Supernatural Fic: Stronger Now (1/3) Sam/Dean

[agt_spooky]

Title: Stronger Now (Visions Universe #1)
Author: agt_spooky
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: General season 1
Warnings: Wincest
Word Count: 20,155 (total story)
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, more’s the pity. Just borrowing!
Summary: Who or what is killing children in Kingsburg? Sam and Dean investigate the deaths and race to stop another from happening. Along the way, Dean shows how far he’ll go to protect his brother.

Huge thanks to my best buddy, charityflint, for her incredible beta work on this. You're awesome!

Author's Notes: Story is complete and is being posted in three parts. There is a link to the second part at the end of this one.

Stronger Now
(Visions Universe #1)
by AgtSpooky

Dean Winchester sat unmoving in the hard, straight-backed wooden chair in the motel room he shared with his younger brother. His posture was rigid, tension evident in every plane of his body. Tension, and simmering anger. His normally bright, hazel-green eyes were flat and hard as he stared at the papers under his fingertips.

Obituaries. Three of them. Instances of grave robbery. Three of those as well. Autopsy reports. Another trio.

That’s why they were here, amongst the Appalachian mountains, in Kingsburg, West Virginia. Taken separately, three deaths and three grave robberies in six surrounding towns didn’t add up to anything. Unless your last name was Winchester and your family business was the supernatural. When your whole life, and your brother’s, was spent looking for patterns, making connections that no one else did. And they had found one here.

Dean’s hand moved over the obituaries, finger tracing each face. Each small, smiling face. Children, all of them. Two boys and one girl. Ages seven, nine and ten. Their life over before it had a chance to really begin.

Dean’s jaw clenched, the muscle jumping and he forced his gaze to the grave robbing articles. Three bodies, unearthed in the middle of the night, none recovered. The men had been homeless, had no family, had been buried by the state. The articles were small, barely a blurb in the local papers. No one was looking very hard for the bodies, or seemed to care they were gone.

The copies of the autopsy reports were next, brought back to the motel just a short while ago by his brother, who had posed as a state trooper to get them.

Dean flipped open the first folder, scanning the medical examiner’s findings, looking for the reported cause of death. Seeking confirmation. He wasn’t disappointed. With a barely audible sigh he turned to the next page…and closed his eyes briefly at the photo of the small, pale body, and the symbol carved on his tiny chest.

The police were baffled. The Winchesters weren’t.

Dean closed the folder, placing it atop the other two, knowing without looking that those reports would be identical. He sat still for a moment, looking down at the table. Kids. Why did it have to be children? Well, they knew why, at least in this particular case, but it didn’t make it any easier. Especially for Dean, who sometimes connected much more easily with children than adults. Like Lucas, and Michael.

So to be faced with the needless deaths of three children…it was sure to take its toll on the older Winchester. Especially if they couldn’t stop the monsters responsible. Dean straightened, turning toward the young man seated on the edge of the bed.

Sam Winchester looked at his brother with sad eyes. "We were right."

"Yeah," Dean replied, voice rough. "Give us a gold star." He sighed. "Necromancy. Jesus."

"I know," Sam answered. "But it’s all right there. The missing bodies, the kids were all exsanguinated, the symbol on their chests…it all adds up. They’re trying to reanimate the dead, and they need the blood from young, healthy children to do it."

Sam stood and crossed the room to his brother. He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. "We’ll stop them, Dean."

Dean’s response was hard, forceful. "Damn right we will. This ends now."

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

The brothers hadn’t picked Kingsburg as their base of operations randomly. It was Dean who had first found the grave robbery articles, then digging deeper via the internet, had found the obituaries of the three children. It didn’t take him long to put two and two together.

But it was Sam, after looking at his brother’s research that evening in Pennsylvania, that had been struck with one of his premonitions the next morning. The vision had led them here, to the northern part of West Virginia, to a town in the middle of the six other towns where the grave robberies and deaths had occurred.

The thing, human or otherwise, that was committing these horrible atrocities was here, somewhere in Kingsburg. The town itself wasn’t overly large, but was ringed by dense woods with deep caves. It, or they, could be hiding anywhere.

Just when the brothers had reached the height of their frustration, having had no luck uncovering the identity or whereabouts of the thing or persons responsible, Sam’s psychic power had once again come into play; a vision of men in robes, a bearded man, and a cabin in the woods with enough landmarks to point them in the right direction.

Which is where they were headed now, the Impala bouncing along a rutted dirt road, in the deepest, darkest part of night, both men hoping to stop this before another child lost their life.

The interior of the car was quiet, Dean concentrating on navigating the barely existent dirt road and Sam was staring out the window into the inky blackness, lost in thought. Two shotguns lay on the seat between the brothers, loaded with rock salt shells. Sam had seen five men in his vision. But were they human? Possessed? Dean’s chrome plated .45 lay nestled snug in the back waistband of his jeans. He was taking no chances, either way.

The road abruptly ended and Dean braked the car to a halt. He looked over at Sam. "End of the line. Let’s go."

Sam nodded and both men exited the car, each grabbing a shotgun. The younger Winchester pulled a backpack out of the backseat, filled with other supplies they might need, while the older man retrieved a pair of flashlights from the trunk. Sam swung the backpack onto his shoulders and accepted a flashlight from Dean. Twin beams lit up the darkness a minute later.

Dean glanced around. "We in the right spot?"

Sam took a minute to orient himself, looking for the landmarks from his vision, flashlight sweeping around. He nodded his head shortly. "Yeah, this is it. This way," he gestured with the flashlight beam, heading off into the woods.

The moon glowed brightly overhead in the cloudless, star-filled sky. The late summer night air was cool and the sound of crickets followed the young men as they made their way as silently as possible through the trees and underbrush.

Dean trailed behind Sam, trusting his brother, and his vision, to get them to the cabin. And twenty minutes later Sam reached out a hand, coming to a stop and turning off his flashlight.

