Dove's Heart 5/6
Title: Dove's Heart
Chapter Three: Reunion and Transformation
Author: fuu_43
Word Count: 3,795
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.
Sammy sobbed weakly against the damp grass, the noise muffled beneath the arms he’d used to hide his face. Dean could feel the tension rolling off his little brother, could see it in the sharp angles of his arms and the clenched fists that clutched weakly at the ground. Sam’s voice had gotten hoarse from his crying and it was cracked and barely audible. Dean had tried several times to shush him, to prevent Sam from causing any more pain to his already raw throat, but Sam seemed unable to stop.
Dean continued to murmur soothingly despite the doubts that clung to him, pitching his voice into the lilting cadence he’d used on Sam when he’d cried as a baby.
At four Dean had mastered the shifting swaying murmuring technique that had lulled his brother like nothing else. He’d watched his mother do it, entranced as she’d spoken in soft tones while swaying back and forth. It had taken him awhile, but Dean had used those memories, copied them until Sam’s tears had stopped and his eyes had stared curiously up at him.
Now, he was overcome with the urge to scoop up his younger brother and rock him, to bring back the safe, innocent infant who gargled happily at everything Dean did, but he resisted.
Undoubtedly his younger brother would no longer fit into his arms the way he had years ago.
He leaned in closer to Sam, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring. Dean wasn’t sure why he’d thought he’d be able to handle this, how his brother could forgive him for what he’d just done. Dean had made it his mission in life to shelter his younger brother and being forced to do the exact opposite made him feel oddly light headed.
Sam had listened to Dean earlier, had quieted and relaxed and allowed him to adjust his limbs with barely more than a distressed moan. Dean knew that Sam had trusted him, had instinctively believed that his older brother would never hurt him. But he hadn’t understood what Dean had been planning, still didn’t seem to understand where the sudden debilitating pain was coming from.
Dean had used Sam’s trust against him and the very thought twisted his stomach.
It had been harder than he’d thought to remove the mess of metal, to untangle it from fabric and muscle and bone. His hands and forearms were still slick with his brother’s blood, the weak beam from the flashlight causing the warm fluid to shine glaringly against his skin. His hands had been shaking too, his fingers somehow unable to get a firm grasp on anything as he forced himself to keep working.
Dean unthinkingly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and eyed his brother’s leg carefully. He had cut away the torn pants and used the first aid skills his father had drilled into him to stabilize the broken bone. It had been hard to keep going with his brother’s weak thrashes, his instinctual fight to escape. The flannel Dean had used to help stop the bleeding had already darkened to a messy maroon and the branch he’d stripped and used as a brace stuck out awkwardly.
Now, Dean continued to speak to Sam, though he was certain that his brother could no longer hear him. Watching his brother tremble and shake, he wished that Sam would pass out, that the shock would allow him to escape from the sharp pain. Instead Sam cried and begged for Dean, eyes glassy as he searched frantically for a brother that was right beside him.
He needed Sam to hear him, needed the fog to lift, if only for a moment, so that Sam would realize he wasn’t alone. Earlier, Dean had broken through and the thought that maybe he could do so again kept his lips moving. Wiping one hand against his jeans, he glared at the bloodied trap he’d tossed as far from Sam as he’d been able to.
Leaning back on his heels, Dean refocused. He’d kept his attention on Sam long enough that other sounds and colors had muted and, as he let his mind take a breather, the dark forest around him grew louder and brighter. He gently rolled his shoulders, hissing at the tension that threatened to lock them into place. Dean wasn’t certain how much time had passed, didn’t know how long he’d spent hunched over his brother’s injured form, but his muscles were noticeably tighter, his legs a dead weight under him.
Dean glanced behind him, wondering where his father could possibly be. He knew that his dad had to be making his way towards them as quickly as possible, that he had seen the bright flare Dean had set off earlier. He needed his dad to be there, needed to feel the strength that his father’s presence automatically created in him.
Reaching tentatively towards his brother, he paused to re-wipe his hand against his pants. It was still streaked with red, his flesh stained a shade of pink where he’d managed to clean it a little. Smoothing his brother’s hair out of his face, he let himself slouch over Sam and gently rest his forehead against his back. Through the jacket he’d draped over him Dean could feel the warmth of his brother’s skin. He was close enough that beneath the blood and metal and grass he could still smell Sam. Beneath the stench of sweat and dirt Sam smelled like the brother he’d burped, bathed, rocked to sleep, and carried from the fire.
If he strained his ears he could even hear the soft quick beats of Sam’s heart as it fluttered in his chest.
