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tamingthemuseTitle: Through the Flames We Carry On
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 1
Fandom: SPN Gen
Spoilers: Up through the Season 3 Christmas eppy.
Prompt: #75 - Hush for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
tamingthemuse
Summary: Wee!Chester, with Sam at 10 and Dean at 14. Dean used to call Sam names, wasn't protective!bigbrother like he is now. John was easier about letting the boys stay on their own, but then insists that Sam not leave for college. So when did all that change? Well, this is my take.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
WARNING: Hurt/Comfort. Happy Endings. No John bashing. Wee!Chesters. Enter at your own risk.
And yes, title of the fic was sort of rearranged from Dragonforce's "Through the Fire and Flames", which is a REALLY good song.
Wordcount: 5445
Um, yeah. This sorta exploded on me. 12 pages in Word Doc. Kaplooey.
The room was too hot. He could feel it pushing around him, making the sheets on top of him feel like lead. There was a stinging sensation in his nose that couldn't be ignored, either. Sam opened his eyes and looked across to the wall he was facing, where the door was.
Smoke was coming through the door. Sam immediately sat up and sniffed tentatively. Smoke. It was definitely smoke. Where had Dad put the fire extinguisher?
Not that Sam was even sure how to use one, but there had to be directions, right? He wasn't a baby anymore, anyways. He was ten years old now. He could handle a fire. He didn't have to panic. He could save the cabin.
He began to cough, and pulled away the covers to slide to the floor, away from the smoke that was coming up into the high parts of the room. Something appeared to his right, and when he looked at the white sheets, he could see a spot of red. He frowned, and another appeared, having dropped from above.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling and froze. Dean and Dad were pinned to the ceiling, their eyes wide from fear and pain. “Sammy,” Dean said, his voice raspy, and Sam's eyes couldn't move away from the blood stains on their bellies. He reached up as far as he could from the bed, trying to grab their hands. He could pull them down, he could pull them away-
Then fire exploded behind them, burning them away. Sam screamed as they burned and screamed again as he caught fire himself, and kept screaming as he woke up, eyes shooting open to stare at the ceiling.
Dean and Dad were gone, but the fire was there, licking away at the wooden planks.
The sleep was barely from his eyes before the ceiling began to fall in.
Dean shifted uncomfortably against the tree. The branches were digging into his back. As if squatting, waiting for some nasty dog with bad breath to come around to try and kill them wasn't bad enough.
A shot rang out, and Dean immediately straightened, tightening his grip on the shotgun. Dad had gone ahead to try and find the black dog, and Dean seriously hoped that meant that he was okay, and they could go back to the cabin. Even if that meant he'd have to try and crawl into bed with Sam. The cabin only had two beds; one single, one double. Dad had given the boys the double, but it didn't matter; Sam was like an octopus when he slept, and a contortionist too.
Dean really couldn't complain, though. At least, not about the cabin. They actually had a place of their own for a bit. Uncle Jim had purchased the cabin a few years back, and when he'd heard that there was trouble in the woods around it, he'd told Dad that he could have it for however long he wanted or needed to take care of it.
They'd been there for a week already, and Dean was starting to climb the walls. It wasn't all that bad, really. Well, when he could watch the tv without Sam bothering him. Sam always wanted to play some dumb game. Yeah, the kid was a gracious loser when he lost, but Dean still didn't like playing with him. He wanted to play games like Crazy Eights and War, or worse yet, Double Solitaire. Not any good games like Blackjack or Poker. Dean had tried to teach him, but Sam had just kept asking questions about the game, until Dean had finally tossed the cards at him and told him to go play Solitaire. Single version.
Dad emerged from the hill in front of Dean, and Dean stood, wincing as his toes suddenly became reintroduced to blood. He hated pins and needles.
“We ready to head back?” Dean asked. He didn't need to ask if Dad had taken care of it. He knew his dad better than that.
“More than,” Dad said, rolling his shoulders. “I'm tired and I'm covered in black dog guts.”
Dean smirked, and Dad gave him a look. “Not a word from you,” he warned, and Dean kept his mouth shut. His lips remained turned up, though.
“I need you to watch Sammy tomorrow,” Dad said as they headed through the woods back to where they'd come. Dean heaved a sigh. “That a problem?”
“No sir,” Dean muttered. Another day cooped up inside with Sam. Yeah, tons of fun.
“He's your brother, Dean,” Dad reminded, but it was said softly, not in a commanding tone.
“I know, it's just...” Dean kicked at a stone in the path. “He's just a kid. Maybe when we're older we'll have more in common, but right now? We share blood. That's it. We're way too different. And he gets on my nerves all the time.”
“Sort of his job,” Dad added, and Dean gave him a look even as Dad chuckled. “Trust me, Dean. It's a little brother thing. And you guys get along great.”
Dean shrugged. “Sometimes,” he admitted. Sometimes Sam wasn't all that bad. Like when he'd given Dean the amulet that Dean never took off? That was beyond cool.
Every day, when he asked endless questions and insisted on playing stupid card games and refused to just believe that Dean and Dad could handle all the demons out there? Not cool. In the slightest.
“He's the only brother you're ever gonna have,” Dad said, and Dean sighed. There wasn't going to be any getting Dad to understand this. Dad considered their family a top priority. Plus, he sort of had a blind spot when it came to Sam, which sort of irked Dean deep down. He wasn't jealous; he got to see his Dad a lot more than Sam did.
Still. It meant that Dad let Sam ask all the stupid questions he wanted. And Sam was just too little! Okay, yeah, he was ten years old now, but Dean was fourteen. Fourteen. That was driving age in a lot of states. Junior high, and high school the next year. That was a big step and such a huge difference. Sam just didn't understand. Dad didn't understand that Sam was a kid, and an annoying one at that.
Dad stopped suddenly, and Dean automatically halted next to him. “Do you smell that?” Dad asked, serious now, and Dean sharply inhaled, frowning when the scent of smoke hit his nose.
Who would be stupid to start a fire in the forest? Hello, there were trees all over? Besides the wooden cabin that was-
That was just up ahead around the trees. Where the smoke was coming from.
“Move!” Dad shouted, and Dean immediately went into motion, running after his Dad, heart starting to speed up in his chest, and a sick feeling starting in his stomach. He hated the smell of smoke. He still had nightmares about that night ten years ago.
He slid into the clearing behind Dad and stopped, unable to follow his Dad forward. His eyes were glued on the burning cabin. There was so much fire, engulfing the entire building unlike their fire all those years ago.
No one could survive being in there. Especially not a little brother they'd left to sleep the night through.
“SAM!” Dad was screaming, coming closer to the fire before he had to jump away again. He coughed but continued to edge closer.
The shotgun fell from Dean's numb fingers. He couldn't see an annoying little brother in his mind, now. All he could see was a smiling face across from his over pizza, his tears when he worried so much about Dean and Dad, happiness when Dean agreed to play cards. Sammy.
