SPN Gen Fic: Weaver 4/9
Nov. 16th, 2006 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
superbadgirlTitle: Weaver
Author: sbg
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A
Season/spoilers: 1/directly follows "Nightmare"
Summary: Sometimes dreams teach, sometimes they tell the future and sometimes they just hurt like hell.
Disclaimer: The Impala, Sam Winchester and (oh, this one hurts) Dean Winchester and various other characters don't belong to me. Some of the things referenced in the story also don't belong to me, but then some of them do. All these things, sans my own words, belong to Kripke Enterprises (Scrap Metal & Entertainment) and The CW. Not trying to step on toes or claim ownership, much as I would really enjoy that.
~~*~~
“You need a hug, Sammy?” Dean said to break the silence, leaning closer to him. “Because I know I could use one.”
Unbelievable. Of all the times to joke, Dean always managed to pick the worst. Sam reached for the door. It was his own fault Dean was being so infuriating. He shouldn’t have closed his eyes, let his guard down at all.
“You are such a jerk sometimes,” Sam said.
He got out of the car and headed for the trunk, even though he didn’t have the key to open it. Sam counted to five and timed Dean rolling out of the driver’s seat to joint him perfectly. He saw a questioning smile on his brother’s face and struggled to figure out a way to tell Dean what he had to.
“So I’m a jerk,” Dean said without preamble. “You know I’m right about this. No dwelling on what could happen, only focus on what will – and that’s killing this evil thing before it hurts anyone else. That’s all that matters at the moment.”
“You are right.” Sam looked over at him ruefully. “I’m sorry. I know that. I guess I’ve been kinda off lately.”
Dean nodded but looked unconvinced that that was it. Sam watched him make a show of popping the trunk and selecting weapons. Dean loaded a shotgun with rock salt shells.
“Yeah, and what’s that all about again?” he said casually, snapping the barrel back in place.
“I’m not sure this is the best time to talk about it.” Sam snapped the barrel of his own gun into place. “Let’s get through this first.”
“I’m starting to think there’s never going to be a best time, so the way I look at it now’s as good a time as any.”
Darkness fell around them. He was pretty sure Dean saw him grimace. Dean froze, just stiffened; he didn’t say anything. Rather than push him, Dean just started walking. Sam slammed the trunk shut and caught up. Still, his brother didn’t say anything more, and Sam couldn’t take the silence.
“Fine, then,” Sam said. “It’s about my dreams.”
Dean stopped walking, so he did too. Sam kept his eyes on the ground, but a strong hand on his forearm made him eventually look up and meet Dean’s eyes. Now would be a good time for a stupid joke, he thought.
“Your dream capital D dreams,” Dean said, sounding as tense as the grip he had on Sam’s arm. “Or just your dreams?”
Sam had a sudden inclination to plop down on the ground right there. He didn’t know how to answer the question without sounding like a complete idiot or like that kid in The Sixth Sense spookily whispering about seeing dead people. He knew that despite the questions, Dean didn’t really want to talk about it; he never did, as if not talking about it meant everything was fine. And if he was wrong about that, if Dean did want to hear about what had been bothering him, well that was worse than the steadfast denial his brother liked to maintain about Sam being anything other than a normal person. He didn’t feel normal.
“I think just my dreams,” Sam said. He hadn’t woken up gasping for air from the last few ones, at least not in the same desperate way as the first one that freaked Dean out so much. They were…he couldn’t shake them. “I’m pretty sure.”
Sam watched Dean’s jaw clench and unclench, the slashes on the right side looked almost black. The clear butterfly bandages managed to catch a little light. The dreams weren’t the same as when he’d seen their childhood home or Max, but he’d seen Dean get those cuts before he actually got them. He just hadn’t seen it happen in quite the same way.
“I don’t know, Dean, it’s hard to explain,” he said. Dean didn’t look like he cared how difficult it was, his eyes narrowing and lips tightening to form a harsh line. He finally let go of Sam’s arm. “I don’t think they’re the same, but some things are.”
“You’ve got to give me more than that,” Dean said.
“At first they seemed real but I knew they weren’t. The more I dream, the less I can tell.” Dean looked frustrated, but didn’t say anything. Sam stared at the cuts on his brother’s jaw and tried to figure out how he was going to explain what he meant better. He didn’t even know what he really meant. “It’s like pieces of the dreams contain truth, but they’re masked by all the unreality of the rest. I feel like I should be able to separate it out, and I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Dean’s frustration didn’t fade. “Give me an example. Draw pictures if you have to.”
“The scratches on your face. I saw you get them in a dream the night before last,” Sam said. Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw worked double-time. “But in the dream you didn’t get them from a Black Dog attack. I didn’t know what was going to happen last night. Specifically.”
“But you kind of thought something might,” Dean said, taking a couple steps down the road as if he was just going to head for the trap-site. He stopped, though, and turned around with arms spread out in front of him. In the dim light, it looked as though the shotgun was an extension of his right arm. “You didn’t think I should know about this? Damnit, Sam, I’ve been asking you what was wrong.”
“I know.” Now that he’d finally said something, Sam realized part of what had been setting him so on edge was internalizing it. There was nothing either of them could do about his dreams or visions, but holding it in had been eating away at him. “Like I said, at first they were just crazy dreams. Not very much fun, but no big deal.”
“Sam, you stopped breathing from one of them.”
“Uh,” Sam said. Dean straightened his shoulders and glared at him. “That happened more than once, I think.”
“What? When?”
“Vegas. In-N-Out parking lot. I must have dozed off when you were inside.”
He didn’t want to mention that incident had been the start of Dean’s appearance and major starring role in his horror movie dream fest. Sam wasn’t even sure he could put a number on how many dreams he’d had since they first began. It hadn’t even been a week.
“Dozed off and stopped breathing, you mean.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Dude, what do you think I’ve been doing?” Dean said after yet another long pause, his voice icy with anger. “Maybe you were right. Maybe this isn’t a good time to talk about it, because now I want to kick your ass as much as I want to kill the Black Dogs.”
