In My Dreams of Fire, I See You Part 2
Part 1
Anja's art post
XXXXX
It’s been three weeks and Dean’s no closer to finding Sam Winchester or figuring out who the pyrokinetic is. He’s been through every file they have on every known pyrokinetic the PCU has on file and he’s come up with nothing. Not even the partial files have been helpful.
Between that and Winchester dropping off the grid completely Dean’s frustrated. He’s been across the country twice now following weak leads and random sightings. Dean hates flying and the agency won’t let him drive the Impala on official business so he’s stuck in a shitty rental and flying cramped plains. It’s making him cranky.
And tired.
The dreams haven’t been helping. Dean refuses to call them visions even if he has a feeling his dreams aren’t exactly his own. Nearly every night since Sam escaped Dean’s been dreaming of Winchester’s hazel eyes. Sometimes there’s more to the dream, sometimes there’s fire, sometimes random diners or motels, sometimes there’s just endless fields speeding by from a car window. But none of it is detailed enough to help him find Sam.
Two days later Dean jolts awake from another dream. There’d been a fire, a powerful consuming burn that eats up a two-story house too quickly to save anyone or anything. Inside there was a woman screaming and a baby in a crib not making a sound. And in the center of it all is the pyrokinetic, the flames dancing around him but never touching. In his dream Dean knows the mother is going to die and the pyro will live but he's not sure about the baby. And then, just as a fireball is about to consume everything he's standing outside the house and a voice - Sam’s voice - is giving him an address, telling him that he 'has to stop this Dean. You can't let this happen.'
And then he's awake.
The address leads him to a perfectly respectable neighborhood with a perfectly respectable two-story home that is very much whole and intact and not a pile of smoldering ash. The house comes complete with husband, wife and newborn baby. And Monica, Charlie and baby Rose are all very much alive.
But Dean can't shake the feeling that something is going to happen; that Sam sent him here for a reason. And Jesus when did he start taking orders from the man he's trying to track down?
Still Dean doesn't want to take a chance and that night he goes back, settles into his not too comfortable rental car and waits. Watches.
By the third night Dean's ready to call it quits. He's already had to swap rentals - this time he's got a more reasonable SUV - so as not to raise attention to his lurking and Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can stay in his stuffy hotel room.
Dean hates stakeouts. They've always been the most tedious part of his job and he's not good at just sitting still. So he's annoyed and tired and pissed that he let Winchester send him on a wild goose chase, ready to drive away when he glances back at the house and sees someone in the nursery on the second floor. Someone who doesn't match the build of Charles Holt. Someone who's suddenly standing in the middle a growing fire.
Dean's running for the house, kicking down the front door before he realizes it. The house is quiet, locked down for the night but Dean can already feel the heat from the fire, the smell of smoke filling the air. Dean starts up the stairs, nearly colliding with Charlie who's coming at him with a baseball bat. Dean ducks the first swing and manages to push Charlie up against the wall, holding him still while he pulls out his badge. If he can get Charlie to calm down, get him out of the house, its one less person he has to worry about.
"Listen to me. Listen to me. I need you to calm down." Charlie tries to push Dean off, glancing up the stairs where his wife and daughter are still in danger.
"Listen, we don’t have time to fight. I'll get Rosie and Monica out, I promise. But I need you to wait outside. We'll be right behind you. I promise."
Charlie takes one last tortured look up the stairs. The hallway is glowing slightly and smoke is clogging the air. He gives Dean a hard look before wrenching himself away, running down the stairs and out the front door.
Dean pulls off his suit jacket and grabs a towel from the pile of laundry at the top of the stairs to help him breath. It’s getting hard to breath and the growing smoke makes it difficult for Dean to get his bearings. He can hear screaming coming from somewhere in front of him, the nursery he assumes. Dean fights his way forward, trying to see through all the smoke.
Finally, he makes it into the nursery. There’s suspiciously little smoke but there are flames everywhere, climbing up the walls and curling around corners, rolling along the ceiling. Monica is trapped in a corner, desperate to get to her daughter who's still lying peacefully in her crib. The fire wraps around the crib but it’s not touching it, hasn't started eating into the wood yet. And just like in his dream, standing in the middle of it all is the man Dean saw through the window. He turns and looks at Dean, staring him down, a nasty smile on his face, his eyes reflecting the fire, crazy and yellow in the firelight.
