Supernatural: House of Cards 8/?
Title: House of Cards
Author: Ada
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: AU where anything's game.
Characters: Sam/Jess, Dean, John, and more
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Supernatural' or Dean or Sam... too bad.
Note: My Marty Guenther is modeled after 'Mr. Guenther' who co-owned the garage with John and was shown in the episode 'Home'. This story was partially inspired by the cut scene with the longer conversation between the boys and Mr. Guenther.
Summary: AU. John had been declared mentally incompetent by the state, his boys split up and raised by two different families. Now, 20 years later, John sends Dean to his naive little brother, to tell him that the demon is coming for him.
One misstep and everything they'd built could collapse like a house of cards.
Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
House of Cards
Chapter 8
“John’s out, Dean,” Ella said, her voice sounding strained over the phone.
“How do you know that?” Dean asked. He was sitting in his motel room, idly flicking channels while waiting for the clock to near ‘10’ so he could go meet with Sam. It was almost time to leave and he was almost annoyed to receive a call from his mother. Besides, wasn’t it later in Kansas than it was in California?
“He came to visit your father. They had an argument. I’m pretty sure he’s heading for California. You’re… you’re going to need to tell Sam about him before he shows up, don’t you think?”
“Oh yeah ‘hey Sam, guess what? Our dad, who, incidentally, has really been locked up in a nuthouse for the past twenty years is coming down for a little visit. I hope you guys become best buddies.’ That’ll go over real well,” Dean groaned.
“Dean… there’s something you should know about Sam and your father… I would’ve told you sooner, but I…”
“Hold that thought, Mom, I’ve got a call on the other line.” He hit the ‘talk’ button on his phone to switch to the other call and answered it in a decidedly not cheerful voice, “Hello?”
“Dean,” John’s gruff voice said in response.
“Dad? Hi… I heard that you’re out…” Dean trailed off uncomfortably. He hadn’t done one thing that John had asked him to when he sent him out to California - well except the part where he met Sam, but other than that he hadn’t accomplished anything, and he was just waiting for John to point that out.
“I’m in California. I’m getting some supplies and I should be in Palo Alto tomorrow afternoon.”
Dean felt his stomach lurch. John was so close, so close and he wasn’t ready, not at all. “Tomorrow?” he finally choked out.
“Yes,” John replied tersely. “How’re things there? Have you found Sam?”
“Uh, yeah, I’ve talked to him.”
“And he’s up to speed on everything?” his tone carried a hint of accusation.
“Actually I was… planning on uh… telling him tonight…” Dean stammered, wondering why John could still make him feel like a disobedient child. He had done what he wanted regardless of what John had to say for the past twenty years, there was no reason that he should be so intimidated now. He was never out before, a stubborn part of Dean’s brain pointed out, and Dean had to admit that could be the cause of his sudden regression. Whereas before his father had been locked away, unable to actually do much himself, and Dean could disobey and say what he wanted, trusting his father would still be there the next day, now John could do whatever he wanted.
John paused before he responded, and Dean found himself counting the seconds, not sure if he wanted to hear what his father had to say. “Be sure you do, Dean. This is important. There are some signs that could mean the demon’s coming closer. Your brother needs to be ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied instantly. “But still… I’m worried he won’t believe me,” he admitted, he wouldn’t let John push him around too much.
“Well he’ll believe eventually. This’ll at least give us a chance to get him on our side first.”
“Our side? What are you talking about? The demon’s going to try and kill Sam - right?”
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll be in touch though.”
“Dad wait, answer me!” Silence met his words, John had already ended the call. “Dammit! What the hell did he mean?!” Dean glanced at the clock and cursed as he realized he was late to meet Sam. Forgetting that his mother was waiting to tell him something important, he closed his cell phone and ran out the door.
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Sam had made up his mind to humor Dean as much as possible tonight. After talking to Jess about Dean, and the things she had said to him, he figured he just might owe his brother that much.
He arrived before Dean this time, drenched from the rainstorm that had begun just before he left, and sat at the bar waiting for him, wondering what they were going to talk about, Jess’ words to him as he walked out still running through his mind, ‘But Sam… don’t you want to know about your family? Don’t you think you ought to find out now? After all, they link you and Dean together, right?’
