{SPN RBB} As I Saw Him Break Me: Chapter 1 of 3
One: The Vision
Dean grunted out of an uneasy sleep as the car hit a pothole, which jostled his arm against the door and caused pain to shoot up his shoulder. He hissed as he adjusted himself on the seat, gritting his teeth against the unexpected throb.
“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, visibly avoiding Dean’s eyes.
Dean sighed. It had been two days since Meg had possessed Sam and used him as a meat puppet. Dean had tried to convince Sam that none of what happened was Sam’s fault: it had been out of his control. Sam had nodded but had said nothing further.
They’d decided to lay low for a day at a motel near Bobby’s place before heading somewhere else and getting back into the rhythm of hunting. When Dean had walked over to the driver’s side that morning, Sam had adamantly refused to let Dean drive. He’d practically wrestled the keys to the Impala from Dean’s hand before reminding his brother of his injured shoulder, courtesy of Meg.
Knowing that Sam wouldn’t hear a word he said, Dean had gotten into the passenger seat, and had dozed off a few minutes later. Until the pothole.
“Dude, I’m all right. It’s cool,” Dean said.
“How in the - ? You know what? Never mind,” Sam huffed irritably.
Dean frowned. Sam had been extra-bitchy recently, and had been taking it out on Dean.
Dean gritted his teeth. 'What?'"
“Nothing.”
“Sam - “
“It’s nothing, Dean. Let it be,” Sam said sternly.
Dean held up his good arm in surrender as he quit trying to get his brother to talk. He knew Sam would open up sooner or later. And he was pretty sure he knew what it was about.
This was going to be an interesting trip.
~*~*~
Sam glanced repeatedly at the Impala as he paid for their motel room, worried about Dean. Dean was in pain right now because of him. Possessed or not, he’d shot Dean, and he’d literally jabbed his thumb into the wound a few hours later, possessed or not.
He knew Dean would never understand what that felt like, being possessed. Sam had been all but screaming at Dean to run as his arm had risen of its own accord to shoot Dean. Meg had just laughed, taunting him.
As ‘Meg’ had gone towards the end of the pier to check if Dean had been killed, Sam just prayed. Hoping to everything that Dean was all right. Not seeing Dean coming up out of the water had scared the shit out of Sam.
Sam jolted out of his thoughts as the manager handed him the keys to the room. He muttered a small ‘thanks’ and headed towards the Impala where Dean stood leaning against the passenger side door, left arm holding onto the elbow of the right.
“I’ll get the bags; you head on inside,” Sam said as he handed Dean the keys, looking slightly surprised when Dean didn’t argue and promptly headed off towards the room.
I hope he’s okay, Sam thought as he walked over to the trunk and gathered their belongings.
Walking into their motel room, his heart shattered as he closed the door, seeing Dean sitting on the bed with his eyes shut and his jaw clenched. Sam knew his brother’s telltale signs. Dean was in obvious pain.
He deposited the duffels at the foot of his bed at the far end of the room, and rummaged through Dean’s for the first aid box. He then walked over to Dean’s bed and sat next to him, gently laying a hesitant hand on Dean’s good shoulder.
Dean startled a little, and laughed weakly as he saw Sam. “Sorry. Must’ve dozed off,” he lied.
“Let me see that,” Sam asked quietly, motioning towards the wound.
Dean sighed but obeyed. He got off his shirt, and with a little help from Sam, took off his tee. Sam carefully took off the bandage that Jo had put in place, and sucked in a sharp breath as he saw the wound. Jo must not have had the time to suture it. And Sam hadn't had time to look over the wound since they had needed to lay low for a day. Plus, Dean had adamantly refused to let Sam to look at it, assuring him it was all right.
Obviously that had been utter bullshit.
“Sam -“
“No, Dean. Just…let me stitch it up. It could get infected otherwise.”
Dean nodded and Sam got to work. He opened up the first aid box, taking out a needle and some thread meant for stitches. He hoped Dean didn’t notice how long it took him to get the thread through the eye of the needle because of how much his hands shook.
After cleaning the wound with betadine and peroxide, Sam made the first stitch. His hands shook horribly. Every few seconds, he’d take deep breaths, willing himself to do this right. Every time Dean would wince or grit his teeth, Sam would profusely apologize. The memories never left Sam. He kept seeing himself shooting Dean, digging his thumb into the wound as he punched Dean over and over again.
It took longer than necessary, but it was done. Sam then covered the now closed wound with a bandage after cleaning with betadine again before packing everything away and walking over to Dean’s duffel to put the box back in.
