Scar Shadow

Chapter 2

Please review! I'm starting to freak out lol.

Sam immediately freaked out, his brother had just passed out on him. He scrambled off the lounge himself and picked up the phone, in which he could hear Bobby's voice, "Dean? Dean?"

"Bobby, he's- he's just passed out!" Sam cried, the ten year old wondering what he should do. "What- why did he pass out? What did you say to him?"

But the old family friend didn't answer him, instead he was throwing low cuss words at himself, for apparently being so idiotic to have told Dean what he did. "Just," he began after a while, not sure if he was allowed to tell Sam anything like this. "Just tell your brother when he wakes up, that it's on the 23rd of October 1994. Next year. Can you do that for me, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, remembering just after that Bobby couldn't see him. "Yeah, yeah I'll tell him. But how do I wake him up?" He was beginning to get frantic about his brother's limp form. And he still wanted to know what had caused such a reaction.

"He'll come around on his own," Bobby said, almost hopefully. "If he doesn't wake up in a couple of hours, call me back and I'll be down as soon as I can, ok?"

"Ok," Sam replied shakily, trying to make himself feel better. "Thanks, Bobby." He hung up and quickly pulled his brother fully onto the lounge, trying to make him as comfortable as he could. "Wake up soon, Dean."

An hour passed, seeing Sam pace and read. . . watch t.v. . . and then repeat the process all over again. Waiting, just waiting for Dean to wake up.

Then at last, as twenty-nine minutes was added on to that hour, a low moan elicited from Dean, and had Sam rushing toward him.

"Dean?" He asked breathlessly. "Dean, are you alright?"

The elder brother's eyes were blurry and his mouth was dry. He had no recollection of ever going to sleep, because all he had done was blinked. That was it. There was no dream, he was out and then up in what seemed like a flick of a switch.

"What happened?" Dean asked, swallowing gross-tasting lumps. The roof of his mouth was so disgustingly sticky, that his tongue would get stuck there for a couple of seconds, before he would pull it back down.

"You passed out," Sam explained simply. "Bobby said something to you and then you were down and out."

It all came rushing back to him. John was going to be executed, Bobby scared to tell him. Where had the family gone wrong? Sure, most people would answer that it started when the fire happened, but he felt that the roots were down deeper then that.

"Did he say anything to you?" Dean asked, getting up to quickly and suffered a momentary dizzy spell. "Sammy, did he say anything?"

Sam trembled a bit. "Y-yeah, he said it was going to happen. . . um. . . sometime next year - October 23rd next year!"

So they had little over fourteen months? "God. . ."

"Dean, what is happening?" Sam's eyes softened and misted over a little. "Its about dad, isn't it? I have a right to know, Dean. You can't keep this from me. At least, not for long."

He knew that was true, but Dean was willing to risk the wait. Then, he paused, looking at the look on Sam's face and sighed. "It is about dad. . . Bobby found out earlier today. He-he got a call from the prison, because he is dad's emergency caller or whatever. The prison called him to say that. . . he's being executed on that date Bobby gave you."

Sam's jaw dropped and speech almost failed him for a couple of seconds. "But. . . but I thought they had nothing to go on - we got all those bags out that night!" Dean dropped his head. "Oh no, you didn't leave dad's, did you?"

"I did. If I only got that one out first, the officer in there grabbed it and there was too many for me to turn around and snatch it back."

Sam clenched his fists. "We had the weapons and the books in there - not to mention dad's journal! God know's what else is in the damned thing, posters of missing people who haven't turned up yet. . ."

Dean sighed. "I know. And I also know what I have to do. Sam, stay here, I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Before Sam could protest, Dean had already grabbed his keys and was out the door.

He went to a shopping center and into a certain shop and took a look around, picking up items that might help him. He didn't get a lot of things, and only paid twenty dollars for it all. The drive back was more calming, sort of.

He could not help himself, he just had to check to the bag of his purchases, almost like he wanted to see if they were still there. That they had not disappeared after the last inspection. Sam had to be worrying about him right about now.

When he returned home, Sam was indeed trying hard not to worry, but the look on his face told all.

When he walked in, Sam jumped up. "Where did you go?" he practically demanded.

"To the shops," Dean answered simply.

