"Dean- Dean-"
"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean sat up, looking at the clock. Sam calling him at 2:30am Saturday night/Sunday morning was not normal.
"Dean- oh God-" Sam was panting, sobbing even?
Dean jumped out of bed, pulling on clothes one handed while keeping the phone to his ear with the other. "Sam, where are you?"
"Oh God oh God-"
"Sam, listen to me!" Dean used the commanding tone he'd learned at an early age. "Tell me where you are. Now."
"Home. I'm at home," Sam whispered so softly Dean could barely hear it. Then there was a thunk as the phone was dropped and the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up.
Dean was panicking now, not sure if he should wake his Dad or not. Running through the house, he decided it would just take too long to stop and wake him.
---
Dean made sure he was armed as he cautiously approached Sam's home. The modest sized two-story was an almost picture perfect slice of suburbia, missing only a white picket fence. The Camry and the Accord were in the driveway so it looked like both of Sam's parents were home. There were a couple of lights on- one in the living room. Dean peered through the window, but couldn't see anything. He tried the front door and found it open.
"Dean? Is that you?" It sounded like Sam was in the kitchen.
"Sam, you alone?"
Sam laughed and it was the most horrible sound Dean had heard in a long time. "I am now."
"Holy- Jesus!" Dean gasped as he rounded the corner. Sam was sitting on the kitchen floor next to his mother's body. It looked like she'd been shot in the head. He was holding her hand, just sitting in the pool of her blood. He looked shattered; no longer crying, but his eyes were nearly swollen shut and his face streaked with tear tracks. He also had flecks of what looked like bile on his shirt and face. He lifted his face to Dean.
"Dad's upstairs."
"Dead?"
He nodded, looking back at his mom.
"Oh Jesus, Sam! Have you called 911?"
He shook his head, "Just you."
"Okay, okay." He knelt behind Sam and rubbed his back. He pulled out his phone and made the necessary calls. He also called his dad, asking him to bring an EMF reader. This didn't seem remotely supernatural, but old habits die hard and it couldn't hurt to be sure. He kept one hand on Sam the entire time, his presence being the only comfort he could offer.
---
Sam was released into John's custody with the understanding that his case would be reviewed Monday. His grandparents lived in Dallas, so he'd probably be sent to live with them.
Dean had gone through Sam's room and picked up some clean clothes. He'd been scrubbed down superficially at the hospital, but they hadn't been able to do anything about his clothes. As soon as they reached the Dean's house, he ushered Sam into the shower. The younger boy was clearly in shock. He would answer direct questions and could follow direction, but that was about it.
While Sam was in the shower, Dean went into the bathroom and replaced his ruined clothes with a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. John came in as Dean was setting up an air mattress for Sam. He sat on Dean's bed and sighed heavily.
"You say the police think it was murder-suicide?"
Dean shrugged, "That's what I heard. Sam never said anything about his parents fighting, but I guess you never know."
"I don't think it was murder-suicide, the EMF readings were off the charts in the kitchen and in the bedroom."
Dean gaped in shock, "Are you sure?!"
"Yeah, I'm thinking possession, but why?"
"God only knows."
They both looked to the hallway as the water in the bathroom cut off.
John stood, "I'm going to see what I can find out about that house and Sam's parents. I want you and Sam to try to get some sleep, if you can." He took Dean's shoulders, "You did good tonight, son. You're a good friend."
Dean flushed; praise from his father was rare. "Thanks, Dad."
Sam appeared shortly after John's departure. Dean walked over to him and put his hand on the younger boy's nape. He studied him and felt an ache in his chest. Sam looked so frail, so broken.
"Hey Sam. Do you think you might want to lay down?"
Sam nodded and let himself be led to the air mattress. Dean got him settled and then went for the light.
"Can you-" Sam stopped to clear his throat, "Can you leave it on?"
"Sure."
He stepped over Sam's bed and climbed into his own. He felt Sam's anguish radiating off of him in waves and God help him, he had no idea what to do. He lay there staring at the ceiling. He didn't expect to sleep, but was surprised when he woke to the sound of gut-wrenching sobs. He sat up and moved cautiously to sit by Sam. The boy was curled up on his side, facing away from Dean.
