Fic: Spirit Animal Tales II
Spirit Animal Tales II
By PaBurke
Summary: Dean is a Sentinel and it’s not all that easy.
Spoilers: All of Sentinel, Season 4 of Supernatural
Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me.
(first part here)
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Dean vaguely remembered cold, rain, something pinging on his radar, but still being someone he could trust. A man, sure and strong, treating him as an equal even though Dean couldn’t stand without his stomach rebelling and hearing too much and the light too bright and he wanted to scratch off his skin like a skinwalker. Need to make sure Sammy was safe. Sam’s voice was a shelter in the overload talking with a different trustworthy man. Sam’s heartbeat led the way to safety. Then Sam pulling Dean’s arm over his higher shoulder and directing Dean to leather-soft, sweat-Dad, blood-his own, salt-the spare bag under the driver’s seat, gun oil-how recently had Sam cleaned the guns the Impala. The purr of the engine lulled Dean to sleep. He still itched and the headlights of oncoming cars were still too bright even if Dean had his head under his leather jacket on the back seat-stunk of semen, he really needed to stop bringing girls into his baby.
Sam stopped somewhere and pushed Dean into a shower. The water was too hard and it itched, but the soap soothed his skin. Dean nearly fell asleep standing up, but then Sam yelled at him and threw a brand new towel at his head. No, not brand new, Dean could smell detergent and fabric softener. It was still warm from a dryer. When Dean was dry, Sam handed him clothes.
“They’re white,” he protested. “And stupid looking.”
“They won’t irritate your skin,” Sam answered back. Then he smiled in such a way that Dean remembered from the prank wars. “Besides, I already took your other clothes out to the Impala. Your choices are white, or bare assed.”
Dean glared and Sam -smelled happy at his snit- stood firm. “The sooner you put them on, the sooner we can get on the road and to Bobby’s.”
Dean sighed and relented. He put on the soft cotton pants and shirt. He had seen outfits like these before. Dean’s eyes followed the weave of the pants from his waist to his ankle and it was all in focus and distinct. There was a slight mistake in the weave about shin-level of his right leg. “Is Bobby starting a cult?”
“No, jerk. He’s giving us a place to keep our heads down until you get a handle on your senses.”
“I have a handle on my senses,” Dean protested.
“Really?” Dean could smell skeptical. “What do you want for lunch?”
Dean’s stomach lurched at the thought. “Maybe a couple days won’t hurt anything.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sam’s heartbeat was a little high and that tiny tick by Sam’s eye that normally happened when Sam was lying seemed to be a canyon on his face.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“It can wait. There’re a lot of things you need to learn. We can take our time until you learn it all. It’s not like you have to hurry to return to work in earn a paycheck.”
“We’re not going to be a burden on Bobby.”
“Of course not. I can always pick up a job in town. And you can help out around the junkyard.”
“It’s not going to take me that long.”
Sam waited.
“Spit it out,” Dean growled.
“Blair seemed to thinks that you would do better if you have a consistent territory.”
“Settle down?” Dean knew the tone of his voice was as if Sam had suggested that he start wearing pink tutus.
“At least until your senses settle out.”
“Who is this Blair-guy and what does he really know?”
Sam huffed. “He’s just the only living expert on sentinels. He helped me help you in Cascade.” He paused, “do you remember Cascade?”
“Cold, wet, loud?”
“Pretty much.” Sam handed over white socks and hemp sandals.
Dean stared down at them. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”
“They’ll be comfortable,” Sam wheedled. “No itching. You’re boots will be fine once we get all the dye that rubbed off from your socks out of them. It’s not like anyone here knows who you are or will ever see you again.”
Dean looked around; finally awake enough to do so. They were at a truck stop with showers. Truly, there weren’t many people around since it was in the middle of the day. He reached into the shower to grab the shampoo and soap that he had used.
Behind him, he could hear Sam’s soft noise of protest. “I can take care of that. You just get yourself to the car.”
It was too late. “Baby-safe?” Dean read the bottle labels out loud. Thankfully, it also meant that there was no fragrance assaulting his nose. So he didn’t smell like a chick or a baby for that matter. He just smelled clean. “You had to go out of your way to make me wash with baby safe stuff. Are we starting another prank war?”
“You’re not itching now. You were drawing blood with your own nails before.” Sam snatched the bottles out of his hands. “Ellison uses it and doesn’t whine like a baby about it.”
“Who the hell is Ellison?” Dean asked. Ellison sounded like a pansy. He looked at his arms and could see the slightly raised and red skin from where he had scratched. He could see the tiny, individual blood clots. He didn’t itch nearly as much but wasn’t willing to tell Sam just yet.
Sam collected everything, packed it up with swift, economical movements and started toward the parking lot. “I’ll tell you once we’re on the road.”