Dean shook his head once, then turned around and started walking away again. Sam had known it would go down like this; that was why he hadn’t wanted to start the argument in the middle of the hunt. He still felt the unhelpful desire to sit down, as if a great weight pressed down on him and made his legs weak. Sam willed himself to move, however, spawned by the need to stay near his brother despite the anger.
“And what would you have done if I had said something, Dean, huh?” he said, catching up with Dean easily. “All you’ve done in the past is pretend it didn’t bother you. Pretend I’m not like the shit we hunt every day.”
“You’re not.” Sam almost believed it. Dean glanced in his direction, but not directly at him. “You’re not out to hurt people.”
Tell that to Jess. Tell that to Max. Sam swallowed. Dean had qualified his statement; he thought Sam wasn’t evil, just touched by it. Not worthy of hunting (yet), but something to be wary of. Sam had known that was how his brother felt for a while, of course, but he still felt gutted by the implication.
“We don’t know that, really,” Sam said. The air felt thick, his throat tight. He stared at Dean, whose jaw was clenched again. “We can’t know that.”
“I know it. Damnit, Sam, and you should too.” Sam swallowed again, or tried to. The tightness in his throat made it painful. He wished he could blame the dryness of the air on his sudden affliction. It was like he couldn’t really control it – he swallowed over and over again. “Maybe I would have done what you said I would, but you still should have told me. These dreams literally take your breath and might give you some kind of messed up precognition. I had a right to know that before now.”
“Because we’re both so good at sharing.” Sam shook his head. This was ridiculous. He felt about ten seconds away from crying or falling flat on his face. “You’ve been acting like it’s no big deal you might die because you saw these things.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll see them tonight and then we’ll both be in the same boat,” Dean said. “Speaking of Dogs, let’s get this over with. I’m tired of talking.”
He would have felt vindicated, except it was too late. The misery that inevitably resulted from trying to have a serious conversation with Dean was a thick veil covering him. Sam had to shake off the negative emotions, a task make all the more difficult by the fact his brother’s irritation came at him in posture alone. Dean started walking faster. Sam kept up. He couldn’t believe Dean hadn’t asked an obvious question.
“Dean, there’s probably something else I should tell you,” Sam said.
“Oh, jeez, what now?”
“The dreams have started to revolve around something bad happening to you. Not just the last one.”
“Great,” Dean said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Good to know impending death isn’t the only thing I need to worry about.”
They didn’t say anything else, Sam because he didn’t know what else to say and Dean probably because he was too mad. They were also too close to the trap site to talk further, and Sam thought he was probably as glad as Dean about that. He kept his eyes on the brush and boulders, looking for any sign of the Dogs, and hoping they weren’t on another dusty road mauling some innocent idiots who hadn’t already clued in that that shouldn’t go out after dark. The thought of his dream last night crept to the fore of his mind. He didn’t know how he was going to gauge this situation with that of his dream, but he had to. For Dean’s sake. Sam found his throat hurt like hell all of a sudden, and he realized his chest did too. He frowned.
“Dean,” he whispered, shocked at the horrible condition his voice was in. He gasped. “Dean, do you…?”
Sam clutched at his chest with his free hand. Oh, this was not the time to panic. It was just the Black Dogs unleashing their psychological whammies, nothing more. He fell to his knees, not minding the jolt it sent through him. He needed the pain. He heard something clatter to the ground. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think his way out of the inexorable pressure squeezing the air from his lungs.
“Sam?” Dean’s face appeared right in front of his, one hand gripping Sam’s right bicep in a firm hold. “Sammy, look at me. Talk to me. Don’t let them get to you.”
“Can’t.” Sam wheezed. He was pretty sure the edges of his vision were going black. Hard to tell in the dusk light. His head lolled to the left. “Can’t breathe.”
That’s when Sam saw the enormous dark shape he’d thought was a boulder move. It headed straight for Dean, rumbling all the way. There was so much noise, but Dean didn’t seem to hear it. Move, move, move, Sam wanted to say, but he couldn’t get so much as a murmur past his lips. Dean turned as the shape loomed above him, too late to get his weapon ready.
His brother disappeared from his limited range of vision. Sam couldn’t move to see what had happened, but his ears worked just fine. The sounds of struggle surrounded him, then fell abruptly silent. Sam pitched forward, unable to stay upright even on his knees. The shock of hitting the ground actually seemed to aid his breathing for a moment or two, and he dragged in dusty air as if it were fresh. From his new horizontal point of view, he could make out Dean lying not too far away, and unconscious with the gigantic dark thing on top of him. He tried to move, aim his weapon at the darkness. It wasn’t in his hands anymore. He had no control in his muscles to even try to find it.
“Dean,” he whispered hoarsely, and got no answer.
Sam couldn’t see well enough to tell if Dean was breathing, but he refused to believe his brother had fallen so easily to a surprise attack. He didn’t have the oxygen left to laugh at how helpless he himself was. He heard the scuttle of rocks. A guttural growl followed, and loud, animalistic exhalations.
Something kicked him in the abdomen, causing his lungs to expel the air he no longer had much hope of fully regaining. He was tipped over onto his back. The sky was dark enough to reveal stars. Sam saw at least two or three of them in the very small amount of clear vision he had left. Soon it would be all black and Dean, Dean. He’d failed again. As he thought, it was all dark then, but he was still aware so he must not have lost consciousness. Solid pressure on his chest, then gone, then back again even stronger. He swore he heard his ribs crack. Then he saw teeth, a huge gaping maw in a face he recognized as more humanoid than canine. Not the Black Dog. He knew, he knew…it lunged at him and Sam knew it was over for him.
“Don’t do this,” a voice said, desperate and angry. “Don’t you do this to me.”
Sam jerked suddenly, whole body a mass of shudders. He sucked in air so deeply he coughed, and ohshit, oh shit that hurt. His first confused impulse was to roll over onto his side and continue to heave for air. Something held him in place. He thought he said “Oh God,” but all he could hear was a pathetic groan and the sound of a waterfall cascading in his ears. He didn’t know how long he lay on the ground trying to breathe, trapped there and yet secure, how long it took him to figure out he could hear something else. Sam looked around, found Dean practically on top of him. He struggled to make eye contact, and when he saw Dean’s eyes he couldn’t maintain the contact for long; the fear in them was uncharacteristically vivid.