“Sammy?” he whispered, his voice mangled and broken. Ten years ago, he'd carried his brother out of the burning house.
He hadn't been there this time. And Sam was dead because of it.
The smoke was drifting up now to silently signal the fire, but Dean's eyes burned all the same, and from his lips fell a litany of broken pleas. “Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let Sammy be dead. Please give my little brother back, please let him be alive. Please don't take him, let him be okay, please let him be okay...” He scrunched his eyes shut and felt the tears rolling down the face. If he believed this was a nightmare, then he'd wake up. And Sam would be okay. This was just a nightmare.
But Dad was still calling for Sam, his voice breaking now from all his shouting. The heat of the fire was still there against Dean's skin, and the sick feeling in his stomach only gripped tighter even as his heart beat painfully in his chest. This was real. This wasn't a bad dream. “Please let Sammy not be dead,” he whispered. “I don't care if I have to play a million card games after tonight. I wouldn't ever tell him to go away again, just please let him-let him come back and be here. Please?” and he choked on the last word. “Please just let him be okay. Oh god please let-”
“D-Dean?”
Dean whipped around at the quiet and shaken tone. Hidden behind the trunk of a tree, he could just make out a small shape. Frightened and shell-shocked eyes peered out from a face dirty and smudged from smoke. “Dean?” Sam called again, stepping around the tree. Pajamas were torn in a few places, and absolutely filthy, but they were on a solid body that wasn't burning in the cabin behind Dean. That was enough.
Dean ran forward and grabbed onto Sam, pulling him in close. He could feel Sam shaking in his arms, and tightened his grip, as if he could stop the trembling with the force of his muscles. “You're okay Sam, I swear you're okay,” Dean murmured, breathing in. He could smell smoke strongly, but he didn't care. Sam was okay.
Then he remembered his Dad. “Dad!” Dean yelled. “DAD! I've got him! He's right here, he's...he's okay, Dad, and I've got him.”
Dad turned around even faster than Dean had, and in another moment Dad was kneeling in the dirt next to them. “Are you hurt?” Dad asked, hands reaching out to grasp Sam's shoulder and cup Sam's dirty face. “Sammy, are you hurt?”
Sam shook his head before he reburied it in Dean's chest. “I think he's just freaked out,” Dean managed. His stupid eyes were burning again, and he didn't know why. He had Sam right here, and he wasn't hurt.
“Then let's go,” Dad said, and if his voice shook, nobody cared. Sam was still shaking, his long fingers digging into Dean's shirt, clutching the fabric tight enough Dean would've worried about it tearing if he was worried about anything else except for Sam.
Dad stood and placed a solid hand on their backs, gently nudging them towards the car. Sam's fingers refused to let go, though, so they moved as one. When they reached the car, Dad opened the rear door, and pulled Sam away from Dean to place him in the back seat. He began to close the door, but Dean stepped forward, causing him to stop. “You sitting up front?” Dad asked him. It was where he usually sat these days. He was fourteen now, almost driving age. Kids rode in the back seat.
Dean shook his head no. Dad nodded, then opened the door enough so Dean could crawl in. Sam immediately reached for him, and Dean's arms wrapped around him again, even tighter than before. Sam didn't complain about not being able to breathe, though, so Dean kept his grip the way it was. He was sitting sideways on the seat, feet tucked underneath him so he was really kneeling, which definitely wasn't allowed when Dad drove.
Dad started the car and drove away, and didn't say anything, so neither did Dean. He only rested his chin on the top of Sam's trembling head, feeling Sam's heart thudding against his chest, a disjointed rhythm when compared with his own.
Dean closed his eyes and ignored the smell of smoke he could still almost taste.
John finally stopped the car about two hours later at a small gas station in the middle of nowhere. When he glanced in the back, two pairs of eyes immediately met his. One was frightened, but not like they had been earlier. The other eyes were confused, but the rest of his body spoke of his unconscious reaction to having stopped. He'd tightened up, a physical cage around his younger brother in his arms.
“Just need a coffee and some fuel for the car,” John assured them. Dean relaxed slightly, but not completely, John noticed. He probably wasn't going to completely relax for a few days at least. And from the white knuckles John could see, Sam wouldn't be leaving his sight for longer than that.
John didn't see Sam complaining, though. His youngest was clinging back just as hard. He looked tired, though, exhausted if John wanted to be honest, and was probably losing the adrenaline he'd had earlier to get out of the burning cabin.
John hadn't asked earlier about what had happened, and he wasn't going to press. Not now, when Sam looked like he was going to fall asleep or fall apart.
“You boys want anything?” he asked, and Dean shook his head. Sam blinked a couple of times, before shaking his head quickly. “Then I'll be right back,” John told them, before exiting the car.
The car only needed a few gallons, but he wanted to be able to reach South Dakota without having to stop again. He grabbed his coffee and broke down a dollar for change inside, before walking over to the payphone he'd seen from the car. He dialed the number from memory and waited.
Two rings later, Bobby answered. “Singer's Yard, Bobby speakin'.”
“Bobby, it's me.”
“What's the matter?” Bobby asked, instantly on guard. John smiled wearily. His buddy knew him too well. “Well? You sound like hell.”
“Can we come by and stay? At least the boys? They're both pretty shaken; they need to stay somewhere stable.”
“Shaken by what? Gettin' a straight answer outta you is harder than finding a new transmission for that wreck I've had out back for ten years.”
John took a deep breath. “There was a fire, up at Jim's cabin-”
“Boys all right?”
Good man; had his priorities in order. “Dean and I were out trailing the black dog. We'd been heading back when I smelled smoke. I'd...I'd left Sam back at the cabin to sleep.” John closed his eyes and breathed in deeply again. If he'd lost Sam in that fire...
“Sam hurt bad?”
“Not really hurt at all; least, not that I can tell. He's in shock, I think. But Dean's got him.” John snorted. “Dean hasn't let go since he found him. Sam was outside, hiding behind a tree.”
“Thank hell,” Bobby breathed out fervently. “You head my way, and all three of you are gonna just lay low for a few days, all right? You got any idea what happened? How the fire started?”
“No,” John admitted quietly. “I haven't asked Sam yet. I don't think he's going to know what caused it, though.”
“They're alive and fine, there's no need to start diggin' into the reasons just yet,” Bobby said easily. “Now haul ass over here, now. I mean it.”
“Thanks Bobby.”
Dad hadn't been out of the car for more than a few seconds before Sam whispered, “I'm sorry.” It was the first thing he'd said since he'd called for Dean a few hours ago. His voice sounded like he'd been gargling glass, and Dean had to blink hard to get the suddenly very bad image out of his head.
Then he had to blink again as Sam's words made sense. Well, they really didn't. “Sorry for what?” Dean asked, frowning. “Most of our stuff was in the car, 'cause Dad wanted to leave tomorrow, anyways. And whatever else got burned, I don't care.” The only thing that would've killed him if he'd found out it had burned was Sam.
