Chapter Six: You Tell Me All These Things

Bangor, Maine-1999

Samuel felt his mouth go dry as he stared at the beautiful blonde-haired woman in the photograph. The same woman he'd seen in his dreams, surrounded by flames.

He didn't even notice Dean staring at him like he was seeing a ghost.

"Are you… are you sure? I thought you said you didn't remember anything?" Dean asked, making the younger boy jump.

Looking sheepish, Samuel handed the photo back to the older boy, "I don't… not really. But I keep having this dream… I wasn't even sure it was real…"

Should he tell Dean? What if he thought he was some sort of freak? What if Dean and his father took him back to the school?

"You can tell me," the older boy wheedled.

I can tell him about the dream, Samuel decided, but that's it.

"I kept seeing a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes," Samuel admitted quietly. His heart began to pound in his chest and his palms grew damp with sweat as he recalled asking LeGraine about the mysterious dream woman.

"I'd always see her face… just her face and she'd be smiling," Samuel whispered. Was this woman, whom Dean had called Mary, really his mother? If she was, did that mean that she hadn't abandoned him? Dean had said his brother had been kidnapped years ago…

"And then there was fire… everywhere," Samuel shuddered at the memory, "She stopped smiling."

Glancing at Dean from the corner of his eye, he saw the older boy wasn't looking at him; he was staring at the photograph in his hand.

"My Mom died a few months after this picture was taken," Dean said, his voice tight with pain, "In a fire."

Samuel's eyes widened. This couldn't be true! This couldn't be happening!

The younger teen shook his head. No, this wasn't right. It was a coincidence, his mother had abandoned him.

Dean grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and hit the Speed Dial number for his father.

"Dad! No, I haven't found the monster… Listen, we have to go back to the motel now. It's Samuel-" Dean paused and the younger boy looked at him, "Dad, you're really going to want to hear this."

"C'mon," Dean grabbed the teen's arm and yanked him up into a standing position. Samuel didn't resist, afraid that the older boy would be angry with him if he refused to go.

Samuel allowed Dean to drag him back to where he had parked the Impala and clambered into the passenger seat while the older boy settled behind the wheel.

The teen sat with his hands together in his lap, nervous about what was to come. He wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Samuel tried to sort out all his thoughts, tried to control his emotions as Dean drove back to the motel room.

Was this Mary woman really his mother? Why would LeGraine and Truefold lie to him about her? Maybe Dean was lying. Maybe Dean and John were going to take him back to the school now that he knew their secret. What was it like to have a family, like Dean had? What kind of person had Mary been? Had she loved him? Why had she died?

Samuel gasped when the Impala stopped suddenly- were they at the motel already- and peered out the windshield.

The young man's mouth opened in shock. There was a man standing right in the classic Chevy's path, his features hidden by shadows.

"Shit," Dean growled from the driver's side and rolled down the car window, "Hey! Buddy! Get out of the road! You wanna get killed?"

Samuel stared at the man. Why was he just standing there?

The boy startled when Dean suddenly turned on the Impala's high beams and the man's face was illuminated.

LeGraine!

Samuel didn't know what to do. Should he run? Would the man catch up with him? Could he just leave Dean?

Before the young man could make a decision, LeGraine disappeared. Just vanished into thin air as though he'd never been there.

Samuel heard Dean swear and the car jerked forward, rolling once again towards their destination.

Had he just imagined it, like before? Maybe, but Dean had seen LeGraine this time, hadn't he?

Samuel shivered and wrapped his arms around his middle. He felt sick and scared. Was LeGraine going to take him back to the school? What was going to happen to him? Were they going to do to him what they had done to Andrew?

"The School", State Unknown – 1999

The boy's heart pounded frantically in his chest as he ran. Resisting the urge to look back, he stared straight ahead at the small copse of trees that was his destination.

Grimacing in pain as his bare feet crunched the dry, prickly grass or stepped on an unseen rock, the boy refused to stop.

He had to keep going. He had to get as far away as he possibly could.

The boy hit the copse of trees and slipped past gnarly branches and rough trunks, ignoring leafy fingers snagging on his hair and clothes. Pinecones and leaf litter crunched underfoot loudly and the boy held his breath, ears straining for the sounds of pursuit.

Panting and exhausted, the boy finally rested. His feet were cut and bleeding and his lungs ached with exertion. Sweat ran down the boy's face and back in rivulets. Leaning his brow against the papery bark of a birch tree, the boy took a few moments to catch his breath.

