Dove's Heart 3/6
Title: Dove's Heart
Chapter Three: Pain and Memory
Author: fuu_43
Word Count: 4,185
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Pre-Series. Sam goes missing and Dean and John struggle to find him. Sometimes appearances can be deceiving.
Disclaimer: Not Mine.
Sam could feel the ache even before he was fully awake, a dull pain that ran from the tip of his toes to the top of his head. It throbbed in time with his heart beat, a constant pain that dulled his other senses and made him feel as if he were floating. His limbs tingled, more asleep than awake and his eyelids were heavy. Around him sounds were muted, nothing penetrating his ears except for his own shallow breathing. Ignoring the noise, he fought to hear the quiet sounds of his brother and father moving about; he strained his ears and tried to figure out what time it was.
Wherever they were, he was exhausted and undoubtedly so was the rest of his family. It felt as if he’d been sleeping for days, as if his body was still struggling to drag him back into unconsciousness. The telltale noise of the shower running was absent and Sam thanked his luck that no one was awake. He could go back to sleep still, could give into the urge for rest that his body was demanding.
It was probably still the dead of night, his mind too fuzzy to discern if it was late in the evening or early in the morning. He could sleep for two or three more hours before his father got up and his brother dragged the both of them out of bed. Sam always had trouble telling time whenever he was more asleep than awake and even now he wasn’t sure exactly how much more sleep he’d get.
The room was dark and a cool breeze let him know that the air conditioner was cranked too high. He usually didn’t mind the cold, preferred it to the sweltering heat that made most run down hotel rooms smell like mold and rotten garbage. Now however, he was chilled enough that his fingertips were stiff and the tips of his ears hurt. He toyed only briefly with the notion of trying to locate the blankets he had undoubtedly kicked off. Sam was too close to sleep to move, too tired to try and make his half numb limbs operate.
He sighed and shifted just barely, hoping that the bed would somehow get less uncomfortable. At the moment he envied his brother’s ability to fall asleep on any surface, no matter how firm or lumpy or saggy or smelly. Beneath him the mattress was rough and damp, the hotel sheets so scratchy they were almost painful. Something long and coarse tickled at his ear and he tried to burrow deeper into the sheet under him.
Another cold breeze whispered against him and he felt himself slowly start to rise out of his sleep induced haze. Sam knew that moving would probably wake his brother but he didn’t think he’d be able to fall back asleep without something covering him. Maybe if he was lucky his brother would sleep through the movements, though Sam couldn’t remember him ever doing so in the past. It was like the arctic in there though and Sam needed a blanket. He felt like his fingers were about to fall off.
Swallowing in an attempt to moisten his dry throat, he stuttered and coughed. His body seized at the unintentional movement, the muscles protesting and cramping at the jerky motion. The slow deep pain he’d noticed since waking flared, his nerves seeming to burn under his skin. He moaned in pain, wondering how he had managed to work his body into such a painful state. Taking a deep breath through his mouth, he tried to relax his frame and bring an end the uncontrollable tremors. Attempting to keep himself perfectly still, he continued to shakily regulate his harsh pants and hoped that somehow the cramping muscles would unclench themselves.
His stomach tightened suddenly and he shakily forced himself up and onto his knees. His muscles screamed at the motion, the pain flaring up again and turning the darkness behind his eyelids a dull red.
Even with his eyes still closed, the world swayed around him and blood rushed to his ears. Hoping that Dean wouldn’t be too pissed, he leaned forward and felt the surge of bile as it climbed up his throat. He could feel the trembling in his legs, could barely hold his weight with his arms. For a moment his limbs threatened to give way and he tried not to imagine how embarrassing it would be to literally collapse in his own vomit.
The action caused his stomach muscles to protest painfully and he couldn’t help the second sound of distress that escaped him. He was more than just sore, he felt as if he were dying, as if his body was rebelling against him. Sam wondered if he’d somehow really hurt himself, if he’d somehow managed to nearly kill himself. After all, an injury would account for his fuzzy memory. And if his dad had given him pain pills, it would explain his cotton mouth and nausea. Wiping a shaky hand at his mouth, he forced his eyes open and readied himself for Dean’s mothering.
Even if Dean was angry at Sam for making a mess of the sheets, Sam was looking forward to a cool glass of water and another round of pain pills. Dean always seemed to know what Sam needed, anticipated it without thought, and Sam looked forward to a little bit of coddling.
Though dark his eyes immediately focused on the bent blades of grass peeking out between his fingers. They were a steel gray, the darkness surrounding him leaching out all color. Confused, he stared at the greenery and tried to figure out why his and Dean’s bed was covered in grass. Had Dean played some sort of trick on him? Tipping his head up, Sam took in the cool night air and the forest surrounding him.
