(no subject)
Disclaimer: These boys aren't mine.
Pairing: implied wincesty thoughts
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: Spoilers for "Nightmare"
Summary: Dean has a secret.
Author's Note: A thousand thank you's to
acostilow for the beta.
Family Secrets
By Ello_Kitty
Dean keeps secrets.
Well, obviously.
He's had secrets since as far back as he can remember. Since Mom died, keeping secrets has been solid constant in his life. It's become a reflex, just like lying about identity and pretty much anything to get the information they need.
By now? It's as simple and as easy as breathing or blinking. Lying and keeping secrets have pretty much gone hand in hand so far. It's real easy to not tell people that your family hunts supernatural creatures for a living when they think you're a cop, an FBI agent...or a priest. A lie leaves no room for unwanted questions because that's the way lies work. You can work them and work them in your head until they are just right, with proof and ready-made answers to the questions that you know will be coming.
Lying is easy and you just get better over time. Dean thinks that by now, he must be an expert. He can lie to anyone, anywhere--even his own family. Though sometimes Dean thinks it would be nice not to have to lie to everyone; that it would be nice to just tell the truth once in a while. In all honesty, it feels good at the end of a case to let the people know that he and Sam do this for a living, that they drive all over the country saving lives. The good citizens clap them on the shoulders and the praise feels so good that Dean feels like he might want to proclaim his secret life to the whole world. But then he remembers that the world is a cruel place and not everyone can be as gracious and without-ridicule as the people whose lives have just been saved.
Dean's glad he doesn't have to keep his secrets from the whole world. At least he has Sam and Dad. Though, it's different with Dad because even though they hunt demons as family and do things that fathers and sons would normally never, ever do--John is still his father, Dean is still his son and there are some things that you only discuss with a brother. Dean has millions of secrets and Sam knows almost every single one them.
Almost, at least.
On the way to Roger Miller's, Dean grips the wheel a little tighter and pushes on the pedal a little harder because Sam is freaking out about the whole 'visions of death' mini-series running on his one-channel brain in the only way he knows how: rambling questions at Dean that no one on earth has the answers to. Dean thinks this can't really be the time to burst out with a secret he's been holding in for years--Sam would probably blow a circuit.
"Tell me the truth, you can't tell me this doesn't freak you out!"
Dean digs down deep into the truest part of himself and tells the truth which Sam obviously takes as a white lie, by the slight incredulousness that tinged his eyes, and Dean thanks God for it because the last thing he wants to do is explain the reason why.
"This doesn't freak me out."
Dean feels a whole new wave of what is probably guilt--something he hasn't felt in quite a long time. Dean rarely ever feels guilt about lying to people because, the fact is that the lies are for their own good. It's different with Sam, though: he kinda feels guilty for not telling Sam after all this time.
Dean's kept this secret down so far deep inside him that even he's almost forgotten it. Yet he can't deny that since that first night, when Sam demanded they go back to Lawrence, it's been really nagging at him from a distant corner of his mind.
The dreams started out small. It was close to Sam's birth date when Dean started having the first dreams out of the ordinary categories of television characters, friends and family members. There were blurs of light; red, orange, and yellow, dark, moving shadows and blue flickering flames in the center of it all. None of it really scared Dean, and he figured the dream was because of the pain he'd felt earlier in the day when he touched the stove instead of heeding his father's word.
He had the dream at least 6 more times before Sam was born. The most vivid remembrance was only hours before Sam's birth, when Dean had fallen asleep in his father's arms in the waiting room. The heat from the fire in his head felt so real, but when he awoke he realized it must have been his father's warm arms wrapped tight around him. If Dean remembered having the dreams he probably would have recalled them the night their mother died, but during that time all he thought about was holding onto Sammy tight and realizing that he would never see his mother again.
As he can remember, Dean didn't have dreams like that again until after Sam was long gone at Stanford. It was just he and Dad working the jobs; their trio cast down to a duo. Dean got better, faster, and stronger. There were even times when Dad let him work a case on his own--only the open and shut ones though; never something that could go real unexpected real fast. Dean was finally a grown man in his father's eyes and he loved being allowed to do the things that were so heavily forbidden back when he was young.
