Fic - Into the Fire (1/3)
This is a story I wrote way back, early in season 1. It is set after Bloody Mary and before Skin. We didn't know much about the Yellow-Eyed Demon or Dad at that point, and this story tries to address Sam's growing power in the absence of that information. I've had this fic posted over at fanfiction.net for ages, but I wanted to put it in my journal too so I'd have everything all together. [It's just my OCD kicking in.]
Author: weesta
Title: Into the Fire (1/3)
Genre/Rating: Gen/PG
Characters: Sam, Dean
Summary: How far will Sam go to save his brother?
The boy had power. He coveted it since the moment he was born. It called to him; it sang to him. And as he stood over the baby’s cradle, he knew he would have it - it belonged to him.
Killing the mother was a fringe benefit. Her death was inconsequential. What was important was the fire. The fire had to consume the baby before the power could be released. But he’d been thwarted; the father was quicker than he had realized. The baby was saved. And afraid of fire.
He could wait.
Though time held little meaning for him, he found himself growing impatient. The power in the boy grew stronger as the boy grew. It sang louder; it called to him. He needed to possess it.
Killing the girl was a fringe benefit. Her death was inconsequential. What was important was the fire. The fire had to consume the boy before the power could be released. But he’d been thwarted again. The boy was saved, and doubly afraid of fire.
He could no longer wait.
He had to possess the power. He ached to consume it as much as the fire ached to consume the boy. The boy could no longer be surprised, he was on guard. But how to entice him to enter the fire?
Put the one who had carried him out both times at the center.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean awoke feeling groggy. He could not remember much about the thing that had snatched him except that it was bad. And, that it was after Sam. Dad had known, all this time, Sam was the target; Sam was the goal. That’s why he had trained them like he had - pushed and pushed until they both could take care of themselves under any circumstances. Then he let Sam go, to have a real life - a life that Dean had dragged him away from. This was exactly what Dad was trying to protect Sam from…and Dean had walked him right into it.
Dean tried to sit up but realized he was bound to the table on which he lay. One by one he tested the bonds; it seemed like they were all connected - he moved his right arm, the left got tighter - he shifted his feet, the rope tightened around his neck. Great, I’ve got a regular cowboy tying me up here… The only good thing about the arrangement was if he managed to get one hand free he could easily slip the bonds of the others.
“He’s coming.”
Dean froze; he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. The voice floating across the room was hard to place; Dean thought the creature might have been standing over to his right. The anticipation in the malevolent voice sent a shiver down his spine. There was only one “he” Dean knew could be coming and this was the last place Sam should be. Dean tried more frantically to figure out the trick to the ropes holding him and work himself free.
“Welcome, young one.” Dean’s head whipped around. Sam stood silhouetted in the doorway. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
Dean could see that Sam was tight with tension. The blade he held in his hand seemed to gather all the light in the dimly lit room. A conversation he had with Sam came back to him and Sam’s words echoed in his head. You’re my brother. I would die for you.
Not today, Sam. This is not that day.
Dean tried to shout out a warning but found himself unable to produce more than a hoarse croak. He grimaced in frustration and tried to work some saliva down to his throat.
“Come in.” the creature invited in a disturbing friendly neighbor sort of way. “It’s time we take care of business.” The naked longing in the creature’s voice filled Dean with disgust. If Sam had any sense he would’ve headed for the exit long ago - that was assuming Sam had any sense.
“I’ve come for my brother.” Sam stepped grimly into the room, knife at the ready.
“Of course, of course. That’s why we’re all here. All it will take to free him is one slice from that knife.”
It was too easy. Dean knew it, and he saw that Sam knew it too. He might not have common sense, but he wasn’t stupid. Dean tried again to croak out a warning, but he still couldn’t produce anything audible.
“You hesitate, little one.” Dean rolled his eyes - Sam hadn’t been little since he hit puberty. This guy’s tone was really working his nerves.
“Perhaps your brother doesn’t mean as much to you as I thought.” A sound from behind him alerted Dean to a sword being drawn. Oh crap! Dean worked harder to try to free himself; Sam inched closer.
“I shall put you to the test.”