“Jesus,” Dean said roughly. He leaned closer and pulled Sam up into a semi-embrace, until his forehead rested on Dean’s shoulder. The movement hurt like hell, but not as much as the sound of the frantic voice in his ear. “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.”
When his breathing had settled and he thought maybe he could exercise some muscle control, Sam tried to ease away from Dean. Dean didn’t seem to want to let him go, though he did shift around until Sam was more sprawled on his lap than propped against him. Apart from his own body regaining mobility, Sam could feel Dean’s muscles thrumming.
“What happened?” Sam whispered. He had no idea. Dreaming? He hadn’t had a clue he was dreaming. Dean stopped thrumming and became rock solid with tension behind him. “Dean?”
~~*~~
Sam looked like someone had turned him inside out and then back again, and he kept rubbing at his chest and shifting as if no one position was comfortable for more than a minute at a time. Dean paced alongside the car, nerves jangling almost out of control. He hadn’t been so fucking scared in years and couldn’t seem to shake the feeling even though adrenaline was making a rapid exit from his muscles. Actually, maybe it was more than his nerves that were jangling. He dropped down next to Sam, leaning against the side panel. He squinted into the dark.
“This isn’t good,” Dean said stupidly.
Everything that had come out of his mouth since Sam revealed his dream ‘issues’ sounded dumb and inadequate. His brain was apparently still playing catch-up. It wasn’t that often when he was at a complete loss for what to do next, but all he could really keep thinking about was Sam sprawled on the ground, lips turning blue. They shouldn’t even still be out there. It had taken all Sam had just to sit up against the car; a few more minutes shouldn’t matter. Truthfully, he thought he needed Sam to look less breakable before trying anything as strenuous as getting into the car. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother to see if he appeared any better yet, so he focused on Sam’s right kneecap and tried to will any accusation out of his voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“I thought things were getting better.” Sam sounded pained, contrite and…little. It killed Dean to hear him like that. He closed his eyes briefly. “I thought they didn’t mean anything. They were just dreams, Dean.”
“Not if you say there’s been this being in all of them.” There was that accusation he didn’t want to unleash, but couldn’t stop. “And sure as hell not if they make your heart stop beating.”
Sam shifted again, in his quest for a comfortable position he’d never find. The grating sound of gravel didn’t cover up the muffled squeak that escaped from Sam’s lips, a pain-filled exhalation Dean understood all too well. Considering Sam had already been exhausted, Dean knew he had to be feeling wasted. Their shoulders brushed. Dean noticed Sam’s jeans were covered in dust.
“Well, I know that now,” Sam said, trying, Dean thought, to inject humor into his voice. It didn’t work. Dean didn’t respond. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean.”
Say you’re sorry for scaring the shit out of me. Say we’ll figure this out. Say you’ll be fine.
“Nothing right now. We should probably get you out of here.” Dean squinted out into the dark night. He couldn’t hear any animal noises, regular or supernatural, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t lurking nearby. He finally glanced over at Sam, whose face was so ghostly white Dean cringed a little. “You okay to move?”
“We can’t go anywhere yet.” Somehow Sam managed desperate entreaty even while wan and weak. “The Black Dogs are still out there.”
Dean shook his head. He was well aware of that fact, but now was not the time for a hunt. Sam should have enough sense to realize that. Hell, the guy looked about ten seconds away from passing out and tipping right over. That couldn’t happen. He had no idea how he was going to prevent it.
“Yeah, they are,” Dean said. “I want to take care of them too, but you’re in no shape to hike a mile, and I am not leaving you alone. We can’t take that chance.”
Not that him being around had proved that much of a preventative measure.
“We can’t just let them keep preying on people.”
“Sam.”
His brother was being unrealistic. And stubborn. Dean watched the entreaty on Sam’s face turn to determination. Part of him agreed that eliminating the known threat so they could assess the unknown wasn’t a horrible idea. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But he’d just done chest compressions on Sam. He’d just fucking coaxed his brother back to life. These circumstances were so far from normal it was almost funny.
“Dean, we’re out here now.” Sam closed his eyes and wilted back against the car as if trying to collapse into himself. He took a couple shaky, shallow breaths. When Sam opened his eyes again, he stared at Dean intensely, with a tiny facial tic evidencing his continued discomfort. “We don’t know how long it’ll take to figure out whatever’s going on with me.”
“I don’t like it,” Dean growled. Understatement. “It’s a bad idea.”
“And we still have the portent to think about too. I’m not willing to take that chance.”
Stubborn bastard would have to remember that. Dean didn’t much care about his own safety at the moment; it would kill him if something happened to Sam anyway, so he figured that nullified the very unspecific threat to his own life. It wouldn’t matter. Sam shifted yet again, turning toward him more and failing completely to disguise his exhaustion and the pain that moving caused.
“You know me, Sam, I’ll be fine.” Dean smiled cockily and Sam’s returning look all but said ‘bullshit, I know exactly what’s going on in your head.’ Discomfited, he cleared his throat and looked back out into the dark. “Sam, you can barely move. If we do try to finish this, just how are we going to do it?”
“I can still fire a gun.”
“Hello. You weren’t listening. You’re not mobile enough.” There still weren’t any animal noises, which seemed very odd to him. Dean frowned. “Turning your head makes you shaky, you’re not going to lift a shotgun and fire it.”
“I can…” Sam stopped. Dean turned his attention back. Sam wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I can be bait.”
What the fuck? No.
“What the fuck? No. No way.” That was insane. Sam was nuts if he thought Dean would go along with that. “Let’s try we drive back there and you wait in the car while I handle them alone.”
“Uh, no,” Sam said. “One, that would pretty much constitute leaving me alone, which you so chivalrously declared not an option and two, no.”
Dean glared. Sam glared back.