Dean recognizes him immediately from Sam’s vision, from his own dream a few nights ago. It’s definitely the pyrokinetic he’s been searching for.
He turns away from both Dean and Monica, dismissing them both, and heads straight for the crib.
Dean draws his gun from its holster and aims it straight at the guy.
"Step away from the crib!"
The Pyro glances back at Dean, sneering he looks at the gun and Dean feels flames jump up and lick at his hand. It burns, the scent of burnt skin making Dean gag. The burning is agonizing and Dean wants to drop the gun, wants to make the pain stop. But he can't. If Dean drops his gun they'll all die.
When he doesn’t drop his gun the Pyro sends a wall of fire roaring up in front of him. The threat is clear and due to years of training Dean pulls the trigger, firing. But blinded by fire and hand burnt Dean misses.
Another wall of fire jumps up, closer this time and Dean staggers back, shielding his eyes. When the spots in front of his eyes clear the Pyro is gone, disappeared into the flames.
Rosie finally starts crying, wailing away in her crib. Released from the Pyro’s power the fire begins to burn out of control. It finally latches onto the crib eating into the wood, burning away the changing table and dresser, turning the rocking chair into ash. The smoke is starting to build and Dean knows if they don't get out of here now they're going to die.
He scoops Rosie up out of her crib and shouts for Monica to run. Doing his best to protect Rosie Dean leads them out into the hall somehow making it down the stairs without falling. The front door is wide open and Dean stumbles outside, collapsing when the fresh air hits his lungs.
A fireman catches him before he hits the ground and helps drag him away from the house that is quickly burning to the ground.
Dean's brought over to an ambulance where a medic pries Rosie from his arms before fitting an oxygen mask over his mouth.
The fresh, smoke free oxygen burns his lungs almost more than the smoke did. But his body is greedy for it, taking huge deep breaths, desperate for more.
A short ways away Monica is crying into her own oxygen mask, her and Charlie watching while the medics take care of little Rosie who's tiny lungs seem to be doing just fine if her frightened wails are any indication.
The sirens from the fine engines have woken the neighbors and a crowd is gathered to watch the Holton’s house burn. Dean doesn’t care about the house, too busy scanning the crowd trying to find the Pyro. Most arsonists stay and watch their fires burn and Dean’s pretty sure he didn’t get what he came for. But Dean can’t find anyone in the crowd who looks like the firestarter.
XXXXX
A few hours later Dean’s back in his hotel room. He’d refused to go to the hospital despite the medic’s insistence, promising to follow up with his doctor when he returns home. All he wants to do is wash the smoke and soot off and collapse into bed.
His suit is beyond repair and his shoes are a lost cause as well, the souls nearly melted off. He keeps the shower water cool, soothing his skin as he does his best to wash off the day. The medic had sent him back with some ointment for the burns he didn’t realize he’d received. There’s a nasty one on right hand, his shooting hand, but other than that the rest are minor.
Not bothering to dry off Dean pulls on a pair of briefs before crawling into bed. He takes a deep breath, relaxing into sleep when a voice rips him back out of it.
“Thank you.”
Dean practically jumps off the bed, reaching for his gun before he realizes its Sam. “Jesus Christ Sam!”
He sags back down on the bed, dropping his head into his hands. Sam sits in one of the hotel’s chairs waiting for Dean’s heart to stop racing.
“Warn a guy next time.” Sam looks a little sheepish, contrite. Unfortunately it doesn’t have the effect on Dean he probably wishes it would. He’s still too wound up, still has too much adrenaline going from earlier.
“And ‘thank you’? That’s all you have to say after you whammy federal agents and disappear? I’ve been looking for you for a nearly a month and all I get is cryptic dreams and you sending me on rescue missions. You’re gonna have to do better than thank you.”
Sam mumbles something that Dean can't make out.
"What was that?"
"It was too dangerous for me to stay! Besides, I left a note.
"A note! It's too...you sent me into a house fire!" His throat hurts but it feels good to shout.
"There was no one else! Besides, I knew you wouldn't die." Sam looks like a scolded puppy begging to be petted.
