Born Again Part Twelve of Twelve: The Judgement
Author: Twilight
Feedback: Always welcome
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Dean is going out of his mind and Sam…Sam’s just gone.
Notes: Parts of this story is based on a documentary I saw a year or so ago. I started writing this not too many episodes into season five. I would say this takes place mid season five, somewhere before Abandon all Hope and then goes AU.
Part One
Part Twelve: The Judgment
It was raining...
The air was cold on his face...
The field where he found himself standing was unnaturally quiet...
Sam's eyes moved upward.
The sky was darker than dark, pitch-black...
Starless...
Endless...
Luring him...some...power drawling him in...
As if at any moment, gravity would cease to exist and he would be helpless but to float up and away...
He didn't know how long he stared into the depths of nothingness, time had no power over him in this place, but he managed to pull his eyes from the gaping hole above him.
Sam shivered in the windless night, soaked as if he had been standing in the down pour for hours.
He pulled his flimsy jacket closed at the collar, wrapped his arms around his quaking body.
Then, dream like, he found himself sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, clothes dry now, jacket completely gone, roaring down a foreign, rain-soaked stretch of road.
The old car's engine vibrated through his hands and forearms, down his torso and legs, all the way to his toes, rumbling deep and familiar.
The tires silently ghosted over the wet asphalt.
The double yellow lines in the center of the road stretched on endlessly, but he wasn't sure of where he was going...from where he had come from, just that he needed to continue...he could feel a compulsion deep in his bones.
As the tree-lined miles passed, the road never bending or turning, he began to feel claustrophobic...trapped, like a rat in a maze, always moving but never finding an exit, the plaything of something bigger than he, something sinister...something evil.
The wipers thumped a frantic rhythm against the rain streaked windshield, keeping time with his thunderous heart and as each moment passed, he felt like he was hurtling closer and closer to some unseen force, something full of malice and hatred, something that wished to not only harm him, but to destroy his very being.
The radio suddenly popped on, one of Dean's cassette tapes cycling, mullet rock blaring out of the old speakers, the turning dial spinning from station to station, but the music was broken by static.
Panic took root in his gut, gooseflesh ran along his arms and he felt like someone was watching him, something out there in the darkness, so he pressed down hard on the accelerator, but the old Chevy kept a steady speed of eighty-five.
He pushed on the brakes too, but even with both feet, the car refused to slow.
Frantic, he let go of the steering wheel, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and tried pulling up on the latch that locked the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
He looked around, heart squeezing wildly in his chest, trying to find something, anything that could help him, anything that would tell him why he was here and not…where was he suppose to be?
Am I dreaming...
They had been in…Wisconsin?
He remembered he and Dean had landed in some shitty motel after torching the bones of a jilted husband and he was…he went out to get them food, but he needed to do something first...
Flashes of a young gas station attendant whipped around the inside of his brain, followed by the tangy taste of key lime pie...a bus ride to nowhere...visions of hospital corridors...and a small room that locked from the outside...people he didn’t know…
Fear gripped him tightly, anxiety bubbled in his belly and sickness worked its way up Sam's throat.
Up ahead, in the distance, he could make out a faint silvery-blue surge of color in the darkness, as if perhaps lightning had struck something solid and the car began to automatically slow, coming to rest on the side of the road.
When he opened the door, he found no resistance, was surprised to find that he was stepping down from an old blue pick up truck instead of the Impala.
The rain abruptly stopped, leaving the driveway he was standing in awash with puddles.
The house in front of him was familiar, comforting, but that uneasy feeling flooded back, and Sam knew, it wasn't real...he wasn’t safe here...
He needed to get away…he needed to find Dean…where was Dean?
In his minds eye, he saw them driving together…Dean had brought Sam to this place after…but no, that wasn’t right…Anna was with him in the Impala…why was she driving Dean’s car?
The front door to the house slowly swung inward and a small warm light shown through the opening.
He had no recollection of moving, yet he found himself standing in front of the open door.
Conversations, talking and laughing drew him over the threshold and he stumbled back a step or two when he saw them…people Sam had known and yet...not...not in this setting anyway.
Anna and his old college buddy Zack sat on the sofa, watching a football game, but that made no sense...they didn’t belong together and he thought that this must surely just be a vivid dream, images and people mixed up in his muddled brain.