“No,” Sam said miserably, before finally raising his head. Two clean trails cut through the smudge on his face, and Dean reached out, wiping the tears aside with his knuckle. “You don't understand.”
When Sam didn't offer up anything else, Dean only frowned harder. “Understand what, Sammy?”
Sam ducked down to bury his head again, but Dean leaned back, hands on Sam's shoulders. He scrunched down in order to meet Sam's eyes. “Understand what?”
“I...” Sam swallowed but kept talking. “I dreamed that you and Dad were, you know, on the ceiling,” and Dean stared. “And you guys were hurt, and I was trying to pull you down, and then the fire started, and we all burned.” Sam looked away, biting his lower lip so hard Dean was afraid it was going to bleed. “Then I woke up. And the cabin was on fire.”
Dean tried to get air in his lungs to reply, but it wasn't working. Sam's head flew up, and his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “I-I didn't mean to set the cabin on fire,” he whispered, sounding like he was pleading with Dean to believe him. “I didn't mean to, I swear Dean, I swear-”
“Sammy, you didn't,” Dean started, but Sam's shoulders were shaking under his hands again, and the sob tore from his brother's throat. Sam's head fell forward, until all Dean could see was his hair. He moved his hands from holding Sam up to pulling him close, letting Sam cry into his shirt.
“Don't tell Dad,” he gasped, digging his fingers into Dean's shirt. “Dean, p-promise me you won't-won't tell Dad.”
“Sammy-”
“Promise me, De-ean. Please?”
Dean closed his eyes. “I promise,” he said quietly.
The car door reopened, and Dad slid into the seat, frowning as he heard Sam. “What happened?” he asked.
Sam dug his fingers into Dean's skin even as he continued to cry. Dean got the message. “I think it's just really hitting him,” Dean said. That, and Sam was tired. Those two factors were probably playing a big role into Sam's meltdown.
The other reason, though, was one that Sam obviously didn't want Dad to know about. Dean could understand why; Dad and fires tended not to be good mixes. Ever.
But Sam hadn't started the fire. He couldn't have. It was a nightmare. Dean knew Sam wasn't responsible, but convincing Sam of that wasn't going to happen right now.
Sam's fingers released slightly, and Dean met his Dad's eyes over Sam's head. 'Need to tell you' Dean mouthed, and Dad nodded.
“We're heading to Uncle Bobby's,” he told them. “That's a good four hours, at least. If you boys can sleep, I'd sleep.”
Dean merely nodded and turned back to his sniffling brother. Dad reached a hand back and rested it on Sam's head for just a moment, then raised his hand until Dean grasped it. Dad gave it a squeeze, then returned his arm to the front.
Sam dropped off about twenty minutes later, still sniffling. Dean didn't sleep the entire way there.
Once they were at Bobby's, John felt a small part of him relax. Here, there were runes and protection spells and amulets of various sorts hanging over every door, and an old friend who knew him better than anyone else.
Well, better than everyone except Dean, maybe. Dean probably knew him best, and that thought made John proud and worried all at once.
Bobby was waiting for them on the porch, hands on his hips, looking calm and unfazed like he always did. Anyone who knew him at all could recognize the concern in his eyes, though, as they got out of the car. Dean slid out of the back first, then pulled Sam out behind him. Sam was still blinking the sleep from his eyes, but his hand had a death grip on Dean's. They walked as one towards the house, and Sam couldn't even manage a small smile for Bobby.
Bobby seemed to understand, though. Thank hell. “There's a bed upstairs, boys,” Bobby said softly, in a voice that was gentler than John had ever heard from him before. “You both look like you could do with some sleep.”
He'd caught on to the fact that separating the two of them right now just wasn't going to happen. Smart man.
John stepped up onto the porch and wearily took Bobby's hand. “I appreciate it,” he said quietly.
Bobby gave him a look that told him he was being dense. “Don't be stupid,” he said gruffly. “You're always welcome here. All of you.”
“I'm gonna help Sam get into bed,” Dean said, and John nodded as they went inside.
“Thought they'd be a little more difficult to separate than that,” Bobby muttered under his breath. “Sam had his hand locked on Dean.”
“Trust me, Dean's got just as much a hold of Sam,” John murmured, following his boys into the house. They were already around through the living room to the kitchen, and John could hear them climbing the stairs. John slid into the nearest chair and hung his head, burying his face in his hands.
“Drink?”
“Please,” John said, closing his eyes. “Dean's got something to tell me. It's bad enough that he doesn't want Sam around to hear it, which is why he's willing to let Sam stay somewhere he can't see.”
Bobby huffed. “Sounds like I'm gonna need a drink, then, too.”
A few minutes later, and Dean came down the stairs, turning the corner and looking as if he'd aged ten years. “You all right, dude?” John asked quietly.
Dean took a deep breath, then shook his head. “Sam told me something really freaky in the car,” he started. “And I'm pretty sure he didn't want me to tell you.”
Bobby came over and handed John a beer. John straightened slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Hit me,” he said.
His eldest closed his eyes for a minute. “Sam said...said he had a nightmare. You and me, pinned to the ceiling above him.” He raised his eyes then, meeting John's stare.
“Like your mother?” John managed to ask.
Dean nodded. “Like Mom. He said he stood up on the bed to try and pull us down, but then everything caught on fire. When he woke up, the place was on fire. And somehow, in the little geek's head, that translates to being his fault.”
John closed his eyes. “It's not,” he said, sighing. “But I know whose fault it is.”
“Least you know what started the fire,” Bobby offered quietly.
Dean looked confused. “What did?”
“The same thing that took your mother,” John said, meeting Dean's eyes. “The Demon. I told you that she was pinned to the ceiling.”
Dean nodded slowly, eyes wider in horrified realization now. Hell but he didn't want to tell Dean this, but he didn't have a choice. “Sam say anything else? Were we bleeding?”
Slowly Dean began to nod. “Was Mom...?” he trailed off, unable to finish.
John couldn't even form the words, and had to settle for a short nod of his own. “Why would it attack now?” Dean stammered. “I-I mean, it's been-”
“Ten years,” John finished softly. “It's been ten years.”
“Probably trying to remind you just who you were dealin' with,” Bobby cut in. “That you weren't safe. Probably thought he could dwindle the Winchesters from three to two.”
Dean looked stricken. John knew how he felt. “Now what?” Dean said, his voice hoarse.
“Now I talk to Sam,” John said, rising from the chair. He took a long swig of beer from the bottle, before he set it down on the table. “Dean, come up with me.”
Sam curled up in the sheets, trying to sleep. His pajamas smelled like smoke, though, and he pulled the sheets up to his chin, trying to bury his nose in them, instead. Trying to smell anything except the smoke.
He wanted Dean to come back up. Dean had promised he just needed to go downstairs really quick for a drink, but that had been ten minutes ago. Sam had counted. Dean still wasn't upstairs, and Sam wasn't even thinking about falling asleep unless Dean was there.