Dean could only see the sword hovering above him, not the hand that wielded it. He braced himself for a blow. He was not expecting what happened instead. A sliver of blue-white flame shot from the tip of the sword and quickly encircled the table Dean was laying on. Instantly flames shot up all around. Dean couldn’t suppress a flinch, and the movement of his legs nearly caused the rope around his neck to choke him.
Dean could hear the murmured whispering of the creature, encouraging Sam to run into the fire. He tried to scream a warning to Sam. He wanted to tell him to run away, leave him, save himself. He wanted to warn of the creature’s desire for Sam’s death. But all he managed to croak out was “Sam…” before the smoke from the flames and the ropes around his neck choked everything else he wanted to say into unintelligible nonsense.
Dean knew he had failed. He knew Sam would hear his cry, not as a warning, but as a plea for help. Nothing would stop Sam from leaping into the inferno - it would consume them both.
At first, Dean could hear Sam screaming his name but then the roar of the flames destroyed all other sound. There was no air left to breathe, and Dean prayed for oblivion before the fire could begin to consume his flesh. Then like an avenging angel, Sam leapt into the fire. He landed on Dean’s chest and with a swift slash of the knife severed the rope encircling Dean’s neck. But it was too late. Dean could see the fire all around Sam - his shirt, his pants, even his hair was on fire. There even seemed to be flames in his eyes. It was the most gruesome sight Dean had ever seen. He closed his eyes and got his wish - oblivion came.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Dean?”
Can’t a guy sleep in…ever?
“Dean.” More demanding this time.
Dean tried to force his eyes to open, but they really didn’t want to obey. He groaned instead, and then groaned again at how much pain it caused. The pain kicked off a memory and he remembered why it was his throat hurt so badly.
Eyes still closed, Dean groped to find the owner of the voice. “Sam? Sammy?” Struggling to sit up and grateful to realize he wasn’t tied to a table anymore Dean finally managed to open his eyes. Grabbing Sam by his jacket, Dean pulled him closer to get a really good look at his face. “Sammy?” he repeated.
Sam could only work up a tired grimace at the old argument between them. “It’s Sam.” Unexpectedly Sam moved in closer to Dean and dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel the tremors that shook his body. He let go of Sam’s jacket and put one arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“What happened, Sam?”
Sam didn’t answer; he just shook harder in Dean’s embrace. Dean looked around warily. “Is it safe to stay here, Sam?” Sam nodded into Dean’s shoulder. “Then tell me what happened.”
Without looking at Dean, Sam turned himself around so he could settle against Dean’s shoulder with his back to him. “Remember that secret I never told you…”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was harder and harder for Sam to keep the dreams a secret. It felt like the more he fought them, the more difficult they were to drive away. Sam couldn’t help the fact that almost any moment of sleep he grabbed ended in a nightmare. Sam knew that Dean was concerned, but he’d been able to hold him off a little. Dean still thought the dreams were about Jess. In a way Sam wished they were.
Sam suppressed a shudder as he stared out the window. The last time this had happened the dreams had foretold Jessica’s death. In a desperate attempt to hold on to some semblance of a normal life Sam tried to ignore the warnings, hoping that if he didn’t give weight to the dreams they wouldn’t come true. Now he knew how wrong he was and he was determined not to let it happen again. He couldn’t lose Dean; not like that. This time he would be prepared.
Sam pretended to stare at the scenery flying by outside the window; in actuality he was replaying the scene from his nightmare. It wasn’t difficult; the images were etched in his memory. Dean was tied to a table in the middle of a small room - Sam shuddered when his brain translated the image of the table and came up with “alter”. Surrounding the table (not altar, altar implies sacrifice) were neatly ordered piles of wood and kindling. Every time he had the dream when Sam realized Dean was trapped in the center of what would become a bonfire his heart started hammering in his chest. He couldn’t let Dean die like that…but in his nightmares it happened every time.
The thing that snatched Dean was hiding in the shadows beyond him. The dialogue they exchanged was never anything Sam remembered; he supposed that talk was less important than action. In the dream he never got a good look at the creature who was threatening Dean; it seemed to have a human shape, but never came far enough out of the shadows for Sam to be sure. It didn’t matter to Sam anyway - he was far more focused on determining how to free Dean than subduing the creature. And he thought he figured out something important.