Dean really hates Psychics sometimes.
He sighs deeply, ignoring the twinge in his lungs, trying to get himself under control, release his frustration. Dean takes another look at Sam and this time he notices the bags under his eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones, how ragged he looks. Dean didn’t think it was possible but Sam just might look worse than he did when Henriksen first brought him into PCU.
"So, humanity aside, why was it so important the family be saved?"
"The baby. Rosie. She's special."
"Special like you?"
"I don't know what her abilities will be but yes."
"And that's why what's-his-face wanted to kill her?"
"His name’s Azazel. Azazel Lehne. And he didn't want to kill her. He wanted to take her."
It’s the first piece of information he’s gotten about the guy and it just figures that it’s Sam who would give it to him. “How’d you get his name?”
“A vision. But that’s all I got. That and a lot of fire. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s more than we’ve got.” They sit in silence for a while. It’s oddly comfortable.
“Why’d you leave Sam?” It’s the one questions Dean needs to know.
“It was too dangerous. He’s not gonna stop till he either has me or kills me. And whatever he’s planning it has something to do with Psychics, people like me. Staying there would have beyond stupid.”
“We could have protected you. You might not have any reason to believe me but we’re pretty good at this. Got a lot of people who can do some pretty amazing things.”
“I know you do. It wouldn’t matter. Every vision I have regarding this man, every single one, ends in death. I don’t know how but he’s immune to mind control. And no one else is getting close to him.” Sam looks so defeated it does something to Dean’s heart.
“You gotta let me go Dean. And you gotta stop looking for him.” It’s the first time Sam’s ever said his name. He never introduced himself. Sam must have gotten it during one of his trips into Dean’s mind. It’s nice, Sam saying his name.
Still, it doesn’t change anything. Dean still has a job to do.
“You know I can’t do that. As long as he’s going after Psychics we’ll be after him.”
“Dean, I saw you die. In one of my visions he…I don’t want you to die.” There are tears welling in Sam’s eyes and Dean can’t stop himself from taking the hand Sam has resting on the bed, squeezing it, trying to reassure Sam because he can’t promise anything.
No matter how much he wants to.
“Stay with me. Help me catch him. Sam…we can work together. Please. Stay.”
Sam moves closer, twists his hand till he’s holding Dean’s, shifts till he’s sitting right next to Dean. “You should get some sleep.”
“Sam…” He leans in towards Sam, swaying, his exhaustion suddenly returning. Sam helps him lay down.
“Shhhh…” Sam brushes his hair back, his hand soft and gentle against his scalp. Dean snuggles down into the pillow. “Go to sleep. Go to sleep.”
Everything is soft and warm and Dean gives in, lets himself fade into blessed sleep.
XXXXX
In the morning Dean wakes from the best sleep he’s had in months, the first dreamless one he’s had in weeks. He takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of being refreshed, stretches his arms above his head and just…relaxes.
And then last night comes back to him, Sam and the conversation they had, the feeling of being lulled to sleep, Sam gently urging him along. Dean lets out a groan, flopping his head a few times against the pillow.
“Not again.”
This time Sam didn’t bother to leave a note.
XXXXX
Dean calls in the information Sam gave him, Singer happy to have something to go on.
“Azazel Lehne. The name doesn’t sound familiar but I’ll get Chuck in research on it. And Winchester?”
He would rather skip this part. “Still out there. But I’m confident he’ll remain in contact.”
“Good. We’ll let you know what we find. Good job Agent Campbell.”
He sounds genuinely pleased and Dean would be proud if he had actually found the information himself. And if he had a plan to stop Azazel instead of just making it up as he goes along.
Singer hangs up with what he probably assumes is a reassuring “keep it up” but Dean has absolutely no idea where to start. He’s back at square one and can feel his annoyance creeping back in.
The one thing he does know is that he’s gotta get out of the hotel room. That and Sam’s no longer in the area. There’s no way he stayed and a quick hack into the local police database shows three stolen cars last night. Dean would bet a year’s salary that Sam’s responsible for at least one theft.
Dean packs up, gets in his rented SUV, picks a direction and just drives.