Swallowing down another wave of nausea, he slowly scanned his unfamiliar surroundings. The trees were thick and gnarled, old and menacing looking. They were tall too, reaching far above him and blocking out most of the clear night sky. Unlike his first thought, there was no lumpy bed beneath him, no sleeping brother next to him. The trees surrounding him were thick with leaves that were large and a shiny black in the dark. The ground underneath him was cool and damp and Sam pushed up quickly to his feet. Peeking through the leaves above him a full moon filtered through the branches and cast an eerie glow over his surroundings.
“D’n?”
His voice barely came out at a whisper, his throat so sore and raw that Sam didn’t think he could make it any louder. He could still taste bile at the back of his throat and he tried to swallow back the taste. His feet were unsteady, disconnected and throbbing with pain. Wincing, he half walked half stumbled towards a fallen tree, letting his hip rest against it. Covered in moss, Sam could feel the coolness of the log through his clothing.
Sam’s eyes once again searched the nearby trees, sure that his brother would appear at any moment. Around him the branches swayed noiselessly in the breeze, only a small sound escaping as they shifted against each other. When Dean didn’t immediately come into view Sam shivered and glanced down at himself. His eyes caught on his bare feet, his toes scratched and red. They were swollen and aching and Sam was certain he’d been without shoes for awhile. His pants and shirt were in a similar state, ripped and stained. The night breeze cut through them easily, his teeth actually starting to chatter from the cold temperature.
He tried to remember how he’d lost his shoes, how his clothing had gotten into such a state, but his head was achy and fuzzy. He wondered again where his brother was and his eyes searched the trees once more for him instinctively. They remained quiet, and the darkness and density of the trees made it impossible for him to see beyond them. Ignoring his still half clenching muscles, Sam rubbed at his arms in an effort to get warm and frowned at the crusty feeling his fingers encountered. Peering down at them, he was suddenly aware of every dark stain that covered him.
Even in the pale light Sam knew what dried blood looked like and he was caked in it. In fact, despite the cool breeze the smell seemed to hang around him in a thick fog. The strong stench of iron crawled down his throat and made his stomach tighten uneasily. He rubbed vigorously at several of the spots on his arms until the dark blood flaked away. Choking away the bubble of panic that welled just under his skin, Sam searched again for his brother and wracked his memory.
Like his feet, his arms were red and tender to the touch. They were covered in scratches, crimson lines that crisscrossed his pale skin. The scratches were both shallow and deep, the yellow and red bleeding out from them clear signs of infection. He bent one of his arms closer to his face, trying to figure out just where the wounds had come from and why they’d never been properly cleaned.
Leaning more heavily on the log, he brought a hand up to his face and scrubbed at his suddenly watering eyes. Now was not the time to be a wimp and crying wouldn’t help him find his brother or his father. He was frightened though, his memory of how he’d gotten there and why his family wasn’t there nonexistent. He knew that his brother wouldn’t leave him out in the woods, wouldn’t leave him hurt and alone and afraid. So where was he? Peering at the forest floor he studied the bent blades of grass that he’d been laying on. Around him the rest of the ground seemed undisturbed.
He knew that Dean would probably have never even gotten himself into such a mess of a situation and the thought made him want to give into the urge to howl like a baby. Sam wasn’t like his brother though; he needed Dean to fix this, to fix him. His brother could fix anything. Shaking his head, Sam took an unsteady breath and tried to pull himself together. Closing his eyes again, he wrapped his arms more firmly around himself and shivered.
Where was Dean? Where was his dad?
Forcing his eyes open, Sam pushed himself up and off the log. If they weren’t there, he would have to find them. He couldn’t remember being on a hunt, but couldn’t think of any other reason for him to be out in the woods. He wasn’t allowed on hunts though and couldn’t think of any situation his brother or father would have tolerated it. But if this was a hunt gone wrong, then Sam had to hurry. There could still be something in the woods or his father and brother could be hurt.
The ground below him was uneven and Sam stumbled to his knees. Feeling something foreign tap against his chest, he glanced down automatically.
A long leather cord was wound around his neck, a small metal looking box affixed to it. It was small, rusty, and worn at the edges; it shone dully under the moonlight. The sight of it made him feel light headed, made his stomach clench and twist. Not recognizing it, Sam searched his memory and swallowed back the sudden taste of fear. This too brought forth a blank space of nothing. His heart started racing in his chest and he took several deep gulps of oxygen. Black spots flickered across his vision and he felt as if he were choking on the night air.
He could sense the memory wavering just out of sight and knew without a doubt that it was no good. Sam could feel more tears gathering, his body so tight and sore and tired that he wasn’t sure he would be able to stand again.
Bringing up a hand he shakily reached for it, knowing that it needed to come off. Just the sight of it hanging from his neck made him ill.