These dreams that haunted Sam were not run of the mill nightmares; there was something more to them, something prophetic. And because they were coming from somewhere inside himself, Sam found that the more he investigated the images in the dream, the more power he had over them. He could see the images of the room and the people in it, but he could also step outside himself and see what he was doing as well. It was when he did one of these “out of body” investigations that he realized that he was holding a weapon when he entered the room; he knew in his heart that that knife was the key to freeing Dean. But it wasn’t a knife he recognized, and he had no idea where he was going to get it.
Unbeknownst to Sam, as the miles slipped away on the highway and he examined the messages from his dream, he had fallen into a true sleep, and the dream had started again.
+++++++++++++++++++++
The woods around him were silent. The creature had passed this way probably more than twenty minutes ago, and the animals that lived in the forest still hid in fear- it took a powerfully evil creature to cause that great a disturbance.
Sam tightened his grip on the hilt of the knife in his right hand. He was close; he could feel it.
The ramshackle wooden house in the clearing had a feeling of decay and long disuse. Dean was in there. Sam approached cautiously, but he wasn’t expecting any surprises. The big trap was at the center, and he was walking right into it.
Without knowing how, Sam knew to head for the basement. This all had such a familiar feel to it. His pulse started to quicken. The hilt of the knife became slick in his sweaty palm. He headed for the small room at the rear of the basement; his path lit by sporadically placed candles.
Sam hesitated in the doorway - before him was the scene of him worst nightmare. Dean was tied to a table in the center of the room. All around the table lay stacks of wood and kindling. It occurred to Sam that all of the broken furniture he’d walked past in the house was just as combustible as the wood surrounding Dean; the whole house was a firetrap…and wasn’t that the point?
Sam wanted to run, he knew what was going to happen, and his overwhelming fear of fire had him quaking inside; but he would not give in to his fear. He tried to work up some bravado while he exchanged words with the creature hoping to buy himself and Dean some time so he could get closer and free Dean from the ropes that bound him.
But he wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t smart enough. The creature calls his bluff, drawing an ancient sword, not to use on Dean, but to call up the fire. Not the warm and comforting yellow and orange blaze of a marshmallow roasting fire; no, this was a white-hot, incandescent fire instantly consuming all of the wood surrounding Dean.
Sam was frozen in fear, unable to move away from or toward the flames. The creature whispers something, but Sam cannot make it out over the roar of the fire. He can hear Dean yell to him, but all he can do in response is scream his brother’s name. “DEAN!” Dean’s cries become frantic and anguished as the flames consume him.
In the dream, though not when he wakes, Sam understands why he cannot leap into the fire to rescue Dean; the leap calls for a sacrifice - not just of the body, but of the soul. On a level he’s never tapped into Sam understands that the fire will change him, and accepting that change is more terrifying than death itself. It’s the one part of the dream he needs to take with him, but he never does.
++++++++++++++++++++
Sam jerked awake careening forward. At the very last second he stopped himself from screaming Dean’s name and managed to make it more of a guttural yell. A familiar hand from the left side of the car grabbed Sam’s left shoulder.
“Sammy? You okay?”
Sam didn’t acknowledge the childhood nickname; he was too consumed with trying to calm his racing heart and control his breathing. He just nodded and leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. I have got to find that knife.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The highway flew by outside the windows. The monotonous scenery might have been hypnotic under different circumstances, but Dean couldn’t afford to allow himself to be mesmerized by the road. As it stood now, he was their only driver and he had to get Sam some help, and soon. It had been days since Dean let Sam drive. He didn’t know what bothered him more - that Sam was so incapacitated by his lack of sleep to the point where he was basically ineffective, or that Sam didn’t even bother to fight him about the driving anymore.
Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother. Sam was in kind of a semi-daze leaning against the passenger side window - not quite awake, but certainly not asleep. Dean had gotten pretty good at reading Sam’s body language and was able to anticipate the onset of one of those dreams. For now, Sam was fine, but Dean was ready to jump in if he saw Sam slipping into a nightmare. Dean was having a hard time, being short on sleep himself, and knew if they had any chance of finding Dad or doing anything something would have to be done for Sam first.