XXXXX
A week of aimless driving and dreamless sleep gets Dean nowhere. Chuck’s able to send him a small bio on Azazel: born to non-Psychic parents in 1959, orphaned in 1972 due to losing both parents in a house fire which Dean has absolutely no doubt was set by Lehne - probably intentionally - he then bounced around the foster system till he dropped off the grid in 1975 at the age of fifteen.
It’s a tragically typical bio for a troubled kid. Unfortunately it does nothing to help him find Lehne or stop him. Even if it does give him a slightly better understanding of the man.
Finally, finally after another week of aimless wandering Dean dreams one of Sam’s visions. He wakes sweating and shaking, the adrenaline and terror still pumping through him. It’s not a pleasant vision, one he would rather forget, but Dean packs his bags and heads for the woods.
XXXXX
The cabin is little more than a shack ready to collapse in on itself at the slightest provocation. Deserted and secluded it’s the perfect place for Azazel to lure Sam.
There's a glow coming from inside and Dean's not surprised to find it comes from the fire Azazel is controlling. From his position peering through the window the situation does not look good.
Azazel's got Sam up against the far wall, fire trapping him in and Sam, Sam looks terrified, staring at the flames trapping him, pushing back against the wall that's trapping him as if he pushes hard enough he'll slip through, away.
Sam alternates between ignoring Azazel's and shouting back at him though Dean can't make out the words. He doesn't particularly care because as long as Azazel's focused on Sam Dean should be able to slide through the front door undetected.
Slowly, quietly Dean slips inside, gun raised, aimed right at the back of Azazel's head. One bullet and this'll all be over. Setting his feet Dean pulls the hammer back and steadies his aim. Finger on the trigger he's about to pull when fire suddenly jumps up at him just like that night at the Holton’s house. But this time it's too hot, too scolding, his gun burning itself into his palm before he drops it to the ground.
"Agent Campbell. How nice of you to join us. Do, stay awhile." Fire snakes it's way to Dean, jumping and rolling at his feet, forcing him backwards and into a corner. He's trapped, gun out of reach, fire thick and hot trapping him in.
Sam's staring at him a mix of anger and fear. "Dean...you idiot."
And Dean can't disagree.
Azazel looks between them seemingly delighted to have them both trapped and at his mercy.
"He's a good little solider isn't he Sammy. Does whatever the government tells him to. Including tracking us down, locking us up, giving us numbers, press ganging us into service.” Azazel looks crazed, his eyes that odd yellow Dean saw the last time, face contorted in rage.
“That’s not true.” The fire flicks closer, jump higher, coming far too close for comfort at Dean’s protestation.
“It’s what happened to you wasn’t it Sammy? It’s what’ll happen to all of us if we don’t stop it.”
Things start falling into place and Dean gets it, Azazel’s plan, why he’s been trying to collect kids, trying to raise his own little revolution. “Is that what you’re doing? Forming your own little militia to save the Psychics?”
Azazel smirks, catches and rolls a ball of fire in his hand. It’d be a neat trick if Dean wasn’t sure Azazel wanted to throw it at him.
“That’s what you’re doing isn’t it. That’s why I keep seeing you with all those kids. Why I keep seeing buildings burning. You’re killing the parents and raising the kids yourself.”
It’s a horrifying thought but it makes sense: convert the Psychic parents by threatening their kids, kill the non-Psychic parents and kidnap the kids to raise himself. Dean wonders just how successful Azazel’s been and if the recent fires was Azazel coming to collect the kid’s whose parents said ‘yes’.
“Sam. Sammy…this is why you’re my favorite. So smart. I need someone like you. Someone with your power, your intelligence. Wha’daya say? Wanna join a revolution?”
Sam looks horrified at the thought. “No. God no. You’re crazy.”
Azazel sighs, more amused than upset by Sam’s refusal. “Just like your mother. She refused me too. Shame really. All that power, she had so much potential. If she had just said yes Sammy would have had a mommy. But, sacrifices must be made, even if they hurt.”
“No. It was a house fire. My mother died in a house fire.”
“Is that what Daddy told you? That mommy died in a house fire? How quaint. No Sam, your mother said no. I wasn’t asking for much, just a chance to be Uncle, help raise you up right. Prepare you for the revolution.”