Sam’s hiccuping cries paused, his lungs pushing harsh gasps into the still air.
“D’n.”
With Sam’s face still hidden in the grass his voice was oddly muted and muffled.
Dean’s eyes closed at the familiarity of the tone and recognized immediately that Sam was no longer crying out for an absent brother. Sam was acknowledging Dean’s presence and it made the older brother fight back the sudden stinging sensation at the backs of his eyes. Although Dean hadn’t stopped speaking, he answered his brother’s voice.
“It’s me Sammy, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Dean’s hand in Sam’s hair automatically tightened. Straightening himself up onto his knees, Dean opened his eyes and examined Sam’s leg one more time before giving into the urge to stretch out in the damp grass next to his brother. The moisture on the ground quickly chilled his skin and ate through his shirt.
“Sammy.”
Speaking in a soft voice, Dean lay on his side and rested his head on the bent arm beneath him. Reaching out with his free hand, he gently tugged at the arm covering Sam’s face from view. Sam resisted for a moment, a low moan leaving his body, before relaxing and letting Dean shift the limb.
Sam’s eyes blinked open lazily, his pupils so wide that only the barest bit of color showed. His cheeks were flushed red, his face wet with tears. He searched the night for several seconds before his attention settled on Dean. Dean watched Sam’s attention slowly focus, his gaze gradually grow sharper.
“D’n.”
Dean wrapped the arm not under him lightly around his brother, wishing he could pull him into the shelter of his body.
“Sammy, I’ve got you.”
He felt like a broken record.
Sam’s eyes slowly drifted closed and Dean resisted the urge to shake him awake. The kid was undoubtedly exhausted and despite the comfort that his brother's eyes open and alert brought to Dean, unconsciousness allowed Sam to escape from what was surely agony.
He debated whether or not to fire another flare but couldn’t bring himself to move away from his brother. Sam was finally looking at him, really seeing him, and Dean was selfish enough to want that as long as possible. Keeping his eyes open, he watched Sam’s eyelashes flutter and mouth slacken as he drifted into sleep. Dean let his fingers clench more firmly at his brother’s back, forcing his breathing to remain even.
Though time had passed, the adrenaline he’d felt earlier was still there just beneath his skin. Dean wanted to lash out at the witch that had done this to Sam, wanted to smash and crush and hurt her. The need to cause pain was so strong it was almost debilitating, but he longed for it anyway. He wanted to cut and twist and pull until there was nothing left of her.
His brother’s condition wasn’t helping the feeling, each cry and moan only strengthening his anger. While Sam had been missing the anger had been there, but buried deep beneath his frantic worry and bottomless guilt. It had been hard to focus on the witch when searching and surviving had been the only things his mind had been able to handle. It had been an itch he couldn’t scratch, an uncomfortable sensation that he’d easily pushed out of his head. Now, with his arm around Sam, with the overwhelming sense of whole that his brother’s presence brought, Dean’s mind wandered back to the witch.
She’d seemed normal enough, a kind woman just past her prime who loved teaching Sunday school and local bake sales. Hell, she’d even worn sweaters covered in cats and smelled like potpourri and vanilla. Dean hadn’t even detected a hint of what lay under her façade, would have held open the door for her or called her ma’am.
It was supposed to have been easy, was supposed to have been a quick in and out job. His father had tracked her down in days and hadn’t even bothered enrolling Sam or Dean in school.
Sam shifted under his hand and Dean pushed the past and his fury away. He didn’t have the time to focus on her, to remember the smell of rotting organs and formaldehyde. She was gone, and all the hatred in the world wouldn’t bring her back, wouldn’t give him the opportunity to make her pay. His brother moved again, this time clearly agitated. His eyes blearily opened, unfocused and red, and the morning light splintered through the treesand across his already pale face. His mouth gaped like a fish and Dean could feel Sam’s heart racing frantically in his small chest.
Dean pushed himself up onto his knees, hands hovering apprehensively over Sam’s body. He watched his brother’s shivers grow, listened as Sam started crying loudly again.
“Sammy,” Dean spoke loud enough that he could be heard over his brother’s distress, “Shhhhh, it’s okay.”
Sam jerked, half shouting as his leg was jarred. Dean looked around, wishing that somehow everything would make sense and he’d know what to do. Around them the trees were still, the early morning light barely cutting though the thick foliage. He needed their dad to get there, had to have him fix things before…
Dean paused, eyes finally taking in the soft glow of dawn. He didn’t know how time had passed so quickly, how suddenly morning had arrived. He felt as if only moments earlier he’d lost his brother, felt as if only seconds ago he’d stumbled back onto him. His gaze skittered back to Sam, who was now visibly shaking.