Of course Jess didn’t know why the mere thought of John Winchester made Sam shudder and feel as if he couldn’t breathe, Sam had never told her about that, had never told anyone about it. He idly wondered if even Dean knew about what happened back in Kansas. Of course Sam couldn’t really remember what John looked like, what he sounded like; all he knew was a memory of a dark figure and fear - so much fear.
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Sam was sitting at the bar, tapping his fingers against a full beer bottle that he bought out of habit, when Dean arrived. Dean cast a nervous glance at Sam, a leather-bound book clasped tightly in his hands and a well of regret within him. I am so sorry that I have to tell you this, Sammy…
He approached Sam, who turned to face him when he was within two feet of his brother. “Hey,” Sam greeted brightly.
“…Hi…” Dean replied hesitantly. He glanced around, the bar was loud, too loud for the conversation he had to have with Sam.
Sighing, he looked up into his brother’s face; a face he had once known as well as his own, and that now had become so different. He might be a Winchester, and Dean could see it more than just in physical resemblance, he could tell by the way Sam carried himself, the intimidating nature of his posture, the way he talked, the way he laughed, all of that was part of Dean and John and Mary, part of their family, whether Sam would ever realize it or not, but Sam was different.
He didn’t know what Dean knew, he didn’t remember what Dean remembered. Sam didn’t sometimes wake up to the sound of crackling flames ringing in his ears, choking against the acrid smoke of burned flesh and feeling the heat of the fire that claimed his mother. How could he? He was too young to remember. Sam had been too young throughout everything that happened to be able to remember any of it. And Dean knew that in that moment he would give anything, do anything, to not have to tell Sam, to not have to watch as the last of his naiveté and innocence was drained away. But he had to, because a jaded Sam was better than a dead Sam, and he firmly held to that belief.
Besides, he would be there, he would let Sam react whatever way he needed to, and he would be there whether Sam wanted him or not, because he would never leave Sam alone to face that sort of danger, not ever.
“Look Sam, I need to talk to you. Can we go someplace quieter?”
Sam had looked confused, even a little suspicious, and he eyed Dean up and down as if trying to decide how much of a threat he posed before agreeing. And so Dean found himself driving the Impala, Sam riding shotgun, and he couldn’t help but think that nothing had ever seemed so right before than the two of them in that car together.
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He drove to the hotel, silence hanging in the air between himself and Sam as they entered the small hotel room. “What’s going on?” Sam asked as he sat down in the desk chair, leaving Dean to perch on the edge of the bed, absently fingering the blanket as he tried to find the words for what he had to say. He decided that starting at the beginning was probably the best tactic.
“Sam… when you were a baby… our mom - Mary Winchester - died,” he began slowly.
“Yeah, I know that,” Sam responded. Dean seemed to be struggling with his words, so Sam asked him a question, tried to get him going so he could find out what Dean was hiding from him. “How did she die anyway?”
Dean closed his eyes and wished that he could just lie and move on, but he needed to tell the truth, Sam deserved to know the truth. “She died in a fire… in your nursery…” Sam seemed surprised by that, and Dean thought it was probably valid, Sam had been there when the fire started, and he made it out alive but his mother hadn’t. That had to elicit some reaction.
“What? How did that happen, how did the fire start?”
“That’s the million dollar question right there Sammy,” Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hands. He had heard this story so many times in his life that he couldn’t believe how difficult it was to tell it to someone else. “Dad heard her scream and so he went up to your nursery and when he did…” he choked a little and looked anywhere but at Sam’s face. “…she was on the ceiling, the ceiling,” he said finally, trying to erase the image his mind had drawn for him long ago of his mother, his beautiful wonderful mom pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and in pain, probably knowing that she was about to die, taking who knew how many secrets to the grave with her.
“Wait… what?” Sam demanded.
“It’s true, she was pinned to the ceiling with a big gash on her stomach and the blood… the blood dripped down into your crib…” Dean felt sick, he never thought of it like that before, the fact that Mary had died above Sam, that her blood on fallen on Sam. How did they not realize all this time that the demon was really going for Sam, why else would it have killed Mary like that?
“What?” Sam said again, and when Dean took it for one more denial he missed realizing why Sam kept saying it. He didn’t know that Sam was seeing his nightmares in his mind again, reliving the image of the woman trapped on the ceiling above him, remembering how her blood felt when it dripped on his head…
“And then a fire broke out from behind her…” Dean almost whispered, lost in his own recollections, the way his father’s voice always broke on that line.