The sign for Lake Tenkiller caught Dean’s eye and he moved to the exit ramp for Route 10 North. As they left Interstate 40 behind and headed north, the road became a little rougher and the scenery more rustic. A little flicker of hope kindled in Dean’s heart; he remembered this place - he liked it. In spite of the creature he and Dad neutralized in this little corner of Oklahoma, Dean carried good memories of that “hunting trip”. All of those good memories were attributed to the man Dean was bringing Sam to see. Somewhere along the line, Dean became convinced that he was the one man who could help Sam find some peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They managed to travel the entire distance, from the Interstate to the lake, with no outbursts from Sam. Wow Dean thought sarcastically He got a whole forty minutes of sleep - a new record.
Unceremoniously Dean reached over and smacked Sam in the chest as he threw the car into park. “Wake up Sleeping Beauty…time to meet your prince.”
Sam didn’t respond; he just gave Dean an utterly confused glance. He looked blearily out the windshield at their surroundings. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Lake Tenkiller, Oklahoma.” replied Dean.
Sam raised an eyebrow at the name of their location. Dean just shrugged. “It’s better than Lake Fortykiller, I guess.” Dean leaned toward the door and levered himself out of the car; Sam exited with less grace, but Dean gave him credit for trying to get himself together enough to face whatever demon now lay in their path, not knowing it was his demon they were there to face.
Dean had pulled the car up a long dirt driveway, facing a small but neatly kept one-story wooden house. A man stood on the porch watching the brothers. When they were both out of the car he approached, holding a hand out to Dean.
“Dean Winchester, you are welcome here.” the man said warmly. He was dressed in worn jeans and a dusty, red work shirt. He wore his steel grey hair long and loose down his back. His neck was adorned with a simple leather bag on a black leather cord.
“Hey Jonathan!” Dean returned the greeting reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “How’re things?”
“Everything has returned to normal since you and your father visited.”
Dean shook his head and grinned. “Good. Uh, this here’s my brother, Sam.” Dean turned and gestured to Sam whose deeply ingrained good manners kicked in and propelled him to offer his hand to Jonathan as well. He seemed perplexed by Dean’s familiarity with this man. Dean chuckled internally - if Sam though he was being familiar now, wait until he really got started.
“You are welcome, Sam Winchester. We owe your family a great debt. Please, come in.” The man gestured toward the house and led the brothers into his neatly organized living room. He immediately offered food and drinks which Dean eagerly accepted. Once Jonathan had gone off to the kitchen, Sam leaned over to Dean.
“What’s the deal, Dean?”
“Oh, you know. Jonathan called us in to deal with a local legend. Ever hear the story of Spearfinger?”
Sam’s brown creased in a frown. He shook his head slightly no.
Dean smiled; for once he was the one who knew a story off the top of his head. “See, Spearfinger is a Cherokee legend. She was this old woman who lived in the forest and would lure kids to her.”
“Like Hansel and Gretel?” Sam asked.
“Not exactly,” Dean continued. “Spearfinger would offer to comb the children’s hair and when they got close enough, spear them with her bony finger. Then she’d eat their livers and suck the life out of them. If the kids managed to get away, she could take on the appearance of a family member, enter the house and get the kids in their sleep.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose in astonishment, but he knew Dean wasn’t pulling one over on him. They’d dealt with crazier things.
“The thing is, Spearfinger doesn’t leave any marks - no bruises, no cuts, no bleeding. The kids just start to get weak and die. Jonathan tried to tell the local authorities what he thought was going on. Of course they didn’t believe him - they just chalked up his story to the ramblings of an old man unwilling to accept that one of his grandchildren was sick and going to die.”
“So he called Dad?”
Dean nodded. “Yep. We came down. Jonathan helped up set a trap for Spearfinger. We shot off her finger. End of story.”
“Not exactly the end.” said a voice from behind them. Sam jumped. Jonathan walked around the couch and set the tray he’d been carrying on the coffee table before them.
“The end,” he continued, “was the returned health to all of the children Spearfinger had attacked. Many lives were saved. Our gratitude is boundless and the debt can never fully be repaid.”
Dean perked up. This was the perfect opening. “Well,” he began around a mouthful of sandwich, “I have a way you can start…”
Jonathan leaned forward expectantly. Dean continued, “See Sammy here has been having these wicked nightmares…and I thought, you know, you could do some of that Native American spirit stuff and you might be able to help.”