“Fuck.”
Sam cried out again, his hoarse voice straining as it cut through the quiet morning. Dean instinctively reached forward at the shout, grabbing at the chain around Sam’s neck.
The necklace was hot and it cut into his fingers as he frantically pulled at it. It burned in his hands and Dean could smell the scent of scorched flesh as he forced his fingers to hold tight. His arms strained from the effort of trying to move it, barely raising it an inch despite using all of his strength. Groaning with effort, he helplessly jerked at the firmly fixed object.
“No, no, no, no, no.”
Trying to ignore the sudden fear that flooded his veins, Dean wrenched at the necklace again, the muscles in his arms burning from the strain. He pulled again and again, until his arms trembled and sweat dripped from his brow. Swearing, he finally let go and grabbed onto his brother. He clenched his teeth and ignored the spike of pain in his now injured hands.
Sam’s arm flailed out, sporadically lengthening in a way that was unnatural. His back hunched as he rolled to his side, broken leg unnoticed. At the movement Dean’s coat slid from Sam and Dean pushed back the taste of bile at the back of his throat. Sam’s skin was covered in a fine sheen of red, blood welling up from his pores.
His brother was literally sweating blood.
Sam’s clothes ripped at his twisting motions, the bones of his shoulders thrusting against his paper thin skin as they moved. Dean’s hands fought to keep hold of his brother, the movement and blood making it almost impossible to keep his grip. Beneath him Sam suddenly jerked, his eyes searching out his brother’s before snapping shut. His mouth opened in a stilted gasp, choking on the oxygen he attempted to take in.
Around them the air was charged and Dean watched helplessly as Sam’s bones broke into a mess of angles and unnatural shapes. Blood splattered the grass and trees, ran from Sam’s nose and eyes.
Dean wiped frantically at the liquid pooling at the corners of Sam’s mouth, smelling the coppery stench of his brother’s blood. His hands hovered over Sam, uncertain whether or not trying to restrain him was an option. Sam was trembling, shaking, changing, and there was nothing Dean could do about it. He cried out again and Dean found himself murmuring incoherently, wishing that he knew what to do. Sam’s body was bent and twisted, every muscle tense with pain.
The cries were hauntingly familiar, their jagged, harsh edges an echo of what Dean had heard over the phone a month earlier. Dean didn’t know how his brother had survived the pain then, how he had somehow managed to pick himself up and keep going. And he wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing the cries and not knowing or hearing the cries and watching his brother’s body twist itself into something else.
Dean watched, scooting back slightly when Sam’s thrashes got too big to contain and by the time Sam stopped moving Dean felt years older. Keeping himself still, he watched his brother pant and heave and blink wearily.
If Dean hadn’t seen it himself he wouldn’t have believed it was possible. Even before, after his father had put in the last piece of the puzzle, Dean had scarcely believed it. He had spent much of his life embracing the idea that anything was possible, that ghosts and demons and werewolves were real and out there and dangerous. This though? This whole story was riddled with cracks, had been full of holes from the get go. This was impossible and ludicrous and so unbearably real that it made Dean’s heart stop.
Uncertain if Sam recognized him, Dean remained motionless while his brother regained his senses. Shuffling uneasily, Sam made a sound of distress that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck rise.
Jesus.
Dean’s eyes studied the smaller form that was his brother, taking in the long limbs and dark eyes. Sam rolled awkwardly up onto his legs, keeping his weight off his still injured limb. Dean hadn’t been certain if the injury would translate, hadn’t even planned on having the box still activated and on his brother when the morning came.
Sam’s clothes were gone too, having somehow managed to disappear. The earth around him was covered in blood, the dark liquid pooling and dripping on the grass and low hanging branches. Dean watched with trepidation, trying to keep himself still as his brother glanced around with wide eyes.
“Sammy?”
He kept his voice quiet and relaxed, as if he were talking to a skittish stranger and not his brother. Dean could hear the uncertainty in his own voice though, could feel how close he was to breaking down. Even now he struggled to understand how someone could do this to Sam, how a stupid object could cause him so much pain.
In the state Sam was in, Dean wasn’t certain what he would do, didn’t know just how deep the curse had worked itself. His brother froze at the sound of Dean’s voice, his ears twitching as he slowly tilted his head. The action was so Sam that Dean couldn’t help the crooked sad smile that tugged at the edge of his mouth.
Sam stumbled back at the motion, nostrils flaring as he fought to keep his balance. He turned and awkwardly sprung away, the white spots that dotted his back flashing in the poor morning light.