The couple didn't look up, didn't notice him as he walked through the room and to the back of the house. The kitchen smelt of baking turkey and at the counter he spotted a kindly old woman that use to sometimes watch him while his dad was away on a hunt, but he couldn’t remember her name…and there, at the stove, her backed turned to him was Jessica.
He would recognize her anywhere.
She turned, smiling, walking toward him and pulling him in close to her. ‘You've made it…I’ve missed you, baby…’ and he held onto her tightly, because she was here with him and he didn't want to let go, not yet...he wanted to be here with Jessica and if this was a dream, then he never wanted to wake again.
And then, he was suddenly standing back from her, yet he didn't remember moving away.
Jessica was still in front of him, warm smile on her face, hands resting in his, but the house around them shuddered and shook, fell away piece by piece, the old lady, the stove with the baking turkey, the food on the counter, the kitchen table and chairs, the walls and then...it was just gone.
They were standing in the woods, fall foliage littering the ground and crunching under his shifting feet.
He felt her watching him, watched him as he looked around, watched as he tried to work out what was happening and then she pulled him in again and said, ‘I don’t blame you, baby…my death...it wasn't your fault.’
He crumbled at her words, his whole body shuddering and he ran his fingers through her golden hair, softly kissed the side of her head.
'I'm sorry...so so sorry...'
She hushed him, ran her hands along the plains of his back and dotted soothing kisses to his neck and then she said, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere…but now that I’ve found you...we can be together forever.’
Sam’s eyes were still tightly closed, tears slowly leaking from the corners, but he sensed something had changed.
The air smelt different, charged with a strange odor...and Jessica's words reminded him of another time, another dream...and the warm body in his arms felt different now, bigger, and stronger and he was afraid to open his eyes.
His own body was released from the embrace.
‘You can look Sam…I don’t want you to be afraid,’ and the voice was still soothing, but not Jess’…she wasn’t here…she had never been here with him, he knew that now, just as he knew who the voice had belonged to.
‘My brothers have tried to hide you…even my very own creations, but can’t you see, Sam…you were made for me…a gift and I plan to use you…’
He shook his head, eyes still pressed tight.
He felt a cool hand, callused and hard stroke his cheek, ‘it wasn’t my plan, Sam. I didn’t want this, but just like you, I have no choice.’
Sam yanked away from the caress, falling back a few steps against the rough bark of a tree and his eyes opened and he saw…
Lucifer.
‘You only need to say yes and we can end this, Sam…you won’t have to be afraid anymore…your brother will be safe…even Bobby if that’s what you want.’
And something deep inside him wanted to give in, to stop running, but then he thought about Jess, the real Jess, his mom and dad and Dean…
The sky darkened and the strange silvery light returned, shrouding them in its iridescent glow and Sam watched as the devil moved closer and closer, so close he could reach out and touch Sam again, and as his hand came up to rest on Sam’s shoulder, Sam found himself bolting up from a couch in a room he had once thought of as home.
He stumbled off the couch, pillows falling to the floor and when he looked around the room he saw that Dean was tucked into the chair, head canted back in sleep, mouth hanging open and Sam’s dream or vision or whatever the hell it had been had not woken his brother.
Sam moved down the hall, not wanting to wake Dean, his heart finally settling to a steadier rhythm, but his stomach felt queasy and sick.
He looked around the rooms and remembered.
His life…or what he had thought to be his life.
The kitchen was a mess, the chair broken down to tiny splinters and he wondered if Dean were responsible.
He found himself moving down the hall, looking in at his studio and the pallet of paintings he had tried to complete, understanding their dark themes now that he had awaken to his real self.
The bedroom bed was unmade and that sick feeling worked its way up his throat at the thought of what he had done there, under the delusion that the body he had made love too was his beloved Jessica.
He just made it to the bathroom, hunching over the toilet, bringing up whatever he had eaten last until there was only dry heaving.
And then he thought, was any of this real...or had he finally gone around the bend?
Maybe he was still back in the hospital…maybe Dean and Bobby and Cas were figments of his own mentally ill psyche and Tess was real...Lanna and Zack and Dr. Morgan... and this world he inhabited now, had just woken too, where the devil was seeking to destroy him, was after his very soul, was the made up musings of a sick mind.
But then Dean was leaning over him, his solid and firm hand resting between his shoulder blades and Sam knew…Dean was real…this was his life.