Sam’s jaw dropped and he looked thunderstruck. But Jonathan looked at him in speculation. Dean happily munched on his sandwich.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 2 | Part 3
Author: weesta
Title: Into the Fire (1/3)
Genre/Rating: Gen/PG
Characters: Sam, Dean
Summary: How far will Sam go to save his brother?
The boy had power. He coveted it since the moment he was born. It called to him; it sang to him. And as he stood over the baby’s cradle, he knew he would have it - it belonged to him.
Killing the mother was a fringe benefit. Her death was inconsequential. What was important was the fire. The fire had to consume the baby before the power could be released. But he’d been thwarted; the father was quicker than he had realized. The baby was saved. And afraid of fire.
He could wait.
Though time held little meaning for him, he found himself growing impatient. The power in the boy grew stronger as the boy grew. It sang louder; it called to him. He needed to possess it.
Killing the girl was a fringe benefit. Her death was inconsequential. What was important was the fire. The fire had to consume the boy before the power could be released. But he’d been thwarted again. The boy was saved, and doubly afraid of fire.
He could no longer wait.
He had to possess the power. He ached to consume it as much as the fire ached to consume the boy. The boy could no longer be surprised, he was on guard. But how to entice him to enter the fire?
Put the one who had carried him out both times at the center.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dean awoke feeling groggy. He could not remember much about the thing that had snatched him except that it was bad. And, that it was after Sam. Dad had known, all this time, Sam was the target; Sam was the goal. That’s why he had trained them like he had - pushed and pushed until they both could take care of themselves under any circumstances. Then he let Sam go, to have a real life - a life that Dean had dragged him away from. This was exactly what Dad was trying to protect Sam from…and Dean had walked him right into it.
Dean tried to sit up but realized he was bound to the table on which he lay. One by one he tested the bonds; it seemed like they were all connected - he moved his right arm, the left got tighter - he shifted his feet, the rope tightened around his neck. Great, I’ve got a regular cowboy tying me up here… The only good thing about the arrangement was if he managed to get one hand free he could easily slip the bonds of the others.
“He’s coming.”
Dean froze; he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. The voice floating across the room was hard to place; Dean thought the creature might have been standing over to his right. The anticipation in the malevolent voice sent a shiver down his spine. There was only one “he” Dean knew could be coming and this was the last place Sam should be. Dean tried more frantically to figure out the trick to the ropes holding him and work himself free.
“Welcome, young one.” Dean’s head whipped around. Sam stood silhouetted in the doorway. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
Dean could see that Sam was tight with tension. The blade he held in his hand seemed to gather all the light in the dimly lit room. A conversation he had with Sam came back to him and Sam’s words echoed in his head. You’re my brother. I would die for you.
Not today, Sam. This is not that day.
Dean tried to shout out a warning but found himself unable to produce more than a hoarse croak. He grimaced in frustration and tried to work some saliva down to his throat.
“Come in.” the creature invited in a disturbing friendly neighbor sort of way. “It’s time we take care of business.” The naked longing in the creature’s voice filled Dean with disgust. If Sam had any sense he would’ve headed for the exit long ago - that was assuming Sam had any sense.
“I’ve come for my brother.” Sam stepped grimly into the room, knife at the ready.
“Of course, of course. That’s why we’re all here. All it will take to free him is one slice from that knife.”
It was too easy. Dean knew it, and he saw that Sam knew it too. He might not have common sense, but he wasn’t stupid. Dean tried again to croak out a warning, but he still couldn’t produce anything audible.
“You hesitate, little one.” Dean rolled his eyes - Sam hadn’t been little since he hit puberty. This guy’s tone was really working his nerves.
“Perhaps your brother doesn’t mean as much to you as I thought.” A sound from behind him alerted Dean to a sword being drawn. Oh crap! Dean worked harder to try to free himself; Sam inched closer.
“I shall put you to the test.”
Dean could only see the sword hovering above him, not the hand that wielded it. He braced himself for a blow. He was not expecting what happened instead. A sliver of blue-white flame shot from the tip of the sword and quickly encircled the table Dean was laying on. Instantly flames shot up all around. Dean couldn’t suppress a flinch, and the movement of his legs nearly caused the rope around his neck to choke him.