“Sam what’s going on?” Dean asked as he put first his tee and then his shirt slowly back on.
Sam avoided Dean’s question as he took his laptop out of his bag, carefully set it on the small table in the room, and turning it on.
“Sam, answer me. Don’t think I didn’t notice what happened just now. Your hands never shake when fixin’ up a wound that either of us have, Sam.”
Sam ran a nervous hand through his hair. He couldn’t meet his brother’s eyes. Especially after the hint of fear he’d seen in them when he’d been possessed.
“Sam - “
“You won’t get it, Dean! You don’t understand,” Sam said, looking helpless.
Dean’s expression softened. “Make me, then.”
Sam sighed as he sat down at the foot of his bed, his head in his hands. “I know you think I didn’t do this to you. But I did. Nothing can change that. You saw me shooting you. You felt me throwing punches at you. Not Meg.”
“I know how you feel, Sam, but that wasn’t - “
Sudden anger rose up in Sam. “No,” he snarled. “Stop, alright?! You do not know how I feel. No fucking idea, man. You don’t know what it’s like to be possessed. So, don’t you tell me you know how I feel.”
“You know what? Fine then. I’m staying out of this. I’ve tried to tell you this isn’t your fault, Sam. And I’ll keep telling you that. It’s you who doesn’t get it,” Dean snapped as he picked up his jacket and opened the motel room door.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked, feeling slightly guilty for his outburst.
“Out,” Dean said as he slammed the door shut.
Sam groaned as he held his head in his hands. He was just making this harder for himself. He wanted Dean to understand. And for that, he needed to properly explain how he felt, not blow up at his brother. He sighed. It was so hard to stop thinking about what had happened. He knew he was going to have nightmares for a while.
As Sam made to get up, a sharp jab of pain ran through his temples. He grunted as he sat back down. The pain intensified and turned into agony. Sam fell to his knees, clutching his head.
“Dean,” Sam gasped, wanting his brother here.
He knew exactly what this was, and as stupid as he felt wanting it, he didn’t want to go through this alone.
The room around him morphed as the vision began to play.
A woman stood at a small stove in the corner of what appeared to be a caravan. Humming to herself, she stirred the liquid in the pot. A sharp knock on the door startled her, making her drop the spoon.
Looking annoyed, she walked over to the door (which had a poster stuck to it) and opened it.
“No,” she said as she started walking backward, a look of horror on her face..
An old man, probably in his mid-sixties walked towards the woman, a serrated knife in his hand.
“Please, no. Stop. You can’t…you’re not…NO!” she stammered as the man got closer.
She had no escape as she backed into a corner.
An excruciating scream rang through the air as the knife plunged into her torso and twisted. She dropped to the ground, and a pool of blood grew underneath her.
~*~*~
Dean wished his brother would stop feeling guilty. But this was Sam. And Dean knew his brother well enough to know that it would be a while before Sam accepted it. And he shouldn’t have gotten pissed off at Sam for his outburst.
It was understandable for him to be angry, because Sam was right, in a way. Dean hadn’t been possessed, so he wouldn’t really know what it felt like.
Intending to head to the bar, Dean reprimanded himself. He couldn’t be drinking this early in the day. And besides, Sam would flip. He knew how much Sam hated that Dean used drinking as a coping mechanism as opposed to talking it out.
Not wanting to make it harder for his brother at the moment, Dean turned around and headed back towards the motel.
On reaching the motel room, he knocked on the door, hoping Sam wouldn’t be pissed. No one opened the door.
“Sam?” he called out, knocking harder. No reply.
Cursing under his breath for not having snagged the motel room keys, Dean took out his lock pick kit and within seconds, he had the door open. The scene that met him sent his heart into his throat.
Sam lay sprawled at the foot of the two beds, hands clutching at his head, breathing heavily.
“Sam?!” Dean slammed the door shut and rushed to his brother’s side. “Hey, hey. It’s me. Come on, what’s wrong?”
“De’?” Sam whispered. Dean heaved a sigh of relief as Sam slowly squinted up at him, pain lines evident around his eyes.
“Vision,” Sam explained as he slowly sat up with Dean’s help.
“Dude, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bolted,” Dean said. He knew how bad it got for Sam. It frustrated him to no end that he’d always sit helplessly just trying to reassure Sam that he'd be okay while the vision literally attacked him.
Dean got up and took a bottle of water out of his bag and walked back to Sam. “Here, slowly, okay?”
Sam nodded and then winced, as though the movement hurt. It probably did.