“Slow breaths, Sammy…that’s it. You’re okay now…it’s gonna be okay.”
He let Dean guide him up and press a glass of cool water into his hands.
He took a small drink and swished it around his mouth, spitting it into the sink before sipping the rest.
“I don’t know about you, man…but I’m ready to get out of here," and Dean took the glass from his trembling hands, sat it on the counter and led Sam to the front door.
They stepped out of the place he had thought of as home and into the woods.
When Sam turned to look instead of a house he found a single door standing amongst the trees and as he watched, even that disappeared.
“I know,’ his brother told him. ‘it's messed up…but it was never real, you hear me, Sammy?’
Sam found that he couldn’t answer, couldn’t get his mouth to move, so he gave a feeble nod and let Dean guide him up a deer path and to a little road. He recognized Bobby’s van and the man himself came rolling around from the side and right up to him.
“Come here, boy,” and Sam folded over to meet him in a hug, enduring the pounding of affection on his back and when he pulled away he ignored the looks on both his brother and Bobby’s faces.
Instead he pulled open the door to the van and crawled in, laying down on the back bench and Dean came in after him, laying an old army surplus blanket over his trembling and huddled form, “I know, Sammy…I know, but it’ll get better…I promise, okay…it’ll get better.”
Sam wished he could believe him, but he knew…whatever his future held, it wouldn’t ever be any better.
The two front doors slammed as Bobby settled in the driver’s seat and Dean in the seat across from there, but his brother turned in the chair, laying a hand on Sam’s head as Bobby pulled away.
He didn’t mean to jump at the touch, didn’t mean to pull away and he didn’t want to see the look of hurt on his brother’s face, and so he closed his eyes.
SNSNSNSN
“Damnit, Bobby…where the hell can he be?” Dean glanced out the window and to the back yard of Bobby’s house.
“Take it easy, Dean…he just went for a walk…I made sure he had his new cell on him.” Bobby puttered around in the kitchen, putting together some ham and cheese sandwiches, pouring milk in some glasses, setting the little kitchen table for four.
Dean didn’t want to point out a fat lotta good that did the last time…
But he needed to calm down because this was different.
Sam wasn’t missing.
“How’s he gonna use the phone anyway…it’s been days and he hasn’t even said one freaking word…what if…”
It had been three days since they had taken Sam from that other reality and his brother had been withdrawn and skittish ever since, like he expected that Dean would morph into someone else any second, like he couldn’t quite believe this existence was real or worse, that the other one was real and Sam was some how stuck in between, unable to tell the two apart and it was killing Dean.
He had tried everything…played their standard tunes on the trip home, stopped at their usual places to eat, trying to show Sam, to prove to him, that this was his life…not that that was a very good thing either, because at least when Sam had been someone else, he was safe…for awhile…safe from the angels and demons and the devil.
Cas said that Sam had started to remember who he was and because of that, the devil could have found him, but Dean was having a hard time wrapping his head around anything Cas had said.
Some things just didn’t add up.
Bobby rolled over to the coffee machine, pouring a little something extra in his mid-day coffee while they waited for Sam to return and offered Dean a mug too. “Don’t worry, kid…Sam just needs to process this…needs to wrap his head around what’s real and what’s not…it’ll blow over”
Dean sunk into his chair, picking up his cup and blowing on the dark brew a few times before sipping. The solid burn from the liquor additive soothed down his throat and warmed his belly and he tried to believe what Bobby was telling him, but something seemed…well the problem seemed bigger some how, like he didn’t know all the facts and that didn’t sit well in his gut.
And it wasn’t like Cas was willing to help.
Dean hadn’t seen him since they had talked to Anna…and what the hell?
Why would Anna decide, on her own, that to protect Sam, she would need to make him into someone else…
Missouri walked into the kitchen, eyeing them both, but she sat in the chair she had claimed as her own and picked up her milk. “He’s almost home, Dean…should be coming up the back steps any minute.”
Missouri had been here since they had brought Sam home. Was parked on an old worn rocker on Bobby’s porch when they had pulled up, but even she couldn’t get Sam to tell them what had happened to him and since Anna wouldn’t come when Dean summoned her, they were all still in the dark.
They heard booted treads on the wooden risers and then Sam stepped across the porch, stopping before getting to the door.
Dean could hear the springs from the dilapidated swing that was bolted to Bobby’s porch frame, could hear the groaning of wood from Sam’s weight as he settled in.