Dean wouldn't let him burn the house down.
Footsteps on the stairs made Sam close his eyes at last, knowing any minute Dean would crawl in behind him.
A weight rested on the bed by his knees, and Sam opened his eyes, frowning in confusion when he saw Dad sitting on the edge of the bed. “Dad?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. Dean was in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets and looking sorry about something.
“Sammy, what happened in your nightmare?” Dad asked, and Sam shot up in bed, eyes locked on Dean.
“You promised,” he said angrily, tears burning in his eyes. “You promised, Dean.”
Dean looked even sorrier than before. “Sammy, I-”
Sam turned away, more hurt than he'd ever felt before. Dean had betrayed him. He'd told Dad the one thing Sam had begged him not to.
Dad was gonna kill him. Hunt him down like everything else that was bad.
“Sammy, look at me,” Dad said, his voice soft and calm.
Slowly Sam turned his head back to his Dad. “He had to, Sam,” Dad said. “Something that big, he had to tell me.”
“I didn't mean to,” Sam said, still not sure why Dad was allowing him to explain himself, but he was going to take the chance while he could. “I swear I didn't mean to start the fire. I-I just had the nightmare, and I tried to get you guys off the ceiling, and then the fire burned you and burned me and then I woke up, and there really was a fire, and I didn't mean to-”
“Hush, it's all right,” Dad said, and Sam inhaled sharply as Dad pulled him close into a hug. “It wasn't your fault, dude. Your nightmare didn't cause the fire. You didn't cause the fire. I promise you that much.”
“But-”
“No buts. If you woke up and the cabin was on fire, then you were still asleep when it started, right?” Sam nodded against his Dad's chest. “Then your subconscious probably picked up on the heat and smoke and made you think, in your dream, about a fire. Then it became a nightmare and woke you up. You think about it that way, Sammy,” Dad said, hugging him extra tight, “and that nightmare was probably the thing that saved your life. If you hadn't woken up, then you wouldn't have gotten out.”
“I'm still sorry,” Sam whispered.
“Nothing to be sorry for. Promise. Don't you ever be sorry that you're alive, you hear me?” Dad swallowed hard enough that Sam could hear it. “Don't you ever be sorry that you're alive.”
Sam nodded, and Dad pulled back, chucking him under the chin. “Good. You boys get to bed; I'll wake you both up around dinner time, if you're not up before that.”
Food was the last thing on Sam's mind right then, but later, maybe. When he didn't smell like smoke so much.
Which he didn't now, he realized. Maybe the smell had gotten onto Dad instead. Or maybe it hadn't ever been that bad to start with.
Dad left, tussling his hair and making him almost smile for the first time since the fire. Dean stepped inside tentatively, and Dad shut the door almost all the way behind him. “I am sorry, Sammy,” Dean said miserably. “But I had to tell him.”
“I know,” Sam said, sighing. “I just...I just didn't want him to know, you know?”
“I know.” A moment later, he asked, “You still mad at me?”
Sam shook his head. “You mad at me for letting your stuff get burned?” he asked in return.
Dean rolled his eyes and kicked off his boots. “Dude, I told you, it wasn't your fault.” He took a seat on the other side of the bed and leaned over far enough to whack the side of Sam's head. Sam made a face and pulled away. “That's the last I wanna hear of 'it was my fault' stuff. I mean it; any of it.”
“Okay,” Sam said. He laid back down, his eyes suddenly heavy again. The blankets were pulled up to his chin again, and with Dean's weight on the other side of the bed a comfort, he closed his eyes.
“You were right,” Bobby said quietly beside John. “You've been right all these years.”
“I wish I wasn't,” John said, his voice almost a whisper. There hadn't been any sound from the bedroom in awhile, but he couldn't seem to move from the hallway. “But what happened ten years ago wasn't a random accident. After this morning, I think it's been proven: the Demon's after Sam.”
Bobby shook his head. “I don't get why.”
“Neither do I. But two fires in the same place my son is? I don't believe in coincidences. I always thought Mary had died protecting Sam,” and if he had to clear his throat to stop the sudden tightness that had developed, Bobby didn't care. “Now I know she did.”
“Sam got out on pure luck this time,” Bobby said. “You know that, right?”
“I know it. Next time might not be as lucky.”
Bobby sighed. “So what are you gonna do?”
“Not let him out of my sight,” John said simply. There wasn't even any other thought besides that one. “The Demon'll come for him again. You know it, I know it. Next time it happens, I want to be right there with Sam. I'll keep him close.”
Bobby snorted softly. “Yeah, good luck with that. You reinin' in that kid would be like trying to tame a wild lion. He's gonna be as independent as you are, John.”
“I'd rather have him live to eighty and resent me for hanging too close and not letting him have any free time than have him do what he wants and die at fifteen.” John took a deep breath. “No. I'll keep a watch out for him, won't let him out of my sight. I'll do what I have to. I'd like him to live to an age where he can understand that.”
He finally pulled away from the door, heading down the stairs. He wouldn't let Sam out of his sight. There were no ifs, buts, or whats about it. He wasn't losing his youngest. Dean could defend himself. Sam...Sam couldn't. Not yet. He'd learn, though. And then he could stand strong with both of them.
That was what was safe. That was what John would do.
From his spot on the bed, Dean heard Dad go downstairs. Sam was curled up next to him, sound asleep. He hadn't heard the quiet conversation outside the door.
Dean had.
He turned to look down at his little brother, then raised his gaze to the window. The Demon wanted Sam. The Demon had taken Mom, and now it wanted Sam, too.
Dean wasn't going to let it. It had already taken one person he loved. He wasn't going to lose Sammy, too. He hadn't really realized how fast and easy it was to lose someone. Not until the fire ten years ago, and not again until tonight. Even Dad hadn't been able to stop it.
Dad wasn't always going to be there. He had to go off and hunt, Dean knew that. And Sam would be left alone again, except Dean wasn't going to let that happen. If Dad wasn't there, Dean would be. And even if Dad was there...Dean would be there, too. Two were better than one.
His arm was curled around Sam, hand resting on his shoulder, and he tightened his grip as hard as he dared without waking Sam. I swear I'll never ever let you out of my sight, Sammy, he silently vowed. I swear it. I'll protect you, no matter what it takes. I'll do anything to keep you safe. ANYTHING. Tonight's not gonna happen again. Not ever. I'll be right there with you.
And Demon? You want my little brother? Just try and get him. You're gonna have to go through me first.
~Nebula
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 1
Fandom: SPN Gen
Spoilers: Up through the Season 3 Christmas eppy.
Prompt: #75 - Hush for
tamingthemuseSummary: Wee!Chester, with Sam at 10 and Dean at 14. Dean used to call Sam names, wasn't protective!bigbrother like he is now. John was easier about letting the boys stay on their own, but then insists that Sam not leave for college. So when did all that change? Well, this is my take.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
WARNING: Hurt/Comfort. Happy Endings. No John bashing. Wee!Chesters. Enter at your own risk.