Sam for his part was in shock, mouth hanging open, unable to respond. And in his mind the man on the floor screamed “Mary!” over and over as she burned on the ceiling.
“What… what did she look like?” Sam finally choked out. Dean glanced at him sharply, confused at the seemingly random question, and disheartened that his brother had no idea what their mother looked like. However, when he pulled out a photo of the family standing before the house from his wallet, and said, “This is one of our last family photos before the fire, there’s Mom, Dad, me, and you” he wasn’t ready for Sam to rip it out of his hands, to stare at it in abject horror and then drop it as if it burned him, scurrying across the room as far from Dean as he could get.
“Sam?” Dean asked softly. His brother stood in the far corner, staring at Dean with fear in his wide eyes. “I… what’s…”
“You’re crazy… that… that isn’t possible… what could do that?” Sam shouted at him.
“Dad says it was a demon,” Dean offered.
“John Winchester is insane!” Sam yelled, trying so hard to forget what Dean said, to chalk it up to madness and not think about how he watched it happen in his nightmares almost every night, trying not to recognize Mary and John as the people in his dreams, trying not to speculate on how that could be, trying not to think at all. “You’re crazy too! This is why you came?!”
“The demon’s coming Sam… we need to be prepared!” Dean stood and took a step towards Sam who shrank back against the wall.
“What the hell are you talking about?! There’s no such thing as demons!”
“Sam… You have to believe me…” Dean said desperately, and after that he just began talking. He told Sam about the three years before they were separated, about sulfur and salt lines; shotguns and silver bullets, Latin chants and exorcisms where the victim’s body writhed and gagged beneath restraints. He talked, his voice monotone as he tried not to think about how he had never told anyone this before, how so many of these words had never once passed through his lips, and he recalled nights spent at seedy motels while John met with Daniel Elkins, times huddled in the Impala waiting for the return of his father, who had loaded up on bullets and salt before leaving. He spoke about what his father discovered about the demon, about fire and blood and sacrifice and the newspaper articles that described the exact same conditions without realizing it, things like ‘electrical fire,’ ‘faulty wiring in nursery,’ ‘6-month old baby,’ ‘fire so intense it blew out the windows.’
Through it all Sam leaned against the wall, his hands alternately rising and falling, as if he couldn’t decide if he needed to defend himself or not. However, his jaw remained tight, and Dean wasn’t sure if he believed any of it, even a little bit, and all he could think to do when he was done was to reach out to Sam in a conciliatory gesture and say, “You have to believe me.”
“Get away from me!” he yelled, slapping Dean’s hands away and heading for the door.
“Sam wait!” Dean cried as his brother hurtled towards the exit, throwing it open and running out into the rain. Dean followed him after a moment’s hesitation - a hesitation which was long enough to lose Sam in the dark parking lot. Damn could he run…
“Sam!” Dean screamed out, knowing it was futile to call out to him. Sam would never hear him over the rain, and if he had wanted to stay and talk to Dean he wouldn’t have run out of that place like someone had tried to kill him.
Dean collapsed on the bed, his head in his hands. Out of all of the ways he imagined that conversation going, the way it actually happened had to have been the absolute worst way. How the hell was he going to salvage this now?
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Jess was on the couch when Sam walked in, completely drenched from running back to the bar for his car in the sudden monsoon.
“Sam? What’re you doing back so early?” she asked, turning off Lifetime and approaching him. “Sam you’re soaking wet! What happened?” she asked, pulling at his shirt, trying to get the offending wet article off of his skin.
“I… nothing happened…” Sam said hesitantly. He considered telling Jess the truth, it was almost out of his mouth when suddenly the lie came out instead. Jess would think he was crazy if she knew what had been happening, if she knew the woman in the nightmares was his mother, if she knew that his father had been institutionalized for claiming that a demon murdered his wife, that Dean believed that too. And maybe he was crazy - mental illness could be genetic after all…
Jess wasn’t fooled by his response, knowing that something terrible had to have happened for Sam to be in such a state, he was even trembling.
“I just want to go to sleep,” Sam said quietly. “Can we just go to bed?”
“You need to take a shower first, clean off all that rainwater,” Jess suggested. Sam grudgingly agreed, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving Jess to panic over what could have possibly occurred between Sam and Dean that night.
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He dreamed of fire again.