“It’s always such drama with you, Sam,” Dean said lightly, meaning it but not really. Sam looked confused for a second, which beat anger and pain as far as Dean was concerned, and then he just looked tired. “You know you’re not going to win this argument.”
“So, what, we’re going to be joined at the hip from now on?”
“If that’s what it takes.” Dean got to his feet and held out a hand. “Come on, tough guy, let’s get you on your feet. If you can do that without looking like you’re going to fall flat on your face, I’ll think about letting you in on the hunt.”
“Really?” Sam said.
“No.”
Sam scowled, but took the offered hand. Dean did most of the work in getting his brother upright and once he was there, he swayed. Oh, hell, no, Sam was not hunting tonight. Sam moved like an old man around the car, like he was stiff and sore all over. Dean had seen that before. He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know how much of that could be attributed to CPR and how much was a result of the dreams. He trailed behind his brother, not wanting to coddle but definitely not ready to leave Sam’s side completely. At the trunk, Sam stopped and leaned.
“You going to make this?”
“It’s five more feet,” Sam grumbled. “Of course I will.”
Dean thought Sam didn’t even realize he was once again rubbing at his chest, and he couldn’t hold back a snort. He passed by Sam and opened the passenger door. Sam rolled his eyes when he finally made it there, but climbed in and made no move to shut the door himself. Dean slammed it shut and then trotted over to the other side of the car. Things were still too quiet for his liking. He’d relax only when they were safely in the hotel, which they’d go to after a short stop at the trap site. He no sooner started the car than Sam started talking again.
“So what are we going to do?”
“Sam, you said it yourself. We can’t let these things keep attacking people. I have to hope Bobby’s right and take care of the problem myself. It’ll only take a minute. You should be okay for that long, right?”
Dean turned the car around and headed back down the road, as if decisive action would make Sam just go along with the flow. He should have known better.
“You know you have to get both of them in the circle, and you know they split up to hunt,” Sam said. “I don’t know how you’re going to do that and be able to spring the trap. Put me in the circle to draw them both in – ” Dean started to rebut, but Sam hurried on before he could, “with a shotgun, of course, and you’ll be free to get them.”
Sam was a lunatic.
“That’s not a good idea. What if it doesn’t work? You’re not going to be able to get out of there.”
“You just said we needed to put faith in Bobby’s plan.”
“I said hope, and I only meant it when I was the only one involved.”
“Dean, you know you can’t do this on your own. I feel okay enough for this now – the painkillers have kicked in. And at least this way I’ll always be in your line of sight…and you in mine. I mean, what if it goes down bad and I’m just sitting here? You’ll be wounded or dead and I’ll fall into a dream and no one will be here to pull me out.”
That was valid, Dean supposed. Fucked up, but valid. And Sam managed that whole speech without gasping for breath, which was a good thing. He’d hunted with cracked ribs once or twice himself, and knew it could be done. It just really sucked. He pulled the car onto the shoulder and turned off the engine. He wouldn’t look at Sam, but it didn’t matter; Dean knew his brother was giving him puppy-dog eyes. The situation sucked no matter which way they went.
“I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
He let Sam get himself out of the car, though he kept a close eye on the slow progress. Sam had to know that Dean had no intention of letting him limp around alone and let some ravenous, supernatural gigandogs have a go at him. Someone had to pull the rope and ring the bells, and that could be done from a more secure position. Dean popped the trunk and propped open the weapons compartment.
“I’ll go out. You take cover over there.” Dean quickly loaded two shotguns, handing one and some extra shells to Sam. He grabbed a pistol for himself as well. “As soon as the things are within the perimeter we set up, pull the rope. I should be able to handle the rest.”
Sam’s skin still looked ghostly pale in the weak light of the moon, and he didn’t issue any protest. He didn’t like the pallor, but was glad for the acquiescence. Dean tilted his head slightly and tried to discern any clue that the Black Dogs were even prowling this area, but everything remained quiet. He didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of dread like he had before, but he figured the replay of Sam sprawled out and lifeless going on in his head was disguising anything the Dogs might be doing in that regard. He patted Sam’s shoulder and nodded toward the cover spot. Sam gave him a tight-lipped smile and shuffled away quietly. Dean stashed his weapons out of sight and started walking. He didn’t move stealthily.
It didn’t take long. After only a minute or two, Dean knew at least one of them was behind him. He casually looked around to see if he could spot the other. It was too dark out. He kept going, making sure to lead the stalking one into the trap. Every fiber of his being was now focused on not turning around and shooting at the thing.
“Come on, come on,” he said under his breath. “Come on out, you bastards.”
His words seemed to prompt the one behind him into action. Dean turned just in time to see the thing’s massive paw clawing at him. He awkwardly drew out the shotgun and hit the dirt, rolling out of the path and then back onto his feet. Snarling, the beast charged again, and Dean danced again. Shooting at it wouldn’t help until it was grounded. Like magic, the disharmonious sound of cowbells filled the air. He knew the second one must be close.
“Dean, get down,” Sam called.
He crouched, figuring Sam had a good reason to give away his position. He didn’t take his eyes off of the first Dog. He aimed and fired at it. Missed. Damn thing moved fast. Even though blood was rushing in his ears and the Dog was growling louder than ever, Dean heard Sam moving out of cover. He dodged another attack and hoped to bloody hell that the other Dog wasn’t right on top of him. Sam got off a shot, and he heard a canine yelp. Good, good boy. Unfortunately, whatever’d just happened out of his range of vision had pissed off the one having a go at him
The Dog finally landed a swipe, and it was a strong one. Dean went flying, already knowing it was going to hurt like hell to land. His head smacked against the ground, and he saw stars that weren’t natural celestial bodies. A great weight pressed on his left thigh and he struggled to re-aim his weapon at the brute creature. It batted at his head once, he heard a loud roar and then the great weight shifted to his chest.
“Needs…more…cowbell,” Dean tried to shout, and then there was nothing.