"We’re almost there."

Dean nodded and switched off his light as well, tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. The moonlight filtering through the trees would provide enough illumination to guide them the rest of the way.

The brothers crept forward toward the edge of the tree line they could see ahead of them. Crouching down behind two trees, they looked across the small clearing, spying the rundown cabin standing dark and quiet.

Dean turned his head toward Sam, whispering, "Nice job, little brother."

Sam merely nodded, eyes fixed on the cabin, voice low. "Looks like nobody’s here yet."

"Good," Dean replied, standing. "We need to do some recon, find out exactly what we’re up against." He started moving toward the cabin. "C’mon."

They hurried across the clearing, shotguns up and at the ready. Once at the cabin they peered in the grimy windows, detecting no movement or light inside, so they moved to the door. It swung open at Dean’s touch, and the older Winchester pulled his flashlight out and switched it on.

He moved cautiously inside, followed by his brother. He heard Sam push the door closed, then another flashlight beam joined his own. They swept their lights around the interior, which appeared to be one main room with a smaller one off to the left, and Dean was struck with a strong sense of déjà vu. They were back in Richardson, in the Hell House, but with one significant difference. This was no prank. These people were serious.

Symbols painted in blood red decorated the walls and black candles sat in the window sills and on every available surface. There was an altar erected against the far wall and the tables in the room were filled with books on the dark arts, and an assortment of satanic paraphernalia.

Sam and Dean moved toward the table nearest them, wanting to get a closer look at the items that were laid out.

"This is some serious shit, Sam," Dean said, his voice tight as he opened one of the books.

"You got that right," Sam agreed, as he swung his light toward the end of the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught a sudden and brief flash of light. "What was that?"

"I don’t know," Sam answered. "Something reflected off the flashlight beam." He turned his wrist back, and there, at the far end of the table was a large glass sphere, sitting on a gold base.

"What is that?" Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head and walked over to it, laying his shotgun on the table. Dean watched as Sam shined his light around it, then reached out and touched his fingertips to it. "Huh," he muttered, then laid his whole hand over the top of the glass ball. His eyebrows knitted together and he gestured to Dean. "C’mere."

Dean joined his brother at the end of the table, placing his gun beside Sam’s. "What is it?"

Sam took his hand off the sphere. "Feel that," he told Dean. "Solid glass like that shouldn’t be so warm, especially out here at night. It should be cool to the touch. And I could feel a…vibration, almost."

Dean placed his hand on the side of the sphere as Sam was talking, then nodded as his brother finished. "You’re right about it being warm. That’s weird. But I’m not feeling any vibration."

"Really?" Sam reached his hand out again as Dean continued to touch the glass. "I could swear I—"

Sam never got to finish his sentence, for the moment his fingers made contact with the sphere, a bright blue flash of light enveloped the brothers.

It was over in the blink of an eye, but in that one, brief moment, Dean could have sworn he was outside his body, standing across from himself, looking back at himself. But it was so fast, Dean would soon wonder if it happened at all.

When the light vanished, the young men were still standing across from one another, but their hands were down at their sides. Sam stood there, blinking at Dean, and Dean opened his mouth to speak, but a noise outside interrupted him.

Both Winchesters quickly shut off their flashlights, grabbed their shotguns and crouched down. They crawled over to the window and Sam peered outside.

"See anything?" Dean questioned.

"No." Sam shook his head. "Could’ve been an animal. But we’d better get out of here anyway."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, looking back into the dark room. "We’ve seen enough."

A minute later and they were back across the clearing, at the edge of the trees. They settled themselves against the base of a particularly large oak, prepared to wait as long as it took for the men to arrive at the cabin.

Tense and on edge, itching for a confrontation, Sam and Dean conversed in low tones at first, discussing possible strategies for taking down these men. These monsters.

But as the hours ticked by they grew silent, and Dean felt a throbbing begin behind his eyes that grew slowly worse. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rough bark of the tree, his fingers rubbing at his temple.

"You okay?" came Sam’s quiet voice.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "Just a headache."

But an hour later, as dawn was beginning to break and it was apparent the men were not going to show, Dean was more than ready to go. His headache was significantly worse now and all he wanted was some aspirin and a bed.

They made their way back to the Impala, muscles stiff from sitting so long in the cool night air. The shotguns, flashlights and backpack went into the trunk and then they were driving to their motel in the early morning light.

"I don’t understand," Sam started, shifting on the passenger seat to face Dean. "My vision…they were there, at the cabin. Why didn’t they show up?"

"I don’t know," Dean replied, absently rubbing his forehead with one hand. He glanced at his brother. "This whole…Shining thing, is still new, Sam. Maybe it’s changing or something, and what you saw wasn’t tonight. Maybe it’s gonna happen tomorrow night, or next week."

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment. "Or maybe that noise we heard wasn’t an animal."

"You think we were spotted? Scared them off?"

Sam shrugged. "It’s possible."

Dean blew out a frustrated breath. "Well I hope to hell that’s not the case, or we may never find them."

The discussion was put on hold as Dean pulled up in front of their room and the brothers wearily climbed from the car, eager to get some sleep.

Dean closed the door behind him and Sam as the younger man pulled the curtains together, blocking out the rising sun. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands.

"Still got your headache?" He heard Sam ask, and he grunted an affirmative.

"Why don’t you go get cleaned up first," Sam offered, "Then get some sleep."

Dean sighed and lifted his head, nodding at his brother. He pushed up from the bed and walked into the bathroom, wincing at the bright light when he flipped the switch. He dug around in his toiletry bag, finally finding the bottle of aspirin. He swallowed two of them dry, then turned on the tap and splashed cool water on his face.