The dark metal was warm and smooth under his fingertips, an abnormalness to it that was unsettling. He wasn’t sure what metal it was made of, it didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen before. Turning it over, his fingers ghosted over the image engraved on the front of it.
It was a bird.
The illustration was enough to make his skin break out in goose bumps and he dropped the box as if were fire hot. The pain he had been trying to push out of his mind reared its ugly head and his entire body shook painfully.
“No, no, no, no, no, no no….”
Sam remembered then that he had tried before to remove it, that he had spent over an hour struggling to pull the seemingly light object over his head. His arms had burned as his muscles had strained with the small box. The attempt had left him weak limbed and dizzy. It hadn’t come off and even now he could feel the impossibly heavy weight of it.
And with the memory of the box came the fuzzy disjointed memories of how he’d gotten there. Images of his brother and father and an old house filled to the brim with stuff raced across his mind. His father’s warning echoed and Sam cursed his rotten awful luck. He glanced down at his dirty beat up frame again and this time was unsurprised by all of the bruises and cuts and abrasions.
Glancing up at the night sky, Sam took in the full moon with new eyes. Last time it hadn’t made sense, now he was afraid of the conclusions his mind was coming to. His memories were still largely hazy and unclear but the pain he’d felt and was still feeling was enough to convince him that he wasn’t crazy.
The knowledge that came with his memory didn’t decrease his fear however. Instead he was struck with the overwhelming need to move. Staggering back up to his feet, he used the trees around him to hold his weight. The bark beneath his hands was coarse and jagged and he winced as it cut into his flesh.
He thought back to his last clear memory, pushing away the more immediate indistinct recollections of green trees and a clear pond. Time during those memories was a blur and Sam wasn’t sure if an hour or a week had passed. Those memories frightened him.
Shaking them away, he focused on the other images in his mind.
A phone booth swam into focus. An old phone booth on the edge of town next to a broken down store with a tilted sign in the window. He remembered that. Remembered how the door on the booth had squeaked and the paint on the receiver had been chipped and faded. It had been pouring out and so cold that he hadn’t been able to stop shivering and shaking. The memory of the rain was so strong that he automatically looked up into the clear night sky. Peering down at his clothes, he was surprised that they were relatively dry. More time had passed than he’d originally thought.
Trying to figure out just how much time had passed he let himself recall the memory in greater detail.
He could still hear his dad’s voice if he concentrated, asking him over and over again if he was okay, if everything was okay. His dad hadn’t been with him though and he tried to remember just why his father had been absent or how he’d heard his voice. He couldn’t remember, nor could Sam could recall how he'd responded to his dad’s questions. He did know that his dad had kept talking, his voice low and soothing. It had been hard to hear him, the rain on the booth generating a noise that had made it almost impossible to discern his father’s words.
Then his brother’s voice had started and Sam could still feel the wave of warmth his presence had created. Dean had soothed his fears and Sam had leaned on Dean’s overwhelming belief that they would be together soon.
But they weren’t together.
Dean wasn’t there now and hadn’t been there with him in that phone booth.
Sam tried to get his mind around the idea that Dean wasn’t there next to him and his mind skipped and fumbled in confusion. Where had his brother been and why wasn’t he there now? He was used to his father not being there, but Dean? Dean would never have left him alone on the streets in the middle of the night. He would never have abandoned him in the woods. Never. Dean was the overprotective pain in the ass big brother that barely let him use the restroom by himself.
And how again had he gotten there?
Leaning more of his weight against the tree, he shut his eyes and tried to concentrate. His thoughts were like water, slipping through his fingers the moment his attention wandered. He fought with himself for a moment but his last thought flowed out of his hands and out of his reach. Without a doubt Sam knew that he had remembered how he’d ended up there moments ago. Now, he couldn’t quite remember anything except that he needed his brother.
“D’n?”
The words were barely out of his mouth before he realized that Dean wasn’t there. Where was Dean again?
Sam looked around, the forest surrounding him unfamiliar and strange. It was night and the darkness was thick and heavy. It clung to him like a second skin and made his lungs ache with the weight of it. He shivered and heard a soft sound of distress escape him. He hurt. Every part of him ached and burned. How had he gotten injured? He tried to remember if he’d fallen down or tripped somehow, but couldn’t recall.
His clothing was torn and dirty, a mess of stains and rips. Glancing around, he pulled himself forward and clenched his teeth. Despite the confusion, Sam knew that he had to move. The need to go forward was so strong that staying still made his stomach churn.
He had to find his brother and father. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there, but was sure that his family was searching for him. Stumbling over fallen branches and between overgrown roots, he moistened his mouth and tried to use his voice again.
“Dean?”
Though marginally louder and clearer, the word was still too soft to cut through the thick foliage. Sam trudged through the deep prickly underbrush, sweating and shivering and fighting the urge to lie down and sleep. Twigs and branches caught at his hair and clothing, leaving scratches and tears as he continued on. He wasn’t sure which way to go, didn’t know how long it would take him to come across a road or the edge of the trees.