And yes, title of the fic was sort of rearranged from Dragonforce's "Through the Fire and Flames", which is a REALLY good song.
Wordcount: 5445
Um, yeah. This sorta exploded on me. 12 pages in Word Doc. Kaplooey.
The room was too hot. He could feel it pushing around him, making the sheets on top of him feel like lead. There was a stinging sensation in his nose that couldn't be ignored, either. Sam opened his eyes and looked across to the wall he was facing, where the door was.
Smoke was coming through the door. Sam immediately sat up and sniffed tentatively. Smoke. It was definitely smoke. Where had Dad put the fire extinguisher?
Not that Sam was even sure how to use one, but there had to be directions, right? He wasn't a baby anymore, anyways. He was ten years old now. He could handle a fire. He didn't have to panic. He could save the cabin.
He began to cough, and pulled away the covers to slide to the floor, away from the smoke that was coming up into the high parts of the room. Something appeared to his right, and when he looked at the white sheets, he could see a spot of red. He frowned, and another appeared, having dropped from above.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling and froze. Dean and Dad were pinned to the ceiling, their eyes wide from fear and pain. “Sammy,” Dean said, his voice raspy, and Sam's eyes couldn't move away from the blood stains on their bellies. He reached up as far as he could from the bed, trying to grab their hands. He could pull them down, he could pull them away-
Then fire exploded behind them, burning them away. Sam screamed as they burned and screamed again as he caught fire himself, and kept screaming as he woke up, eyes shooting open to stare at the ceiling.
Dean and Dad were gone, but the fire was there, licking away at the wooden planks.
The sleep was barely from his eyes before the ceiling began to fall in.
Dean shifted uncomfortably against the tree. The branches were digging into his back. As if squatting, waiting for some nasty dog with bad breath to come around to try and kill them wasn't bad enough.
A shot rang out, and Dean immediately straightened, tightening his grip on the shotgun. Dad had gone ahead to try and find the black dog, and Dean seriously hoped that meant that he was okay, and they could go back to the cabin. Even if that meant he'd have to try and crawl into bed with Sam. The cabin only had two beds; one single, one double. Dad had given the boys the double, but it didn't matter; Sam was like an octopus when he slept, and a contortionist too.
Dean really couldn't complain, though. At least, not about the cabin. They actually had a place of their own for a bit. Uncle Jim had purchased the cabin a few years back, and when he'd heard that there was trouble in the woods around it, he'd told Dad that he could have it for however long he wanted or needed to take care of it.
They'd been there for a week already, and Dean was starting to climb the walls. It wasn't all that bad, really. Well, when he could watch the tv without Sam bothering him. Sam always wanted to play some dumb game. Yeah, the kid was a gracious loser when he lost, but Dean still didn't like playing with him. He wanted to play games like Crazy Eights and War, or worse yet, Double Solitaire. Not any good games like Blackjack or Poker. Dean had tried to teach him, but Sam had just kept asking questions about the game, until Dean had finally tossed the cards at him and told him to go play Solitaire. Single version.
Dad emerged from the hill in front of Dean, and Dean stood, wincing as his toes suddenly became reintroduced to blood. He hated pins and needles.
“We ready to head back?” Dean asked. He didn't need to ask if Dad had taken care of it. He knew his dad better than that.
“More than,” Dad said, rolling his shoulders. “I'm tired and I'm covered in black dog guts.”
Dean smirked, and Dad gave him a look. “Not a word from you,” he warned, and Dean kept his mouth shut. His lips remained turned up, though.
“I need you to watch Sammy tomorrow,” Dad said as they headed through the woods back to where they'd come. Dean heaved a sigh. “That a problem?”
“No sir,” Dean muttered. Another day cooped up inside with Sam. Yeah, tons of fun.
“He's your brother, Dean,” Dad reminded, but it was said softly, not in a commanding tone.
“I know, it's just...” Dean kicked at a stone in the path. “He's just a kid. Maybe when we're older we'll have more in common, but right now? We share blood. That's it. We're way too different. And he gets on my nerves all the time.”
“Sort of his job,” Dad added, and Dean gave him a look even as Dad chuckled. “Trust me, Dean. It's a little brother thing. And you guys get along great.”
Dean shrugged. “Sometimes,” he admitted. Sometimes Sam wasn't all that bad. Like when he'd given Dean the amulet that Dean never took off? That was beyond cool.
Every day, when he asked endless questions and insisted on playing stupid card games and refused to just believe that Dean and Dad could handle all the demons out there? Not cool. In the slightest.
“He's the only brother you're ever gonna have,” Dad said, and Dean sighed. There wasn't going to be any getting Dad to understand this. Dad considered their family a top priority. Plus, he sort of had a blind spot when it came to Sam, which sort of irked Dean deep down. He wasn't jealous; he got to see his Dad a lot more than Sam did.
Still. It meant that Dad let Sam ask all the stupid questions he wanted. And Sam was just too little! Okay, yeah, he was ten years old now, but Dean was fourteen. Fourteen. That was driving age in a lot of states. Junior high, and high school the next year. That was a big step and such a huge difference. Sam just didn't understand. Dad didn't understand that Sam was a kid, and an annoying one at that.
Dad stopped suddenly, and Dean automatically halted next to him. “Do you smell that?” Dad asked, serious now, and Dean sharply inhaled, frowning when the scent of smoke hit his nose.
Who would be stupid to start a fire in the forest? Hello, there were trees all over? Besides the wooden cabin that was-
That was just up ahead around the trees. Where the smoke was coming from.
“Move!” Dad shouted, and Dean immediately went into motion, running after his Dad, heart starting to speed up in his chest, and a sick feeling starting in his stomach. He hated the smell of smoke. He still had nightmares about that night ten years ago.
He slid into the clearing behind Dad and stopped, unable to follow his Dad forward. His eyes were glued on the burning cabin. There was so much fire, engulfing the entire building unlike their fire all those years ago.
No one could survive being in there. Especially not a little brother they'd left to sleep the night through.
“SAM!” Dad was screaming, coming closer to the fire before he had to jump away again. He coughed but continued to edge closer.
The shotgun fell from Dean's numb fingers. He couldn't see an annoying little brother in his mind, now. All he could see was a smiling face across from his over pizza, his tears when he worried so much about Dean and Dad, happiness when Dean agreed to play cards. Sammy.
“Sammy?” he whispered, his voice mangled and broken. Ten years ago, he'd carried his brother out of the burning house.
He hadn't been there this time. And Sam was dead because of it.
The smoke was drifting up now to silently signal the fire, but Dean's eyes burned all the same, and from his lips fell a litany of broken pleas. “Please don't let him be dead. Please don't let Sammy be dead. Please give my little brother back, please let him be alive. Please don't take him, let him be okay, please let him be okay...” He scrunched his eyes shut and felt the tears rolling down the face. If he believed this was a nightmare, then he'd wake up. And Sam would be okay. This was just a nightmare.
