This comes from a prompt given to me by the most amazing @wendibird! Hope you enjoy...there is probably a part 2 and probably 3 if y’all are interested in what happens next...
Warnings: Angst. Nightmares. Really bad scary memories
It could have been avoided, really. But best not to think about that now.
No, it’s far too late for that now. God damn witches and their god damn spells.
Because right now Sam’s staring into nothingness. At the wall, maybe even through the wall. Dean doesn’t think Sam can see anything.
Except he flinches every so often, so Cas thinks he’s seeing something. Sam’s still non-responsive, has been since the curse rebounded and hit him square in the chest. He doesn’t have any other wounds on him besides the gash on his arm Dean already stitched up. So now Sam’s in a chair in the library, and Dean’s just watching him.
“Cas, we gotta do something, man! What’s going on?”
Cas, of course, speaks matter-of-factly. “I believe Sam is locked inside his brain right now, Dean. I suppose I could…I could try to see what’s going on in there…” But Dean slams his fist down on the table.
“Possess him? Hell no, he’s had way too much of that, Cas, come on!” Cas jumps at the sudden sharpness of Dean’s words, but he’s not offended. No, he knows exactly what Dean means.
“Dean, I need to be able to…” Cas pauses, as if he’d just realized something.
“Cas?” Dean, noticing Cas’ hesitation, perks up. “There’s an ‘unless’ in there, isn’t there… unless what, Cas?” He looks from his catatonic brother back to the angel, desperate for answers.
“I could…I could possibly send you in there, Dean.”
Dean pauses, considering. It’s not like actual possession, right? No, he’d just be visiting. Like Crowley did those many years ago. Except that was technically possession, too…Dean knew Sam would be pissed at him. Letting yet another being inside his head. Whether it be Cas or him. He thinks some more and decides he doesn’t really want Cas seeing some of Sam’s darker secrets.
Dean sees this is probably the only way. He gives in reluctantly.
“Yeah Cas, do it. He’ll have to forgive me later. What do I have to do?”
“I assure you, it will be quick and painless, Dean.”
**
Dean of course, needs to drink something nasty, similar to the dream root.
Quick and painless.
Yeah, right.
**
He opened his eyes. The room was cold, and…damp? There was a weird, wet smell to the place and Dean scrunched up his nose.
“Sam? Sammy?” Dean’s words reverberated off the walls. Where the hell was he? A locker room? Wait, he knew this place. This was where…he and Dad had killed that – BANG! – one of the lockers slammed shut beside him, and Dean jumped, pulling the gun from his waistband. He turned quickly, backing himself into a corner. One row of lockers in front of him blocked his view of the main, open part of the room. Dean heard Sam grunt, and he ran around the lockers to see – himself helping Sam up. He backed up again, trying to remain unseen.
“What the hell is wrong with you Sammy? You could have gotten us killed!” Dean heard himself say. Then he heard a slap of skin and he closed his eyes. Oh yeah, he’d slapped Sam across the cheek after he screwed up this hunt. He always regretted doing that, and he’d never said he was sorry.
“I’m sorry Dean. I didn’t mean to –“
“You’re not ready for this yet, Sammy. Just stay back next time, yeah?” Dean watched himself step over his brother and raise his gun, running right at him. Dean stepped back again, and before he could react, the other Dean ran right through him.
Oh.
A memory. Sam’s reliving a memory.
Dean turned back to Sam. He remembers this. He remembers running out, leaving Sam behind. Sam had messed up that hunt, but he was only fourteen. He really was just trying to help. And Dean had reacted…like that.
The Sam he’d left behind in that locker room fell to his knees. He dropped the iron pipe he was using as a weapon on the floor with a loud clang. He began to cry. In fact, he began to sob.
“Dean, wait, come back, don’t leave me! I’m scared, De – I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please!” Sam’s cries were desperate, and Dean was taken aback. He’d had no idea Sam had done that. No idea he had left his brother in fear all alone.
It’s when he heard Sam’s blood curdling scream that made his own blood turn cold. The ghost they’d come to gank had been attracted to the noise and was now hovering over Sam. Sam reached for the pipe, but it slid across the floor, far out of Sam’s reach. Dean stood with his mouth wide open. The ghost had come back to Sam? Now knowing that this was just a memory, and that all he could do was watch, Dean did just that.
He watched as the ghost laughed and taunted Sam. It hovered over him, and – passed through him three times. Dean watched in horror as the ghost tossed his brother around the room, his body lifted and tossed into rows of lockers twice until…
Until the ghost had suddenly stopped above him and burst into flames.
Yeah, he and his dad had burned that necklace, knowing the ghost would go ‘poof’ wherever he was. Dean had had no idea he’d saved Sam’s life.