He looked toward the opened window again, but Missouri stood, “let me see if I can get him to come in.” and then she was through the door and Dean could hear her soft lilt as she spoke to his brother.
More groaning from the swing and then the back door opened again and Sam came in, Missouri close behind him.
His brother folded his frame onto the kitchen chair, looked at his sandwich and milk, picking up the first and pulling at the crusts.
Dean hadn’t seen that move since Sammy had been fourteen, upset with their father about some thing or the other.
“I can make you something else, Sam…maybe some soup?” and Bobby pushed back from the table, but Sam reached out and touched the man’s arm.
“This is fine…thank you,” Sam said, lowering his eyes again, as if he were ashamed of something, as if he were the one that had done something wrong, but Dean was just so damn happy that his brother had spoken.
And then he was at a loss for words.
He wanted to ask Sam so many questions, wanted to know what his brother was thinking, what he was feeling, but his tongue was suddenly thick and clumsy in his mouth and then Sam asked, “do I…do I sound like myself?”
It was a strange question, but Dean was quick to nod his head, reassure Sam that he sounded like he had always sounded, but wondered at the question all the same.
“It’s just…that back there,’ and then Sam sighed, “I was told I had an accent…told that I was from another country and I could hear myself when I spoke…” he looked like he didn’t know how to finish what he wanted to say, but they all waited on him anyway. “I guess after a while, I just didn’t notice it anymore and I wondered…”
“Don’t worry, Sam,” Missouri reached over to take Sam’s hand and gave his knuckles a gentle squeeze. “Those memories will fade, over time, like a dream, you’ll know they had happened, but it won’t seem so real anymore.”
Dean wanted to ask how she knew that, but then Missouri shot him a disapproving glance, like she was reading his freakin’ mind and she probably was, so he let it go.
“I was thinking,” he said, between chews, talking with his mouth full, “maybe we should start looking for a hunt, get back into the swing of things.” Because he thought, that maybe going back to something familiar would help Sam forget faster what had happened to him.
Not that Dean wanted to leave Bobby’s or the safeness and comfort he had found here, but they all had work to do…the world was coming to a bloody end and if they didn’t do anything to stop it, no one else would.
Sam managed to eat half his sandwich, pushing his plate back from him before draining his glass. “I guess that thing I was looking at back in Wisconsin would have drawn another hunter, but I’ll check it out.”
His brother stood then, making his way to Bobby’s study and fired up his laptop.
Dean was wondering what thing Sam was talking about, because he and Bobby couldn’t figure it out all that time ago, but what did it matter now...by the time he had joined Sam, perching on the end of Bobby’s desk, still nursing his spiked coffee, Sam had found something hinky going on in Florida. People where disappearing and there had been sightings of some sort of scaled creature…it seemed like it could be their kind of thing.
“You don’t need to run off,” Bobby joined them, reading an article that Sam had printed from the local paper and the sightings. “You don’t need to be in a hurry.”
Sam stood then, smiling down at their friend slash pseudo father figure and said, “Thanks Bobby, but I’ve been on a long enough vacation…thanks for…well for everything, I guess.”
His brother’s eyes traveled to him and then back to Bobby and Bobby nodded, knowing that Sam was thanking him for taking care of Dean.
“You want to head out at first light,” Dean offered, because he was torn between getting back to their life and staying and letting Sam heal a little more, but Sam shook his head.
“Nah, lets hit the road.”
He followed his brother up the steps and watched as he stopped at the foot of his bed, looking down at the duffle that even after ten months, Dean had never unpacked. The dirty clothed that Sam had been wearing and the ones he had tossed onto the bathroom floor were washed and neatly folded beside the bag and after a second, Sam unzipped the duffle and shoved the clothes in. “Thanks, Dean.”
And Dean knew that Sam was thanking him for more then the clean laundry…was thanking him for not giving up, for finding him, for coming to bring Sam home.
People just don’t disappear, Dean…other people just stop looking.
“Anytime, Sammy,” and Dean meant it.
The car started right up and Dean popped in a cassette tape, turning the music up as loud as it would go and then drove off, tires spinning.
He looked to Sam and Sam looked back, a shy smile ghosting across his face and Dean knew that when Sam was ready, he would tell him about that other life and until then, Dean would wait, he had gotten really good at waiting.
