A/N: Ugg! So it's past two in the morning, and I was going to go to bed because I need to get up relatively early tomorrow. I'm almost at the end of the one shots I have stored up on my computer, and so have been starting new ones. I don't have any of them done yet so I though, 'damn-- no new post tonight'. But... I found one! One that I forgot about, and that isn't half bad (ok-- I do have a few stories done, but none that you'll want to read... one is even a death fic). Now, I realize that my reviews and hits are dwindling because it's around the holiday time, but for those of you like me, who have no life or are really bored-- I'm staying up even later, and posting this one shot for you! Enjoy!
Title: Nightmare
Genre: Suspense.
Summary: A Wee!Chester story-- Sam has a nightmare in the middle of the night and turns to the only person he knows can help; Dean. The only problem is that Dean is missing.
No matter how fast he ran, he couldn't get away from it. It kept getting closer and closer, the hot breath burning the back of his neck. His legs moved fast, but the thing's moved faster, and with a painful jolt, he found himself laying face first on the ground, sharp, penetrating claws digging into his back.
"Dean!" Sam cried out sitting bolt upright in bed.
The room was dark, and the five year old stared around, wishing his eyes would adjust. Soon the lame orange glow from a streetlight outside allowed the youngster to see. The bed to his left which usually held his big brother was now empty.
"Dean," Sam's heart beat quickly, "Dean, I had a bad dream. Dean... where are you?"
The clock read in its large, red letters 4:17, and Sam looked at the door in hopes of seeing the hall light on. Maybe Dean had gotten up to use the bathroom-- but the lack of any light seemed to play against that idea.
"Dean," Sam spoke louder, tears crawling their way down his face at the memory of his nightmare.
Pushing back his blanket, Sam turned and looked again at the bed. The ten year olds covers were pushed back aside revelling the sheets and a sideways pillow. Taking a deep, shaking breath, Sam dropped his bare feet to the cool ground, and took the one large step to the bed.
"Dean please," Sam sobbed out quietly as he moved around the blanket in a vane attempt to find Dean, "I'm scared Dean… please don't joke."
Sam was merely five, though he knew already how to get his big brothers attention. The word 'scared' was the trigger word-- the word that would end all joking and playing, and would draw Dean out into a serious mode. When Sam was four, Dean played a trick on him where he turned out all the lights in the basement while Sam was down there. Sam began to cry and call for Dean to quit it, but the older brother just laughed. It was when Sam called out that he was scared that Dean turned the lights back on and apologized.
But now.
Still no Dean.
"Daddy," Sam breathed out and stumbled over to the door, his toe cracking sharply against the corner of his desk.
Tears of pain came to the youngsters eyes, but he didn't care. Their Dad had always told them to look out for each other-- that if one of them was in trouble to find him right away. Surely Dean missing in the middle of the night was reason to be worried.
Once in the hallway Sam limped to the light switch and, going on the tips of his feet, flicked it on. Yellow light illuminated the hallway, and Sam looked down to his foot, which bleed lightly on the hardwood floor. New tears started to come down his face, but he refused to think about it as he quickly checked the living room, dining room and bathroom to make sure Dean wasn't there.
He wasn't.
"Daddy!" Sam called, hobbling over to their Dad's room, and opened the door, "Daddy."
A tired moan came from the dark room and a moment later a small end light illuminated from the end table. John's tired face squinted up at the doorway where his youngest son stood, panic and tears on his face.
"Sammy?" John sat up, his white t-shirt twisted in with the sheets, "Sammy, what's wrong son?"
"Daddy," a hiccoughed sob escaped from Sam's mouth, "It's Dean."
John swung the covers off the bed, and stood up, "What about Dean?"
Tears rolled down Sam's face, "He's gone."
"What?" John rushed to the door, and noticed the blood droplets on the floor, "Sammy, what happened to the floor?"
"I hurt my toe," Sam's lower lip quivered, "But Daddy, Dean's gone. He's not in bed."
John took a deep breath and lifted Sam up into his arms, inspecting his foot as he walked down the hall. The cut didn't seem that bad, but the fact that Dean was missing at nearly four-thirty in the morning sent a cold feeling down John's spine. Quickly he stopped at the bathroom, and placed Sam on the closed toilet.
"Sammy," John spoke urgently as he grabbed a face cloth and wet it, "I want you to hold this to your foot. And don't go anywhere."
"What about Dean?" the red faced boy looked fearfully up at his Dad.
"Don't worry, I'll find him," John assured, "But just stay here-- I'll be back."
Sam nodded and John left the bathroom, heading to the room his sons shared. Quickly he flicked on the light and looked towards the bed-- sure enough Dean's was empty.
"Dean!" John called out in an authoritative voice, "Dean!"
He opened the closet door wide, and looked into nothing but dirty cloths and old toys. It took ten minutes before every light in the house was turned on, and John had searched every room. His youngest son cried loudly in the bathroom still and severe panic was beginning to set into John as he struggled to think of where Dean could be.