Scrambling to his feet, Dean forced himself after his brother. Although Sam was injured he moved at a brisk pace, his gangly limbs easily picking out a path. Dean followed as closely as he could, uncertain what his brother would do if truly spooked. Sam didn’t seem to know him, didn’t seem to understand what had just happened. He wondered how Sam had managed to survive with his memory in such tatters, how much anxiety he had to have felt every time he’d woken up alone and somewhere unfamiliar.
Sam stumbled over a large root, his injured back leg catching as he attempted to clear it. Legs wobbling, he shook his head and bent it around to look at his caught limb. He tugged weakly at it, crying out in pain as it refused to give.
“Shit Sammy,” he spoke in a low voice, uncertain whether or not to try and help his brother. With Sam caught Dean could keep an eye on him, could prevent him from wandering away like he had done before. He didn’t like it though, didn’t like watching Sam struggle to free himself.
The sudden sense of something behind him had Dean turning abruptly, his lips already curling back in a snarl. Sam was easy pickings for predators right now and Dean’s fingers curled themselves automatically into a fist. With Sam stuck Dean would do whatever he needed to do to keep his brother safe and in sight.
At the edge of his vision he could see his father, body tight as his eyes frantically searched over the bloody field. His worn face was pale in the early morning light, his jaw clenched as he slowly made his way across the space. Dean’s stomach somersaulted and his heart lightened at the sight. Even with his father looking haggard and worn, Dean knew that he would be able to fix this. His father had been waiting to find Sam, had planned and plotted for every possible situation. Realizing that his own form was hidden by several trees, he glanced quickly at his still stuck brother and then moved into his father’s line of sight.
His dad’s gaze immediately flashed to him and he started in Dean’s direction.
“De-”
Bringing a hand up to his mouth, Dean signaled for his father to be silent. His dad stopped, eyebrows raised as he glanced around. Motioning his father to move forward, Dean saw the slight shock cross his face as Sam came into view.
Is that him?
The words were mouthed and Dean nodded. He watched the older man run a hand through his hair, looking suddenly much older. Moving closer to Sam, he stopped as his youngest caught sight of him and frantically tried to free himself. Dean’s arm shot out, pulling his father back.
“Shit,” the words were hissed through his clenched teeth, “He’s hurt and he doesn’t recognize us. Don’t spook him!”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken so harshly to his father but the words escaped him without second thought. If Sam got away now, if he somehow managed to escape, Dean didn’t think he’d ever recover. He couldn’t imagine losing Sam again, couldn’t survive losing Sam again.
His father nodded once, reaching behind his back and pulling out a gun. Even though he knew that there was no way his father would ever hurt his brother, Dean grabbed at the weapon instinctively. Sam startled at the motion, still tugging at his stuck leg and yowling in pain.
“Dean calm down,” his father’s edged voice ripped into Dean and embarrassment washed over him. “It’s a tranquilizer gun.”
Dean nodded jerkily, stepping away and refusing to look as his father took aim. He consciously knew there was no way they could help Sam while he was awake. And they couldn’t afford to lose track of him again, especially in this state.
He flinched at the sound as his dad took aim and fired. The idea of his dad aiming any sort of weapon at his brother was enough to make his stomach churn. Turning in time to see Sam jerk and stumble, Dean’s feet brought him closer to his brother almost immediately. The tip of a dart was clearly visible in Sam’s flank, and his head turned to examine it as he half stumbled. His father tucked the weapon away immediately, already starting forward towards the drooping Sam. Dean followed after him, watching his father gently free Sam’s leg and lower him to the ground.
Sam’s eyes rolled in his head, his legs gently seizing as he fell into unconsciousness. Dean knelt next to his father and brother, his stomach still twisting uncomfortably.
He let his hand move forward and gently pet Sam’s back and ears. As a fawn Sam was small, his legs gangly and long, his ears large and soft looking.
The necklace he’d worn earlier was absent and Dean’s mind struggled to understand.
“Dad,” he could hear the tremor in his voice. “How are we going to get it off? It’s gone.”
He didn’t need to explain exactly what was missing; his father seemed to know immediately. Dean watched him examine his son's neck, watched him rest his hand against Sam’s chest and close his eyes. Dean was certain his father was feeling Sam’s heart beat against his chest, feeling his lungs expand and contract as he took in oxygen.
“It’s okay Dean,” his voice was strong and firm. Dean wasn’t certain if the words were more for him or for his father but he clung them. “We have Sammy and we are going to fix this.”
His father turned his eyes to his oldest and Dean saw a shaky smile emerge on his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he blinked several times, eyes wet and bright.
Dean felt a weight lift from his chest.