The End
Feedback: Always welcome
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Dean is going out of his mind and Sam…Sam’s just gone.
Notes: Parts of this story is based on a documentary I saw a year or so ago. I started writing this not too many episodes into season five. I would say this takes place mid season five, somewhere before Abandon all Hope and then goes AU.
Part One
Part Twelve: The Judgment
It was raining...
The air was cold on his face...
The field where he found himself standing was unnaturally quiet...
Sam's eyes moved upward.
The sky was darker than dark, pitch-black...
Starless...
Endless...
Luring him...some...power drawling him in...
As if at any moment, gravity would cease to exist and he would be helpless but to float up and away...
He didn't know how long he stared into the depths of nothingness, time had no power over him in this place, but he managed to pull his eyes from the gaping hole above him.
Sam shivered in the windless night, soaked as if he had been standing in the down pour for hours.
He pulled his flimsy jacket closed at the collar, wrapped his arms around his quaking body.
Then, dream like, he found himself sitting behind the wheel of the Impala, clothes dry now, jacket completely gone, roaring down a foreign, rain-soaked stretch of road.
The old car's engine vibrated through his hands and forearms, down his torso and legs, all the way to his toes, rumbling deep and familiar.
The tires silently ghosted over the wet asphalt.
The double yellow lines in the center of the road stretched on endlessly, but he wasn't sure of where he was going...from where he had come from, just that he needed to continue...he could feel a compulsion deep in his bones.
As the tree-lined miles passed, the road never bending or turning, he began to feel claustrophobic...trapped, like a rat in a maze, always moving but never finding an exit, the plaything of something bigger than he, something sinister...something evil.
The wipers thumped a frantic rhythm against the rain streaked windshield, keeping time with his thunderous heart and as each moment passed, he felt like he was hurtling closer and closer to some unseen force, something full of malice and hatred, something that wished to not only harm him, but to destroy his very being.
The radio suddenly popped on, one of Dean's cassette tapes cycling, mullet rock blaring out of the old speakers, the turning dial spinning from station to station, but the music was broken by static.
Panic took root in his gut, gooseflesh ran along his arms and he felt like someone was watching him, something out there in the darkness, so he pressed down hard on the accelerator, but the old Chevy kept a steady speed of eighty-five.
He pushed on the brakes too, but even with both feet, the car refused to slow.
Frantic, he let go of the steering wheel, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans and tried pulling up on the latch that locked the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
He looked around, heart squeezing wildly in his chest, trying to find something, anything that could help him, anything that would tell him why he was here and not…where was he suppose to be?
Am I dreaming...
They had been in…Wisconsin?
He remembered he and Dean had landed in some shitty motel after torching the bones of a jilted husband and he was…he went out to get them food, but he needed to do something first...
Flashes of a young gas station attendant whipped around the inside of his brain, followed by the tangy taste of key lime pie...a bus ride to nowhere...visions of hospital corridors...and a small room that locked from the outside...people he didn’t know…
Fear gripped him tightly, anxiety bubbled in his belly and sickness worked its way up Sam's throat.
Up ahead, in the distance, he could make out a faint silvery-blue surge of color in the darkness, as if perhaps lightning had struck something solid and the car began to automatically slow, coming to rest on the side of the road.
When he opened the door, he found no resistance, was surprised to find that he was stepping down from an old blue pick up truck instead of the Impala.
The rain abruptly stopped, leaving the driveway he was standing in awash with puddles.
The house in front of him was familiar, comforting, but that uneasy feeling flooded back, and Sam knew, it wasn't real...he wasn’t safe here...
He needed to get away…he needed to find Dean…where was Dean?
In his minds eye, he saw them driving together…Dean had brought Sam to this place after…but no, that wasn’t right…Anna was with him in the Impala…why was she driving Dean’s car?
The front door to the house slowly swung inward and a small warm light shown through the opening.
He had no recollection of moving, yet he found himself standing in front of the open door.
Conversations, talking and laughing drew him over the threshold and he stumbled back a step or two when he saw them…people Sam had known and yet...not...not in this setting anyway.
Anna and his old college buddy Zack sat on the sofa, watching a football game, but that made no sense...they didn’t belong together and he thought that this must surely just be a vivid dream, images and people mixed up in his muddled brain.