Free from the ghost, Sam just sobbed. He stayed curled in a ball and remained on the floor.
Dean had no idea. Sam had never told them this had happened. He merely came back and apologized for his behavior, promising to be obedient from then on. Dean didn’t remember any injuries his brother had, either. Sam must have hid those as well.
Dean swallowed and tried to move forward, but the room shifted around him. He felt disoriented as the colors around him changed. He blinked, and -
“Nooooo!!” The scream that came from Sam sent shivers down Dean’s spine so sharp that he felt it in every single nerve in his body.
This room was dark, and he could smell metal and blood. The lights flickered and Dean was able to see his brother chained in the corner, covered in cuts and bruises, his hair damp and hanging in his face. He was wheezing and gasping for breath. He was clearly in agony.
“No more, no more,” croaked Sam.
“Eternity is a long time, bunk buddy,” Dean heard from behind him. Oh he’d know that voice anywhere. His hands clenched in rage. ‘Get away from him,’ Dean thought.
Sam began to tremble. He rose to his knees and put his arms up to protect himself. But Lucifer strode forward anyway, waving his hand non-shalantly, producing a fresh cut across Sam’s face.
Sam stopped screaming and hung his head. He fell to his hands again.
The Cage. This was a memory from The Cage. Sam never talked about that. Never shared what Lucifer did.
Lucifer raised his arm and came down to strike the cowering Sam. Dean wanted desperately to save his brother. He tried moving closer, but he could not. He wanted to tell Sam he’d be saved, to hang in there. But he couldn’t. He had no voice here. He could only watch.
Lucifer’s fist came down and Dean saw blood fly out of Sam’s mouth. He screamed. At least he tried to scream. He opened his mouth and his lungs burned from the hoarseness, but no sound came out. Dean closed his eyes as the third blow came down onto Sam’s already wrecked body, and begged for Cas. He covered his eyes with his arm.
Sam started screaming again.
Dean felt himself being pulled back, as if tied to a string, quickly lowered his arm and blinked.
Cas was standing in front of him.
“Did you get to him? Dean, did you find out what’s happening? Are you ok? What did you see?” Cas was clearly concerned.
It took Dean a minute to compose himself and he put up his hand to show he was alright. When he’d lost the dizzy feeling in his head and finally found words again, he turned to see Sam was beside him, still staring into nothing.
“No Cas, I didn’t get to him, but I think I know what’s going on,” said Dean. He turned to Cas. “You have to send me back.”
Sam drags his fingertips along the countertop as he walks through the kitchen. The dishes haven’t been done in almost a week. He doesn’t notice. He touches every surface on the way out. The chair, the shelves, the doorway. He walks through the library slowly. Here he takes time to look around.
It’s quiet in the bunker as he touches the books, the weapons still on display, the table. His fingers linger on the initials they had carved together. Sam lets the tears fall as he remembers the day they spoke of their legacy.
“For you,” Sam whispers. “I’ll be your legacy Dean. I’ll make you proud. I’ll carry on.”
This comes from a prompt given to me by the most amazing @wendibird! Hope you enjoy…there is a part 3 coming, too if y’all are STILL interested in what happens next…
Warnings: Angst. Nightmares. Really bad scary memories
Cas says they need to wait 12 hours for it to work again. Of course, Dean grumbles about it, but Cas refuses to do anything until enough time has passed. And Dean can’t do it without him, so he grudgingly waits. They talk about how Dean might be able to reach through the memory and connect with Sam.
The memories aren’t actually happening, Cas suggests, so the thoughts could be malleable. He thinks Dean could be able to think the memories away, since Dean would technically be a part of Sam’s mind. That could probably be enough to create a disturbance, or put a tear in the fabric of the memory.
He doesn’t like it. Going in to Sam’s head like this. He knows how Sam feels about it. Except he doesn’t really have a choice, right? Dean hangs his head. That’s what he thought last time, too. But he has to. Dean just hopes it will be enough.
He hopes Sam will forgive him.
He just needs to think of a way around whatever memory Sam is experiencing, and imagine a different outcome.
Cas prepares for the next attempt.
Dean doesn’t sleep.
**
He drinks the sludge and shudders.
He doesn’t get used to it.
**
Sam’s sitting on a dirty motel blanket. He’s in a sweatshirt with the hood up and the string pulled tight. He’s wearing jeans and thick socks, too. The room is freezing. Sam’s drinking some hot cocoa that came with the room and the tiny 1 cup coffee maker. He’s visibly shaking. Dean can see he’s been crying.
It’s really, really cold.
Dean hears Sam’s stomach rumble. Sam puts his hand to his stomach and bends over.
“Oww,” he says quietly.