He couldn't stop. No here. Not now. He was still too close.

Straightening up, the boy brushed his sweat-soaked bangs off his forehead with his arm and lurched forward.

He was scared, there was no denying that. He was scared of what lay before him, unknown. But he was more frightened of what lay behind him, of what he'd escaped.

In a matter of moments his world had been turned upside down and everything he'd once known was now filled with uncertainty.

The only thing the boy knew for sure was that he was never going back.

Gathering up his strength, Samuel pushed onward, brushing branches out of his way as he trudged determinedly onward, the taste of freedom pulling him forward.

Bangor, Maine-1999

To say that John Winchester was upset that his son was calling him away from a frustrating hunt would be an understatement. John was livid. The father knew keeping that kid was a bad idea! Why hadn't he gone with his gut, his first instinct and dropped the teen off at the local police station and let them deal with him?

This was fucking ridiculous! Unacceptable!

That's it, John thought as he ground his teeth, his hands tight on the truck's steering wheel, first thing in the morning that kid is outta here!

He pulled up sharply beside the Impala- had Dean raced here- and stepped out of the vehicle. Stalking to the door of his son's motel room, John rapped his knuckles sharply against the painted wood.

The door opened within seconds and John barged in, "You better have an airtight reason for dragging me away from this hunt!"

He glanced from his son standing in front of him with a shell-shocked expression on his face to Samuel sitting on the end of one of the beds, a puzzled expression on his.

"It's Sammy," Dean said quietly.

"What?" John snapped, "I don't have time for this, Dean."

His son took a breath and grabbed his father's arm before John could leave, "Dad, I think Samuel is Sammy. Our Sammy."

John hesitated, "What are you talking about?"

"It makes sense, Dad," Dean said and now John could hear excitement in his voice, "Sammy was kidnapped but we never found a body or any evidence that he was dead."

John didn't know what to say so, for once, he shut up and let Dean talk.

"If the demons had wanted to kill Sammy they could have… hell, they could have waited until I got back into the room and got me as well," Dean began speaking faster and faster in his determination to tell John everything.

"So, Sammy's missing for years and we don't know if he's alive or dead and then Samuel shows up out of nowhere," Dean stepped over to the teen and tugged him up, nearly dragging him forward as he walked back to John.

The eldest Winchester could see that the kid was confused and scared. He didn't really blame him.

"And… it fits," Dean insisted, "It really does! Sammy had dark brown hair and green eyes and so does Samuel!"

"Dean, calm down," John cautioned.

Dean ignored him, "Samuel has the same scar on his shoulder! The same scar Sammy got after he accidently cut himself with that knife!"

Coincidence, this could all be explained away as coincidence. Sammy was dead. The demons had taken him and killed him.

"Dad," Dean said, "He remembers Mom… he remembers her. Tell him!"

Samuel lowered his gaze to the floor, wringing his hands nervously but he didn't utter a peep.

"C'mon, tell Dad what you told me," Dean pressed and shook the boy's arm a little.

Samuel didn't look up, "My parents abandoned me. They didn't love me."

Dean growled in frustration and grabbed the boy by his shoulders, shaking him.

"Tell Dad what you said about Mom! Tell him about that dream!" Dean almost shouted and John stepped forward, pulling his son away from the teen.

"That's enough!" he snapped and Dean sighed, looking chagrinned.

"I don't want to hear anymore about this," John demanded, "Your brother is dead, Dean."

"But-" Dean tried but John continued, "In the morning I am going to drive Samuel to the police station and they can take him back to wherever he came from."

"No, Dad-" his son began but John glared warningly at him, "And stop harassing that boy!"

Turning around John left the room without another word. He closed the door softly and leaned against the brick wall dividing their two rooms.

Raking a hand through his hair, John closed his eyes.

Everything had been fine until that kid showed up. Dean hadn't spoken of his brother in years, ever since the trail had grown cold a few weeks after the abduction and now he was all riled up again for no good reason.

Tomorrow he would get rid of the kid and they wouldn't talk about this again. It was for the best; for Dean, for the boy.

Unlocking his own door, John stepped into his silent motel room and flicked on the light. He stared at his notes and newspaper clippings scattered around the table and on both of the beds and rubbed at his bristly chin for a moment, indecisive on what to do.

Gathering up the papers on the table, John deposited them on the bed and sat down, taking his journal out of his duffel as he did so.

He thumbed through the pages until he reached the unfinished entry of 1987 and stared at it for a long time.