Just days after Sam left Dean started having dreams of random things he'd never seen before. The very first one was of a license plate, a woman crying, a swing set and a blue sedan. The same four things over and over, going faster and faster until they blurred together and Dean sat up in the middle of the night. Curiosity got the better of him and when his father sat at the kitchen table buried under piles of newspapers and a laptop, Dean went to the library to do a little research of his own. It was a long shot, but he check anyway and got his first shock. The license plate had been issued in Oklahoma.
It took a while, a long while, and Dean had nearly given up searching when he came across it. Dozens of missing children out of Newcastle, all snatched from their own backyards; two or three off their own swing set's when their parents weren't looking. It seemed like a normal kidnapping case with no supernatural tinges; the only thing Dean had to go on was how he felt--like it was something more than what it seemed. Dad wouldn't agree to check it out unless he had some significant proof. Dean had to find something....anything that would make him agree to go.
And suddenly, there it was: another police report. Taken from one of the women whose sons were kidnapped. Just days earlier, her neighbor claimed that the boy was outside underneath the wheels of his mother's car--his mother's blue sedan. The mother, Ann Whittaker, claimed that she had just put him down for a nap and had no idea how he had gotten there. It was as if he just appeared there.
"And the kicker is," Dean had explained eagerly to his father, "the ankle biter's only 8 months old. There was no way he could have walked out there."
Dean's hopes and fears were met as they nosed around in Newcastle. It was a demon that was snatching the kids: right along their line of work. There was something about Ann in particular that made her stand out from all the other parents: she was the only who had previous problems with her son, Patrick. Ann had a rocky past and in desperate measures she'd made a deal with the a nasty demon. The classic first-born-son deal.
When John and Dean appeared to her as FBI agents, she lied to them at first. It took at least two or three more tries until John finally got the info out of her. Patrick was the one that the demon wanted all along and the other children were merely taken in threat from Ann's friends, family and neighbors in order for her to get the picture. Ann cried as she explained to them that she never thought it would amount to anything, that she hated herself for not believing supernatural forces would try to take her child away. The first chance he got, Dean found her Quigi board, salted it for good measure and burned it in the backyard. The whole case took about 3 or 4 days, but John and Dean successfully stopped that baby-snatching bastard and were back home by the end of the week searching for another case.
In bed that night they returned home, Dean decided this was a gift--the dream he had; just another way to help save people against things they don't understand. But as time wore on and Dean had more and more dreams that lead to more and more cases, his supposed 'gift' became a burden. Often he had dreams so indiscernible that he burned himself to the core trying to figure out the visions, but was never able too. There were times that the investigations were total failures and Dean's temper could not be contained.
He was frustrated with the spontaneity and utter distortion that the visions often appeared in. He was convinced that his head was, well, fucking with his head which was totally weird in a way that maybe only their family could understand.
Dean staved off sleep as much as could and then took sleeping pills on the nights when he just couldn't take it anymore. He never told his father about the dreams; it was hard enough hearing his father cry their mother's name at night only a bedroom away. He wouldn't burden his father with any more than they had to deal with already. Instead, Dean blocked his own mind. For a while, it worked. He went weeks without any dreams at all. And then they started up again. The exact day John left for the hunt that would force Dean to get Sam for help.
Weeks after Jessica's death, after the Wendigo and the plane demon, Dean's dreams seemed to have ceased altogether. Finding Dad became the main priority and that's all he ever thought about--second to keeping Sam safe, of course. Dean had his little brother back and he was not going to lose him again. Then out of the blue, they started up again after the incident with bloody Mary. And now they've been coming on a regular basis: once, maybe twice every two weeks. They're clearer and steadier than they had ever been and it didn't even occur to Dean to wonder why...until Sam turned into the freakin' Psychic Wonder.
When Sam started having dreams, Dean was the one who was there to comfort him, hold him in his arms, soothe him and make him feel safe. After all those nights of stroking Sam's soft hair, rubbing his back and lulling away from a fitful sleep, Dean's sure that he can't ever let his dreams break him down like that. If he and Sam were to both become helpless against their own psyches, prisoners of agonizing precognitive visions, then there would be no one there to stop them both from going crazy.
Dean knows he has to be the strong one. The big brother is supposed to care for and protect the little brother, no matter how much the damn little brother protests--it's a law of nature.