Chapter Three: Reunion and Transformation
Author: fuu_43
Word Count: 3,795
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.
Sammy sobbed weakly against the damp grass, the noise muffled beneath the arms he’d used to hide his face. Dean could feel the tension rolling off his little brother, could see it in the sharp angles of his arms and the clenched fists that clutched weakly at the ground. Sam’s voice had gotten hoarse from his crying and it was cracked and barely audible. Dean had tried several times to shush him, to prevent Sam from causing any more pain to his already raw throat, but Sam seemed unable to stop.
Dean continued to murmur soothingly despite the doubts that clung to him, pitching his voice into the lilting cadence he’d used on Sam when he’d cried as a baby.
At four Dean had mastered the shifting swaying murmuring technique that had lulled his brother like nothing else. He’d watched his mother do it, entranced as she’d spoken in soft tones while swaying back and forth. It had taken him awhile, but Dean had used those memories, copied them until Sam’s tears had stopped and his eyes had stared curiously up at him.
Now, he was overcome with the urge to scoop up his younger brother and rock him, to bring back the safe, innocent infant who gargled happily at everything Dean did, but he resisted.
Undoubtedly his younger brother would no longer fit into his arms the way he had years ago.
He leaned in closer to Sam, keeping his voice quiet and reassuring. Dean wasn’t sure why he’d thought he’d be able to handle this, how his brother could forgive him for what he’d just done. Dean had made it his mission in life to shelter his younger brother and being forced to do the exact opposite made him feel oddly light headed.
Sam had listened to Dean earlier, had quieted and relaxed and allowed him to adjust his limbs with barely more than a distressed moan. Dean knew that Sam had trusted him, had instinctively believed that his older brother would never hurt him. But he hadn’t understood what Dean had been planning, still didn’t seem to understand where the sudden debilitating pain was coming from.
Dean had used Sam’s trust against him and the very thought twisted his stomach.
It had been harder than he’d thought to remove the mess of metal, to untangle it from fabric and muscle and bone. His hands and forearms were still slick with his brother’s blood, the weak beam from the flashlight causing the warm fluid to shine glaringly against his skin. His hands had been shaking too, his fingers somehow unable to get a firm grasp on anything as he forced himself to keep working.
Dean unthinkingly ran a hand through his disheveled hair and eyed his brother’s leg carefully. He had cut away the torn pants and used the first aid skills his father had drilled into him to stabilize the broken bone. It had been hard to keep going with his brother’s weak thrashes, his instinctual fight to escape. The flannel Dean had used to help stop the bleeding had already darkened to a messy maroon and the branch he’d stripped and used as a brace stuck out awkwardly.
Now, Dean continued to speak to Sam, though he was certain that his brother could no longer hear him. Watching his brother tremble and shake, he wished that Sam would pass out, that the shock would allow him to escape from the sharp pain. Instead Sam cried and begged for Dean, eyes glassy as he searched frantically for a brother that was right beside him.
He needed Sam to hear him, needed the fog to lift, if only for a moment, so that Sam would realize he wasn’t alone. Earlier, Dean had broken through and the thought that maybe he could do so again kept his lips moving. Wiping one hand against his jeans, he glared at the bloodied trap he’d tossed as far from Sam as he’d been able to.
Leaning back on his heels, Dean refocused. He’d kept his attention on Sam long enough that other sounds and colors had muted and, as he let his mind take a breather, the dark forest around him grew louder and brighter. He gently rolled his shoulders, hissing at the tension that threatened to lock them into place. Dean wasn’t certain how much time had passed, didn’t know how long he’d spent hunched over his brother’s injured form, but his muscles were noticeably tighter, his legs a dead weight under him.
Dean glanced behind him, wondering where his father could possibly be. He knew that his dad had to be making his way towards them as quickly as possible, that he had seen the bright flare Dean had set off earlier. He needed his dad to be there, needed to feel the strength that his father’s presence automatically created in him.
Reaching tentatively towards his brother, he paused to re-wipe his hand against his pants. It was still streaked with red, his flesh stained a shade of pink where he’d managed to clean it a little. Smoothing his brother’s hair out of his face, he let himself slouch over Sam and gently rest his forehead against his back. Through the jacket he’d draped over him Dean could feel the warmth of his brother’s skin. He was close enough that beneath the blood and metal and grass he could still smell Sam. Beneath the stench of sweat and dirt Sam smelled like the brother he’d burped, bathed, rocked to sleep, and carried from the fire.
If he strained his ears he could even hear the soft quick beats of Sam’s heart as it fluttered in his chest.