Dean could hear the murmured whispering of the creature, encouraging Sam to run into the fire. He tried to scream a warning to Sam. He wanted to tell him to run away, leave him, save himself. He wanted to warn of the creature’s desire for Sam’s death. But all he managed to croak out was “Sam…” before the smoke from the flames and the ropes around his neck choked everything else he wanted to say into unintelligible nonsense.
Dean knew he had failed. He knew Sam would hear his cry, not as a warning, but as a plea for help. Nothing would stop Sam from leaping into the inferno - it would consume them both.
At first, Dean could hear Sam screaming his name but then the roar of the flames destroyed all other sound. There was no air left to breathe, and Dean prayed for oblivion before the fire could begin to consume his flesh. Then like an avenging angel, Sam leapt into the fire. He landed on Dean’s chest and with a swift slash of the knife severed the rope encircling Dean’s neck. But it was too late. Dean could see the fire all around Sam - his shirt, his pants, even his hair was on fire. There even seemed to be flames in his eyes. It was the most gruesome sight Dean had ever seen. He closed his eyes and got his wish - oblivion came.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Dean?”
Can’t a guy sleep in…ever?
“Dean.” More demanding this time.
Dean tried to force his eyes to open, but they really didn’t want to obey. He groaned instead, and then groaned again at how much pain it caused. The pain kicked off a memory and he remembered why it was his throat hurt so badly.
Eyes still closed, Dean groped to find the owner of the voice. “Sam? Sammy?” Struggling to sit up and grateful to realize he wasn’t tied to a table anymore Dean finally managed to open his eyes. Grabbing Sam by his jacket, Dean pulled him closer to get a really good look at his face. “Sammy?” he repeated.
Sam could only work up a tired grimace at the old argument between them. “It’s Sam.” Unexpectedly Sam moved in closer to Dean and dropped his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel the tremors that shook his body. He let go of Sam’s jacket and put one arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“What happened, Sam?”
Sam didn’t answer; he just shook harder in Dean’s embrace. Dean looked around warily. “Is it safe to stay here, Sam?” Sam nodded into Dean’s shoulder. “Then tell me what happened.”
Without looking at Dean, Sam turned himself around so he could settle against Dean’s shoulder with his back to him. “Remember that secret I never told you…”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was harder and harder for Sam to keep the dreams a secret. It felt like the more he fought them, the more difficult they were to drive away. Sam couldn’t help the fact that almost any moment of sleep he grabbed ended in a nightmare. Sam knew that Dean was concerned, but he’d been able to hold him off a little. Dean still thought the dreams were about Jess. In a way Sam wished they were.
Sam suppressed a shudder as he stared out the window. The last time this had happened the dreams had foretold Jessica’s death. In a desperate attempt to hold on to some semblance of a normal life Sam tried to ignore the warnings, hoping that if he didn’t give weight to the dreams they wouldn’t come true. Now he knew how wrong he was and he was determined not to let it happen again. He couldn’t lose Dean; not like that. This time he would be prepared.
Sam pretended to stare at the scenery flying by outside the window; in actuality he was replaying the scene from his nightmare. It wasn’t difficult; the images were etched in his memory. Dean was tied to a table in the middle of a small room - Sam shuddered when his brain translated the image of the table and came up with “alter”. Surrounding the table (not altar, altar implies sacrifice) were neatly ordered piles of wood and kindling. Every time he had the dream when Sam realized Dean was trapped in the center of what would become a bonfire his heart started hammering in his chest. He couldn’t let Dean die like that…but in his nightmares it happened every time.
The thing that snatched Dean was hiding in the shadows beyond him. The dialogue they exchanged was never anything Sam remembered; he supposed that talk was less important than action. In the dream he never got a good look at the creature who was threatening Dean; it seemed to have a human shape, but never came far enough out of the shadows for Sam to be sure. It didn’t matter to Sam anyway - he was far more focused on determining how to free Dean than subduing the creature. And he thought he figured out something important.
These dreams that haunted Sam were not run of the mill nightmares; there was something more to them, something prophetic. And because they were coming from somewhere inside himself, Sam found that the more he investigated the images in the dream, the more power he had over them. He could see the images of the room and the people in it, but he could also step outside himself and see what he was doing as well. It was when he did one of these “out of body” investigations that he realized that he was holding a weapon when he entered the room; he knew in his heart that that knife was the key to freeing Dean. But it wasn’t a knife he recognized, and he had no idea where he was going to get it.