The couple didn't look up, didn't notice him as he walked through the room and to the back of the house. The kitchen smelt of baking turkey and at the counter he spotted a kindly old woman that use to sometimes watch him while his dad was away on a hunt, but he couldn’t remember her name…and there, at the stove, her backed turned to him was Jessica.
He would recognize her anywhere.
She turned, smiling, walking toward him and pulling him in close to her. ‘You've made it…I’ve missed you, baby…’ and he held onto her tightly, because she was here with him and he didn't want to let go, not yet...he wanted to be here with Jessica and if this was a dream, then he never wanted to wake again.
And then, he was suddenly standing back from her, yet he didn't remember moving away.
Jessica was still in front of him, warm smile on her face, hands resting in his, but the house around them shuddered and shook, fell away piece by piece, the old lady, the stove with the baking turkey, the food on the counter, the kitchen table and chairs, the walls and then...it was just gone.
They were standing in the woods, fall foliage littering the ground and crunching under his shifting feet.
He felt her watching him, watched him as he looked around, watched as he tried to work out what was happening and then she pulled him in again and said, ‘I don’t blame you, baby…my death...it wasn't your fault.’
He crumbled at her words, his whole body shuddering and he ran his fingers through her golden hair, softly kissed the side of her head.
'I'm sorry...so so sorry...'
She hushed him, ran her hands along the plains of his back and dotted soothing kisses to his neck and then she said, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere…but now that I’ve found you...we can be together forever.’
Sam’s eyes were still tightly closed, tears slowly leaking from the corners, but he sensed something had changed.
The air smelt different, charged with a strange odor...and Jessica's words reminded him of another time, another dream...and the warm body in his arms felt different now, bigger, and stronger and he was afraid to open his eyes.
His own body was released from the embrace.
‘You can look Sam…I don’t want you to be afraid,’ and the voice was still soothing, but not Jess’…she wasn’t here…she had never been here with him, he knew that now, just as he knew who the voice had belonged to.
‘My brothers have tried to hide you…even my very own creations, but can’t you see, Sam…you were made for me…a gift and I plan to use you…’
He shook his head, eyes still pressed tight.
He felt a cool hand, callused and hard stroke his cheek, ‘it wasn’t my plan, Sam. I didn’t want this, but just like you, I have no choice.’
Sam yanked away from the caress, falling back a few steps against the rough bark of a tree and his eyes opened and he saw…
Lucifer.
‘You only need to say yes and we can end this, Sam…you won’t have to be afraid anymore…your brother will be safe…even Bobby if that’s what you want.’
And something deep inside him wanted to give in, to stop running, but then he thought about Jess, the real Jess, his mom and dad and Dean…
The sky darkened and the strange silvery light returned, shrouding them in its iridescent glow and Sam watched as the devil moved closer and closer, so close he could reach out and touch Sam again, and as his hand came up to rest on Sam’s shoulder, Sam found himself bolting up from a couch in a room he had once thought of as home.
He stumbled off the couch, pillows falling to the floor and when he looked around the room he saw that Dean was tucked into the chair, head canted back in sleep, mouth hanging open and Sam’s dream or vision or whatever the hell it had been had not woken his brother.
Sam moved down the hall, not wanting to wake Dean, his heart finally settling to a steadier rhythm, but his stomach felt queasy and sick.
He looked around the rooms and remembered.
His life…or what he had thought to be his life.
The kitchen was a mess, the chair broken down to tiny splinters and he wondered if Dean were responsible.
He found himself moving down the hall, looking in at his studio and the pallet of paintings he had tried to complete, understanding their dark themes now that he had awaken to his real self.
The bedroom bed was unmade and that sick feeling worked its way up his throat at the thought of what he had done there, under the delusion that the body he had made love too was his beloved Jessica.
He just made it to the bathroom, hunching over the toilet, bringing up whatever he had eaten last until there was only dry heaving.
And then he thought, was any of this real...or had he finally gone around the bend?
Maybe he was still back in the hospital…maybe Dean and Bobby and Cas were figments of his own mentally ill psyche and Tess was real...Lanna and Zack and Dr. Morgan... and this world he inhabited now, had just woken too, where the devil was seeking to destroy him, was after his very soul, was the made up musings of a sick mind.
But then Dean was leaning over him, his solid and firm hand resting between his shoulder blades and Sam knew…Dean was real…this was his life.