Sam’s hiccuping cries paused, his lungs pushing harsh gasps into the still air.
“D’n.”
With Sam’s face still hidden in the grass his voice was oddly muted and muffled.
Dean’s eyes closed at the familiarity of the tone and recognized immediately that Sam was no longer crying out for an absent brother. Sam was acknowledging Dean’s presence and it made the older brother fight back the sudden stinging sensation at the backs of his eyes. Although Dean hadn’t stopped speaking, he answered his brother’s voice.
“It’s me Sammy, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Dean’s hand in Sam’s hair automatically tightened. Straightening himself up onto his knees, Dean opened his eyes and examined Sam’s leg one more time before giving into the urge to stretch out in the damp grass next to his brother. The moisture on the ground quickly chilled his skin and ate through his shirt.
“Sammy.”
Speaking in a soft voice, Dean lay on his side and rested his head on the bent arm beneath him. Reaching out with his free hand, he gently tugged at the arm covering Sam’s face from view. Sam resisted for a moment, a low moan leaving his body, before relaxing and letting Dean shift the limb.
Sam’s eyes blinked open lazily, his pupils so wide that only the barest bit of color showed. His cheeks were flushed red, his face wet with tears. He searched the night for several seconds before his attention settled on Dean. Dean watched Sam’s attention slowly focus, his gaze gradually grow sharper.
“D’n.”
Dean wrapped the arm not under him lightly around his brother, wishing he could pull him into the shelter of his body.
“Sammy, I’ve got you.”
He felt like a broken record.
Sam’s eyes slowly drifted closed and Dean resisted the urge to shake him awake. The kid was undoubtedly exhausted and despite the comfort that his brother's eyes open and alert brought to Dean, unconsciousness allowed Sam to escape from what was surely agony.
He debated whether or not to fire another flare but couldn’t bring himself to move away from his brother. Sam was finally looking at him, really seeing him, and Dean was selfish enough to want that as long as possible. Keeping his eyes open, he watched Sam’s eyelashes flutter and mouth slacken as he drifted into sleep. Dean let his fingers clench more firmly at his brother’s back, forcing his breathing to remain even.
Though time had passed, the adrenaline he’d felt earlier was still there just beneath his skin. Dean wanted to lash out at the witch that had done this to Sam, wanted to smash and crush and hurt her. The need to cause pain was so strong it was almost debilitating, but he longed for it anyway. He wanted to cut and twist and pull until there was nothing left of her.
His brother’s condition wasn’t helping the feeling, each cry and moan only strengthening his anger. While Sam had been missing the anger had been there, but buried deep beneath his frantic worry and bottomless guilt. It had been hard to focus on the witch when searching and surviving had been the only things his mind had been able to handle. It had been an itch he couldn’t scratch, an uncomfortable sensation that he’d easily pushed out of his head. Now, with his arm around Sam, with the overwhelming sense of whole that his brother’s presence brought, Dean’s mind wandered back to the witch.
She’d seemed normal enough, a kind woman just past her prime who loved teaching Sunday school and local bake sales. Hell, she’d even worn sweaters covered in cats and smelled like potpourri and vanilla. Dean hadn’t even detected a hint of what lay under her façade, would have held open the door for her or called her ma’am.
It was supposed to have been easy, was supposed to have been a quick in and out job. His father had tracked her down in days and hadn’t even bothered enrolling Sam or Dean in school.
Sam shifted under his hand and Dean pushed the past and his fury away. He didn’t have the time to focus on her, to remember the smell of rotting organs and formaldehyde. She was gone, and all the hatred in the world wouldn’t bring her back, wouldn’t give him the opportunity to make her pay. His brother moved again, this time clearly agitated. His eyes blearily opened, unfocused and red, and the morning light splintered through the treesand across his already pale face. His mouth gaped like a fish and Dean could feel Sam’s heart racing frantically in his small chest.
Dean pushed himself up onto his knees, hands hovering apprehensively over Sam’s body. He watched his brother’s shivers grow, listened as Sam started crying loudly again.
“Sammy,” Dean spoke loud enough that he could be heard over his brother’s distress, “Shhhhh, it’s okay.”
Sam jerked, half shouting as his leg was jarred. Dean looked around, wishing that somehow everything would make sense and he’d know what to do. Around them the trees were still, the early morning light barely cutting though the thick foliage. He needed their dad to get there, had to have him fix things before…
Dean paused, eyes finally taking in the soft glow of dawn. He didn’t know how time had passed so quickly, how suddenly morning had arrived. He felt as if only moments earlier he’d lost his brother, felt as if only seconds ago he’d stumbled back onto him. His gaze skittered back to Sam, who was now visibly shaking.