Dean looks around for clues. When was this? What was this place? Why was Sam alone? Here, in this memory, Dean’s guessing Sam is maybe eight or nine. Dean sees Sam’s backpack and shoes by the door, He finds his own duffle on the side of their shared bed, and Dad’s next to the bed by the door. No other shoes around.
It’s dark outside. Where was Dad? Where was he?
The phone rings.
Sam’s up and on the phone so fast he nearly spills his cocoa.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice is desperate, shaky, and hopeful. But it changes instantly and his face falls. Sam clears his throat. “Yes sir. Yes, sir I am. Yes sir. I will sir. Okay Dad.” Sam hangs up.
Dean looks again at the paisley wallpaper, peeling in one corner of the room and gasps. He remembers.
It’s Tucson.
Right. Tucson.
They had been in Tucson for almost six months at that point. That night, after arguing with Sam over what show to put on television (enough to make their dad mad), Dean was forced to go sit in the car by an irate John. Well, Dean had fallen asleep in the back of the Impala and woke up the next day two states over. John had taken off on a hunt at the last minute, forgetting Dean was in the backseat.
It took a whole day to find his dad, as he had woken up parked in some random motel lot. Not the one he fell asleep in, either. John wasn’t with him. When Dean finally found him later that night, it took a while for John to sober up and Dean to explain to his shocked dad what had happened.
John thought Dean was with Sam.
John assured Dean he’d get someone to check on Sam.
(John had lied.)
So now Dean’s watching Sam shivering, poor kid not even knowing how to turn on the outdated, clunky heater. Crying, not knowing what had happened to his family, and when or even if they were coming back. And then the phone call. Dean watches as Sam hangs up the phone and throws himself on the bed, burying his face in the stained comforter.
“Two more days? But I’m so hungry!” Sam grabs his stomach again. “Dean, why did you leave me? I wish you were here with me, I don’t like being alone!”
It was at this moment Dean realized that no one had ever checked on Sam. No one had ever made sure he was okay or brought him food. No one. Eight years old, alone for almost four days with no food or care.
Dammit.
Dean needed to get Sam out of this memory. He focused hard, just as Cas had instructed. “You’re essentially a part of his mind, when you’re in there. Technically, you could affect the outcome,” Cas had told him.
Dean looked around, trying to decide the best course of action. He saw Sam shiver again and stare into his now empty mug. He set the mug down with a sigh and pulled the flimsy comforter over his head.
The heater.
Dean tried imagining the heater turning on. Amazingly, without much effort at all, it worked. Sam noticed the change in temperature, the hiss of the heater as it turned on. He pulled the blanket off of his head and looked around the room, squinting. He sniffed the air.
Sam got out of bed and shuffled over to the heater. He touched it gingerly. Then suddenly Sam whirled around. His eyes scrunched up
“D-Dean? Is that you? Are you…here?” Dean, startled, gasped and tried to grab his brother, but his hands went right through him.
”Sam!” Dean called out, But Sam did not hear him. Sam continued looking around the room, and even looked through Dean as his eyes passed over him.
“Dean, I know you’re here…somehow. You’re here even though you’re not. Where are you?” Sam looked down at his hands. “Is this real? I don’t – Dean! Dean I can’t see you, where are you? This can’t be the real me…”
Dean was stunned that Sam had noticed his presence. Maybe Sam realized it was a memory, too? But he had made a difference, with the heater. He had gotten Sam’s attention. He just needed to try something else. Something more noticeable – enough so Sam could see him. He was just about to reach out to try touching Sam again when he felt the string pull him back.
“No!” He yelled.
Dean was indignant when he woke up.
“Why’d you do that, Cas? Sam felt me! He knew I was there!” He grabbed Cas’ collar and pulled him closer. He was angry.
But Cas just nodded in Sam’s direction. He turned Dean’s chin to look, and Dean let go.
Sam was smiling.
And whispering.
“So close Dean. Try again.”
Dean’s anger faded.
“He’s been saying that over and over, Dean,” said Cas quietly. “Figured I’d better bring you back for this. I couldn’t get to you in there without – coming in myself, and that would leave us both vulnerable.”
Sam still stared at the wall.
“So close Dean. Try again.” Almost imperceptible.
Cas was already setting the timer for 12 hours, preparing another drink.
Dean feels Lucifer’s breath on his neck. So very real. He shivers. It’s repulsive.
His heart feels like it’s literally freezing inside of him. It’s excruciating.
Lucifer laughs and sticks his tongue in Dean’s ear. It’s cold and he can’t pull away. Dean wants to throw up. “You’re so pretty, just like Sam here. But oh, you won’t be for long, Dean.”