Sam sat in the bathroom, the blood covered cloth still held to his foot. His heart was pounding, and his breath was coming in deep gasps when the phone rang. As soon at the first ring entered his ears, Sam knew that it was bad news. His five year old brain screamed at him that he should run, to lock the door, to do anything. But he couldn't, and Sam just sat there, his tears and sobs silent now as after a few minutes John slowly walked in.
"Sammy," a tear crawled down John's face.
"No," Sam let the cloth drop to the floor as he shook his head, "No Daddy… please… no."
"That was the police," John's voice was quiet, "They- they found Dean."
"Dean…" Sam shook all over.
"Something attacked him," John swallowed hard, "… he didn't make it."
"No!" Sam cried out, jumping to his feet; his foot crying out in pain.
"It's ok Sammy," John put his hand out, "It's alright," his eyes suddenly flashed yellow and a large smile splashed across his face, "… it's your turn now."
"No!!" Sam screamed out crashing backwards against the shower door.
Everything was dark and Sam jolted upwards, his five year old heart furiously pounding in his chest.
Where was he?
"Dean…" the sob came out, memories mixing in with confusion.
To his surprise a mumble came from his left.
"Dean!" Sam cried out, tears splashing down his face.
"What--" the sudden voice of Dean rung out, and the light on the end table turned on, "Sammy?"
"Dean!" Sam's voice choked out again, as he stood up on his bed and leaped over to Dean's.
"Sammy, what's wrong?" Dean's voice was tired, though was laced with worry as he held onto the shaking boy.
"D-Dean… you… Daddy… no…" Sam's muffled voice was spoken into Dean's pyjama top as he hugged Dean with all what little strength he could.
"Shh Sammy," Dean's voice shook, "It's ok-- I'll- I'll go get Dad."
"No!" Sam sobbed, "No, don't leave. Please…"
"What's wrong?" Dean tried to pull Sam away to get a better look, "Sammy, come on."
"No…" Sam's crying voice was persistent as the young boy sat awkwardly half on Dean's lap.
Dean was about to force Sam off when the door opened up and Dean looked up to see their Dad standing there.
"Dean?" John took a quick pace to the bed, "Dean, what's going on?"
"I don't know," Dean admitted worriedly, "He just woke up crying."
"Sammy?" John sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled his youngest away from Dean, "Sammy come on now. I need you to look at me."
"Daddy?" Sam was shaking, and seemed reluctant to look at John, "Daddy no…"
"It's ok Sammy," John smiled, "It was just a dream."
That seemed to get Sam's attention as he took a deep, shaking breath and looked around. With no warning he burst into tears again, though this time clung onto John. John let this go on for nearly a minute, rubbing his back gently, trying to calm the young boy down while whispering reassurances.
"It's alright Sammy," John moved Sam back, "You just have to calm down. You're going to make yourself sick."
Sam took a deep, quivering breath.
"That's good," John nodded, "Now, come on-- I'll take you to get cleaned up, and Dean will go and get you some juice."
John looked at Dean who nodded and immediately jumped out of bed. John lifted up Sam, who moulded himself into John's chest as he walked into the bathroom. Sam tensed at this, but soon calmed as his Dad placed him down on the counter by the sink.
"Alright," John smiled turning on the water, "Want to tell me what happened?"
Sam sat there as John wiped his face with cool water.
"I had a dream," Sam whispered out hoarsely, "A bad one."
"What happened?" John questioned.
Sam's lower lip trembled, the memories still clear in his mind, "Something bad hurt Dean. And then it hurt you, and was coming to me."
John grinned again and brushed back some stray hair from his youngest sons face, "Well it was just a dream Sammy-- everything is ok. Dean's alright, and so am I," he looked in the tear filled eyes, "And so are you. Ok?"
Sam nodded just as Dean walked into the bathroom with a glass of apple juice.
"Drink this," John took the cup and gave it to Sam, "You'll feel better, and then you can go back to bed."
"Is he ok?" Dean asked quietly from the door.
"Yeah," John nodded, "Yeah, he's ok. He just had a bad dream, that's all."
Dean nodded and looked up at his red faced brother who finished the drink. Sam still looked scared and shaken, though much better than he had in the bedroom.
"Alright," John cleared his throat, "Are you ready to go back to bed now Sammy?"
Sam nodded his head, and John helped him off the counter. The three headed back down the hall, and into the small bedroom which the brothers shared. Dean crawled back into his bed, and Sam hesitantly got into his.
John walked over, pulled Sam's covers up, and ran his hand gently across his pink cheek, "Goodnight Sammy."
"'Night Daddy," Sam whispered out.
"Goodnight Dean," John spoke towards the other bed.
"'Night Dad," Dean called out.
The door was closed, and the room was put into darkness again. Both brothers lay awake, Dean listening for any sound from his little brother, and Sam squeezing his eyes shut, tears threatening to leak out again.
"Dean…?" Sam's quiet and scared voice rung out after a few moments.
Dean smiled to himself, "Come on Sammy."
An instant later, Sam had climbed out of his bed and snuggled in beside his big brother in his. Dean shifted over to make room for the still scared five year old.
"Goodnight Dean," Dean could hear the relief in Sam's voice as he curled up next to him.
Dean grinned and rubbed Sam's shoulder reassuringly, his eyelids getting heavy, "Goodnight Sammy."