“Why.” Sam looks gutted. Confused and devastated and just…lost. And Azazel keeps talking. Keeps spouting his crazy plan for Sam, for all the Psychics.
“We’re better than them Sam. Stronger. Powerful. Why do we let ourselves live in the shadows, let them hold us down? They’re terrified of us, terrified of what they know we can do. What we should do. Join me Sam. Help me lead our people out of the shadows and take our rightful place.”
It’s quiet save for the hiss and crackle of the flames dancing around the cabin, holding Sam and Dean hostage. Azazel stands in the middle of the room, watching, waiting for Sam to say ‘yes’, waiting for his second to step forward.
And Dean has a moment of panic that Sam will say yes, exhaustion and fear after these long weeks wearing him down. And then Sam looks at Dean, stares at him across the room, across fire and Azazel and suddenly he’s no longer the scared little boy of a moment ago. His refusal determined, strong and Dean feels a rush of joy and pride. Sam looks at Azazel, into those crazed yellow eyes and says it again.
“No.”
“No?” Azazel seems surprised for a moment. And then furious. “So like your mother. Just as stubborn, just as willful. Perhaps all you need is a little incentive.”
Azazel turns to Dean and the fire surrounding him explodes into individual strands weaving their way to him, licking at his skin, burning themselves into him, wrapping around him. It’s agony. Azazel makes sure he feels every flick and caress of the flame, feels it along his arms and around his chest, licking at his neck and roping around his wrists. His clothes burn away leaving nothing but skin that catches and sizzles. The stench of burning flesh is overwhelming and Dean would throw up if he wasn’t too busy screaming.
Sam’s screams join his, pleading with Azazel to stop, begging to let Dean go.
“You can make this stop Sam. Just say yes and Dean can walk away.”
And Dean knows that Sam will say yes. That this, Dean pinned to a wall surrounded and attacked by fire will get him to say yes. But he can’t. Azazel didn’t let Jessica go and there’s no way he’s letting Dean live. Not Dean who works for the very organization he’s been dreaming of overthrowing for decades. Dean’s a dead man and he won’t let Sam give in to Azazel.
“Don’t you dare Sammy. Don’t you…” It’s all he can get out before he’s screaming again. It feels like the flames have slid down his throat, clogging his lungs, consuming him from the inside out.
It’s too much. Too much to bear and Dean’s ready to give in to the blackness that’s hovering just beyond him. He takes one last look at Sam, one last look into those beautiful stormy eyes before he gives into the dark.
Sam’s frantic, desperate to stop this but the flames have him trapped. Azazel’s grinning and Dean is dying and there’s nothing he can do. Dean doesn’t blame him. Would never blame him and he tries to let Sam know, tries to say his name one last time. But Sam’s not looking at him anymore; he’s focused on something on the ground.
It’s over before Dean can really figure out what’s going on. He’s moments from blissful oblivion when he sees Sam turn and flick his head, looking straight into Azazel’s unnatural yellow eyes and then there’s a loud bang and Azazel drop to the ground.
The fire that was controlled a moment ago suddenly blazes with a new intensity, catching along the walls and rising to the ceiling. It starts eating the old dried out wood of the cabin. Smoke starts filling the air, choking him and the oblivion that was just out of reach slams back into him.
He has just enough time to find Sam’s eyes before everything goes dark.
XXXXX
Dean comes back to consciousness slowly, painfully leaving the warm comfort of oblivion. Everything hurts. Everything is sore. He feels tight and itchy. When he lifts his hand to scratch at it he doesn’t make far, the pain coupled with the wrist restraints stopping his movement.
It’s the realization that he’s restrained that jerks Dean abruptly to full consciousness. He panics, jerking first his right then his left hand, desperate to get out. Everything hurts but he doesn’t care, he has to get out.
A warm hand gentles him, bringing his hands back to his sides, soothing him.
“Hey. Careful. It’s okay, you’re okay.” It’s Sam and Dean immediately calms under his touch. He’s still foggy from sleep and sudden shock of being restrained but Sam sooths him, gets him to lie back down.
He’s in a hospital, recognizes the sterile smell and the white walls, the chrome instruments and pathetic privacy curtain, the beeping monitors a constant background. There’s IVs running into him and he recognizes one of them as a morphine drip. He searches for the button that will let him get another dose but can’t find it.