“Slow breaths, Sammy…that’s it. You’re okay now…it’s gonna be okay.”
He let Dean guide him up and press a glass of cool water into his hands.
He took a small drink and swished it around his mouth, spitting it into the sink before sipping the rest.
“I don’t know about you, man…but I’m ready to get out of here," and Dean took the glass from his trembling hands, sat it on the counter and led Sam to the front door.
They stepped out of the place he had thought of as home and into the woods.
When Sam turned to look instead of a house he found a single door standing amongst the trees and as he watched, even that disappeared.
“I know,’ his brother told him. ‘it's messed up…but it was never real, you hear me, Sammy?’
Sam found that he couldn’t answer, couldn’t get his mouth to move, so he gave a feeble nod and let Dean guide him up a deer path and to a little road. He recognized Bobby’s van and the man himself came rolling around from the side and right up to him.
“Come here, boy,” and Sam folded over to meet him in a hug, enduring the pounding of affection on his back and when he pulled away he ignored the looks on both his brother and Bobby’s faces.
Instead he pulled open the door to the van and crawled in, laying down on the back bench and Dean came in after him, laying an old army surplus blanket over his trembling and huddled form, “I know, Sammy…I know, but it’ll get better…I promise, okay…it’ll get better.”
Sam wished he could believe him, but he knew…whatever his future held, it wouldn’t ever be any better.
The two front doors slammed as Bobby settled in the driver’s seat and Dean in the seat across from there, but his brother turned in the chair, laying a hand on Sam’s head as Bobby pulled away.
He didn’t mean to jump at the touch, didn’t mean to pull away and he didn’t want to see the look of hurt on his brother’s face, and so he closed his eyes.
SNSNSNSN
“Damnit, Bobby…where the hell can he be?” Dean glanced out the window and to the back yard of Bobby’s house.
“Take it easy, Dean…he just went for a walk…I made sure he had his new cell on him.” Bobby puttered around in the kitchen, putting together some ham and cheese sandwiches, pouring milk in some glasses, setting the little kitchen table for four.
Dean didn’t want to point out a fat lotta good that did the last time…
But he needed to calm down because this was different.
Sam wasn’t missing.
“How’s he gonna use the phone anyway…it’s been days and he hasn’t even said one freaking word…what if…”
It had been three days since they had taken Sam from that other reality and his brother had been withdrawn and skittish ever since, like he expected that Dean would morph into someone else any second, like he couldn’t quite believe this existence was real or worse, that the other one was real and Sam was some how stuck in between, unable to tell the two apart and it was killing Dean.
He had tried everything…played their standard tunes on the trip home, stopped at their usual places to eat, trying to show Sam, to prove to him, that this was his life…not that that was a very good thing either, because at least when Sam had been someone else, he was safe…for awhile…safe from the angels and demons and the devil.
Cas said that Sam had started to remember who he was and because of that, the devil could have found him, but Dean was having a hard time wrapping his head around anything Cas had said.
Some things just didn’t add up.
Bobby rolled over to the coffee machine, pouring a little something extra in his mid-day coffee while they waited for Sam to return and offered Dean a mug too. “Don’t worry, kid…Sam just needs to process this…needs to wrap his head around what’s real and what’s not…it’ll blow over”
Dean sunk into his chair, picking up his cup and blowing on the dark brew a few times before sipping. The solid burn from the liquor additive soothed down his throat and warmed his belly and he tried to believe what Bobby was telling him, but something seemed…well the problem seemed bigger some how, like he didn’t know all the facts and that didn’t sit well in his gut.
And it wasn’t like Cas was willing to help.
Dean hadn’t seen him since they had talked to Anna…and what the hell?
Why would Anna decide, on her own, that to protect Sam, she would need to make him into someone else…
Missouri walked into the kitchen, eyeing them both, but she sat in the chair she had claimed as her own and picked up her milk. “He’s almost home, Dean…should be coming up the back steps any minute.”
Missouri had been here since they had brought Sam home. Was parked on an old worn rocker on Bobby’s porch when they had pulled up, but even she couldn’t get Sam to tell them what had happened to him and since Anna wouldn’t come when Dean summoned her, they were all still in the dark.
They heard booted treads on the wooden risers and then Sam stepped across the porch, stopping before getting to the door.
Dean could hear the springs from the dilapidated swing that was bolted to Bobby’s porch frame, could hear the groaning of wood from Sam’s weight as he settled in.