~~*~~
Move along to Part 5
Author: sbg
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A
Season/spoilers: 1/directly follows "Nightmare"
Summary: Sometimes dreams teach, sometimes they tell the future and sometimes they just hurt like hell.
Disclaimer: The Impala, Sam Winchester and (oh, this one hurts) Dean Winchester and various other characters don't belong to me. Some of the things referenced in the story also don't belong to me, but then some of them do. All these things, sans my own words, belong to Kripke Enterprises (Scrap Metal & Entertainment) and The CW. Not trying to step on toes or claim ownership, much as I would really enjoy that.
~~*~~
“You need a hug, Sammy?” Dean said to break the silence, leaning closer to him. “Because I know I could use one.”
Unbelievable. Of all the times to joke, Dean always managed to pick the worst. Sam reached for the door. It was his own fault Dean was being so infuriating. He shouldn’t have closed his eyes, let his guard down at all.
“You are such a jerk sometimes,” Sam said.
He got out of the car and headed for the trunk, even though he didn’t have the key to open it. Sam counted to five and timed Dean rolling out of the driver’s seat to joint him perfectly. He saw a questioning smile on his brother’s face and struggled to figure out a way to tell Dean what he had to.
“So I’m a jerk,” Dean said without preamble. “You know I’m right about this. No dwelling on what could happen, only focus on what will – and that’s killing this evil thing before it hurts anyone else. That’s all that matters at the moment.”
“You are right.” Sam looked over at him ruefully. “I’m sorry. I know that. I guess I’ve been kinda off lately.”
Dean nodded but looked unconvinced that that was it. Sam watched him make a show of popping the trunk and selecting weapons. Dean loaded a shotgun with rock salt shells.
“Yeah, and what’s that all about again?” he said casually, snapping the barrel back in place.
“I’m not sure this is the best time to talk about it.” Sam snapped the barrel of his own gun into place. “Let’s get through this first.”
“I’m starting to think there’s never going to be a best time, so the way I look at it now’s as good a time as any.”
Darkness fell around them. He was pretty sure Dean saw him grimace. Dean froze, just stiffened; he didn’t say anything. Rather than push him, Dean just started walking. Sam slammed the trunk shut and caught up. Still, his brother didn’t say anything more, and Sam couldn’t take the silence.
“Fine, then,” Sam said. “It’s about my dreams.”
Dean stopped walking, so he did too. Sam kept his eyes on the ground, but a strong hand on his forearm made him eventually look up and meet Dean’s eyes. Now would be a good time for a stupid joke, he thought.
“Your dream capital D dreams,” Dean said, sounding as tense as the grip he had on Sam’s arm. “Or just your dreams?”
Sam had a sudden inclination to plop down on the ground right there. He didn’t know how to answer the question without sounding like a complete idiot or like that kid in The Sixth Sense spookily whispering about seeing dead people. He knew that despite the questions, Dean didn’t really want to talk about it; he never did, as if not talking about it meant everything was fine. And if he was wrong about that, if Dean did want to hear about what had been bothering him, well that was worse than the steadfast denial his brother liked to maintain about Sam being anything other than a normal person. He didn’t feel normal.
“I think just my dreams,” Sam said. He hadn’t woken up gasping for air from the last few ones, at least not in the same desperate way as the first one that freaked Dean out so much. They were…he couldn’t shake them. “I’m pretty sure.”
Sam watched Dean’s jaw clench and unclench, the slashes on the right side looked almost black. The clear butterfly bandages managed to catch a little light. The dreams weren’t the same as when he’d seen their childhood home or Max, but he’d seen Dean get those cuts before he actually got them. He just hadn’t seen it happen in quite the same way.
“I don’t know, Dean, it’s hard to explain,” he said. Dean didn’t look like he cared how difficult it was, his eyes narrowing and lips tightening to form a harsh line. He finally let go of Sam’s arm. “I don’t think they’re the same, but some things are.”
“You’ve got to give me more than that,” Dean said.
“At first they seemed real but I knew they weren’t. The more I dream, the less I can tell.” Dean looked frustrated, but didn’t say anything. Sam stared at the cuts on his brother’s jaw and tried to figure out how he was going to explain what he meant better. He didn’t even know what he really meant. “It’s like pieces of the dreams contain truth, but they’re masked by all the unreality of the rest. I feel like I should be able to separate it out, and I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Dean’s frustration didn’t fade. “Give me an example. Draw pictures if you have to.”
“The scratches on your face. I saw you get them in a dream the night before last,” Sam said. Dean’s eyes widened and his jaw worked double-time. “But in the dream you didn’t get them from a Black Dog attack. I didn’t know what was going to happen last night. Specifically.”
“But you kind of thought something might,” Dean said, taking a couple steps down the road as if he was just going to head for the trap-site. He stopped, though, and turned around with arms spread out in front of him. In the dim light, it looked as though the shotgun was an extension of his right arm. “You didn’t think I should know about this? Damnit, Sam, I’ve been asking you what was wrong.”
“I know.” Now that he’d finally said something, Sam realized part of what had been setting him so on edge was internalizing it. There was nothing either of them could do about his dreams or visions, but holding it in had been eating away at him. “Like I said, at first they were just crazy dreams. Not very much fun, but no big deal.”
“Sam, you stopped breathing from one of them.”
“Uh,” Sam said. Dean straightened his shoulders and glared at him. “That happened more than once, I think.”
“What? When?”
“Vegas. In-N-Out parking lot. I must have dozed off when you were inside.”
He didn’t want to mention that incident had been the start of Dean’s appearance and major starring role in his horror movie dream fest. Sam wasn’t even sure he could put a number on how many dreams he’d had since they first began. It hadn’t even been a week.
“Dozed off and stopped breathing, you mean.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Dude, what do you think I’ve been doing?” Dean said after yet another long pause, his voice icy with anger. “Maybe you were right. Maybe this isn’t a good time to talk about it, because now I want to kick your ass as much as I want to kill the Black Dogs.”