He made quick work of brushing his teeth, stripped down to his boxers, then was back out in the main room, dropping his boots by the bed and tossing his clothes in the general vicinity of his duffle. Sam passed him on the way to the bathroom as Dean pulled back the blankets on his bed. He was asleep before Sam came out.

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

Sam walked through the darkened apartment, calling out, "Jess? You home?"

He stopped in front of the table, seeing the cookies and the note. Smiling, he picked up one and bit into it, walking toward their bedroom. He saw the bathroom door open, heard the shower running.

He sat down on the bed, closing his eyes with a contented sigh as he leaned backwards. He flinched at the first sensation of something landing on his forehead, then again at the second, before finally opening his eyes.

Shock and horror tore through him at the sight of her, pinned to the ceiling, bleeding, eyes and mouth wide open, staring down at him.

Then the flames engulfed her body…

"Noo—"

 

 

"—oo! Jess!"

Dean woke screaming, disoriented, heart pounding. He was barely aware of Sam jumping from his own bed, taking hold of Dean’s bare shoulders.

He clutched at Sam’s shirt, still caught within the nightmare’s grasp. "It’s my fault! I’m sorry! Jess, I’m sorry!"

Dean dropped his head forward, into the crook of Sam’s shoulder, muttering brokenly over and over, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry…"

To Dean’s sleep-fogged mind, it could have been ten seconds or ten minutes later before Sam’s voice finally broke through.

"—ean? Wake up now, okay? C’mon, you gotta wake up."

Dean lifted his head and blinked blearily at his younger brother, who was staring back at him with the oddest expression. Dean’s head felt thick and fuzzy.

"Sam? Wha—"

Sam sighed and shook his head. His hands squeezed Dean’s shoulders briefly. "It’s okay, Dean. It was just a dream. Go back to sleep, all right?"

Sam’s hands dropped from his shoulders and Dean immediately missed their warmth on his skin. He nodded, sleep already rushing back to claim him as he lay back against the pillows, never really having fully woken up. He reached out, loosely circling Sam’s wrist with his fingers.

"Don’t go," he breathed, and as his eyes slid closed he heard, "I won’t."

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

It was many hours later before Dean stirred, feeling for all the world like road kill. His headache hadn’t dissipated overnight and he felt like he hadn’t slept at all, as tired as he still was. He cracked open an eye and saw the outline of sunshine around the edges of the closed curtains. He had slept well into the day. With a barely stifled groan he levered himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Morning."

Dean turned his head to see Sam sitting at the small table, laptop open in front of him, a cup of coffee in his hand. He was showered and dressed, and it appeared he’d been awake for quite some time, but looked well-rested.

"You look like hell," Sam commented.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean shot back sarcastically as he ran a hand through his spiky, sleep-mussed hair.

Sam ignored the barb. "Need some aspirin?"

"Yeah," Dean cleared his dry throat. "Thanks."

Sam nodded, put down his coffee and disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged a minute later with a glass of water and two aspirin. He handed the items off to Dean then sat down on the opposite bed.

Dean gratefully swallowed the white pills and the water felt wonderful as it slid down his throat. He placed the empty glass on the bedside table and found Sam staring at him with an unreadable expression. When it went on for another long beat, Dean snapped, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What do you remember about what happened last night?"

Confusion crossed Dean’s features. "What do you mean, what happened? What are you talking about?"

"You had a nightmare. A pretty bad one. Woke me up, screaming."

Dean shook his head. "I—what?" he started. "I don’t remember anything," then he snapped his jaw shut as something flitted across his mind.

Sam pressed on. "Are you sure? You can talk to me, Dean."

The older Winchester stood abruptly from the bed. "Look, Sam," he snapped. "You don’t have the corner on nightmares, okay? I told you I don’t remember anything. Just drop it."

Then he turned and stalked off into the bathroom, closing the door forcefully behind him…and immediately sagged against it. He laid his head back against the door and closed his eyes. He blew out a breath before pushing away from the door to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

He had just lied. Outright lied to his brother.

Dean hung his head and rubbed at his eyes, hoping to make the images disappear. It didn’t work.

At first he honestly didn’t remember the nightmare. Then all at once it had come rushing back. Jess, the ceiling, the fire, the feeling of terror.

What the hell? Why the hell would he be dreaming of Sam’s dead girlfriend? And how could he have dreamed it? He hadn’t arrived until the room was already on fire. Yet he had seen everything leading up to it – Sam walking through the apartment, the cookies, the sound of the shower – it didn’t make any damn sense.

Which is why he hadn’t told Sam. The last thing he needed was his brother doing some damn psychoanalysis bullshit on him and picking it apart, discussing it to death, trying to find some meaning in it. To Dean it was just some weird-ass, freakish, one-time thing and he was happy to leave it at that. And forget about it. Though he did wonder what he had screamed out. And how much Sam knew. It might be too much to hope for that his brother would forget about it, too.

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

A short while later Dean was showered and dressed, sitting on the bed, lacing up his boots. He had hoped the warm, soothing water would have refreshed him, eased the throbbing in his head. But in truth he was still tired and the headache remained.

Sam had said nothing more about the nightmare, but suggested they find someplace to have an early dinner, since they had slept through both breakfast and lunch. Then he wanted to hit the local library, do some further research on necromancy and try to identify some of the objects they had seen in the cabin.

Dean had agreed and soon they were walking out into the late August sunshine, headed the few short blocks to the local diner, the Whistle Stop. Dean squinted at the bright light and immediately slipped on his sunglasses. He breathed in deeply of the mountain air, trying to clear his head, smelling the faint hint of fall in the air.

The Whistle Stop was a cozy place, named for the CSX railroad that bisected the town, running parallel to the Cheat River. The railroad employed most of the townspeople, along with the coal mines. These were simple folk, friendly people who chose to live up here in the mountains and raise their families. They had no idea that monsters walked among them.