Instead he tries to take a few deep breaths, tries to center himself and push the pain away. Except every breath feels like it’s tearing his lungs apart and the coughing that wracks his body nearly causes him to black out from the pain again.
Dean thinks he hears Sam shouting for a doctor but he’s not sure. Everything’s swimming in front of him and if the pain would just stop he could sleep. Sam’s still got a hand on him, clutching one of Dean’s restraint covered wrists, rubbing a finger back and forth along the back of his hand. It helps. A little.
Someone else arrives and he feels a little prick and soon his entire body is numb and Dean is floating and everything feels…
When he wakes for the second time he doesn’t fight, his body instinctively remembering the pain from last time. He’s still pleasantly numb, the pain a dull throbbing in the back of his mind. Sam’s still there, settled uncomfortably in one of the hospital chairs, head resting on his hand, trying to get some sleep. Not surprising his elbow slips off the chair’s arm and he free falls for a moment before jerking up, the entire chair moving with him. Dean would smile if he had better control over his muscles.
He must give some indication he’s awake because suddenly Sam’s in his space, smile happy and relieved. He still looks exhausted.
“Hey you’re awake. How’ya feeling?”
The best Dean can do at the moment is grunt but Sam seems to take it as an okay and keeps going.
“You’re restrained because they don’t want you accidentally opening any wounds. You’ve got some serious burns along your arms and legs, might need a skin graft on one or two of them and your lungs are in bad shape at the moment but…you’re going to be fine. Eventually. There’s going to be some scarring but that’s manly anyway so I doubt you’ll care as long as your pretty pretty face is okay.”
Dean manages to give him the finger, which makes Sam laugh. Dean’s never heard it before and he’s surprised by how light and happy it sounds; surprised that it makes him feel the same. Sam gives him another smile before going for the doctor.
After an official rundown of his current condition and a generalized layout of his recovery Dean’s left to sleep. He’s in and out for the next few days, floating on a wave of morphine and being alive. Sam’s there for most of it, his own wounds healing nicely. They were mostly superficial, as if Azazel didn’t want to do Sam any real damage, didn’t want to hurt his dreamed of general. Some of Sam’s hair was singed off and Dean takes great pleasure in mocking him about the shorter cut. Sam takes it rather well considering.
There are bad moments, nightmares that are his own and a few that he suspects might be Sam’s, more pain as they slowly lower his doses of morphine, the itching of skin healing…but it could have been so much worse. Though his nurse would beg to differ, as Dean is, admittedly, a horrible patient and Dean can’t wait to get out of there.
Director Singer comes for a short visit, relaying his promotion and well wishes in the same blunt manner he does everything else. He meets Sam and his eyes are greedy with professional want when he looks him up and down. Sam looks incredibly uncomfortable but Dean has a feeling Singer will literally get down on his knees and beg to recruit Sam.
Dean’s dictating his official case report a few weeks later when Sam plops down in his usual chair. He looks grumpy, morose. It’s shockingly adorable, a thought Dean chooses to ignore.
“Dude, what’s up?” He pauses the recording application on his phone and waits for Sam to start talking.
“I got an email from the Dean at Stanford. He asked if I would be back next semester; said considering the past few months they’re wiling to let me do this semester over, erase my grades and let me start from scratch.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know man. I definitely want to finish school, maybe go to law school after, maybe let myself be recruited.” He smiles at Dean, smirks. “But…a big part of me kinda just wants to go away and hide for a few months. Work through all this shit and get myself back together.”
“I think you’ve earned a little time to go hide away and recovery.”
“I was thinking of maybe taking a road trip. This time one where I’m not trying to hide and can actually enjoy the drive.”
“Sounds great Sam.”
Sam’s giving him that shy look Dean’s only seen once before, that night in the hotel when Sam whammied him to sleep. This time there’s no tingling in the back of his head only a slight flutter in his chest.
“Could use some company. After you’ve recovered enough maybe…maybe we can work some of this out together.”
Dean can’t help his smile, especially not when Sam takes his hand, his smile matching Dean’s.
“Yeah. That’d be great Sammy. And I’ve got just the car to go in.”
The End