W

John lifted his head drowsily. He looked down at the open journal he'd been using as a pillow and closed it. He didn't even remember falling asleep.

Checking the alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds, John saw that it was still early.

Shucking off his shoes, the eldest Winchester decided that if he was going to sleep he should do so in a bed rather than at the uncomfortable table.

John tugged at his flannel button-down, pulling it over his head so he only had an old grey t-shirt on underneath and jumped when his gaze came to rest upon the woman standing in front of him.

She has long golden, curly hair, deep blue eyes, and a friendly heart-shaped face. She wore nothing but a long white nightgown, the same she had died in.

"M-Mary?" John asked, stunned.

She smiled and raised a hand to his face. Her hand was cool against his skin but not unpleasantly so.

"What are you doing here?" he asked because that was the only thing that came to his mind.

"I cannot stay long," Mary said; her voice soft and exactly as John remembered it, "So I need you to listen to me very carefully."

John nodded dumbly.

"That boy in the other room is our son," she said, "You know it. Deep down. You knew as soon as you saw him."

Tears welled up in the man's eyes, "But… Sammy's dead… the demons… they took him…"

"Samuel is our baby boy," Mary insisted, a small vertical line appearing between her eyes- similar to the one Dean got whenever he was frustrated- but then smiled, "You know he is."

"Why?" John asked, "Why did the demons take him, Mary? He was only a little boy."

His wife did not answer; she lowered her hand from his face.

"Wait! Mary! Don't go!" John called as his wife backed away from him.

"Take care of our boys, John," she said in farewell, "Both of them."

W

John's head snapped up and he nearly toppled his chair as he turned around to catch a glimpse of his wife… but, nothing. He was alone in the room.

Wiping a hand down his face, John groaned and tried to recall the dream.

Mary had told him that Samuel was indeed their little boy. John didn't know what to believe, he had been dreaming after all. It wasn't as though he'd never dreamed about his wife before- he had- but normally they were mostly memories and this had been… different.

Peering over his shoulder, John's eyes widened when he read the time; it was one o'clock in the morning!

John jumped when a frantic knocking sounded on the door to his room.

Standing up quickly, John opened the door to see Dean standing there, an anxious and guilty expression plastered all over his face.

"Dad!" he exclaimed before John could say anything, "Its Samuel- he's gone!"

SPN

Samuel stared warily at Dean.

He retreated further into the room, away from the older boy.

"Samuel," Dean said, trying to keep calm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

The teen didn't answer. Dean scared him.

"I'm sorry," the older boy insisted, "I just… It all fits… I see it… Dad just… he' can be stubborn sometimes…"

Samuel shook his head, "You keep saying that I'm your brother but I don't believe you."

Dean frowned, "I know it's difficult to understand… you probably don't remember but I do. I know-"

"No! You're not my brother! You're not my family!" Samuel shouted. I should never have stayed here, he realized, I should have left as soon as they took their eyes off me, like back did at the school.

"Sam," Dean stepped forward, "Sammy-"

"Don't call me that! My name's Samuel!" he demanded.

The lamp in the room flickered and Dean jumped, startled.

"Please… just listen to me!" Dean begged but Samuel just shook his head. He was tired of hearing lies. First it was LeGraine and Truefold and now this boy who'd been so incredibly kind to him.

"Don't talk to me anymore!" Samuel told Dean, "You're a liar! Just like everyone else!"

Dean opened his mouth to respond but then closed it.

"Fine," he bristled angrily, "I'm trying to help you kid but if you don't want me to, by all means. Dad can take you to the police station tomorrow morning and you can tell them whatever the hell you want."

Dean turned away from the boy, walking to the door and making sure it was locked securely before grabbed his duffel and heading into the bathroom.

Samuel stayed where he was for a long moment. He glanced at the motel door. He could just walk out now but he wasn't sure if Dean or his father would come after him. No, he decided that he would wait until the older boy was sleep and then slip out. He'd be quiet enough, he'd had a lot of practice moving silently back at the school he didn't think the older boy would hear him.

Without changing his clothes or removing his shoes, Samuel lay down in his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin, closing his eyes and feigning sleep. He listened to the shower as it turned on and turned off, the gurgle of water from the sink and the quiet roar of the toilet flushing before Dean entered the bedroom again. The darkness behind Samuel's eyelids grew even darker when the light was turned off and he heard the creak and squeak of old springs as the younger Winchester settled into bed.

W

Dean's breathing was slow and steady- he was deeply asleep.