The stench of burning flesh met his nostrils as he appeared in the dream halfway through, the woman already engulfed in flames, and the man lying on the floor staring up at her in horror. The fire flickered in front of her face, masking the frozen expression of fear that was permanently etched on her visage. She might have been pretty, Sam could never really tell, he always saw her the same way, pinned to the ceiling and bleeding, and it was hard to make out someone’s attractive quality when they were suffering so.
He waited patiently for the dream to end, knowing he should want it to go further, should want to know more, but unable to stand the smell, the heat, the fire any longer.
But even as he reminded himself he was dreaming, even as he tried to force himself to wake, it made no difference, and the dream continued. Suddenly the man stood, seeming resolute and reaching towards the cradle. Somewhere over the sound of crackling fire came a high-pitched voice calling out to the man. Not missing a beat, he scooped the baby up in his arms and pressed him into the small hold of a blonde child Sam had never seen in the nightmare before.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now Dean! Go!”
Sam jerked awake, panting. He sat upright in bed, hand clutched to his chest and the words the man shouted spinning over and over in his mind.
“Now Dean! Go!”
Dean… the boy’s name was Dean. Instantly an image of the cocky man he’d come to know as his biological brother popped into Sam’s mind and he pushed it away. Surely there were a lot of Deans in the world. And besides, it wasn’t as if his nightmares were real, they were just figments of his apparently deranged imagination, no matter what the people looked like. He conjured his mother and father, so why not a little boy and named for his brother? It must’ve been his subconscious’ way of responding to Dean being on his mind, to Dean’s crazy stories and insanity - nothing more. And as for Mary… well he must’ve remembered a picture of her, remembered one of his father’s insane stories and then constructed the nightmare around it, that was all.
Because nightmares were just that - nightmares.
They were not real.
He rolled onto his side and pulled Jess into his arms. She murmured something in her sleep and then relaxed into his touch, her face against his chest. He sighed, trying to erase the taste of ash from his mouth as he closed his eyes and wished for a dreamless sleep.
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His eyes were closed and he felt relaxed, peaceful. Something dripped onto his forehead, and his shook his head against it without opening his eyes. Another drip and he was becoming irritated. A third and he decided to find the cause of the leak. Sighing, he opened his eyes and stared above him.
His mouth opened in surprise as his eyes locked with two blue irises above him. Jess, dressed in white with a slash of blood across her abdomen was pinned to the ceiling above him. She looked like a beautiful butterfly trapped behind glass, limbs awkwardly splayed and unmoving. Her mouth was open, as if she were screaming, but no sound came out, there was no sound in the whole room except for the roaring of blood pounding in Sam’s ears.
Sam regained his voice and shouted in denial, “No! Jess, no!” Then flames burst from behind her, a glowing backdrop of horror and Sam kept shouting as they engulfed her and all he could see was her face, and he couldn’t move, he could barely breathe. Their eyes were locked on to each other’s and he saw the pain in hers just before the flames completely covered her.
“Jess!” Sam screamed, jackknifing in bed, sweating, tears stinging his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Jess asked groggily from beside him.
“Oh thank God,” Sam cried, pulling her into his arms and kissing her face, her neck, any part of her he could find to touch.
“Sam, what’s going on? Sam!” Jess shouted, pulling out of his grip. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing I just… I had a nightmare… just a nightmare.”
“Oh baby, it’s okay. It wasn’t real,” Jess said comfortingly, sounding half-asleep and sure to drift off again soon, hugging him and allowing him to rock her slightly as he clung to her desperately.
It was just a dream.
Dreams aren’t real.
And just as he was beginning to convince himself that it was just a dream and nothing more, just as he thought he might actually be able to fall asleep, Dean’s words echoed in his head and had him panicking.
‘She died in a fire… in your nursery…’
Fire licking blonde hair above a cradle while the baby shrieked and the father stared in horror.
‘Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now Dean, Go!’
‘This is one of our last family photos before the fire, there’s Mom, Dad, me, and you.’
‘Mary!’
Sam haphazardly let go of Jess and stumbled off the bed, his legs shaking as his feet hit the floor, barely able to hold his weight. He staggered out of the room, while behind him Jess rolled over, searching for Sam even in her sleep and finding nothing but an empty impression in the sheets.
Bracing himself against the wall and trying hard to swallow against the bile that had risen in his throat from this horrible assumption, this terrible idea. He fell as he reached the bathroom door, crawling across the cold tile to the toilet where he retched and cried and told himself over and over that it was just a dream.