A while later, Sam felt a little better and Dean waited patiently to know what Sam had seen. What he didn’t expect was Sam getting unsteadily to his feet and wobbling over to the table where he’d placed his laptop.
Dean frowned as he walked up behind Sam to see what the kid was typing up.
Caldwell Carnival.
“Sam, what - “
“A woman died. There was a poster of a carnival,” Sam immediately spoke. In a few minutes, Sam apparently got what he needed as he turned off the laptop and walked over to his bag to pull out a map.
Dean watched in bewilderment, unable to speak.
“It’s only some three hours away. Let’s go,” Sam said.
“Wait, hold up. Let’s go?” said Dean, incredulous.
Sam looked annoyed, as though he couldn’t fathom why Dean didn’t seem to understand. “Yes, Dean. We need to leave.”
Dean ran a hand over his face. “Sam, we just got here. Can you hold up for a fucking second? You just had a vision, which by the way, you have told me nothing about. You’re barely walking without falling to your feet and you want to leave without even knowing what we’re walking into?”
“Dean. That woman is gonna die. Hell, I don’t want this, but she could already be dead. I can’t…we need to help her. I saw this woman get stabbed, okay? I just…I can’t not do something knowing that I could probably be the reason between someone living and dying. You don’t wanna come? Don’t. But I’m leaving.”
“Sammy - “
“No, Dean. I know we’re walking in blind. But isn’t that what we always do with these visions? They mean something, Dean. It could probably be another one of those kids. People like me. I need to know,” Sam said grimly as he picked up his bag and headed out the door.
Dean took in a deep breath, trying not to let all of this overwhelm him. He didn’t want Sam to know how much all of this was scaring him. His father’s last words still rung in his head. He definitely wanted to save Sam.
But what if Sam…
No. Dean told himself. Sam was not evil. He was sure of that.
But…God forbid, if it did come to killing him, would he be able to?
Dean tried not to dwell on that, like he’d been doing for weeks now, and picked up his bag before following his brother out the door.
~*~*~
The carnival Sam had found was apparently on the outskirts of a very small town, three hours away from the motel where they’d just stopped at. Even with the tension between them, Sam couldn’t help but smirk at the irritated look on Dean’s face.
It had been a battle over who was going to drive the car. Sam didn’t want Dean to drive because of his hurt shoulder, but Dean wasn’t having it. In the end, Dean won.
But just because he won, didn’t mean that he was happy. What Dean hadn’t realized was that the carnival was set in an open grass field.
Dean hated driving on grass or mud. Basically anything that wasn’t asphalt. It hurt ‘Baby’ apparently. As Dean parked on the edge of the sandy road (very careful not the touch the grass) Sam opened the door and stepped out, gazing towards the mass of colour a few feet away from them.
A number of caravans stood at odd distances from each other, all painted with vivid, bright, eye-catching colours. People of all ages milled around outside the caravans. Children ran around, laughing and squealing at one another, happiness on their faces. A group of older people sat in one corner, content within themselves. Middle aged people stood around, making food while sitting outside their wagons or practicing tricks.
Sam stood fascinated, wondering what it would be like to be a part of this. Though they must move around a lot, they seemed like one big stable family. Even with Dean ever-present, that stability was something Sam had rarely ever felt.
“Wow,” Dean commented, and Sam rolled his eyes.
Looking back towards the crowd, the only thing out of place was the ‘do not cross’ police tape around the wagon closest to them, to their right. Adjusting his jacket, Sam followed as Dean huffed a breath and started walking towards the guard standing there.
Sam gulped as he eyed the police tape once more. He really hoped this wasn’t related to his vision.
Showing their badges, which Dean had snagged before they’d gotten out of the car, they ducked under the police line and approached the officer that had just spotted them.
“Feds?” he asked.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. We were in the area, got a call to check this out. I’m Agent Rogers, this is Agent Romanoff.”
The officer shrugged and motioned behind him to another man wearing uniform. “Sheriff’s over there,” he said.
Sam nodded and thanked the officer and then he and Dean made their way over to the Sheriff.
Sam and Dean introduced themselves once again and the sheriff then held out a hand to Sam who shook it. “I’m Sheriff Walters.” He then walked over to the caravan, let Sam and Dean enter.
A female, probably in her late twenties, brunette lay dead in a corner of the caravan. Sam’s breath hitched.
They were too late.
“So, what’s the case here?” Dean asked.
The sheriff leaned on the door way, one leg resting on the stair. “Her name’s Wendy. She was the tightrope artist for the carnival, with her fiancé.”