The diner wasn’t crowded, but Kingsburg was a fairly small town and the locals all knew each other, so conversations were flowing freely when Sam and Dean entered the restaurant.

They slid into a booth near the windows, and Dean kept his sunglasses on. The menus were on the table, so the brothers were ready to order when the waitress appeared. They served breakfast 24-hours here, due to the railroad workers schedules, so Dean got scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee, while Sam had an omelet with orange juice.

Though Sam hadn’t brought up Dean’s nightmare again, it was obvious in the looks he was shooting the older man that he wanted to, and their meal was eaten in strained silence. Well, Sam ate, anyway, with an appetite Dean hadn’t seen for years. He even ordered more toast and another glass of juice.

For Dean, the idea of food had sounded good, but once it actually appeared in front of him his stomach had second thoughts. The constant pain of the headache was making him queasy, and he pushed his eggs around on his plate, opting for two more aspirin from the bottle he’d brought with him, and several cups of coffee instead.

"You gonna be okay, Dean? I can go to the library myself—"

Dean stopped rubbing his temple. "I’m fine, Sam," he answered, irritation evident in his tone. "It’s just a damn headache, all right?"

Sam held up his hands. "Okay, fine. You ready to go, then?"

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

The words on the page blurred before Dean’s tired eyes. It was two hours later, and the brothers were ensconced in an out of the way corner in the Kingsburg Public Library. Sam was knee-deep in necromancy research while Dean had been staring at the same page for twenty minutes, as the throbbing in his head kept time with his heartbeat. Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t felt this miserable in…well, he didn’t know when. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the motel and sleep, try to get rid of this blasted headache. He needed to concentrate, to focus, and that was damn hard to do when your skull was pounding.

But displaying any kind of weakness was not the Winchester way. That had been instilled in Dean from childhood, courtesy of his father. So suck it up and get past the pain and the lethargy, he told himself. Dean took a deep breath. He and Sam had a job to do. But he was going to need coffee, and a lot of it, if he was going to function.

He lifted his head to look at Sam and saw Sam do the same.

"Still got your headache, huh?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I’m gonna go make a coffee run. Do—"

"Dean," Sam stopped him. "Why don’t you just go back to the motel? Lay down for—"

"I’m fine, Sam," Dean insisted. "It’s just a headache."

"And one that’s lasted for nearly two days now," Sam pointed out. "You look like shit, Dean. And if you’re too tired or too distracted by the pounding in your head, what good are you gonna be if we go after these guys again tonight?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam—" he started to protest, but was cut off by his younger brother.

"Can you really watch my back with the way you feel right now?"

Dean’s jaw snapped shut. That was a low blow and Sam knew it. Knew that Dean put Sam’s safety and protection ahead of his own, and had since Sam was an infant.

There was no rebuttal to that and Dean stood abruptly, his chair pushing back with a scrape, loud in the quiet of the library. He shrugged into his outer shirt, annoyance apparent in his movements.

Sam sighed. "Jesus, Dean, it’s okay to admit you’re not feeling well."

Dean ignored the statement. "Wake me in a couple hours. We need to go over all this." He waved his hand at the pile of books.

"I will," Sam replied. "I’ll bring dinner back with me."

Dean didn’t respond. Simply snatched his sunglasses from the table and walked away from Sam and out the library doors, hating the fact that he appeared weak in front of his brother. And had gotten called on it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

Dean closed the motel room door behind him and tossed his sunglasses onto the table. He took off his outer shirt and it landed half-on, half-off the back of the chair. He turned and pulled the curtains closed, plunging the room into cooling darkness. Dean rubbed angrily at his burning eyes and throbbing temples as he crossed the floor to the bathroom. Once there he downed two more aspirin, not caring he’d just taken some a few hours ago.

He pulled off his t-shirt on the way back to his bed, then took off his boots and slipped out of his jeans, leaving everything in a pile. He yanked the covers back and crawled under them, vowing that if he woke up once more with the damn headache he’d just shoot himself in the head and be done with it.

 

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

 

Dean stood up from Mrs. Miller’s side as Max entered the room. He took a step toward the boy but was violently thrown against the wall. He watched as Max pulled out Dean’s own gun and pointed it at his step-mother.

"Max! No. Max," Mrs. Miller pleaded.

Dean got to his feet and Max and the gun turned toward him. "Stay back, it’s not about you."

Dean stepped between Max and his step-mother. "If you wanna kill her, you gotta go through me first."

Max’s eyes were cold and dark. "Okay."

BANG!

The bullet pierced Dean’s skull and his blood sprayed in a crimson splash against the wall. His lifeless body collapsed to the floor as Sam screamed from the doorway…

 

 

…Dean lay in the hospital bed, fighting for every breath, the monitors showing the final struggle of his failing heart. His hand was clasped loosely in his brother’s, Sam’s thumb stroking his pale, cold skin.

"Look, Sammy…what can I say?" Dean paused for a breath. "It’s a dangerous gig…I drew the short straw." Again a pause, his breathing getting weaker. "That’s it, end of story."

Sam shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes. "Dean, please…"

Dean tried for a smile and managed to hold it for a moment. "Hey, you better take care of that car…or I swear…I’ll haunt your ass."

The monitors started beeping and Dean squeezed Sam’s hand weakly. "I know you tried..."

A tear broke free to trail down Sam’s face as he watched Dean’s chest barely rise and fall. "I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I couldn’t—"

Dean shook his head. "It’s okay, Sammy. It’s—"

Dean’s eyes slid closed for the last time as Sam clutched his hand and wept…

 

 

…Sam stood over his brother’s prone body, lying on the filthy asylum floor, spewing his long buried rage at him.

"That’s the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I’m not pathetic like you!"

Dean, winded from the rock salt blast, managed to breathe, "So what are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna kill me?" He pulled his chrome .45 from his waistband. "Well then here, let me make it easier for you." He offered the gun to Sam. "C’mon, take it. Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt." Sam hesitated and Dean yelled, "Take it!"