He looked toward the opened window again, but Missouri stood, “let me see if I can get him to come in.” and then she was through the door and Dean could hear her soft lilt as she spoke to his brother.
More groaning from the swing and then the back door opened again and Sam came in, Missouri close behind him.
His brother folded his frame onto the kitchen chair, looked at his sandwich and milk, picking up the first and pulling at the crusts.
Dean hadn’t seen that move since Sammy had been fourteen, upset with their father about some thing or the other.
“I can make you something else, Sam…maybe some soup?” and Bobby pushed back from the table, but Sam reached out and touched the man’s arm.
“This is fine…thank you,” Sam said, lowering his eyes again, as if he were ashamed of something, as if he were the one that had done something wrong, but Dean was just so damn happy that his brother had spoken.
And then he was at a loss for words.
He wanted to ask Sam so many questions, wanted to know what his brother was thinking, what he was feeling, but his tongue was suddenly thick and clumsy in his mouth and then Sam asked, “do I…do I sound like myself?”
It was a strange question, but Dean was quick to nod his head, reassure Sam that he sounded like he had always sounded, but wondered at the question all the same.
“It’s just…that back there,’ and then Sam sighed, “I was told I had an accent…told that I was from another country and I could hear myself when I spoke…” he looked like he didn’t know how to finish what he wanted to say, but they all waited on him anyway. “I guess after a while, I just didn’t notice it anymore and I wondered…”
“Don’t worry, Sam,” Missouri reached over to take Sam’s hand and gave his knuckles a gentle squeeze. “Those memories will fade, over time, like a dream, you’ll know they had happened, but it won’t seem so real anymore.”
Dean wanted to ask how she knew that, but then Missouri shot him a disapproving glance, like she was reading his freakin’ mind and she probably was, so he let it go.
“I was thinking,” he said, between chews, talking with his mouth full, “maybe we should start looking for a hunt, get back into the swing of things.” Because he thought, that maybe going back to something familiar would help Sam forget faster what had happened to him.
Not that Dean wanted to leave Bobby’s or the safeness and comfort he had found here, but they all had work to do…the world was coming to a bloody end and if they didn’t do anything to stop it, no one else would.
Sam managed to eat half his sandwich, pushing his plate back from him before draining his glass. “I guess that thing I was looking at back in Wisconsin would have drawn another hunter, but I’ll check it out.”
His brother stood then, making his way to Bobby’s study and fired up his laptop.
Dean was wondering what thing Sam was talking about, because he and Bobby couldn’t figure it out all that time ago, but what did it matter now...by the time he had joined Sam, perching on the end of Bobby’s desk, still nursing his spiked coffee, Sam had found something hinky going on in Florida. People where disappearing and there had been sightings of some sort of scaled creature…it seemed like it could be their kind of thing.
“You don’t need to run off,” Bobby joined them, reading an article that Sam had printed from the local paper and the sightings. “You don’t need to be in a hurry.”
Sam stood then, smiling down at their friend slash pseudo father figure and said, “Thanks Bobby, but I’ve been on a long enough vacation…thanks for…well for everything, I guess.”
His brother’s eyes traveled to him and then back to Bobby and Bobby nodded, knowing that Sam was thanking him for taking care of Dean.
“You want to head out at first light,” Dean offered, because he was torn between getting back to their life and staying and letting Sam heal a little more, but Sam shook his head.
“Nah, lets hit the road.”
He followed his brother up the steps and watched as he stopped at the foot of his bed, looking down at the duffle that even after ten months, Dean had never unpacked. The dirty clothed that Sam had been wearing and the ones he had tossed onto the bathroom floor were washed and neatly folded beside the bag and after a second, Sam unzipped the duffle and shoved the clothes in. “Thanks, Dean.”
And Dean knew that Sam was thanking him for more then the clean laundry…was thanking him for not giving up, for finding him, for coming to bring Sam home.
People just don’t disappear, Dean…other people just stop looking.
“Anytime, Sammy,” and Dean meant it.
The car started right up and Dean popped in a cassette tape, turning the music up as loud as it would go and then drove off, tires spinning.
He looked to Sam and Sam looked back, a shy smile ghosting across his face and Dean knew that when Sam was ready, he would tell him about that other life and until then, Dean would wait, he had gotten really good at waiting.
The End