Dean shook his head once, then turned around and started walking away again. Sam had known it would go down like this; that was why he hadn’t wanted to start the argument in the middle of the hunt. He still felt the unhelpful desire to sit down, as if a great weight pressed down on him and made his legs weak. Sam willed himself to move, however, spawned by the need to stay near his brother despite the anger.
“And what would you have done if I had said something, Dean, huh?” he said, catching up with Dean easily. “All you’ve done in the past is pretend it didn’t bother you. Pretend I’m not like the shit we hunt every day.”
“You’re not.” Sam almost believed it. Dean glanced in his direction, but not directly at him. “You’re not out to hurt people.”
Tell that to Jess. Tell that to Max. Sam swallowed. Dean had qualified his statement; he thought Sam wasn’t evil, just touched by it. Not worthy of hunting (yet), but something to be wary of. Sam had known that was how his brother felt for a while, of course, but he still felt gutted by the implication.
“We don’t know that, really,” Sam said. The air felt thick, his throat tight. He stared at Dean, whose jaw was clenched again. “We can’t know that.”
“I know it. Damnit, Sam, and you should too.” Sam swallowed again, or tried to. The tightness in his throat made it painful. He wished he could blame the dryness of the air on his sudden affliction. It was like he couldn’t really control it – he swallowed over and over again. “Maybe I would have done what you said I would, but you still should have told me. These dreams literally take your breath and might give you some kind of messed up precognition. I had a right to know that before now.”
“Because we’re both so good at sharing.” Sam shook his head. This was ridiculous. He felt about ten seconds away from crying or falling flat on his face. “You’ve been acting like it’s no big deal you might die because you saw these things.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll see them tonight and then we’ll both be in the same boat,” Dean said. “Speaking of Dogs, let’s get this over with. I’m tired of talking.”
He would have felt vindicated, except it was too late. The misery that inevitably resulted from trying to have a serious conversation with Dean was a thick veil covering him. Sam had to shake off the negative emotions, a task make all the more difficult by the fact his brother’s irritation came at him in posture alone. Dean started walking faster. Sam kept up. He couldn’t believe Dean hadn’t asked an obvious question.
“Dean, there’s probably something else I should tell you,” Sam said.
“Oh, jeez, what now?”
“The dreams have started to revolve around something bad happening to you. Not just the last one.”
“Great,” Dean said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Good to know impending death isn’t the only thing I need to worry about.”
They didn’t say anything else, Sam because he didn’t know what else to say and Dean probably because he was too mad. They were also too close to the trap site to talk further, and Sam thought he was probably as glad as Dean about that. He kept his eyes on the brush and boulders, looking for any sign of the Dogs, and hoping they weren’t on another dusty road mauling some innocent idiots who hadn’t already clued in that that shouldn’t go out after dark. The thought of his dream last night crept to the fore of his mind. He didn’t know how he was going to gauge this situation with that of his dream, but he had to. For Dean’s sake. Sam found his throat hurt like hell all of a sudden, and he realized his chest did too. He frowned.
“Dean,” he whispered, shocked at the horrible condition his voice was in. He gasped. “Dean, do you…?”
Sam clutched at his chest with his free hand. Oh, this was not the time to panic. It was just the Black Dogs unleashing their psychological whammies, nothing more. He fell to his knees, not minding the jolt it sent through him. He needed the pain. He heard something clatter to the ground. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think his way out of the inexorable pressure squeezing the air from his lungs.
“Sam?” Dean’s face appeared right in front of his, one hand gripping Sam’s right bicep in a firm hold. “Sammy, look at me. Talk to me. Don’t let them get to you.”
“Can’t.” Sam wheezed. He was pretty sure the edges of his vision were going black. Hard to tell in the dusk light. His head lolled to the left. “Can’t breathe.”
That’s when Sam saw the enormous dark shape he’d thought was a boulder move. It headed straight for Dean, rumbling all the way. There was so much noise, but Dean didn’t seem to hear it. Move, move, move, Sam wanted to say, but he couldn’t get so much as a murmur past his lips. Dean turned as the shape loomed above him, too late to get his weapon ready.
His brother disappeared from his limited range of vision. Sam couldn’t move to see what had happened, but his ears worked just fine. The sounds of struggle surrounded him, then fell abruptly silent. Sam pitched forward, unable to stay upright even on his knees. The shock of hitting the ground actually seemed to aid his breathing for a moment or two, and he dragged in dusty air as if it were fresh. From his new horizontal point of view, he could make out Dean lying not too far away, and unconscious with the gigantic dark thing on top of him. He tried to move, aim his weapon at the darkness. It wasn’t in his hands anymore. He had no control in his muscles to even try to find it.
“Dean,” he whispered hoarsely, and got no answer.
Sam couldn’t see well enough to tell if Dean was breathing, but he refused to believe his brother had fallen so easily to a surprise attack. He didn’t have the oxygen left to laugh at how helpless he himself was. He heard the scuttle of rocks. A guttural growl followed, and loud, animalistic exhalations.
Something kicked him in the abdomen, causing his lungs to expel the air he no longer had much hope of fully regaining. He was tipped over onto his back. The sky was dark enough to reveal stars. Sam saw at least two or three of them in the very small amount of clear vision he had left. Soon it would be all black and Dean, Dean. He’d failed again. As he thought, it was all dark then, but he was still aware so he must not have lost consciousness. Solid pressure on his chest, then gone, then back again even stronger. He swore he heard his ribs crack. Then he saw teeth, a huge gaping maw in a face he recognized as more humanoid than canine. Not the Black Dog. He knew, he knew…it lunged at him and Sam knew it was over for him.
“Don’t do this,” a voice said, desperate and angry. “Don’t you do this to me.”
Sam jerked suddenly, whole body a mass of shudders. He sucked in air so deeply he coughed, and ohshit, oh shit that hurt. His first confused impulse was to roll over onto his side and continue to heave for air. Something held him in place. He thought he said “Oh God,” but all he could hear was a pathetic groan and the sound of a waterfall cascading in his ears. He didn’t know how long he lay on the ground trying to breathe, trapped there and yet secure, how long it took him to figure out he could hear something else. Sam looked around, found Dean practically on top of him. He struggled to make eye contact, and when he saw Dean’s eyes he couldn’t maintain the contact for long; the fear in them was uncharacteristically vivid.