Sam reached down and grabbed the gun, immediately turning it on Dean.

Dean’s expressive eyes spoke volumes as he looked down the barrel of his own gun. "You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead, pull the trigger. Do it!"

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The gunshots echoed loudly in the room, the bullets slamming into Dean’s chest at nearly point-blank range, his body jerking with each impact. As Dean’s lifeblood began to soak into the floor, staining it red, the horrifying realization of what he’d just done pushed past the fog in Sam’s brain.

The gun fell from nerveless fingers as Sam dropped to his knees beside Dean’s lifeless body, hands pressing futilely against his brother’s bloody chest.

"No! No! NOOO!"

 

 

Dean bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, breaths coming in heaving gasps, hands clutching at his chest.

"Dean!"

Dean turned wild eyes toward the sound of Sam’s cry, found his brother jumping up from the chair, tossing his pizza back in the box, crossing quickly to his side. Dean’s hands continued to move against his chest.

"Blood…so much blood…I didn’t mean it, I—"

Sam’s hands covered his own, stilling his movements. "No, there’s no blood. You’re fine, Dean. C’mon, breathe, calm down, it was a nightmare…"

Sam’s words washed over him, bringing him back from the panic of his nightmare. He sagged toward his brother, blinking rapidly as the real world came back into focus. He let out a shuddering breath as Sam caught him by his upper arms.

"Sam?" he whispered.

"Yeah," his brother replied softly. "You back with me now?"

Dean swallowed deeply and nodded, straightening up. Sam’s hands slid down his arms, one hand coming to rest on Dean’s leg, still covered by the blanket.

Dean ran a hand over his face. "What the hell…?"

"Exactly what I was thinking." Sam squeezed Dean’s leg, his voice quiet. "You feel like talking to me about this now?"

Dean’s mouth opened but nothing came out. No, he couldn’t do this now. Not until he got all this straight in his own head. He pulled away from Sam, climbing out the other side of the bed.

"I can’t do this now," he told him, moving toward the bathroom, Sam’s angry words following him.

"Damn it, Dean, tell me what’s going on!"

Dean closed the bathroom door and leaned heavily on the sink, his head hanging. He needed to think. Needed to be away from Sam for a little while. Stalling for time, he pulled off his boxers and stepped into the shower, wanting to wash off the fine sheen of sweat that coated his body. As he reached for the taps, he noticed his hand was shaking. What the fuck was happening to him?

He turned the water on and let the spray wash over him. God, none of this made any sense. First Jess and now his own death, over and over. He had never been one prone to nightmares. That was all Sam’s bag. And on the rare occasion that he did have one, it was about Sam or his dad coming to some harm, as was a very real possibility in their line of "work". But he had never dreamed of his own death before. He had felt Sam’s pain so clearly in both nightmares, losing Jess, then losing him, again and again. It was like Sam was right there, in his head, or he had gotten into Sam’s head or—

Dean suddenly stood stock still.

Oh, shit.

He bent down and quickly turned off the taps, throwing the shower curtain open. He barely passed the towel over his wet hair and body before yanking on his boxers and throwing open the door.

He burst out into the main room, startling Sam, who was still sitting on Dean’s bed. He stood up at Dean’s abrupt entrance.

"What? What is it?"

Dean moved to stand in front of his brother. "Sam…something happened at the cabin, didn’t it?"

Sam’s forehead furrowed. "Happened?"

"When we were both touching that glass sphere. I felt...I thought I saw…" Dean trailed off, unsure how to put the experience into words.

Turns out he didn’t have to, as Sam’s mouth dropped opened. "It happened so fast," he started, "I thought maybe I’d imagined it or something."

"What did you see, Sam?" Dean’s voice was tight, urgent.

"Myself," Sam replied. "But like I was standing across from myself, looking back at me. It was so strange…"

Dean dropped down onto the bed. "Oh, fuck."

Sam quickly sat beside him. "Dean, what is it? What aren’t you telling me?" he demanded.

The older Winchester looked at his younger brother. "The same thing happened to me. That thing…it did something to us."

"What do you mean? I feel fine. Great, actually. There’s nothing –" Sam cut himself off. "Wait. Your nightmares?"

"No, Sam, I think I’m seeing your nightmares."

"What?"

"You said I screamed last night," Dean said quietly, knowing this was going to be painful territory for his brother. "What did I say?"

Sam looked away, down at the floor. "Her name. You screamed out Jess’s name. And…you said you were sorry, that it was your fault."

"Sam…why would I have been dreaming of Jess? Why would I have said all that?"

After a moment Sam turned back to Dean. "But how do you know for sure that it was my nightmare? I’ve talked about it enough. Hell, you were there that night…you saw…"

"Okay, let me ask you this. Were you eating a cookie before…before it happened?" Dean asked.

Sam gave a start. "How—how could you know that?"

Dean shook his head. "I couldn’t. Do you believe me now?"

"Shit."

Dean gave a humorless chuckle. "Yep."

"Wait. You said you didn’t remember anything," Sam accused.

"I know. I’m sorry I lied to you. It just…freaked me the hell out, you know? And I thought it was just some weird, one time thing. But now…" he blew out a breath.

Sam cleared his throat. "This…other nightmare you just had. Was it Jess again?"

This time it was Dean’s turn to look away. "No…it wasn’t."

"Can you tell me?" the request was soft, hesitant.

Dean swallowed, then stood, walking a few steps away from the bed, his back to his brother. "It was about me. Dying. Over and over."

"God, Dean…"

But Dean kept going, his voice carefully neutral, as if Sam hadn’t of spoken, needing to get this out, to try and understand.

"First it was Max, with the gun. He shot me, right through the head. You were standing in the doorway, screaming."