But Dad was still calling for Sam, his voice breaking now from all his shouting. The heat of the fire was still there against Dean's skin, and the sick feeling in his stomach only gripped tighter even as his heart beat painfully in his chest. This was real. This wasn't a bad dream. “Please let Sammy not be dead,” he whispered. “I don't care if I have to play a million card games after tonight. I wouldn't ever tell him to go away again, just please let him-let him come back and be here. Please?” and he choked on the last word. “Please just let him be okay. Oh god please let-”
“D-Dean?”
Dean whipped around at the quiet and shaken tone. Hidden behind the trunk of a tree, he could just make out a small shape. Frightened and shell-shocked eyes peered out from a face dirty and smudged from smoke. “Dean?” Sam called again, stepping around the tree. Pajamas were torn in a few places, and absolutely filthy, but they were on a solid body that wasn't burning in the cabin behind Dean. That was enough.
Dean ran forward and grabbed onto Sam, pulling him in close. He could feel Sam shaking in his arms, and tightened his grip, as if he could stop the trembling with the force of his muscles. “You're okay Sam, I swear you're okay,” Dean murmured, breathing in. He could smell smoke strongly, but he didn't care. Sam was okay.
Then he remembered his Dad. “Dad!” Dean yelled. “DAD! I've got him! He's right here, he's...he's okay, Dad, and I've got him.”
Dad turned around even faster than Dean had, and in another moment Dad was kneeling in the dirt next to them. “Are you hurt?” Dad asked, hands reaching out to grasp Sam's shoulder and cup Sam's dirty face. “Sammy, are you hurt?”
Sam shook his head before he reburied it in Dean's chest. “I think he's just freaked out,” Dean managed. His stupid eyes were burning again, and he didn't know why. He had Sam right here, and he wasn't hurt.
“Then let's go,” Dad said, and if his voice shook, nobody cared. Sam was still shaking, his long fingers digging into Dean's shirt, clutching the fabric tight enough Dean would've worried about it tearing if he was worried about anything else except for Sam.
Dad stood and placed a solid hand on their backs, gently nudging them towards the car. Sam's fingers refused to let go, though, so they moved as one. When they reached the car, Dad opened the rear door, and pulled Sam away from Dean to place him in the back seat. He began to close the door, but Dean stepped forward, causing him to stop. “You sitting up front?” Dad asked him. It was where he usually sat these days. He was fourteen now, almost driving age. Kids rode in the back seat.
Dean shook his head no. Dad nodded, then opened the door enough so Dean could crawl in. Sam immediately reached for him, and Dean's arms wrapped around him again, even tighter than before. Sam didn't complain about not being able to breathe, though, so Dean kept his grip the way it was. He was sitting sideways on the seat, feet tucked underneath him so he was really kneeling, which definitely wasn't allowed when Dad drove.
Dad started the car and drove away, and didn't say anything, so neither did Dean. He only rested his chin on the top of Sam's trembling head, feeling Sam's heart thudding against his chest, a disjointed rhythm when compared with his own.
Dean closed his eyes and ignored the smell of smoke he could still almost taste.
John finally stopped the car about two hours later at a small gas station in the middle of nowhere. When he glanced in the back, two pairs of eyes immediately met his. One was frightened, but not like they had been earlier. The other eyes were confused, but the rest of his body spoke of his unconscious reaction to having stopped. He'd tightened up, a physical cage around his younger brother in his arms.
“Just need a coffee and some fuel for the car,” John assured them. Dean relaxed slightly, but not completely, John noticed. He probably wasn't going to completely relax for a few days at least. And from the white knuckles John could see, Sam wouldn't be leaving his sight for longer than that.
John didn't see Sam complaining, though. His youngest was clinging back just as hard. He looked tired, though, exhausted if John wanted to be honest, and was probably losing the adrenaline he'd had earlier to get out of the burning cabin.
John hadn't asked earlier about what had happened, and he wasn't going to press. Not now, when Sam looked like he was going to fall asleep or fall apart.
“You boys want anything?” he asked, and Dean shook his head. Sam blinked a couple of times, before shaking his head quickly. “Then I'll be right back,” John told them, before exiting the car.
The car only needed a few gallons, but he wanted to be able to reach South Dakota without having to stop again. He grabbed his coffee and broke down a dollar for change inside, before walking over to the payphone he'd seen from the car. He dialed the number from memory and waited.
Two rings later, Bobby answered. “Singer's Yard, Bobby speakin'.”
“Bobby, it's me.”
“What's the matter?” Bobby asked, instantly on guard. John smiled wearily. His buddy knew him too well. “Well? You sound like hell.”
“Can we come by and stay? At least the boys? They're both pretty shaken; they need to stay somewhere stable.”
“Shaken by what? Gettin' a straight answer outta you is harder than finding a new transmission for that wreck I've had out back for ten years.”
John took a deep breath. “There was a fire, up at Jim's cabin-”
“Boys all right?”
Good man; had his priorities in order. “Dean and I were out trailing the black dog. We'd been heading back when I smelled smoke. I'd...I'd left Sam back at the cabin to sleep.” John closed his eyes and breathed in deeply again. If he'd lost Sam in that fire...
“Sam hurt bad?”
“Not really hurt at all; least, not that I can tell. He's in shock, I think. But Dean's got him.” John snorted. “Dean hasn't let go since he found him. Sam was outside, hiding behind a tree.”
“Thank hell,” Bobby breathed out fervently. “You head my way, and all three of you are gonna just lay low for a few days, all right? You got any idea what happened? How the fire started?”
“No,” John admitted quietly. “I haven't asked Sam yet. I don't think he's going to know what caused it, though.”
“They're alive and fine, there's no need to start diggin' into the reasons just yet,” Bobby said easily. “Now haul ass over here, now. I mean it.”
“Thanks Bobby.”
Dad hadn't been out of the car for more than a few seconds before Sam whispered, “I'm sorry.” It was the first thing he'd said since he'd called for Dean a few hours ago. His voice sounded like he'd been gargling glass, and Dean had to blink hard to get the suddenly very bad image out of his head.
Then he had to blink again as Sam's words made sense. Well, they really didn't. “Sorry for what?” Dean asked, frowning. “Most of our stuff was in the car, 'cause Dad wanted to leave tomorrow, anyways. And whatever else got burned, I don't care.” The only thing that would've killed him if he'd found out it had burned was Sam.
“No,” Sam said miserably, before finally raising his head. Two clean trails cut through the smudge on his face, and Dean reached out, wiping the tears aside with his knuckle. “You don't understand.”
When Sam didn't offer up anything else, Dean only frowned harder. “Understand what, Sammy?”
Sam ducked down to bury his head again, but Dean leaned back, hands on Sam's shoulders. He scrunched down in order to meet Sam's eyes. “Understand what?”