“Jesus,” Dean said roughly. He leaned closer and pulled Sam up into a semi-embrace, until his forehead rested on Dean’s shoulder. The movement hurt like hell, but not as much as the sound of the frantic voice in his ear. “Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.”
When his breathing had settled and he thought maybe he could exercise some muscle control, Sam tried to ease away from Dean. Dean didn’t seem to want to let him go, though he did shift around until Sam was more sprawled on his lap than propped against him. Apart from his own body regaining mobility, Sam could feel Dean’s muscles thrumming.
“What happened?” Sam whispered. He had no idea. Dreaming? He hadn’t had a clue he was dreaming. Dean stopped thrumming and became rock solid with tension behind him. “Dean?”
~~*~~
Sam looked like someone had turned him inside out and then back again, and he kept rubbing at his chest and shifting as if no one position was comfortable for more than a minute at a time. Dean paced alongside the car, nerves jangling almost out of control. He hadn’t been so fucking scared in years and couldn’t seem to shake the feeling even though adrenaline was making a rapid exit from his muscles. Actually, maybe it was more than his nerves that were jangling. He dropped down next to Sam, leaning against the side panel. He squinted into the dark.
“This isn’t good,” Dean said stupidly.
Everything that had come out of his mouth since Sam revealed his dream ‘issues’ sounded dumb and inadequate. His brain was apparently still playing catch-up. It wasn’t that often when he was at a complete loss for what to do next, but all he could really keep thinking about was Sam sprawled on the ground, lips turning blue. They shouldn’t even still be out there. It had taken all Sam had just to sit up against the car; a few more minutes shouldn’t matter. Truthfully, he thought he needed Sam to look less breakable before trying anything as strenuous as getting into the car. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother to see if he appeared any better yet, so he focused on Sam’s right kneecap and tried to will any accusation out of his voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“I thought things were getting better.” Sam sounded pained, contrite and…little. It killed Dean to hear him like that. He closed his eyes briefly. “I thought they didn’t mean anything. They were just dreams, Dean.”
“Not if you say there’s been this being in all of them.” There was that accusation he didn’t want to unleash, but couldn’t stop. “And sure as hell not if they make your heart stop beating.”
Sam shifted again, in his quest for a comfortable position he’d never find. The grating sound of gravel didn’t cover up the muffled squeak that escaped from Sam’s lips, a pain-filled exhalation Dean understood all too well. Considering Sam had already been exhausted, Dean knew he had to be feeling wasted. Their shoulders brushed. Dean noticed Sam’s jeans were covered in dust.
“Well, I know that now,” Sam said, trying, Dean thought, to inject humor into his voice. It didn’t work. Dean didn’t respond. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Dean.”
Say you’re sorry for scaring the shit out of me. Say we’ll figure this out. Say you’ll be fine.
“Nothing right now. We should probably get you out of here.” Dean squinted out into the dark night. He couldn’t hear any animal noises, regular or supernatural, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t lurking nearby. He finally glanced over at Sam, whose face was so ghostly white Dean cringed a little. “You okay to move?”
“We can’t go anywhere yet.” Somehow Sam managed desperate entreaty even while wan and weak. “The Black Dogs are still out there.”
Dean shook his head. He was well aware of that fact, but now was not the time for a hunt. Sam should have enough sense to realize that. Hell, the guy looked about ten seconds away from passing out and tipping right over. That couldn’t happen. He had no idea how he was going to prevent it.
“Yeah, they are,” Dean said. “I want to take care of them too, but you’re in no shape to hike a mile, and I am not leaving you alone. We can’t take that chance.”
Not that him being around had proved that much of a preventative measure.
“We can’t just let them keep preying on people.”
“Sam.”
His brother was being unrealistic. And stubborn. Dean watched the entreaty on Sam’s face turn to determination. Part of him agreed that eliminating the known threat so they could assess the unknown wasn’t a horrible idea. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second. But he’d just done chest compressions on Sam. He’d just fucking coaxed his brother back to life. These circumstances were so far from normal it was almost funny.
“Dean, we’re out here now.” Sam closed his eyes and wilted back against the car as if trying to collapse into himself. He took a couple shaky, shallow breaths. When Sam opened his eyes again, he stared at Dean intensely, with a tiny facial tic evidencing his continued discomfort. “We don’t know how long it’ll take to figure out whatever’s going on with me.”
“I don’t like it,” Dean growled. Understatement. “It’s a bad idea.”
“And we still have the portent to think about too. I’m not willing to take that chance.”
Stubborn bastard would have to remember that. Dean didn’t much care about his own safety at the moment; it would kill him if something happened to Sam anyway, so he figured that nullified the very unspecific threat to his own life. It wouldn’t matter. Sam shifted yet again, turning toward him more and failing completely to disguise his exhaustion and the pain that moving caused.
“You know me, Sam, I’ll be fine.” Dean smiled cockily and Sam’s returning look all but said ‘bullshit, I know exactly what’s going on in your head.’ Discomfited, he cleared his throat and looked back out into the dark. “Sam, you can barely move. If we do try to finish this, just how are we going to do it?”
“I can still fire a gun.”
“Hello. You weren’t listening. You’re not mobile enough.” There still weren’t any animal noises, which seemed very odd to him. Dean frowned. “Turning your head makes you shaky, you’re not going to lift a shotgun and fire it.”
“I can…” Sam stopped. Dean turned his attention back. Sam wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I can be bait.”
What the fuck? No.
“What the fuck? No. No way.” That was insane. Sam was nuts if he thought Dean would go along with that. “Let’s try we drive back there and you wait in the car while I handle them alone.”
“Uh, no,” Sam said. “One, that would pretty much constitute leaving me alone, which you so chivalrously declared not an option and two, no.”
Dean glared. Sam glared back.
“It’s always such drama with you, Sam,” Dean said lightly, meaning it but not really. Sam looked confused for a second, which beat anger and pain as far as Dean was concerned, and then he just looked tired. “You know you’re not going to win this argument.”