"Sam." He lightly touched the shaking shoulders, pulling back when Sam rolled to face him. The next thing he knew he had a lapful of sobbing boy, all sharp bones and angles. He hesitated for a second in surprise and then hugged Sam tightly. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."
Sam clung to Dean, soaking his shoulder with tears and snot.
"I- I was at a party and it was-" Dean tried half-heartedly to shush him, but was glad he was finally talking. "It was a crappy party- I didn't really- I didn't want to be there. I co- I could've stopped it, if I- if I'd been home they- I know they'd still be alive. Dean, I'm so sorry! I had to wait for Mark- he was my ride." He moaned and rocked, "I should have just walked- why didn't I just walk?"
"Sam, Sammy, please. Shhhhh- there was nothing you could've done." Dean tucked Sam's head under his chin and cradled the anguished boy's cheek. "No way you could've known-"
Sam pushed away from him forcefully at that, "I should have! Why- why have I seen your death and not theirs!?"
Dean held up his hands, "I don't know, there's a lot neither one of us knows about that. Sam, you can't control what you see, what you dream. You can't change the past either, I'm sorry. Look, there's something you should know..." Dean trailed off, realizing he should check with his dad before he told Sam too much.
"What?" Sam looked so desperate for something that could convince him that his parents' death wasn't his fault. Dean had it and it wasn't in him to keep it from Sam.
"My dad and I don't think the police are right."
Sam's brow furrowed, "What do you mean? I don't think it was a robbery either, nothing was disturbed or missing..."
Dean bit his lip, "No, we don't think it was a robber. Umm, you remember how I told you it was a family hobby of ours to study urban legends and stuff?"
Sam nodded, hand flying to his nose as the movement dislodged that which should not be dislodged. Dean grabbed some tissues off the dresser and handed them over. Sam managed to smile sheepishly, "Thanks."
"Well, we don't just study that stuff, we fight it. That's why I didn't have any trouble believing you when you told me about your dream. You've heard that things usually become cliché because they're true, right? Well, it's the same with urban legends and folklore. Those stories are usually based on something that actually happened. Granted, they get pretty twisted up in the multiple re-tellings..." Sam was just looking at him blankly, "Umm, the point is that my dad found energy traces in your house that shouldn't have been there. We think something supernatural was involved in your parents' death."
He waited anxiously for Sam to absorb what he was saying. Sam studied his face for a long moment before his raising his eyebrows, "You shittin' me, Dean? Just trying to distract me or make me feel better?"
"No, I swear! I wouldn't do that, Sam." He tried to put as much sincerity as he could into his expression.
Sam shook his head, "All right, Dean, I believe you. Stop making that face, you look constipated."
Dean couldn't help but laugh, as a knot in his chest loosened. He didn't know why Sam's belief was so important to him, but it was. Sam smiled in response, but his bottom lip trembled and he stood quickly.
"I've gotta wash my face. Sorry about your shirt."
"It's no problem." Dean watched him walk out of the room, then turned back to his dresser. He changed into a clean t-shirt and went to look for his dad. It was already 8:00am, so he'd gotten about three hours of sleep- more than he'd expected. He was sure Sam hadn't slept at all and knew he wouldn't until exhaustion knocked him out. He really hoped his dad had found something they could go on. As of Monday, Sam was probably going to end up miles away, living with his grandparents. Dean was thankful that Sam had family, he just wasn't sure he'd be safe with them.
He found his dad in the den, still at the computer. "Any luck?"
"I think I may have found something, but need to make a couple of calls to be sure."
Dean frowned. Judging from his dad's expression, there was more going on here than a run-of-the-mill possession. "What is it, Dad?"
"I'd rather not say just yet." He stood and seemed to shrug off his apprehension, "How about you help me make breakfast? I'm hoping we can come up with something tempting enough to get Sam to eat."
Dean was used to receiving as little information as possible from John, but the older he got the more aggravating it became. He bit his tongue and followed the older man into the kitchen, realizing that now was not the best time argue. He didn't want any more stress in this house than necessary today.