“So, do you know who knifed her?” Sam asked, examining the wound.
The sheriff shrugged. “Nope. There’s not much evidence at all yet. We’re still verifying alibis. Right now everyone here's a suspect.”
“No witnesses?” Dean asked.
“Unless you count the bullshit story her fiancé cooked up, no. There’s no witnesses.”
Sam frowned as he left the body and joined Dean and the sheriff. “What story?”
The sheriff pointed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating a man sitting on a small wooden stool, a short distance away from the caravan. “Ask him.”
As the sheriff walked away, Sam and Dean approached the man. He looked to be in his late twenties, jet black hair cut short, and a very prominent but old looking scar above his left eyebrow. He didn’t even seem to realize someone had approached him and he jumped violently when Dean gently touched his shoulder.
“Woah, take it easy,” said Dean.
“Sorry,” the man muttered, looking distracted.
Sam held up his badge. “What’s your name? We heard you saw what happened.”
The man scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m Martin Woods. So, are you two here to laugh at me, too?”
“Do we look like we’re laughing?” Dean asked.
Martin seemed to analyze his company for a minute before sighing and running a shaky hand through his hair. “I…he’s supposed to be dead, man. I don’t get it.”
“Who’s supposed to be dead?” Sam asked, impatient.
“My…my father. He…he’s the one that killed Wendy. I saw it all happen. See, I was part of a different carnival crew before, but I was treated like dog shit. This one day, my carnival was in the same town as Wendy’s. We met, spent time together. This place-they accepted me. Even though I was from a different community. So, I decided to leave.
“My dad, well, he didn’t approve of Wendy. And I, well, I ran. Wendy’s carnival was leaving town the day before ours and I hitched a ride. I didn’t want to be a part of something where I wasn’t treated like a human being. This place,” Martin gestured around the area, looking at the people around, “these people? They trusted me. They let me join them. They gave me an adoptive family, y’know?”
“How is this related to your father?” Dean questioned, looking restless.
“About half a year into being with this carnival, I found out my dad had passed away. And that my previous family already had the funeral without me. I mean, the man may have been a jerk but he was still my dad. It was only because of Wendy that I didn’t…I didn’t go back. I felt like I’d abandoned my home, y’know? Even if I was never treated like I belonged there. Then I saw…I saw my dad stabbing Wendy. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I know it was him.”
Sam gave Dean a calculating look before thanking Martin. Both then started walking back towards the Impala.
“So, what do you think?” Sam asked.
Dean shrugged, looking puzzled. “I don’t know man. I don’t think this is a simple case, Sam. You had a vision. There’s got to be something else he - “ Dean stumbled to a stop as he walked headlong into a man, having not paid attention to where he was going.
Before Dean could apologize however, the man tossed his chestnut colored hair and from beneath a tanned complexion his dark eyes filled with loathing as he glared at Dean. “You’re not welcome here. We don’t consort with people like you. You better watch your step.”
Dean stared after him as the man walked away, stunned.
“Hey, sorry about that,” came a voice from behind them.
They turned around to see a young man, probably around Sam’s age, with brown hair and child-like grey eyes. His chest seemed to be covered in some oil. He saw Dean staring and laughed.
“Don’t worry. It’s to protect me from the fire. My job is basically to play around with fire, juggle things that are on fire, stuff like that. Anyway, I’m Tim. Sorry about Bryce. He’s…he’s not a very friendly guy.”
“You can say that again,” Dean muttered, glancing in the general direction of where Bryce had disappeared with disgust.
Tim smirked. “So, you guys are here for the Wendy thing? Man, she was awesome. It’s sad to see this happening,” he said, his face falling.
“I’m sorry about your loss,” Sam voiced his sympathy.
Tim nodded, looking morose “Do you believe Martin?” he asked
Tim pursed his lips, looking indifferent. “I don’t know. Do you think he’s lying?”
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know, either. He doesn’t socialize as much. But he’s a good guy, I guess.”
A shout rang out for Tim and he turned around. “Coming!” he yelled.
He then looked to Dean and Sam. “Sorry, guys. I gotta go. I’ll be here if you need any help. Anything to find out who did this to Wendy. See ya around!”
He then ran off, skipping every few steps.
Dean looked amused. “Weird kid. Kinda like you,” he commented, grinning at Sam.
Sam threw a bitch face at Dean, and walked towards the Impala.
“What the hell is going on here, Dean?” Sam asked as he opened the passenger side door.
“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean spoke as he slid into the car.
“But we’ll find out.”
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