Stumbling into a small clearing, Sam strained his eyes against the darkness and looked for a path. Seeing none, he sighed and resumed his short wobbly steps forward. He couldn’t remember the woods around him and the image of a phone booth flickered in his head.
He tried to focus on the image but it drifted away.
Sam’s lungs burned as he continued to move, time blurring as he struggled to make it out of the trees. He concentrated on each step, refusing to think about where his brother and father were and how long he’d be able to remain standing and moving. More than anything Sam wanted to be away from the woods. The darkness was suffocating and it created a tangible fear that seemed to be clawing up the back of his throat.
Half crumpling against a tree, he leaned his head on the trunk of it and tried to catch his breath. He was wheezing, his lungs seeming to fight each mouthful of air he dragged in. He was dizzy, nauseous, and so tired that keeping his eyes open was a struggle.
Sammy.
The word was whispered in his ear, his brother’s voice quiet and encouraging. Sam’s head tilted up at the noise, knowing that Dean wasn’t there next to him but desperate for the support.
Sammy.
He tilted his head to the side, the clearness of the word ringing through his head. It wasn’t so supportive now; it was loud and had a desperate note to it that he was unfamiliar with. Sam’s heart ached at the nickname and he brought up a hand to wipe at the wetness on his cheeks.
Dean would probably be pissed at him when he realized that Sam was missing. Sam wasn’t sure how the two of them had gotten separated but knew that it was more than likely his fault. If he concentrated he could count off the times he’d done something this stupid.
The frozen lake.
The broken down factory.
That old graveyard in Maryland.
The thoughts made him apprehensive and he knew that Dean would be just as furious this time. Sam had messed up, again.
Damn it Sammy!
His brother’s voice echoed in his head, full of disappointment and irritation.
But Sam didn’t know what he could have done differently. He hadn’t meant to wander off, hadn’t meant to get lost in the woods. If only he could just remember how he’d gotten there, where his brother and father were, why he hurt so bad. Maybe then he would know how to get Dean to forgive him.
Sammy.
The name sounded again and Sam forced his eyes open at the rawness of it. Dean didn’t ever sound like that.
“Sammy!”
Sam’s eyes automatically scanned the darkness around him, stopping at the odd beam of light that cut through forest. His mind scattered at the out of place sight, the light far enough away that it shown only dimly for a moment before disappearing again. The forest around him was eerily quiet and his ears strained for some sort of sign that he wasn’t crazy.
“Sammy!”
The voice was distant but there and suddenly the wavering light and loud voice made sense to his unorganized thought process.
“Dean!”
Sam could barely speak and his brother’s name came out in an odd half croak. Pushing himself up and off the tree, he lurched toward what had to be a flashlight. It flickered in and out of existence and he was certain that if he didn’t hurry he’d be left there. He could hear his labored breathing clearly, loud and scratchy and shallow. His throat and lungs burned and his entire body felt as if it were trying to move beneath water.
He tripped, stumbled, and snapped through small branches as he moved. Below him the ground was an unknown black stretch of twigs, rocks, and other obstacles. The light was getting closer and through the trees he could see the dark shape of what had to be a person.
“Dean!”
His voice was still weak and now it was reedy and thin as he fought for oxygen. It hurt to pull in air and Sam wondered if it was possible for lungs to function when they were filled with hot ash. The shadow in the distance didn’t react to Sam’s pitiful attempt to draw attention to himself and he wished that the woods weren’t so dense.
Using his hands, he maneuvered himself around a large tree, the uneven roots making his feet falter and stumble.
“Dean!”
The word came out at almost a normal speaking level, though Sam’s arms and legs barely wanted to support him. He kept his eyes focused on the dark shape in the distance, the light turning in Sam’s direction as the person grew impossibly still.
He tried to run, to force his legs to eat up the space between them.
“Sammy?!”
Sam’s heart skipped at the worried tone, at the familiar voice. It was Dean, he knew it was Dean. And maybe Dean would be mad at him but Sam couldn’t bring himself to care. Even if Dean were angrier than hell, he was there. Dean could help him with his memory, help him make sense of the jumbled mess that was his brain.
A sharp splitting pain suddenly raced through his left leg and Sam pitched forward into the thick underbrush. He blinked, trying to gather his bearings, and found himself sprawled out on the damp ground. Beneath him his leg was twisted, every nerve on fire.
The pain wiped away everything in his mind, scattered his thoughts and made him shake and tremble.
He tried to concentrate but couldn’t remember what had happened. Instead, he swallowed down a scream and closed his eyes tight.
Sam knew he was crying, could taste the hot tears that were coursing down his face. His throat throbbed and in the distance he could hear something whimpering.
He wanted his brother.