Samuel sits up quietly in bed and looks at the alarm clock on the nightstand between them. It is very early morning- the sky has barely lightened in the east- but suddenly Samuel was not tired at all.

He's done this before. It's easy. Slipping silently from the bed, he creeps towards the motel room door. Holding his breath, his moves his hands down the side of the wooden door until he feels the cool metal of the chain lock beneath his fingers.

Slowly, Samuel slides the lock out of place, careful not to drop it so the small circle of metal at the end won't bang against the door.

Samuel pauses for a moment, listening to the other boy's breathing before continuing. He turns the lock right above the doorknob, eliciting a quiet screech from the unoiled metal.

The teen bites his lip and closes his eyes for a moment, expecting Dean to wake at any second. By some miracle the hunter stays unconscious and Samuel slowly, carefully opens the door. An orange triangle of light appears on the motel room's dingy carpet but it does not reach the beds and Dean remains in shadow.

Samuel steps out onto the threshold, glancing over his shoulder. He would have liked to bring his new clothes with him but decides he should bring nothing but what he is already wearing.

Closing the door as quietly as possible, Samuel turns to stare at the parking lot. He doesn't know where he should go. Which direction? Should he try and find the spot where Dean picked him up?

I can't go into town, Samuel thought. He shouldn't go where people might see him and question why he was out so late- or early- so he trotted off towards the wooded area across from the motel.

Grateful for his new shoes, Samuel stepped confidently into the forest, twigs and pinecones crunching under his protected feet.

He had no idea where he was going. He didn't care. As far away from other people- 'normal' people- was fine by him.

W

The mournful hooting of an owl startled Samuel and he jumped, pressing his back against the trunk of a tall pine tree.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking for- hours it seemed like- but he knew it had to be a good while. His knees were sore and he was cold, it was a little easier to see now and the stars were fading from the sky.

Samuel shivered and looked around. All he could see were trees. He didn't know if he had been walking in a straight line or if he was just going in circles.

What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?

A sob escaped from the teen and he blinked tears away from his eyes.

Maybe he should have stayed with the Winchesters, maybe he should have told John about the woman in his dream, showed him the scar that Dean claimed mirrored the one his younger brother had. Maybe Samuel should have told them the truth about the school and why he had been there.

What if Dean had been right? What if Mary really was his mother? What if he'd just abandoned the only real family he had?

Wiping his arm across his eyes, Samuel decided that he would rather take his chances with the Winchesters than out in the forest. He knew he couldn't stay in the woods, avoiding people indefinitely, and at least the two hunters would listen to him, not send him straight to the police.

Turning around, Samuel began to tentatively retrace his steps, telling himself the entire time that he was doing the right thing.

His heart suddenly felt lighter and he even smiled a little bit. So, distracted, he never noticed that someone very familiar was watching him through the trees.

SPN

John just stared at his son, still dazed from his strange dream, "What do you mean he's gone?"

Dean almost rolled his eyes, "I mean, he's not here. He's vanished into thin air. I can't find him anywhere!"

"He didn't just go for a walk?" John asked and Dean narrowed his eyes at his father.

"Are you okay? You're really pale?"

"Huh? Oh, uh… I didn't sleep too well," John muttered and ran a hand over his face.

Dean didn't look convinced.

"Where you thinking about him?"

"Who? That kid? No," John said and shook his head. Dean was growing impatient, moving from one foot to the other.

"Okay, but that still doesn't help us find him," he rapped out, frustrated.

John hesitated, hearing Mary's words in his head again.

Samuel is our baby boy… You know he is.

"Alright," John said slowly, "Did you see if he left any tracks?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't think so."

"Let's take a look around the building and see if we can't find a trail," John told his son, speaking as he usually did when on a hunt; decisively and confidently.

Dean's eyes widened slightly but he just nodded and jogged out into the parking lot, taking a small pen light from his jacket pocket to illuminate the pavement beneath his feet.

W

John walked around the side of the motel, no so much searching for signs of where Samuel might have gone, as mulling over his dream.

It had been so real that he didn't know what to think.

Maybe… just maybe…

No, John thought, that's impossible. Mary was dead and buried; she had been for nearly seventeen years now. Although John Winchester was the last person to appear an unbeliever- he dealt with supernatural crap on an almost daily basis- he could not believe that the deceased reached out to loved ones from beyond the grave… at least not like that.