Unbeknownst to Sam, as the miles slipped away on the highway and he examined the messages from his dream, he had fallen into a true sleep, and the dream had started again.
+++++++++++++++++++++
The woods around him were silent. The creature had passed this way probably more than twenty minutes ago, and the animals that lived in the forest still hid in fear- it took a powerfully evil creature to cause that great a disturbance.
Sam tightened his grip on the hilt of the knife in his right hand. He was close; he could feel it.
The ramshackle wooden house in the clearing had a feeling of decay and long disuse. Dean was in there. Sam approached cautiously, but he wasn’t expecting any surprises. The big trap was at the center, and he was walking right into it.
Without knowing how, Sam knew to head for the basement. This all had such a familiar feel to it. His pulse started to quicken. The hilt of the knife became slick in his sweaty palm. He headed for the small room at the rear of the basement; his path lit by sporadically placed candles.
Sam hesitated in the doorway - before him was the scene of him worst nightmare. Dean was tied to a table in the center of the room. All around the table lay stacks of wood and kindling. It occurred to Sam that all of the broken furniture he’d walked past in the house was just as combustible as the wood surrounding Dean; the whole house was a firetrap…and wasn’t that the point?
Sam wanted to run, he knew what was going to happen, and his overwhelming fear of fire had him quaking inside; but he would not give in to his fear. He tried to work up some bravado while he exchanged words with the creature hoping to buy himself and Dean some time so he could get closer and free Dean from the ropes that bound him.
But he wasn’t fast enough. He wasn’t smart enough. The creature calls his bluff, drawing an ancient sword, not to use on Dean, but to call up the fire. Not the warm and comforting yellow and orange blaze of a marshmallow roasting fire; no, this was a white-hot, incandescent fire instantly consuming all of the wood surrounding Dean.
Sam was frozen in fear, unable to move away from or toward the flames. The creature whispers something, but Sam cannot make it out over the roar of the fire. He can hear Dean yell to him, but all he can do in response is scream his brother’s name. “DEAN!” Dean’s cries become frantic and anguished as the flames consume him.
In the dream, though not when he wakes, Sam understands why he cannot leap into the fire to rescue Dean; the leap calls for a sacrifice - not just of the body, but of the soul. On a level he’s never tapped into Sam understands that the fire will change him, and accepting that change is more terrifying than death itself. It’s the one part of the dream he needs to take with him, but he never does.
++++++++++++++++++++
Sam jerked awake careening forward. At the very last second he stopped himself from screaming Dean’s name and managed to make it more of a guttural yell. A familiar hand from the left side of the car grabbed Sam’s left shoulder.
“Sammy? You okay?”
Sam didn’t acknowledge the childhood nickname; he was too consumed with trying to calm his racing heart and control his breathing. He just nodded and leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed. I have got to find that knife.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The highway flew by outside the windows. The monotonous scenery might have been hypnotic under different circumstances, but Dean couldn’t afford to allow himself to be mesmerized by the road. As it stood now, he was their only driver and he had to get Sam some help, and soon. It had been days since Dean let Sam drive. He didn’t know what bothered him more - that Sam was so incapacitated by his lack of sleep to the point where he was basically ineffective, or that Sam didn’t even bother to fight him about the driving anymore.
Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother. Sam was in kind of a semi-daze leaning against the passenger side window - not quite awake, but certainly not asleep. Dean had gotten pretty good at reading Sam’s body language and was able to anticipate the onset of one of those dreams. For now, Sam was fine, but Dean was ready to jump in if he saw Sam slipping into a nightmare. Dean was having a hard time, being short on sleep himself, and knew if they had any chance of finding Dad or doing anything something would have to be done for Sam first.
The sign for Lake Tenkiller caught Dean’s eye and he moved to the exit ramp for Route 10 North. As they left Interstate 40 behind and headed north, the road became a little rougher and the scenery more rustic. A little flicker of hope kindled in Dean’s heart; he remembered this place - he liked it. In spite of the creature he and Dad neutralized in this little corner of Oklahoma, Dean carried good memories of that “hunting trip”. All of those good memories were attributed to the man Dean was bringing Sam to see. Somewhere along the line, Dean became convinced that he was the one man who could help Sam find some peace.