Author: Ada
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: AU where anything's game.
Characters: Sam/Jess, Dean, John, and more
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Supernatural' or Dean or Sam... too bad.
Note: My Marty Guenther is modeled after 'Mr. Guenther' who co-owned the garage with John and was shown in the episode 'Home'. This story was partially inspired by the cut scene with the longer conversation between the boys and Mr. Guenther.
Summary: AU. John had been declared mentally incompetent by the state, his boys split up and raised by two different families. Now, 20 years later, John sends Dean to his naive little brother, to tell him that the demon is coming for him.
One misstep and everything they'd built could collapse like a house of cards.
Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven
House of Cards
Chapter 8
“John’s out, Dean,” Ella said, her voice sounding strained over the phone.
“How do you know that?” Dean asked. He was sitting in his motel room, idly flicking channels while waiting for the clock to near ‘10’ so he could go meet with Sam. It was almost time to leave and he was almost annoyed to receive a call from his mother. Besides, wasn’t it later in Kansas than it was in California?
“He came to visit your father. They had an argument. I’m pretty sure he’s heading for California. You’re… you’re going to need to tell Sam about him before he shows up, don’t you think?”
“Oh yeah ‘hey Sam, guess what? Our dad, who, incidentally, has really been locked up in a nuthouse for the past twenty years is coming down for a little visit. I hope you guys become best buddies.’ That’ll go over real well,” Dean groaned.
“Dean… there’s something you should know about Sam and your father… I would’ve told you sooner, but I…”
“Hold that thought, Mom, I’ve got a call on the other line.” He hit the ‘talk’ button on his phone to switch to the other call and answered it in a decidedly not cheerful voice, “Hello?”
“Dean,” John’s gruff voice said in response.
“Dad? Hi… I heard that you’re out…” Dean trailed off uncomfortably. He hadn’t done one thing that John had asked him to when he sent him out to California - well except the part where he met Sam, but other than that he hadn’t accomplished anything, and he was just waiting for John to point that out.
“I’m in California. I’m getting some supplies and I should be in Palo Alto tomorrow afternoon.”
Dean felt his stomach lurch. John was so close, so close and he wasn’t ready, not at all. “Tomorrow?” he finally choked out.
“Yes,” John replied tersely. “How’re things there? Have you found Sam?”
“Uh, yeah, I’ve talked to him.”
“And he’s up to speed on everything?” his tone carried a hint of accusation.
“Actually I was… planning on uh… telling him tonight…” Dean stammered, wondering why John could still make him feel like a disobedient child. He had done what he wanted regardless of what John had to say for the past twenty years, there was no reason that he should be so intimidated now. He was never out before, a stubborn part of Dean’s brain pointed out, and Dean had to admit that could be the cause of his sudden regression. Whereas before his father had been locked away, unable to actually do much himself, and Dean could disobey and say what he wanted, trusting his father would still be there the next day, now John could do whatever he wanted.
John paused before he responded, and Dean found himself counting the seconds, not sure if he wanted to hear what his father had to say. “Be sure you do, Dean. This is important. There are some signs that could mean the demon’s coming closer. Your brother needs to be ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied instantly. “But still… I’m worried he won’t believe me,” he admitted, he wouldn’t let John push him around too much.
“Well he’ll believe eventually. This’ll at least give us a chance to get him on our side first.”
“Our side? What are you talking about? The demon’s going to try and kill Sam - right?”
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll be in touch though.”
“Dad wait, answer me!” Silence met his words, John had already ended the call. “Dammit! What the hell did he mean?!” Dean glanced at the clock and cursed as he realized he was late to meet Sam. Forgetting that his mother was waiting to tell him something important, he closed his cell phone and ran out the door.
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Sam had made up his mind to humor Dean as much as possible tonight. After talking to Jess about Dean, and the things she had said to him, he figured he just might owe his brother that much.
He arrived before Dean this time, drenched from the rainstorm that had begun just before he left, and sat at the bar waiting for him, wondering what they were going to talk about, Jess’ words to him as he walked out still running through his mind, ‘But Sam… don’t you want to know about your family? Don’t you think you ought to find out now? After all, they link you and Dean together, right?’
Of course Jess didn’t know why the mere thought of John Winchester made Sam shudder and feel as if he couldn’t breathe, Sam had never told her about that, had never told anyone about it. He idly wondered if even Dean knew about what happened back in Kansas. Of course Sam couldn’t really remember what John looked like, what he sounded like; all he knew was a memory of a dark figure and fear - so much fear.