Dean would tell Sam about his dreams--really he would--if he knew that Sam would not over-react. Sam over-reacts about everything. He also picks at everything: the way Dean acts, the things he says, sometimes even what he wears, what he eats--everything. Dean's brain is his inner sanctum. Even though Sam thinks he knows what's going on in there 24/7, he can't really ever know. And now that this telepathic shit has bubbled to the surface, Dean is dead-set on not wanting to tell him. If Sam found out, he'd want to analyze it and study it like he does the whole goddamn universe. Damn college boy would want to prod and poke him like a damn alien specimen.
Dean's brain is sacred, a place that no demon has yet to penetrate. Dean has always secretly prided himself in the fact that he's never been possessed, unlike Sam, whose head has been a freakin' proverbial pasture for free range spirits.
Sam picked the scab on the wound and now Dean's telepathic secret is oozing slowly from his skin. He knows he'll have to tell Sam when the time is right--which with their luck will probably be when they're about to bleed to death. Now is definitely not the right time to tell him and there probably will never be a "right time".
But for now, Dean can just let a little bit of the truth slip free. Sam's whole situation doesn't freak him out because he's been through it before. Though, Dean's never had visions while he's been awake and that really scares the crap out of him.
But he will never let it show.
It's all about Sam, it has been since they were kids and it's Dean's job as a brother to soothe that terrified gleam out of his little brother's big, green eyes.
When Sam stalks the room as they pack to leave, worrying his mind and no doubt worrying a hole in the carpet, Dean swallows his thoughts and does what God put him on this earth to do--besides kill supernatural sunofabitches: reassure and protect his precious kid brother. Dean's gut drops rock bottom when Sam tells him that he moved that cabinet with his mind.
"Oh....right," is all that Dean can muster out because he's been dreading something like this. Sam says it came out of him like a punch when he saw Dean die, like some freak adrenaline thing and all Dean can say is, "I'm sure it won't happen again." He lowers his head, rolls up his jeans and on in his head the wheels begin to turn. Perhaps he's underestimated Sam's 'silly-ESP-thing'. He doesn't want to think about what might happen next.
"Aren't you worried man?! Aren't you worried that I could turn into Max or something??"
No shit he's worried. But he's also determined as hell.
"Nope, no way. Know why?"
"No, why?"
"Cause you got one advantage that Max didn't have."
"Dad? Cause Dad's not here Dean."
"No. Me." Dean looks into his little brother's soft, green eyes. "And as long as I'm around nothing bad is gonna happen to you."
There's an 'I love you, you know' in the back of Dean's throat and he knows he won't say it, but he's afraid Sam might because he can just see it reflected in the look his brother is giving him.
Always quick on his feet, Dean makes a joke about taking Sam and his premonitions to Vegas and Sam gives him his classic 'I-CANNOT-believe-YOU' look and takes off out the door. Pissing off his little brother has always been in Dean's nature (so has avoiding the chick-flick moments) and the added plus is that bitching at Dean for not taking this whole telekinesis business seriously will keep Sam occupied for a good, long while. Dean watches Sam as he gets into the car and he feels his face drop.
He's worried about Sam, more worried than he has been in a long time, Dad's off hunting something that is "bigger than they think" and Dean has a feeling that the shit is about the hit the fan real soon.
They take off and the Impala bleeds into the black of night. Sam lectures him for a long stretch of road before Dean drowns him out with the radio and Sam slowly, but surely, falls asleep on his shoulder.
Sam's head fits nicely against the dip of his arm and Dean is glad to focus on Sam's silken soft brown hair, his long lashes, the cupid bow curve of his lips; a welcome change from his mind insistently nagging him because it knows what will happen next. Dean drives down the long, dark stretch of highway trying hard not to think about what might happen if he and Sam start having the same dreams, having the same visions; how these premonitions will effect their hunting; about Sam learning secrets that he was never meant to know; about what it might mean for their relationship; about what Dad might think.
Dean tries to avoid it all; to just shut his mind off from the questions and ideas that keep bolting through him like lightening. He kisses Sam on the forehead and watches as his eyelashes flutter at the touch.
'Oh, Sammy,' Dean thinks as his lips twist into a tiny smile and he turns his eyes back to the road. He turns up his Motorhead tape just enough so when Sam mumbles "my name's Sam" in his sleep, Dean's too busy humming along to hear.
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