“I...” Sam swallowed but kept talking. “I dreamed that you and Dad were, you know, on the ceiling,” and Dean stared. “And you guys were hurt, and I was trying to pull you down, and then the fire started, and we all burned.” Sam looked away, biting his lower lip so hard Dean was afraid it was going to bleed. “Then I woke up. And the cabin was on fire.”
Dean tried to get air in his lungs to reply, but it wasn't working. Sam's head flew up, and his eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “I-I didn't mean to set the cabin on fire,” he whispered, sounding like he was pleading with Dean to believe him. “I didn't mean to, I swear Dean, I swear-”
“Sammy, you didn't,” Dean started, but Sam's shoulders were shaking under his hands again, and the sob tore from his brother's throat. Sam's head fell forward, until all Dean could see was his hair. He moved his hands from holding Sam up to pulling him close, letting Sam cry into his shirt.
“Don't tell Dad,” he gasped, digging his fingers into Dean's shirt. “Dean, p-promise me you won't-won't tell Dad.”
“Sammy-”
“Promise me, De-ean. Please?”
Dean closed his eyes. “I promise,” he said quietly.
The car door reopened, and Dad slid into the seat, frowning as he heard Sam. “What happened?” he asked.
Sam dug his fingers into Dean's skin even as he continued to cry. Dean got the message. “I think it's just really hitting him,” Dean said. That, and Sam was tired. Those two factors were probably playing a big role into Sam's meltdown.
The other reason, though, was one that Sam obviously didn't want Dad to know about. Dean could understand why; Dad and fires tended not to be good mixes. Ever.
But Sam hadn't started the fire. He couldn't have. It was a nightmare. Dean knew Sam wasn't responsible, but convincing Sam of that wasn't going to happen right now.
Sam's fingers released slightly, and Dean met his Dad's eyes over Sam's head. 'Need to tell you' Dean mouthed, and Dad nodded.
“We're heading to Uncle Bobby's,” he told them. “That's a good four hours, at least. If you boys can sleep, I'd sleep.”
Dean merely nodded and turned back to his sniffling brother. Dad reached a hand back and rested it on Sam's head for just a moment, then raised his hand until Dean grasped it. Dad gave it a squeeze, then returned his arm to the front.
Sam dropped off about twenty minutes later, still sniffling. Dean didn't sleep the entire way there.
Once they were at Bobby's, John felt a small part of him relax. Here, there were runes and protection spells and amulets of various sorts hanging over every door, and an old friend who knew him better than anyone else.
Well, better than everyone except Dean, maybe. Dean probably knew him best, and that thought made John proud and worried all at once.
Bobby was waiting for them on the porch, hands on his hips, looking calm and unfazed like he always did. Anyone who knew him at all could recognize the concern in his eyes, though, as they got out of the car. Dean slid out of the back first, then pulled Sam out behind him. Sam was still blinking the sleep from his eyes, but his hand had a death grip on Dean's. They walked as one towards the house, and Sam couldn't even manage a small smile for Bobby.
Bobby seemed to understand, though. Thank hell. “There's a bed upstairs, boys,” Bobby said softly, in a voice that was gentler than John had ever heard from him before. “You both look like you could do with some sleep.”
He'd caught on to the fact that separating the two of them right now just wasn't going to happen. Smart man.
John stepped up onto the porch and wearily took Bobby's hand. “I appreciate it,” he said quietly.
Bobby gave him a look that told him he was being dense. “Don't be stupid,” he said gruffly. “You're always welcome here. All of you.”
“I'm gonna help Sam get into bed,” Dean said, and John nodded as they went inside.
“Thought they'd be a little more difficult to separate than that,” Bobby muttered under his breath. “Sam had his hand locked on Dean.”
“Trust me, Dean's got just as much a hold of Sam,” John murmured, following his boys into the house. They were already around through the living room to the kitchen, and John could hear them climbing the stairs. John slid into the nearest chair and hung his head, burying his face in his hands.
“Drink?”
“Please,” John said, closing his eyes. “Dean's got something to tell me. It's bad enough that he doesn't want Sam around to hear it, which is why he's willing to let Sam stay somewhere he can't see.”
Bobby huffed. “Sounds like I'm gonna need a drink, then, too.”
A few minutes later, and Dean came down the stairs, turning the corner and looking as if he'd aged ten years. “You all right, dude?” John asked quietly.
Dean took a deep breath, then shook his head. “Sam told me something really freaky in the car,” he started. “And I'm pretty sure he didn't want me to tell you.”
Bobby came over and handed John a beer. John straightened slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Hit me,” he said.
His eldest closed his eyes for a minute. “Sam said...said he had a nightmare. You and me, pinned to the ceiling above him.” He raised his eyes then, meeting John's stare.
“Like your mother?” John managed to ask.
Dean nodded. “Like Mom. He said he stood up on the bed to try and pull us down, but then everything caught on fire. When he woke up, the place was on fire. And somehow, in the little geek's head, that translates to being his fault.”
John closed his eyes. “It's not,” he said, sighing. “But I know whose fault it is.”
“Least you know what started the fire,” Bobby offered quietly.
Dean looked confused. “What did?”
“The same thing that took your mother,” John said, meeting Dean's eyes. “The Demon. I told you that she was pinned to the ceiling.”
Dean nodded slowly, eyes wider in horrified realization now. Hell but he didn't want to tell Dean this, but he didn't have a choice. “Sam say anything else? Were we bleeding?”
Slowly Dean began to nod. “Was Mom...?” he trailed off, unable to finish.
John couldn't even form the words, and had to settle for a short nod of his own. “Why would it attack now?” Dean stammered. “I-I mean, it's been-”
“Ten years,” John finished softly. “It's been ten years.”
“Probably trying to remind you just who you were dealin' with,” Bobby cut in. “That you weren't safe. Probably thought he could dwindle the Winchesters from three to two.”
Dean looked stricken. John knew how he felt. “Now what?” Dean said, his voice hoarse.
“Now I talk to Sam,” John said, rising from the chair. He took a long swig of beer from the bottle, before he set it down on the table. “Dean, come up with me.”
Sam curled up in the sheets, trying to sleep. His pajamas smelled like smoke, though, and he pulled the sheets up to his chin, trying to bury his nose in them, instead. Trying to smell anything except the smoke.
He wanted Dean to come back up. Dean had promised he just needed to go downstairs really quick for a drink, but that had been ten minutes ago. Sam had counted. Dean still wasn't upstairs, and Sam wasn't even thinking about falling asleep unless Dean was there.
Dean wouldn't let him burn the house down.
Footsteps on the stairs made Sam close his eyes at last, knowing any minute Dean would crawl in behind him.
A weight rested on the bed by his knees, and Sam opened his eyes, frowning in confusion when he saw Dad sitting on the edge of the bed. “Dad?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. Dean was in the doorway, hands buried in his pockets and looking sorry about something.