"And? What did you get?" Sam asked, refusing to give up his questioning, despite the fact that it was bugging Dean already, to no end.

Dean sighed. "Hair dye."

That was confusing. "What do you need hair dye for?" he asked, trying to piece it all together, but the answers he came up with were somewhat inconclusive. "Dean, what do you need it for?"

"You'll see. Just stay out here."

So that's exactly what Sam did, despite how much he didn't want to.

Dean walked into the bathroom and closed the door, he reached in and got the dye and started changing his hair colour. He worked hard to make sure he got all sections of his hair, he had gotten three for when he grew his hair out, a little facial hair wouldn't do him too bad either. Better be safe then sorry, he did not want to look anything like Dean Winchester. It was too risky.

When he was done, his hair was completely black. He walked out of the bathroom and into the waiting eyes of Sam, who looked like he could have died from shock.

"Why did you dye your hair?" He asked, almost like he was dreading the answer.

Dean shrugged, hoping he could keep the secrecy up. "Just got sick of my natural colour," he said.

Sam knew something was up, he could almost sense it. Dean dying his hair straight after he found out their father was going to die in a year. Something was most definitely up with him. And he wanted to know why. Though if he pressed too much now, there would be a chance that he wouldn't get an answer later.

He watched Dean walk away, still gaping at the colour of his hair.

***

Two weeks later and Sam didn't even recognise Dean.

His hair had grown past his chin - which was unnatural for him. He was sporting stubble and. . . Well. He didn't feel like his big brother anymore. He had hit the gym a fair bit too, so his muscles were a tad more prominent than they had been. Not to mention he was kicking little brother out to be with Bobby, the man he had run away from in the first place.

Bobby and Dean had been having a heated argument that night, a first for them. Bobby didn't want him to see John at that point in time, and Dean was, of course, furious about it. A couple of insults had been tossed between them. That was when Dean picked up his belongings and little brother and disappeared out the front door, ignoring the older man's shout's to come back.

Sam didn't know what he was planning to do, but he could guarrauntee that it wouldn't be good. Dean had a knack for throwing himself in the line of fire, in order to get the person he loved out of it.

Catching the bus down near Bobby's house, they walked the rest of the way there, which took about five minutes tops. Bobby's reaction to seeing Dean was absolutely priceless in Sam's view.

When the old hunter answered the door, he whipped out the gun the moment he laid eyes on Dean, threatening him to get off his property. Only the sound of Dean's voice convinced him that he actually was Dean.

The gun was lowered. "Good God boy, what are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?" He said, shaking his head. "What's with the appearance change?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Your not planning on doing something stupid are you?"

Dean put on a face of mock-insult. "Well, I'm offended. Me, do something stupid? Unheard of. Nah, I just need you to take care of Sammy for a while."

Bobby wasn't about to take that and not say something first. "What about you?"

"I. . . ah, I have to do something."

Nope, not taking it. "Like what?"

Dean grinned. "Full of questions. You'll find out tomorrow, I bet. Just take care of Sam, ok? I'll see you. . . whenever I see you."

Bobby stood there, subconsciously putting a hand on the young Winchester's shoulder, watching the young man walk away. "Just stay out of trouble," he mutered, wishing he knew what was going on in that brain of his.

Dean had implanted the fake birth certificate, stating that he was Dean Campbell - his mother's maiden name. His father was now Bronson Campbell and he was born on July 27th 1975.

He got into the city in about five minutes and pulled out his gun, walking into the bank, which was crowded with people and took off safety.

"Nobody move!" He shouted, and the bank went dead silent. He lifted the gun directly over his head and shot seven rounds and everybody went down for cover, screaming.

Someone shouted, "Take the money! Just don't kill us!"

Dean hated doing this, though it was necessary. He was doing the one thing he thought he never would; pretend to be crazy to get into a prison.

He kept shooting, deciding to aim just above the people in the bank, right up until the area was swarmed by Police. He decided not to go out as soon as they ordered him to. So he shot at the 'bullet-proof' window and it cracked.

After fifteen minutes, he walked out, dropping the gun. Immediately, he was tackled by what seemed a thousand police and they managed to get hand-cuff's on him and into a paddywagon.

He never thought he would say it, but. . .

He was off to prison.

To Be Continued. . .

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