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They managed to travel the entire distance, from the Interstate to the lake, with no outbursts from Sam. Wow Dean thought sarcastically He got a whole forty minutes of sleep - a new record.
Unceremoniously Dean reached over and smacked Sam in the chest as he threw the car into park. “Wake up Sleeping Beauty…time to meet your prince.”
Sam didn’t respond; he just gave Dean an utterly confused glance. He looked blearily out the windshield at their surroundings. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Lake Tenkiller, Oklahoma.” replied Dean.
Sam raised an eyebrow at the name of their location. Dean just shrugged. “It’s better than Lake Fortykiller, I guess.” Dean leaned toward the door and levered himself out of the car; Sam exited with less grace, but Dean gave him credit for trying to get himself together enough to face whatever demon now lay in their path, not knowing it was his demon they were there to face.
Dean had pulled the car up a long dirt driveway, facing a small but neatly kept one-story wooden house. A man stood on the porch watching the brothers. When they were both out of the car he approached, holding a hand out to Dean.
“Dean Winchester, you are welcome here.” the man said warmly. He was dressed in worn jeans and a dusty, red work shirt. He wore his steel grey hair long and loose down his back. His neck was adorned with a simple leather bag on a black leather cord.
“Hey Jonathan!” Dean returned the greeting reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “How’re things?”
“Everything has returned to normal since you and your father visited.”
Dean shook his head and grinned. “Good. Uh, this here’s my brother, Sam.” Dean turned and gestured to Sam whose deeply ingrained good manners kicked in and propelled him to offer his hand to Jonathan as well. He seemed perplexed by Dean’s familiarity with this man. Dean chuckled internally - if Sam though he was being familiar now, wait until he really got started.
“You are welcome, Sam Winchester. We owe your family a great debt. Please, come in.” The man gestured toward the house and led the brothers into his neatly organized living room. He immediately offered food and drinks which Dean eagerly accepted. Once Jonathan had gone off to the kitchen, Sam leaned over to Dean.
“What’s the deal, Dean?”
“Oh, you know. Jonathan called us in to deal with a local legend. Ever hear the story of Spearfinger?”
Sam’s brown creased in a frown. He shook his head slightly no.
Dean smiled; for once he was the one who knew a story off the top of his head. “See, Spearfinger is a Cherokee legend. She was this old woman who lived in the forest and would lure kids to her.”
“Like Hansel and Gretel?” Sam asked.
“Not exactly,” Dean continued. “Spearfinger would offer to comb the children’s hair and when they got close enough, spear them with her bony finger. Then she’d eat their livers and suck the life out of them. If the kids managed to get away, she could take on the appearance of a family member, enter the house and get the kids in their sleep.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose in astonishment, but he knew Dean wasn’t pulling one over on him. They’d dealt with crazier things.
“The thing is, Spearfinger doesn’t leave any marks - no bruises, no cuts, no bleeding. The kids just start to get weak and die. Jonathan tried to tell the local authorities what he thought was going on. Of course they didn’t believe him - they just chalked up his story to the ramblings of an old man unwilling to accept that one of his grandchildren was sick and going to die.”
“So he called Dad?”
Dean nodded. “Yep. We came down. Jonathan helped up set a trap for Spearfinger. We shot off her finger. End of story.”
“Not exactly the end.” said a voice from behind them. Sam jumped. Jonathan walked around the couch and set the tray he’d been carrying on the coffee table before them.
“The end,” he continued, “was the returned health to all of the children Spearfinger had attacked. Many lives were saved. Our gratitude is boundless and the debt can never fully be repaid.”
Dean perked up. This was the perfect opening. “Well,” he began around a mouthful of sandwich, “I have a way you can start…”
Jonathan leaned forward expectantly. Dean continued, “See Sammy here has been having these wicked nightmares…and I thought, you know, you could do some of that Native American spirit stuff and you might be able to help.”
Sam’s jaw dropped and he looked thunderstruck. But Jonathan looked at him in speculation. Dean happily munched on his sandwich.
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Part 2 | Part 3