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Sam was sitting at the bar, tapping his fingers against a full beer bottle that he bought out of habit, when Dean arrived. Dean cast a nervous glance at Sam, a leather-bound book clasped tightly in his hands and a well of regret within him. I am so sorry that I have to tell you this, Sammy…
He approached Sam, who turned to face him when he was within two feet of his brother. “Hey,” Sam greeted brightly.
“…Hi…” Dean replied hesitantly. He glanced around, the bar was loud, too loud for the conversation he had to have with Sam.
Sighing, he looked up into his brother’s face; a face he had once known as well as his own, and that now had become so different. He might be a Winchester, and Dean could see it more than just in physical resemblance, he could tell by the way Sam carried himself, the intimidating nature of his posture, the way he talked, the way he laughed, all of that was part of Dean and John and Mary, part of their family, whether Sam would ever realize it or not, but Sam was different.
He didn’t know what Dean knew, he didn’t remember what Dean remembered. Sam didn’t sometimes wake up to the sound of crackling flames ringing in his ears, choking against the acrid smoke of burned flesh and feeling the heat of the fire that claimed his mother. How could he? He was too young to remember. Sam had been too young throughout everything that happened to be able to remember any of it. And Dean knew that in that moment he would give anything, do anything, to not have to tell Sam, to not have to watch as the last of his naiveté and innocence was drained away. But he had to, because a jaded Sam was better than a dead Sam, and he firmly held to that belief.
Besides, he would be there, he would let Sam react whatever way he needed to, and he would be there whether Sam wanted him or not, because he would never leave Sam alone to face that sort of danger, not ever.
“Look Sam, I need to talk to you. Can we go someplace quieter?”
Sam had looked confused, even a little suspicious, and he eyed Dean up and down as if trying to decide how much of a threat he posed before agreeing. And so Dean found himself driving the Impala, Sam riding shotgun, and he couldn’t help but think that nothing had ever seemed so right before than the two of them in that car together.
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He drove to the hotel, silence hanging in the air between himself and Sam as they entered the small hotel room. “What’s going on?” Sam asked as he sat down in the desk chair, leaving Dean to perch on the edge of the bed, absently fingering the blanket as he tried to find the words for what he had to say. He decided that starting at the beginning was probably the best tactic.
“Sam… when you were a baby… our mom - Mary Winchester - died,” he began slowly.
“Yeah, I know that,” Sam responded. Dean seemed to be struggling with his words, so Sam asked him a question, tried to get him going so he could find out what Dean was hiding from him. “How did she die anyway?”
Dean closed his eyes and wished that he could just lie and move on, but he needed to tell the truth, Sam deserved to know the truth. “She died in a fire… in your nursery…” Sam seemed surprised by that, and Dean thought it was probably valid, Sam had been there when the fire started, and he made it out alive but his mother hadn’t. That had to elicit some reaction.
“What? How did that happen, how did the fire start?”
“That’s the million dollar question right there Sammy,” Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hands. He had heard this story so many times in his life that he couldn’t believe how difficult it was to tell it to someone else. “Dad heard her scream and so he went up to your nursery and when he did…” he choked a little and looked anywhere but at Sam’s face. “…she was on the ceiling, the ceiling,” he said finally, trying to erase the image his mind had drawn for him long ago of his mother, his beautiful wonderful mom pinned to the ceiling, bleeding and in pain, probably knowing that she was about to die, taking who knew how many secrets to the grave with her.
“Wait… what?” Sam demanded.
“It’s true, she was pinned to the ceiling with a big gash on her stomach and the blood… the blood dripped down into your crib…” Dean felt sick, he never thought of it like that before, the fact that Mary had died above Sam, that her blood on fallen on Sam. How did they not realize all this time that the demon was really going for Sam, why else would it have killed Mary like that?
“What?” Sam said again, and when Dean took it for one more denial he missed realizing why Sam kept saying it. He didn’t know that Sam was seeing his nightmares in his mind again, reliving the image of the woman trapped on the ceiling above him, remembering how her blood felt when it dripped on his head…
“And then a fire broke out from behind her…” Dean almost whispered, lost in his own recollections, the way his father’s voice always broke on that line.
