When The Past Returns To Haunt You.

Summary. . . . . . . . . What if the rabbits foot wasn't the only thing taken from John's Storage unit? What if something that haunted Sam so long ago was taken also? Something with a lust for revenge, and a need to finish what he started all those years ago. An AU sequel to The Nutcracker.

Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . If they were mine they'd still be together! Okay, well I can't use this disclaimer anymore. All things recognizable belong to Kripke.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . Okay, so the crazy shifts have finished, but they've left me seriously messed up when it comes to sleeping, so please forgive me if this chapter comes across as just a bunch of random drabble, and for the lateness, Peanut x

"Sam?" Dean inquired as he watched all the color drain from his siblings features. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?" He added when no response was forthcoming.

Sam forced his swirling thoughts and emotions to calm down as he witnessed the worry creep onto Dean's face. He wanted to answer his brother, but he really didn't know how to. What could he say? He couldn't tell his brother what was bothering him because he really didn't know what was. He couldn't say he was fine though, that nothing was wrong, because not only would that piss Dean off, it was untrue. Something was wrong, an unnerving feeling was festering in the pit of his stomach; a feeling that felt familiar to him, but for the life of him he couldn't quite place a finger on when and where he had felt it before. He took a deep breath before answering as honestly as possible. "I'm okay Dean." He halted the smart ass retort from his sibling by adding. "I just have a weird feeling."

"About what?"

"That's just it, I don't know. I had it at the lock-up, then felt it stronger at those guys apartment."

"Maybe it was just the foot? Or maybe you were sensing those bozo's Gordon sent?"

"Yeah. . . . . . . . . . . Maybe. . . . . . . . . . . I just think it was something more, something evil, something I've felt before, but I can't place it ya know?"

"D'ya think it was demon related?"

"No. . . . . . . . . I don't know. . . . . . . . . God Dean maybe you're right, maybe it was the foot, or maybe I'm just imagining the whole thing?" He rolled over onto his side so that he was facing into the room, groaning a little as the movement pulled on the neat row of stitches Dean had just finished.

"You okay?" Dean asked again as he heard the groan and noticed the pained look to his brothers face. "You sure you don't want any pills?"

"Nah, I'm good. I think I'm just gonna sleep for a while if that's okay?" Sam replied, his eyes drooping as he spoke, the past few days finally catching up with him.

Dean watched as his brother slowly succumbed to exhaustion, watched as he wriggled further down the bed and turned over again in his sleep, his sleep shirt riding up revealing the puckered skin on his stomach that had never quite healed right, burn scars that were repeated to a lesser extent on his legs and arms, they were nothing though compared to the carvings inflicted upon his chest from his encounter years before with a four foot supernatural puppet. Dean shuddered as he remembered The Nutcracker and the agony it had put his brother through, Sam suffering for months after the encounter. Surgeries to graft new skin to his damaged; nights of suffering through crippling nightmares, terrors he couldn't remember when he woke; days of feeling insecure and vulnerable, clinging to Dean or his Dad, or withdrawing into himself, yet not knowing the reason why; his mind closing what had happened to him deep inside itself, Sam never fully recalling just what he had been put through.

He tried to push those thoughts to the back of his mind as he pushed himself from Sam's bed and crossed the short distance to his own, collapsing onto it and settling down, his hand reaching for the remote control and idly flicking through the channels, his mind though unwilling to allow him to fully relax. Why had the Nutcracker suddenly re-entered his thoughts? He'd seen Sam's scars numerous times over the years, but never had the puppet crossed his mind, why had it today? He briefly wondered if it had anything to do with Sam's strange feelings, but the thought flittered away as his own tiredness let itself be known and he succumbed to the sleep his body requested.

SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNS

He chuckled evilly to himself as the man screamed and writhed beneath his ministrations. Decades of being stored in what can only be called as his coffin, had not passed by without it's rewards. Many times, as he lay within his wooden confines, had he heard the whispers and cries of other items who were also captured and stored there, his still alert mind soaking up everything, storing and remembering it incase he should ever have chance to escape and reek havoc on those who had halted the ritual and taken away from him that what was rightfully his. He was using that stored information now, a tidbit he had overheard a shaman stick whisper, a way to allow yourself to control others into doing your bidding, he knew it wouldn't last long, knew he wouldn't have the strength to repeat it again, but it should last long enough to help him recapture his true goal. He halted his chanting as it seemed the man, Grossman, was about to pass out, he needed him awake and alive, needed his human form to perform tasks he could not yet do, needed him to be his own puppet until he could reclaim his true prize and return to the human form that was stripped from him all those years ago, and stripped again when he was so close to returning by John Winchester.

He laughed as the man stopped screaming and fell quiet upon the dirt strewn floor of the warehouse he had made him acquire, Grossman's mind now plagued with images, and broken by words that would allow the Nutcracker such easy access to manipulate. He walked away from the prone man, knowing he would never leave him, and stood quietly in one of the dark shadowed corners, his wooden body shutting down, soaking up the fear that rolled from the man and using it to replenish his deteriorating strength. He would need every ounce, for tomorrow he would start again on his quest to become human again; tomorrow he would begin his search for his prize; tomorrow Sam Winchester would once more be in his sights.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . . That's all for now folks! As always thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed, catch you soon, Peanut x