done what you said I would, but you still should have told me. These dreams literally take your breath and might give you some kind of messed up precognition. I had a right to know that before now."

"Because we're both so good at sharing." Sam shook his head. This was ridiculous. He felt about ten seconds away from crying or falling flat on his face. "You've been acting like it's no big deal you might die because you saw these things."

"Yeah, well, you'll see them tonight and then we'll both be in the same boat," Dean said. "Speaking of Dogs, let's get this over with. I'm tired of talking."

He would have felt vindicated, except it was too late. The misery that inevitably resulted from trying to have a serious conversation with Dean was a thick veil covering him. Sam had to shake off the negative emotions, a task make all the more difficult by the fact his brother's irritation came at him in posture alone. Dean started walking faster. Sam kept up. He couldn't believe Dean hadn't asked an obvious question.

"Dean, there's probably something else I should tell you," Sam said.

"Oh, jeez, what now?"

"The dreams have started to revolve around something bad happening to you. Not just the last one."

"Great," Dean said, heavy on the sarcasm. "Good to know impending death isn't the only thing I need to worry about."

They didn't say anything else, Sam because he didn't know what else to say and Dean probably because he was too mad. They were also too close to the trap site to talk further, and Sam thought he was probably as glad as Dean about that. He kept his eyes on the brush and boulders, looking for any sign of the Dogs, and hoping they weren't on another dusty road mauling some innocent idiots who hadn't already clued in that that shouldn't go out after dark. The thought of his dream last night crept to the fore of his mind. He didn't know how he was going to gauge this situation with that of his dream, but he had to. For Dean's sake. Sam found his throat hurt like hell all of a sudden, and he realized his chest did too. He frowned.

"Dean," he whispered, shocked at the horrible condition his voice was in. He gasped. "Dean, do you…?"

Sam clutched at his chest with his free hand. Oh, this was not the time to panic. It was just the Black Dogs unleashing their psychological whammies, nothing more. He fell to his knees, not minding the jolt it sent through him. He needed the pain. He heard something clatter to the ground. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think his way out of the inexorable pressure squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Sam?" Dean's face appeared right in front of his, one hand gripping Sam's right bicep in a firm hold. "Sammy, look at me. Talk to me. Don't let them get to you."

"Can't." Sam wheezed. He was pretty sure the edges of his vision were going black. Hard to tell in the dusk light. His head lolled to the left. "Can't breathe."

That's when Sam saw the enormous dark shape he'd thought was a boulder move. It headed straight for Dean, rumbling all the way. There was so much noise, but Dean didn't seem to hear it. Move, move, move, Sam wanted to say, but he couldn't get so much as a murmur past his lips. Dean turned as the shape loomed above him, too late to get his weapon ready.

His brother disappeared from his limited range of vision. Sam couldn't move to see what had happened, but his ears worked just fine. The sounds of struggle surrounded him, then fell abruptly silent. Sam pitched forward, unable to stay upright even on his knees. The shock of hitting the ground actually seemed to aid his breathing for a moment or two, and he dragged in dusty air as if it were fresh. From his new horizontal point of view, he could make out Dean lying not too far away, and unconscious with the gigantic dark thing on top of him. He tried to move, aim his weapon at the darkness. It wasn't in his hands anymore. He had no control in his muscles to even try to find it.

"Dean," he whispered hoarsely, and got no answer.

Sam couldn't see well enough to tell if Dean was breathing, but he refused to believe his brother had fallen so easily to a surprise attack. He didn't have the oxygen left to laugh at how helpless he himself was. He heard the scuttle of rocks. A guttural growl followed, and loud, animalistic exhalations.

Something kicked him in the abdomen, causing his lungs to expel the air he no longer had much hope of fully regaining. He was tipped over onto his back. The sky was dark enough to reveal stars. Sam saw at least two or three of them in the very small amount of clear vision he had left. Soon it would be all black and Dean, Dean. He'd failed again. As he thought, it was all dark then, but he was still aware so he must not have lost consciousness. Solid pressure on his chest, then gone, then back again even stronger. He swore he heard his ribs crack. Then he saw teeth, a huge gaping maw in a face he recognized as more humanoid than canine. Not the Black Dog. He knew, he knew…it lunged at him and Sam knew it was over for him.

"Don't do this," a voice said, desperate and angry. "Don't you do this to me."

Sam jerked suddenly, whole body a mass of shudders. He sucked in air so deeply he coughed, and ohshit, oh shit that hurt. His first confused impulse was to roll over onto his side and continue to heave for air. Something held him in place. He thought he said "Oh God," but all he could hear was a pathetic groan and the sound of a waterfall cascading in his ears. He didn't know how long he lay on the ground trying to breathe, trapped there and yet secure, how long it took him to figure out he could hear something else. Sam looked around, found Dean practically on top of him. He struggled to make eye contact, and when he saw Dean's eyes he couldn't maintain the contact for long; the fear in them was uncharacteristically vivid.

"Jesus," Dean said roughly. He leaned closer and pulled Sam up into a semi-embrace, until his forehead rested on Dean's shoulder. The movement hurt like hell, but not as much as the sound of the frantic voice in his ear. "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ."

When his breathing had settled and he thought maybe he could exercise some muscle control, Sam tried to ease away from Dean. Dean didn't seem to want to let him go, though he did shift around until Sam was more sprawled on his lap than propped against him. Apart from his own body regaining mobility, Sam could feel Dean's muscles thrumming.

"What happened?" Sam whispered. He had no idea. Dreaming? He hadn't had a clue he was dreaming. Dean stopped thrumming and became rock solid with tension behind him. "Dean?"

A/N: That's all for tonight - my computer's going all wonky so I'm going to shut it down and let it rest. Seemed like as good a place as any to stop. O:)