Dean followed slowly. He saw a couple of Sam’s girly hairs on the floor near the bench. Sam must have run his hands through his hair a lot while Dean was in the shower. He had been worrying. Dean picked up the hairs and put them in the trashcan. No reason to leave evidence lying around. Sam was climbing into the driver’s seat when Dean meandered over. He was feeling good enough that he wanted to drive, but Sam merely glared at him.
“No,” as if he could read Dean’s mind. “We don’t know how long your senses will be fine and I’m not going to be killed in a car accident because of your pride.”
“Fine, fine,” Dean grumbled -Sam smelled of relief. He sat in the passenger’s seat and only waited until Sam had turned the key in the ignition. “Who the hell is Ellison, how sure are you of this Blair character and what is this nonsense of territory?”
“Ellison is like you,” Sam started at the being as he steered the vehicle onto the freeway. “You’re called Sentinels. You have all five senses -actually six now that I think about it- heightened beyond normal bounds and you use those senses to protect the tribe. Ellison has used the senses to be named Cop of the Year six times running. And it’s not a title for political favorite,” Sam cut off Dean before he could open his mouth to say something snide. “Ellison earned it because he and Sandburg routinely solve more and harder cases than anyone else in Cascade. Before he used his senses as an Army Ranger in Peru. He finished a mission after every other member of his team had died. He was solo for eighteen months.”
Sam paused to breath and Dean considered the information already delivered. Dean decided that if this Ellison-dude could use these senses to be the best cop out there, then Dean could conquer his body and use the senses to be the best hunter out there. He would rule his body; he would not let his body rule him. “Sixth sense?” he asked just to throw Sam off whatever line of shit he was planning on feeding his brother.
“Ellison could see spirit animals. So you probably can too. You probably can see other things easier too. Ghosts and other prey. Your spirit animal is a griffin, by the way.”
Dean couldn’t help but grin and straighten a bit at the pronouncement. Griffins were badass. They were top of the supernatural food chain. In some unforgettable moment of memory, Dean saw a griffin come and go freely from hell without being touched by the ugliness.
Huh.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to remember that.
He had opened the door to those memories and now remembered pain overwhelming pain oh stopstop make it stopSammyplease make it stop.
Sam was shaking him. He wasn’t in hell anymore. Dean was a bit embarrassed. Sam had had to pull over the car to get Dean out of his memory.
Sam was looking at him with concerned eyes. At least he didn’t ask if Dean was okay. “What did you zone on?” he asked.
“Zone?” Dean croaked.
“When you concentrate on any one sense, you block out everything else and lose perception. You need to identify why you zoned and it’ll happen less often. Think of it as training. Only after you have completed this training will we be hunting again.”
Dean wanted to protest the declaration, but knew better. Zoning would put him in danger which would, in turn, put Sam into danger. QED, Dean had to comply with at least this part of Sam’s training program. He told himself that it was like learning a new gun. He always took it to the range and shot a few rounds to get a feel for it. This would be the same thing only a little more involved.
“Dean?”
“Huh?”
“What did you zone on?”
Dean let a blush color his cheeks as he lied. “I was trying to see my griffin.”
Sam grinned and huffed and swallowed the lie, hook, line and sinker. “If he’s contrary like you, he’ll show himself at the most annoying time possible.”
Dean looked out the windshield to avoid his brother and saw something in the sky. He automatically focused and caught his breath. “Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Are dragons good or bad news? The mythology on them is ‘bout 50-50 good/bad on them, right?”
Sam didn’t answer and Dean tore his eyes away from the impossible sight to face his brother. “If I say that I see a green dragon in the sky just kinda travelling, sight seeing, does that mean anything to you?”
“It’s my spirit animal,” Sam confessed. “Probably. Ellison said it was anyway.”
Dean turned back to the sky and watched the animal. “Huh.”
“Green?” Sam echoed.
“Yep.”
“I need to do some research.”
Dean laughed. It just seemed so normal in a really weird way. “If that’s what floats your boat.”
“You should sleep before we get to Bobby’s.”
“Dude, I’ve been sleeping for days.”
“No,” Sam argued. “You’ve been zoned or with your senses spiked for days. That is not restful to your body. Just close your eyes and rest. You don’t have to sleep.”
Dean glared -and swallowed a yawn that was threatening to come out. He might be a little bit tired, but he really didn’t want to be reasoned with as if he was two. He didn’t want to go down for a nap as if he was two. He didn’t want to be whining like a two year old being put down for a nap.
So Dean decided that silence was wise, put on his now constant companion of dark sunglasses and ‘looked out the window.’ If he saw more of the back of his eyelids than the landscapes, only he knew, right?
He last thought before sleep claimed him was Sammy smelled happy.
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