“Fuck.”
Sam cried out again, his hoarse voice straining as it cut through the quiet morning. Dean instinctively reached forward at the shout, grabbing at the chain around Sam’s neck.
The necklace was hot and it cut into his fingers as he frantically pulled at it. It burned in his hands and Dean could smell the scent of scorched flesh as he forced his fingers to hold tight. His arms strained from the effort of trying to move it, barely raising it an inch despite using all of his strength. Groaning with effort, he helplessly jerked at the firmly fixed object.
“No, no, no, no, no.”
Trying to ignore the sudden fear that flooded his veins, Dean wrenched at the necklace again, the muscles in his arms burning from the strain. He pulled again and again, until his arms trembled and sweat dripped from his brow. Swearing, he finally let go and grabbed onto his brother. He clenched his teeth and ignored the spike of pain in his now injured hands.
Sam’s arm flailed out, sporadically lengthening in a way that was unnatural. His back hunched as he rolled to his side, broken leg unnoticed. At the movement Dean’s coat slid from Sam and Dean pushed back the taste of bile at the back of his throat. Sam’s skin was covered in a fine sheen of red, blood welling up from his pores.
His brother was literally sweating blood.
Sam’s clothes ripped at his twisting motions, the bones of his shoulders thrusting against his paper thin skin as they moved. Dean’s hands fought to keep hold of his brother, the movement and blood making it almost impossible to keep his grip. Beneath him Sam suddenly jerked, his eyes searching out his brother’s before snapping shut. His mouth opened in a stilted gasp, choking on the oxygen he attempted to take in.
Around them the air was charged and Dean watched helplessly as Sam’s bones broke into a mess of angles and unnatural shapes. Blood splattered the grass and trees, ran from Sam’s nose and eyes.
Dean wiped frantically at the liquid pooling at the corners of Sam’s mouth, smelling the coppery stench of his brother’s blood. His hands hovered over Sam, uncertain whether or not trying to restrain him was an option. Sam was trembling, shaking, changing, and there was nothing Dean could do about it. He cried out again and Dean found himself murmuring incoherently, wishing that he knew what to do. Sam’s body was bent and twisted, every muscle tense with pain.
The cries were hauntingly familiar, their jagged, harsh edges an echo of what Dean had heard over the phone a month earlier. Dean didn’t know how his brother had survived the pain then, how he had somehow managed to pick himself up and keep going. And he wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing the cries and not knowing or hearing the cries and watching his brother’s body twist itself into something else.
Dean watched, scooting back slightly when Sam’s thrashes got too big to contain and by the time Sam stopped moving Dean felt years older. Keeping himself still, he watched his brother pant and heave and blink wearily.
If Dean hadn’t seen it himself he wouldn’t have believed it was possible. Even before, after his father had put in the last piece of the puzzle, Dean had scarcely believed it. He had spent much of his life embracing the idea that anything was possible, that ghosts and demons and werewolves were real and out there and dangerous. This though? This whole story was riddled with cracks, had been full of holes from the get go. This was impossible and ludicrous and so unbearably real that it made Dean’s heart stop.
Uncertain if Sam recognized him, Dean remained motionless while his brother regained his senses. Shuffling uneasily, Sam made a sound of distress that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck rise.
Jesus.
Dean’s eyes studied the smaller form that was his brother, taking in the long limbs and dark eyes. Sam rolled awkwardly up onto his legs, keeping his weight off his still injured limb. Dean hadn’t been certain if the injury would translate, hadn’t even planned on having the box still activated and on his brother when the morning came.
Sam’s clothes were gone too, having somehow managed to disappear. The earth around him was covered in blood, the dark liquid pooling and dripping on the grass and low hanging branches. Dean watched with trepidation, trying to keep himself still as his brother glanced around with wide eyes.
“Sammy?”
He kept his voice quiet and relaxed, as if he were talking to a skittish stranger and not his brother. Dean could hear the uncertainty in his own voice though, could feel how close he was to breaking down. Even now he struggled to understand how someone could do this to Sam, how a stupid object could cause him so much pain.
In the state Sam was in, Dean wasn’t certain what he would do, didn’t know just how deep the curse had worked itself. His brother froze at the sound of Dean’s voice, his ears twitching as he slowly tilted his head. The action was so Sam that Dean couldn’t help the crooked sad smile that tugged at the edge of his mouth.
Sam stumbled back at the motion, nostrils flaring as he fought to keep his balance. He turned and awkwardly sprung away, the white spots that dotted his back flashing in the poor morning light.