“So, what, we’re going to be joined at the hip from now on?”
“If that’s what it takes.” Dean got to his feet and held out a hand. “Come on, tough guy, let’s get you on your feet. If you can do that without looking like you’re going to fall flat on your face, I’ll think about letting you in on the hunt.”
“Really?” Sam said.
“No.”
Sam scowled, but took the offered hand. Dean did most of the work in getting his brother upright and once he was there, he swayed. Oh, hell, no, Sam was not hunting tonight. Sam moved like an old man around the car, like he was stiff and sore all over. Dean had seen that before. He narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know how much of that could be attributed to CPR and how much was a result of the dreams. He trailed behind his brother, not wanting to coddle but definitely not ready to leave Sam’s side completely. At the trunk, Sam stopped and leaned.
“You going to make this?”
“It’s five more feet,” Sam grumbled. “Of course I will.”
Dean thought Sam didn’t even realize he was once again rubbing at his chest, and he couldn’t hold back a snort. He passed by Sam and opened the passenger door. Sam rolled his eyes when he finally made it there, but climbed in and made no move to shut the door himself. Dean slammed it shut and then trotted over to the other side of the car. Things were still too quiet for his liking. He’d relax only when they were safely in the hotel, which they’d go to after a short stop at the trap site. He no sooner started the car than Sam started talking again.
“So what are we going to do?”
“Sam, you said it yourself. We can’t let these things keep attacking people. I have to hope Bobby’s right and take care of the problem myself. It’ll only take a minute. You should be okay for that long, right?”
Dean turned the car around and headed back down the road, as if decisive action would make Sam just go along with the flow. He should have known better.
“You know you have to get both of them in the circle, and you know they split up to hunt,” Sam said. “I don’t know how you’re going to do that and be able to spring the trap. Put me in the circle to draw them both in – ” Dean started to rebut, but Sam hurried on before he could, “with a shotgun, of course, and you’ll be free to get them.”
Sam was a lunatic.
“That’s not a good idea. What if it doesn’t work? You’re not going to be able to get out of there.”
“You just said we needed to put faith in Bobby’s plan.”
“I said hope, and I only meant it when I was the only one involved.”
“Dean, you know you can’t do this on your own. I feel okay enough for this now – the painkillers have kicked in. And at least this way I’ll always be in your line of sight…and you in mine. I mean, what if it goes down bad and I’m just sitting here? You’ll be wounded or dead and I’ll fall into a dream and no one will be here to pull me out.”
That was valid, Dean supposed. Fucked up, but valid. And Sam managed that whole speech without gasping for breath, which was a good thing. He’d hunted with cracked ribs once or twice himself, and knew it could be done. It just really sucked. He pulled the car onto the shoulder and turned off the engine. He wouldn’t look at Sam, but it didn’t matter; Dean knew his brother was giving him puppy-dog eyes. The situation sucked no matter which way they went.
“I don’t like this.”
“I don’t either.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
He let Sam get himself out of the car, though he kept a close eye on the slow progress. Sam had to know that Dean had no intention of letting him limp around alone and let some ravenous, supernatural gigandogs have a go at him. Someone had to pull the rope and ring the bells, and that could be done from a more secure position. Dean popped the trunk and propped open the weapons compartment.
“I’ll go out. You take cover over there.” Dean quickly loaded two shotguns, handing one and some extra shells to Sam. He grabbed a pistol for himself as well. “As soon as the things are within the perimeter we set up, pull the rope. I should be able to handle the rest.”
Sam’s skin still looked ghostly pale in the weak light of the moon, and he didn’t issue any protest. He didn’t like the pallor, but was glad for the acquiescence. Dean tilted his head slightly and tried to discern any clue that the Black Dogs were even prowling this area, but everything remained quiet. He didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of dread like he had before, but he figured the replay of Sam sprawled out and lifeless going on in his head was disguising anything the Dogs might be doing in that regard. He patted Sam’s shoulder and nodded toward the cover spot. Sam gave him a tight-lipped smile and shuffled away quietly. Dean stashed his weapons out of sight and started walking. He didn’t move stealthily.
It didn’t take long. After only a minute or two, Dean knew at least one of them was behind him. He casually looked around to see if he could spot the other. It was too dark out. He kept going, making sure to lead the stalking one into the trap. Every fiber of his being was now focused on not turning around and shooting at the thing.
“Come on, come on,” he said under his breath. “Come on out, you bastards.”
His words seemed to prompt the one behind him into action. Dean turned just in time to see the thing’s massive paw clawing at him. He awkwardly drew out the shotgun and hit the dirt, rolling out of the path and then back onto his feet. Snarling, the beast charged again, and Dean danced again. Shooting at it wouldn’t help until it was grounded. Like magic, the disharmonious sound of cowbells filled the air. He knew the second one must be close.
“Dean, get down,” Sam called.
He crouched, figuring Sam had a good reason to give away his position. He didn’t take his eyes off of the first Dog. He aimed and fired at it. Missed. Damn thing moved fast. Even though blood was rushing in his ears and the Dog was growling louder than ever, Dean heard Sam moving out of cover. He dodged another attack and hoped to bloody hell that the other Dog wasn’t right on top of him. Sam got off a shot, and he heard a canine yelp. Good, good boy. Unfortunately, whatever’d just happened out of his range of vision had pissed off the one having a go at him
The Dog finally landed a swipe, and it was a strong one. Dean went flying, already knowing it was going to hurt like hell to land. His head smacked against the ground, and he saw stars that weren’t natural celestial bodies. A great weight pressed on his left thigh and he struggled to re-aim his weapon at the brute creature. It batted at his head once, he heard a loud roar and then the great weight shifted to his chest.
“Needs…more…cowbell,” Dean tried to shout, and then there was nothing.
~~*~~
Move along to Part 5
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 08:07 pm (UTC)LOL! Oh, Dean, you are the king of inappropriate humor.
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Date: 2006-12-19 10:40 pm (UTC)