Dean went to the window, pushed the curtains aside and stared out into the evening twilight. "Then it was me in the hospital, after the rawhead. But there was no faith healer and I died there, with you standing next to me, holding my hand."

He finally turned to face Sam. "The asylum was the last one. But this time," he swallowed as his throat tightened. "This time the gun was loaded. You shot me four times." He paused. "Is that all true? Is that what you dream about?"

Sam nodded, anguish coloring his voice as he stood and crossed over to Dean, standing close to his brother. "I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see all that."

"Jess I understand. That was real. And…it would haunt me, too." Dean’s hazel-green eyes locked with ones so like his own. "But me? Sam, none of that happened like that. Why do you dream of me dying over and over?"

"Because that’s my worst nightmare - losing you," Sam admitted softly, eyes shimmering.

The air was suddenly charged with emotion and Dean felt overwhelmed, felt moisture pricking at the back of his eyes. "Sam…" he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch his brother’s arm.

"They’re a reminder of what can happen because of something I did or because I wasn’t good enough, fast enough, to save you." The words poured out of Sam, his voice rough.

Dean saw Sam’s arm raise up, felt his brother’s hand settle large and warm on his hip. Dean stepped even closer, slid his hand up to the back of Sam’s neck, then hooked his arm around the back of Sam’s shoulders and gently pulled his brother into his arms.

Dean felt his brother sigh and relax into Dean’s embrace, his arms winding around Dean’s bare back. Dean closed his eyes, spoke softly into the crook of Sam’s neck.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Sam? I know you’ll always have my back. You’ll always be there for me. I have faith in you. You need to have some in yourself."

The young men stood there for a long moment, finding strength, reassurance and comfort in each other’s arms.

Dean heard Sam sniff, then his brother’s head turned slightly, his lips just barely pressing against Dean’s neck. Dean shivered at the contact, hand flexing against Sam’s shoulder, but then his brother was straightening up, moving back out of Dean’s arms. The older man felt suddenly bereft at the loss of contact.

Sam couldn’t quite meet Dean’s gaze, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. "So, umm," he began, "What do you think happened to us?"

"I think that, for a second at least, we were in each other’s bodies," Dean hypothesized. "That would explain why we were looking at ourselves."

Sam nodded. "But why aren’t we still in each other’s bodies? What was the point in all of it?" he wondered. "It gives one person the other’s nightmares? That makes no sense at all."

Dean shrugged. "I know, I don’t understand it, either. But we’re gonna figure it out." He cocked his head at Sam. "You’re okay, though? Nothing strange going on with you?"

Sam looked away. "Actually…something did happen. After you left the library."

"What? Are you all right?"

"I’m fine," he reassured Dean. Then he smiled. "Better than fine, actually."

"You’re confusing the hell outta me, Sammy. Just tell me what happened."

Sam nodded. "Okay, watch." Then he turned and stared at the dresser against the back wall. Dean followed his gaze, but saw nothing there but a lamp. Before he could question his brother, the lamp suddenly floated up a good eight inches, hovered, then floated to the left. It hovered again, before moving back to the right. Then it floated back down, but one edge came down first, throwing off the balance and the lamp ended up falling over on its side, the bulb breaking with a soft pop.

The younger Winchester glanced at his older brother with a sheepish expression. "Oops."

Dean stared back, eyes wide, mouth slack. "You haven’t been able to do that since Max’s house…I know you’ve been trying…"

"I know. I was sitting in the library, staring down at my pen, just thinking, and it started moving, spinning. Thought I was doing it unconsciously again, like with the cabinet at Max’s, but then I really concentrated and I moved it, and the books on the table, too." Sam was getting more animated as he spoke. "I don’t know how to explain it, but my mind…it feels so much clearer now, like I can focus, it’s not buried anymore." He stopped. "Do you think this is connected to the sphere, too?"

"Makes sense. It took something from your head, and gave it to me. Like you said, your head is clearer, and your power is more pronounced now." Dean smiled. "This is a good thing, Sam, for you to finally be able to control this, use it."

"No, Dean! Not if it means you’re suffering because of it. We need to get back to the cabin, get the sphere, fix this…"

"No, Sam, our first priority is to stop these people, stop them from killing – "

Dean cut himself off as he felt a sharp twinge of pain in the center of his forehead, then a warm wetness on his upper lip. He raised his fingers up and they came away smeared with blood. "What the hell?"

"Dean? Oh man, your nose is bleeding. Hang on, let me get a—"

The rest of Sam’s words were lost as intense, excruciating pain suddenly lanced through Dean’s skull. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, hands gripping either side of his head as his legs buckled under the assault. His knees hit the floor just as a kaleidoscope of colors burst across his eyelids. The world seemed to tilt on its axis and he felt himself toppling over as everything went white…

trees

rushing water 

blonde-haired girl

moon

water tower

child screaming

candles

railroad tracks

bearded man 

men in robes

 

 

Dean came back to himself with a gasp, his entire body jerking. He was still on the floor, but his upper body was now cradled in Sam’s strong arms.

"Dean! Jesus, Dean, can you hear me?" Panic laced Sam’s voice and Dean’s eyes opened. Sam blew out a breath. "Are you all right? What the hell was that?"

The words were barely a whisper, Dean’s mind still reeling from the onslaught of images crashing in his brain. "Apparently I got your visions, too." Then Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head.

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

A cool, damp sensation on his forehead brought Dean around the second time. He groaned, his head feeling like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer, and opened his eyes. He was laying on his bed, Sam sitting next to him, gently placing a wet washcloth on his head.

Sam gave him a small smile. "Hey."

"Hey," Dean rasped. "How long was I out?"

"Long enough," Sam answered as he put the washcloth on the bedside table. "You scared the shit outta me, Dean."