Scrambling to his feet, Dean forced himself after his brother. Although Sam was injured he moved at a brisk pace, his gangly limbs easily picking out a path. Dean followed as closely as he could, uncertain what his brother would do if truly spooked. Sam didn’t seem to know him, didn’t seem to understand what had just happened. He wondered how Sam had managed to survive with his memory in such tatters, how much anxiety he had to have felt every time he’d woken up alone and somewhere unfamiliar.
Sam stumbled over a large root, his injured back leg catching as he attempted to clear it. Legs wobbling, he shook his head and bent it around to look at his caught limb. He tugged weakly at it, crying out in pain as it refused to give.
“Shit Sammy,” he spoke in a low voice, uncertain whether or not to try and help his brother. With Sam caught Dean could keep an eye on him, could prevent him from wandering away like he had done before. He didn’t like it though, didn’t like watching Sam struggle to free himself.
The sudden sense of something behind him had Dean turning abruptly, his lips already curling back in a snarl. Sam was easy pickings for predators right now and Dean’s fingers curled themselves automatically into a fist. With Sam stuck Dean would do whatever he needed to do to keep his brother safe and in sight.
At the edge of his vision he could see his father, body tight as his eyes frantically searched over the bloody field. His worn face was pale in the early morning light, his jaw clenched as he slowly made his way across the space. Dean’s stomach somersaulted and his heart lightened at the sight. Even with his father looking haggard and worn, Dean knew that he would be able to fix this. His father had been waiting to find Sam, had planned and plotted for every possible situation. Realizing that his own form was hidden by several trees, he glanced quickly at his still stuck brother and then moved into his father’s line of sight.
His dad’s gaze immediately flashed to him and he started in Dean’s direction.
“De-”
Bringing a hand up to his mouth, Dean signaled for his father to be silent. His dad stopped, eyebrows raised as he glanced around. Motioning his father to move forward, Dean saw the slight shock cross his face as Sam came into view.
Is that him?
The words were mouthed and Dean nodded. He watched the older man run a hand through his hair, looking suddenly much older. Moving closer to Sam, he stopped as his youngest caught sight of him and frantically tried to free himself. Dean’s arm shot out, pulling his father back.
“Shit,” the words were hissed through his clenched teeth, “He’s hurt and he doesn’t recognize us. Don’t spook him!”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken so harshly to his father but the words escaped him without second thought. If Sam got away now, if he somehow managed to escape, Dean didn’t think he’d ever recover. He couldn’t imagine losing Sam again, couldn’t survive losing Sam again.
His father nodded once, reaching behind his back and pulling out a gun. Even though he knew that there was no way his father would ever hurt his brother, Dean grabbed at the weapon instinctively. Sam startled at the motion, still tugging at his stuck leg and yowling in pain.
“Dean calm down,” his father’s edged voice ripped into Dean and embarrassment washed over him. “It’s a tranquilizer gun.”
Dean nodded jerkily, stepping away and refusing to look as his father took aim. He consciously knew there was no way they could help Sam while he was awake. And they couldn’t afford to lose track of him again, especially in this state.
He flinched at the sound as his dad took aim and fired. The idea of his dad aiming any sort of weapon at his brother was enough to make his stomach churn. Turning in time to see Sam jerk and stumble, Dean’s feet brought him closer to his brother almost immediately. The tip of a dart was clearly visible in Sam’s flank, and his head turned to examine it as he half stumbled. His father tucked the weapon away immediately, already starting forward towards the drooping Sam. Dean followed after him, watching his father gently free Sam’s leg and lower him to the ground.
Sam’s eyes rolled in his head, his legs gently seizing as he fell into unconsciousness. Dean knelt next to his father and brother, his stomach still twisting uncomfortably.
He let his hand move forward and gently pet Sam’s back and ears. As a fawn Sam was small, his legs gangly and long, his ears large and soft looking.
The necklace he’d worn earlier was absent and Dean’s mind struggled to understand.
“Dad,” he could hear the tremor in his voice. “How are we going to get it off? It’s gone.”
He didn’t need to explain exactly what was missing; his father seemed to know immediately. Dean watched him examine his son's neck, watched him rest his hand against Sam’s chest and close his eyes. Dean was certain his father was feeling Sam’s heart beat against his chest, feeling his lungs expand and contract as he took in oxygen.
“It’s okay Dean,” his voice was strong and firm. Dean wasn’t certain if the words were more for him or for his father but he clung them. “We have Sammy and we are going to fix this.”
His father turned his eyes to his oldest and Dean saw a shaky smile emerge on his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled and he blinked several times, eyes wet and bright.
Dean felt a weight lift from his chest.