“Sammy, what happened in your nightmare?” Dad asked, and Sam shot up in bed, eyes locked on Dean.
“You promised,” he said angrily, tears burning in his eyes. “You promised, Dean.”
Dean looked even sorrier than before. “Sammy, I-”
Sam turned away, more hurt than he'd ever felt before. Dean had betrayed him. He'd told Dad the one thing Sam had begged him not to.
Dad was gonna kill him. Hunt him down like everything else that was bad.
“Sammy, look at me,” Dad said, his voice soft and calm.
Slowly Sam turned his head back to his Dad. “He had to, Sam,” Dad said. “Something that big, he had to tell me.”
“I didn't mean to,” Sam said, still not sure why Dad was allowing him to explain himself, but he was going to take the chance while he could. “I swear I didn't mean to start the fire. I-I just had the nightmare, and I tried to get you guys off the ceiling, and then the fire burned you and burned me and then I woke up, and there really was a fire, and I didn't mean to-”
“Hush, it's all right,” Dad said, and Sam inhaled sharply as Dad pulled him close into a hug. “It wasn't your fault, dude. Your nightmare didn't cause the fire. You didn't cause the fire. I promise you that much.”
“But-”
“No buts. If you woke up and the cabin was on fire, then you were still asleep when it started, right?” Sam nodded against his Dad's chest. “Then your subconscious probably picked up on the heat and smoke and made you think, in your dream, about a fire. Then it became a nightmare and woke you up. You think about it that way, Sammy,” Dad said, hugging him extra tight, “and that nightmare was probably the thing that saved your life. If you hadn't woken up, then you wouldn't have gotten out.”
“I'm still sorry,” Sam whispered.
“Nothing to be sorry for. Promise. Don't you ever be sorry that you're alive, you hear me?” Dad swallowed hard enough that Sam could hear it. “Don't you ever be sorry that you're alive.”
Sam nodded, and Dad pulled back, chucking him under the chin. “Good. You boys get to bed; I'll wake you both up around dinner time, if you're not up before that.”
Food was the last thing on Sam's mind right then, but later, maybe. When he didn't smell like smoke so much.
Which he didn't now, he realized. Maybe the smell had gotten onto Dad instead. Or maybe it hadn't ever been that bad to start with.
Dad left, tussling his hair and making him almost smile for the first time since the fire. Dean stepped inside tentatively, and Dad shut the door almost all the way behind him. “I am sorry, Sammy,” Dean said miserably. “But I had to tell him.”
“I know,” Sam said, sighing. “I just...I just didn't want him to know, you know?”
“I know.” A moment later, he asked, “You still mad at me?”
Sam shook his head. “You mad at me for letting your stuff get burned?” he asked in return.
Dean rolled his eyes and kicked off his boots. “Dude, I told you, it wasn't your fault.” He took a seat on the other side of the bed and leaned over far enough to whack the side of Sam's head. Sam made a face and pulled away. “That's the last I wanna hear of 'it was my fault' stuff. I mean it; any of it.”
“Okay,” Sam said. He laid back down, his eyes suddenly heavy again. The blankets were pulled up to his chin again, and with Dean's weight on the other side of the bed a comfort, he closed his eyes.
“You were right,” Bobby said quietly beside John. “You've been right all these years.”
“I wish I wasn't,” John said, his voice almost a whisper. There hadn't been any sound from the bedroom in awhile, but he couldn't seem to move from the hallway. “But what happened ten years ago wasn't a random accident. After this morning, I think it's been proven: the Demon's after Sam.”
Bobby shook his head. “I don't get why.”
“Neither do I. But two fires in the same place my son is? I don't believe in coincidences. I always thought Mary had died protecting Sam,” and if he had to clear his throat to stop the sudden tightness that had developed, Bobby didn't care. “Now I know she did.”
“Sam got out on pure luck this time,” Bobby said. “You know that, right?”
“I know it. Next time might not be as lucky.”
Bobby sighed. “So what are you gonna do?”
“Not let him out of my sight,” John said simply. There wasn't even any other thought besides that one. “The Demon'll come for him again. You know it, I know it. Next time it happens, I want to be right there with Sam. I'll keep him close.”
Bobby snorted softly. “Yeah, good luck with that. You reinin' in that kid would be like trying to tame a wild lion. He's gonna be as independent as you are, John.”
“I'd rather have him live to eighty and resent me for hanging too close and not letting him have any free time than have him do what he wants and die at fifteen.” John took a deep breath. “No. I'll keep a watch out for him, won't let him out of my sight. I'll do what I have to. I'd like him to live to an age where he can understand that.”
He finally pulled away from the door, heading down the stairs. He wouldn't let Sam out of his sight. There were no ifs, buts, or whats about it. He wasn't losing his youngest. Dean could defend himself. Sam...Sam couldn't. Not yet. He'd learn, though. And then he could stand strong with both of them.
That was what was safe. That was what John would do.
From his spot on the bed, Dean heard Dad go downstairs. Sam was curled up next to him, sound asleep. He hadn't heard the quiet conversation outside the door.
Dean had.
He turned to look down at his little brother, then raised his gaze to the window. The Demon wanted Sam. The Demon had taken Mom, and now it wanted Sam, too.
Dean wasn't going to let it. It had already taken one person he loved. He wasn't going to lose Sammy, too. He hadn't really realized how fast and easy it was to lose someone. Not until the fire ten years ago, and not again until tonight. Even Dad hadn't been able to stop it.
Dad wasn't always going to be there. He had to go off and hunt, Dean knew that. And Sam would be left alone again, except Dean wasn't going to let that happen. If Dad wasn't there, Dean would be. And even if Dad was there...Dean would be there, too. Two were better than one.
His arm was curled around Sam, hand resting on his shoulder, and he tightened his grip as hard as he dared without waking Sam. I swear I'll never ever let you out of my sight, Sammy, he silently vowed. I swear it. I'll protect you, no matter what it takes. I'll do anything to keep you safe. ANYTHING. Tonight's not gonna happen again. Not ever. I'll be right there with you.
And Demon? You want my little brother? Just try and get him. You're gonna have to go through me first.
~Nebula
no subject
Date: 2007-12-30 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-12-31 01:15 am (UTC)That was something I caught onto in the Christmas eppy; Dean calls Sam a lot of names which, I know, is pretty usual for kids that age. I work with 12 year olds a LOT. But we could still see that Dean watched out for Sam, you know? Just not the way he does now. So I wondered how that had changed. (Because Sam's STILL an annoying little brother. ROFL ^_^)
I'm so glad I got that out there. I've read a lot of the fics you've mentioned, and sure, they're sweet and stuff, but they're not real enough. I have a little brother; I love the kid, would die for him. But there's days I wanna strangle him. Seriously. I know Dean feels the same way about his kid brother...
So yes, thank you again! LOL *looks back at massive reply comment and hopes you survived it*
~Nebula