"Yeah, well it wasn’t a barrel of laughs—" Dean’s eyes suddenly went wide as flashes of his vision came back to him. He pushed up into a sitting position then started to scramble off the bed. "We’ve gotta go. Right now."

Sam caught his arm. "Wait, Dean, what did you see?"

Dean screwed his eyes shut, his voice tight. "They’ve got another child, Sam." He swallowed deeply. "A little blonde girl. I heard…I heard her screaming." He shrugged off Sam’s hand. "C’mon."

"But where are we going, Dean? What else did you see?" Sam questioned his brother as Dean began gathering up his clothes, moving around the room, his motions bordering on frantic. "Just stop for a minute! Rushing off headlong isn’t going to help her!"

Pausing mid-motion from picking up his discarded shirt, Dean straightened. "I know, I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s just—" he gave a shaky sigh. "I keep hearing her screaming…"

"We’ll find her, Dean," Sam told his brother, gently but firmly. "Just take a minute and sit down, okay?"

Nodding, Dean first slipped into the jeans he was holding, then joined Sam on the bed.

"Now relax and take it slow."

Blowing out a breath, Dean let his eyes close. "It was dark, I saw the moon. It was in the woods. Men in robes, candles. The same man with the beard that you saw. Could be their leader." His jaw twitched. "The little blonde girl, screaming…"

"Did you see any landmarks? Anything to narrow down where all this was? Did you see the cabin?" Sam quietly questioned Dean.

Dean tipped his head slightly, trying to remember more. "No…I didn’t see the cabin. There was…water, rushing water. Pretty loud. And…railroad tracks. They were near the water." His forehead furrowed. "There was something else…I know there was." He opened his eyes and shook his head. "Damn it, I can’t remember."

The younger Winchester squeezed his older brother’s shoulder. "You did great, Dean." Then he looked away. "I’m sorry you had to go through that, though."

"I’m sorry you have to go through it, Sam," Dean replied. "I know you never wanted this…gift."

"Gift," Sam huffed. "More like a damn curse." He stood, effectively ending that part of the conversation. "Let me get the map and we’ll figure out where to start looking."

Dean just nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face, as he watched his brother walk over to the table and retrieve the map.

Sam returned and spread the map on the bed between them. "Okay, the water and the railroad tracks will be our best starting place." He ran his finger over the paper, tracing the path of the railroad tracks. "Now the Cheat River runs parallel to the tracks, but quite a distance away from them…but you said you could hear the water near the tracks…" His finger stopped. "Okay. This area along here; the river and the railroad tracks are at their closest point."

Dean looked at the area Sam was indicating with a frown. "That’s gotta be a five mile stretch, Sam. That’s a lot of ground to cover."

"It’s the only thing we’ve got to go on at this point. We’ll just start at one end and keep going."

Dean pounded his fist on the bed in frustration. "There’s more, Sam. I know I saw something else. Shit, why can’t I remember?" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Dean, this totally blindsided and overwhelmed you. It’s amazing you remembered as much as you did. At least now we’ve got a starting point."

But Dean wasn’t mollified. "If she dies, it’ll be my fault."

"Dean, no…"

Dean ignored his brother as he moved off the bed, picked up his shirt and retreated to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the smear of dried blood under his nose, along his upper lip. He turned the water on in the sink and quickly washed his face, then pulled on his shirt. He gave his reflection a hard look, jaw set, then went back out to join his brother.

The younger hunter was busying himself checking their weapons and putting them back in the duffle bag. He looked up when Dean entered the room.

"You ready?"

Dean reached down and picked up one of the shotguns, cocking it. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

~~ * ~~ * ~~ * ~~

An hour later, Dean’s anger and frustration had reached a boiling point. He and Sam had been searching in the woods along the railroad tracks and had discovered nothing. It was slow going in the dark, and Dean knew every minute counted.

He was mentally berating himself the entire time, trying to force himself to remember a piece of information he was certain was vital to finding the little girl. Before it was too late.

"Think, damn it," he muttered, flashlight sweeping along the ground. He suddenly let out a pained gasp and sagged against the nearest tree. He felt a trickle of blood seep from his nose as an image flashed in his mind.

Sam was at his side in an instant, holding on to his brother’s arms, in case Dean passed out again. But Dean straightened and wiped the blood from his face with the cuff of his sleeve. He’d done it. He gave small, triumphant smile. "I remember."

His brother smiled back. "I knew you could do it."

"It’s a water tower, Sam. That’s what I saw. It was old, wooden, falling apart. Right along the tracks."

"I don’t think we’ll find it on the map, if it’s not modern. Our best bet would be to just go up on the tracks themselves and follow them, now that we know what we’re looking for. Keep out of the woods. We can make better time that way." He squeezed Dean’s shoulder. "Good job, Dean."

But Dean shook his head. "Save it for when we find her. Alive."

Now that the brothers knew the landmark they were looking for, they hurried along the railroad tracks, watching for the water tower. It was another two miles before the dark shadow of the tower appeared against the moonlit sky.

The hunters moved off the tracks, into the woods, about a half mile before they reached the tower. They moved cautiously, listening intently, but detected no movement or noises. Still nothing as they approached the area and Dean began to doubt himself, what he thought he’d remembered.

Until they stepped out from the tree line, into the grassy area surrounding the tower.

And saw her.

A small, blonde-haired girl, dressed in a white nightgown. Lying so very still on the ground.

Dean took off at a run, boots tearing up the grass. He threw himself down on his knees beside the child, words spilling from his lips. "Please, oh god, please…"

His hand shook as he pressed his fingers against her pale neck, searching for a pulse, as he put his head down, listening for a heartbeat.

But there was nothing.

Dean shook his head as he leaned back away from her body. "No…no," he whispered disbelievingly. He had remembered, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to be like this…

Sam’s hand was on his shoulder. "I’m sorry, Dean…"

"NO!" Dean screamed his anguish into the night sky, surging up and flinging himself away from Sam and the little girl, running toward the trees until he stumbled, falling to his hands and knees in the dirt. He gasped for breath, tears stinging his eyes, head hanging.