Sam for his part was in shock, mouth hanging open, unable to respond. And in his mind the man on the floor screamed “Mary!” over and over as she burned on the ceiling.
“What… what did she look like?” Sam finally choked out. Dean glanced at him sharply, confused at the seemingly random question, and disheartened that his brother had no idea what their mother looked like. However, when he pulled out a photo of the family standing before the house from his wallet, and said, “This is one of our last family photos before the fire, there’s Mom, Dad, me, and you” he wasn’t ready for Sam to rip it out of his hands, to stare at it in abject horror and then drop it as if it burned him, scurrying across the room as far from Dean as he could get.
“Sam?” Dean asked softly. His brother stood in the far corner, staring at Dean with fear in his wide eyes. “I… what’s…”
“You’re crazy… that… that isn’t possible… what could do that?” Sam shouted at him.
“Dad says it was a demon,” Dean offered.
“John Winchester is insane!” Sam yelled, trying so hard to forget what Dean said, to chalk it up to madness and not think about how he watched it happen in his nightmares almost every night, trying not to recognize Mary and John as the people in his dreams, trying not to speculate on how that could be, trying not to think at all. “You’re crazy too! This is why you came?!”
“The demon’s coming Sam… we need to be prepared!” Dean stood and took a step towards Sam who shrank back against the wall.
“What the hell are you talking about?! There’s no such thing as demons!”
“Sam… You have to believe me…” Dean said desperately, and after that he just began talking. He told Sam about the three years before they were separated, about sulfur and salt lines; shotguns and silver bullets, Latin chants and exorcisms where the victim’s body writhed and gagged beneath restraints. He talked, his voice monotone as he tried not to think about how he had never told anyone this before, how so many of these words had never once passed through his lips, and he recalled nights spent at seedy motels while John met with Daniel Elkins, times huddled in the Impala waiting for the return of his father, who had loaded up on bullets and salt before leaving. He spoke about what his father discovered about the demon, about fire and blood and sacrifice and the newspaper articles that described the exact same conditions without realizing it, things like ‘electrical fire,’ ‘faulty wiring in nursery,’ ‘6-month old baby,’ ‘fire so intense it blew out the windows.’
Through it all Sam leaned against the wall, his hands alternately rising and falling, as if he couldn’t decide if he needed to defend himself or not. However, his jaw remained tight, and Dean wasn’t sure if he believed any of it, even a little bit, and all he could think to do when he was done was to reach out to Sam in a conciliatory gesture and say, “You have to believe me.”
“Get away from me!” he yelled, slapping Dean’s hands away and heading for the door.
“Sam wait!” Dean cried as his brother hurtled towards the exit, throwing it open and running out into the rain. Dean followed him after a moment’s hesitation - a hesitation which was long enough to lose Sam in the dark parking lot. Damn could he run…
“Sam!” Dean screamed out, knowing it was futile to call out to him. Sam would never hear him over the rain, and if he had wanted to stay and talk to Dean he wouldn’t have run out of that place like someone had tried to kill him.
Dean collapsed on the bed, his head in his hands. Out of all of the ways he imagined that conversation going, the way it actually happened had to have been the absolute worst way. How the hell was he going to salvage this now?
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Jess was on the couch when Sam walked in, completely drenched from running back to the bar for his car in the sudden monsoon.
“Sam? What’re you doing back so early?” she asked, turning off Lifetime and approaching him. “Sam you’re soaking wet! What happened?” she asked, pulling at his shirt, trying to get the offending wet article off of his skin.
“I… nothing happened…” Sam said hesitantly. He considered telling Jess the truth, it was almost out of his mouth when suddenly the lie came out instead. Jess would think he was crazy if she knew what had been happening, if she knew the woman in the nightmares was his mother, if she knew that his father had been institutionalized for claiming that a demon murdered his wife, that Dean believed that too. And maybe he was crazy - mental illness could be genetic after all…
Jess wasn’t fooled by his response, knowing that something terrible had to have happened for Sam to be in such a state, he was even trembling.
“I just want to go to sleep,” Sam said quietly. “Can we just go to bed?”
“You need to take a shower first, clean off all that rainwater,” Jess suggested. Sam grudgingly agreed, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving Jess to panic over what could have possibly occurred between Sam and Dean that night.
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He dreamed of fire again.