John closed his eyes and he saw his wife standing before him. Her expression trouble yet beautiful all the same, her sapphire eyes filled with love and kindness, her golden hair looked as soft as he remember it, her skin a lovely ivory… every physical feature so perfectly rendered by his unconscious as it never had been before.

John raised his hand to his face, still feeling Mary's cool palm against his cheek.

"Damn it all," he muttered, "Why now, Mary? Why not twelve years ago when Sam was missing and Dean and I needed your guidance instead of a bunch of dead ends?"

The eldest Winchester didn't get an answer; not that he'd been expecting one anyway, and sighed tiredly.

His wife must be so disappointed in him. He had his son, his Sammy, right there and he'd scared him away.

John smiled as he thought of a Mary's response whenever they had had an argument. He'd ask what he could do to make it up to her and his wife would give a little smile and tell John that he could start with giving her a hug.

John knew that a hug wasn't going to make up for what had happened but it was a start.

SPN

Dean swore out loud as he searched- apparently in vain- for some clue as to where the young man could have gone.

It was his fault that Sammy had been kidnapped all those years ago and now it was his fault that Samuel had run away.

The parking lot pavement was not a good medium for leaving tracks so Dean moved towards the edge, where the forest beyond was separated from man by a ribbon of green turf.

Shining his penlight close to the ground, Dean smiled triumphantly when he caught sight of the distinct markings of shoes in the soft grass.

"Dad!" he shouted as loud as he could and John came running from around the side of the motel, "What'd you find?"

Dean gestured with the light to the trampled grass as his father approached, "I think he went for a little hike."

John clapped a calloused hand his son's shoulder but didn't say anything. Dean felt proud nonetheless for his father's silent praise.

Carefully, the two Winchesters followed the trail into the forest, their sharp eyes seeking out broken branches, scuffed bark and disturbed leaf litter.

W

They had been walking for close to two hours and the forest was showing no signs of thinning. The sky was now pink and orange in the east and clearly illuminated the way Samuel had gone.

The father and son did not speak much, only raising a voice to point out another clue or piece of evidence: "He must have leaned against that tree to rest" or "Why did he crawl over that log? He could have avoided it."

Dean was wondering if they were simply going to continue following Samuel's endless trail when he suddenly held his arm out, stopping John from walking any farther.

"Dad! Look!" he pointed to the ground in front of them- it showed signs of a struggle- leaves and dirt had been churned up, a small hawthorn bush was sporting fresh broken branches and there was a dark red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood on the trunk of a nearby birch tree.

John moved around his son and scrutinized the area, eyes taking in everything.

"He was coming back this way when he was attacked," the eldest Winchester said matter-of-factly.

"Attacked? By what? An animal?" Dean asked. He wasn't sure but he thought that only animal large enough to attack a human was a black bear.

John shook his head, "There's no tracks leading to this spot except for Samuels… you see?"

Dean followed his father's gaze and indeed saw only the teen's footprint.

"What happened?" he asked out loud, confused.

John ran his hands through his hair for a moment and walked around the area, trying to get a better idea of what happened. Hell, he even looked to the trees, knowing that sometimes Wendigos took their prey into the branches so they could eat in peace without being disturbed by other predators.

"It's like he was fighting with whatever grabbed him and then just vanished," Dean muttered.

John crouched down and examined the second set of tracks- only found inside the area where the struggle had occurred- and brushed a hand over some of the dry, crumbly leaves.

Standing, John made to wipe his hands off but paused, turning his hand over so he could see his palm and frowned. A very faint, yellowish dust coated the tips of his fingers where he'd touched the leaves.

Dean watched as John raised his hand to his face and breathed in through his nose.

Meeting Dean's gaze, John spoke one word that turned his son's blood cold, "Sulfur."

Author's Note:

1. Yes, I know, another cliffhanger… Hopefully this longer chapter makes up for it (at least, I think this is longer than the previous chapters). I will try to update sooner; I'm kind of on a roll now and my muse is practically shouting in my ear. Please enjoy!

2. Thanks to Samstruck, judyann, Demon2Angel, Sivadkristal1447, L.A.H.H, BranchSuper, Allen92909, MysteryMadchen, doyleshuny, reannablue, AlxM, mb64, sarah, Julie, cold kagome, Tiny wabbit, SPN Mum, peacenparis, Souless666, belleblack101, Violet Eternity, Serenityhimesheppard, sarah, Ishouldbesleepingitslike4am, Dobby'sPolkaDottedSock and Guest for reviewing.

3. Thanks to everyone who alerted, followed or favourited.

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