He felt Sam’s arms around his shoulders, pulling Dean’s body against his. Dean let him, his back falling against his brother’s chest. One of Sam’s arms came around him, holding him tightly as they sat on the ground.

"It’s my fault, Sam," Dean whispered brokenly. "I didn’t remember fast enough…" A sob tore free. "Oh god, she’s dead because of me…"

"No, no." The side of Sam’s face was pressed against Dean’s. "Don’t do this to yourself. You did everything you could. This is not your fault."

"How can you say that?!" Dean tried to move away, but Sam’s arm tightened around him.

"Because I’ve been there, Dean!" Then Sam calmed, his breath soft against Dean’s neck. "Remember Max’s father? And his uncle?"

Dean turned his head to look at his brother, face dirty and smudged with tear tracks, as Sam continued.

"I had a vision both times, and I couldn’t save either of them."

Dean looked away, his head understanding what Sam was telling him, but his heart could only see his failure, lying on the grass just a few yards away. Tears welled up again and he tried once more to push away from his brother, to not let Sam see him cry. But Sam held him fast.

"Stop, Dean," Sam told him, voice low. "It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human." He paused, and Dean could have sworn he felt the fleeting press of Sam’s lips against the top of his head. "It’s okay, I’ve got you."

For an instant Dean thought about pushing away again, but then gave in to his brother’s warmth and strength, needing both, sagging back against him. And Sam held him as he let his silent, angry tears flow, mourning the loss of yet another small life, so violently taken.

It was long moments later when Dean’s breathing calmed and his tears stopped. Sam’s hand rubbed against his chest as he said, "We need to call the police and leave an anonymous tip, tell them where to find her. Then we need to get out of here."

Dean twisted around, shaking his head. "No. I won’t leave her laying out here like this…all alone. I won’t."

Sam nodded. "Okay, we’ll call and then wait until we can hear them coming, then take off before they spot us."

They walked slowly back to where the girl’s body lay, Dean using the bottom of his shirt to clean off his face the best he could. He paused a few feet away from her.

"We need to look at her body. To see…"

"I’ll do it," Sam volunteered. "Why don’t you look for a place to wait, somewhere up near the tracks?"

"Thanks, Sam," Dean replied gruffly, walking away toward the tree line.

He found a spot about twelve feet in, with a good view of the area in front of the tower and close enough to the railroad tracks so they could easily leave that way without being spotted. He settled himself down sideways against a large tree, leaning his shoulder on it, and watched as Sam knelt down beside the little girl and looked over her body, at one point peeling back the neckline of her nightgown. Then he stood and pulled out his cell phone, spoke briefly then tucked it back in his pocket.

Sam joined him a minute later, sinking down to the ground, sitting close to Dean.

"Well?" Dean asked.

Sam looked down at the dirt. "Yeah, she was exsanguinated. I saw the puncture wounds."

"And the symbol?"

A nod. "On her chest. Same as the others."

Dean was silent for a moment, then asked, "You got ahold of the police then?"

"I convinced them it was no prank call. They’re sending people out here. I hung up when she started asking my name."

The brothers fell quiet then, no more to say, both sets of eyes on the small body. Dean leaned his head against the tree trunk, the emotional and physical toll of the day suddenly catching up with him. He was exhausted, bone-tired, limbs heavy, his head fuzzy. He felt his eyelids start to droop…

…and was jolted back to himself sometime later with a soft "Whoa" from Sam, feeling one of his brother’s hands on his back, the other on his chest. Dean blinked open his eyes, realizing he must have started to tip forward and Sam had caught him.

Dean cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Sam let his hand drop from Dean’s chest, but kept the other at the small of Dean’s back.

"It’s okay. Been a long day," Sam said. "Go ahead and close your eyes. I’ll keep watch."

But before Dean could respond, both young men caught sight of lights moving in the distance.

"Time to go," he told Sam, and with a last look at the child, the hunters moved up onto the tracks and hurried away.

PART TWO

Comments

[improperlydone.livejournal.com]

#1 - How excited am I that I have this long, delicious story to put into my Palm to read and love and enjoy?

#2 - How anxious am I to see you get up that link to Part Two so I can read the entire story?

*bites nails*

Yay! I'm so glad you posted this. I can't wait to read it!

[agt-spooky.livejournal.com]

How anxious am I to see you get up that link to Part Two so I can read the entire story?

LOL! It's up! And it's now three parts, since the second part ended up being too long to get into one LJ post. Grrr..

Hope you enjoy!

[jakesdream.livejournal.com]

Ohhhhhhhhh, love the premis of this. Switching roles :) I don't know why, but I love the thought of Dean knowing what Sam has been through/is going through. At times Dean can seem a little 'hard' (although I do know that is his character, and has TONS to do with how he was brought up) I am so happy to see his 'walls' come down a little. How also you are giving Sam a bit more of Deans confidence/strength. I just can't wait to read more, so off I go to chapter two :) *huggles*

[agt-spooky.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the great feedback! I really appreciate it. I hope you like the rest of the story as well!

[littleeva.livejournal.com]

Are you the same Agent Spooky who used to write X Files slash?

[agt-spooky.livejournal.com]

Why, yes, I am! Boy, that was a long time ago. :-) And I think I recognize your name, too. Did you write a story called "A Living X-File" that was a crossover with Sentinel? If so, I have to thank you for opening my eyes to the world of slash, as that was the first slash story I'd ever read!

[sadritsuka12.livejournal.com]

OMG..... YOU ARE AWESOME.. 0,0

[agt-spooky.livejournal.com]

Aww, thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

[xantissa.livejournal.com]

it starts interesting :)

[agt-spooky.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I hope you enjoy the rest!