The stench of burning flesh met his nostrils as he appeared in the dream halfway through, the woman already engulfed in flames, and the man lying on the floor staring up at her in horror. The fire flickered in front of her face, masking the frozen expression of fear that was permanently etched on her visage. She might have been pretty, Sam could never really tell, he always saw her the same way, pinned to the ceiling and bleeding, and it was hard to make out someone’s attractive quality when they were suffering so.
He waited patiently for the dream to end, knowing he should want it to go further, should want to know more, but unable to stand the smell, the heat, the fire any longer.
But even as he reminded himself he was dreaming, even as he tried to force himself to wake, it made no difference, and the dream continued. Suddenly the man stood, seeming resolute and reaching towards the cradle. Somewhere over the sound of crackling fire came a high-pitched voice calling out to the man. Not missing a beat, he scooped the baby up in his arms and pressed him into the small hold of a blonde child Sam had never seen in the nightmare before.
“Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Now Dean! Go!”
Sam jerked awake, panting. He sat upright in bed, hand clutched to his chest and the words the man shouted spinning over and over in his mind.
“Now Dean! Go!”
Dean… the boy’s name was Dean. Instantly an image of the cocky man he’d come to know as his biological brother popped into Sam’s mind and he pushed it away. Surely there were a lot of Deans in the world. And besides, it wasn’t as if his nightmares were real, they were just figments of his apparently deranged imagination, no matter what the people looked like. He conjured his mother and father, so why not a little boy and named for his brother? It must’ve been his subconscious’ way of responding to Dean being on his mind, to Dean’s crazy stories and insanity - nothing more. And as for Mary… well he must’ve remembered a picture of her, remembered one of his father’s insane stories and then constructed the nightmare around it, that was all.
Because nightmares were just that - nightmares.
They were not real.
He rolled onto his side and pulled Jess into his arms. She murmured something in her sleep and then relaxed into his touch, her face against his chest. He sighed, trying to erase the taste of ash from his mouth as he closed his eyes and wished for a dreamless sleep.
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His eyes were closed and he felt relaxed, peaceful. Something dripped onto his forehead, and his shook his head against it without opening his eyes. Another drip and he was becoming irritated. A third and he decided to find the cause of the leak. Sighing, he opened his eyes and stared above him.
His mouth opened in surprise as his eyes locked with two blue irises above him. Jess, dressed in white with a slash of blood across her abdomen was pinned to the ceiling above him. She looked like a beautiful butterfly trapped behind glass, limbs awkwardly splayed and unmoving. Her mouth was open, as if she were screaming, but no sound came out, there was no sound in the whole room except for the roaring of blood pounding in Sam’s ears.
Sam regained his voice and shouted in denial, “No! Jess, no!” Then flames burst from behind her, a glowing backdrop of horror and Sam kept shouting as they engulfed her and all he could see was her face, and he couldn’t move, he could barely breathe. Their eyes were locked on to each other’s and he saw the pain in hers just before the flames completely covered her.
“Jess!” Sam screamed, jackknifing in bed, sweating, tears stinging his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Jess asked groggily from beside him.
“Oh thank God,” Sam cried, pulling her into his arms and kissing her face, her neck, any part of her he could find to touch.
“Sam, what’s going on? Sam!” Jess shouted, pulling out of his grip. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing I just… I had a nightmare… just a nightmare.”
“Oh baby, it’s okay. It wasn’t real,” Jess said comfortingly, sounding half-asleep and sure to drift off again soon, hugging him and allowing him to rock her slightly as he clung to her desperately.
It was just a dream.
Dreams aren’t real.
And just as he was beginning to convince himself that it was just a dream and nothing more, just as he thought he might actually be able to fall asleep, Dean’s words echoed in his head and had him panicking.
‘She died in a fire… in your nursery…’
Fire licking blonde hair above a cradle while the baby shrieked and the father stared in horror.
‘Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Now Dean, Go!’
‘This is one of our last family photos before the fire, there’s Mom, Dad, me, and you.’
‘Mary!’
Sam haphazardly let go of Jess and stumbled off the bed, his legs shaking as his feet hit the floor, barely able to hold his weight. He staggered out of the room, while behind him Jess rolled over, searching for Sam even in her sleep and finding nothing but an empty impression in the sheets.
Bracing himself against the wall and trying hard to swallow against the bile that had risen in his throat from this horrible assumption, this terrible idea. He fell as he reached the bathroom door, crawling across the cold tile to the toilet where he retched and cried and told himself over and over that it was just a dream.