“Fuck you. You’re a memory!” Dean spits out angrily. But he can’t move. Apparently only Lucifer can see and hear him. Sam, who’s thrashing beside him, still hangs there crying. He’s oblivious to what’s happening next to him.
“See, I knew you weren’t all that dumb,” Lucifer said teasingly. “This is indeed a memory, but you were never there with him in the cage, were you? And Sam can’t seem to see or hear you. So you aren’t supposed to be here. What’s going on, Dean? What are you up to?” Dean feels his ropes pull tighter and Sam moans beside him. Dean knows there’s nothing he can do.
“Like I’m gonna tell you anything, you dick!”
Lucifer suddenly pulls back, looking at something in the distance.
“Looks like you won’t have time to tell me anyway.”
Dean completely expects to die right then and there. He closes his eyes. But the pain doesn’t come.
“I’ll see you next go round.” Lucifer’s words send a chill through Dean.
The screams disappear.
Replaced with…a laugh track?
Dean opens his eyes.
The empty room is gone.
They aren’t held by their wrists anymore. No, they’re in a motel room and Sam is laughing. Dean looks up. He’s at the table by the window and Sam’s sitting cross legged on the bed. He’s barefoot and shirtless, wearing only his jeans. He’s watching a cartoon on tv. This was a long time ago. Dean’s guessing Sam’s fifteen.
Surprised yet grateful for the sudden change in scenery, Dean catches his breath and relaxes a little – he looks around again, trying to place where this memory is coming from, and where and when it’s going to go wrong. Sam seems happy here.
Except - He’s playing around with a pack of Dean’s cigarettes, putting one between his fingers and pretending to smoke it. Dean’s shocked. Sam never found his cigarettes…did he?
“Hey Dean, what’re you doing? Come here!” Sam says happily. Dean jumps, but sees himself walk out of the bathroom. Right. Memory Dean.
Dean still doesn’t know where this is. This motel is not familiar to him. He doesn’t remember Sam ever taking his smokes. He doesn’t remember this at all.
Memory Dean’s eyes go wide as he grabs the pack out of Sam’s hands. Sam still has the one though, and he hides it behind his back. “Dude, give me that back! Don’t even play, Sammy.” Dean hears himself say. He still doesn’t remember this. “What are you doing in my shit anyway, dude!”
Sam rolls his eyes, “Dude, they’re yours, you smoke! Why do you care if I do or don’t?”
“Yeah well, you shouldn’t be anything like me, Sam, ok?” Memory Dean pockets the pack of cigarettes into his leather jacket, smirks and gives his brother a wink, and heads to the door. Memory Dean doesn’t see it, but Sam’s face is crestfallen.
“But…Dean!”
“Sammy, listen. I’m nothing but trouble. I ain’t no role model, you got that?” Memory Dean turns and points at his brother. “And don’t wait up for me, ok? Heading out to meet Mindy. Or Cindy. Whatever.”
Dean shakes his head. Yeah, ok, he used to be an asshole.
Sam smiles weakly at him. “Yeah, ok Dean, have fun,” he says, rolling his eyes.
Dean watches as his old self flips up his collar and heads out the door, leaving Sam alone. Sam immediately scrambles off the bed and walks to the window, peeking out the curtains.
“I want to be EXACTLY like you, Dean,” says Sam, flopping on the bed and putting the unlit cigarette into his mouth. He digs around the bedside drawer, finds matches, and lights the cigarette, inhaling deeply.
Dean frowns.
No cough.
Sam’s done this before.
Dean’s stunned. He’d had no idea Sam ever did this. Or had ever done it before.
Sam finds a flimsy metal ashtray and sets it on the bed. He places the still burning cigarette down in it.
He goes to the bathroom.
“Uh, Sammy?” Dean knows Sam can’t hear him. And of course, Dean still can’t move.
When the cigarette rolls off and hits the sheets, instantly burning a large hole and burning quickly, Dean screams. He struggles against his invisible restraints, but stays rooted to the spot. Sam doesn’t hear him.
He doesn’t come back until the room is filled with smoke, and a small fire has started on the bed.
“Shit! NO! Nononono!” Sam’s eyes go wide and he runs back to the bathroom, returning with two cups of water.
The fire is out very quickly, but the bed is ruined. The entire room is filled with smoke and Sam’s certainly coughing now. Dean can only watch as Sam struggles to clean everything up. He’s panicking and crying, too.
When the room has been aired out and the discovery of no batteries in the smoke alarm found, Sam returns to the bathroom and runs his hands under the water for a long time. Dean can’t quite make out what Sam’s doing. Or saying. He’s mumbling something, but it’s covered with sobs. Dean doesn’t blame him, he’d be scared too. But why doesn’t he remember this ever happening?
He would have remembered a fire.
Dean winces as the colors in the room shift and he feels his ears burn. He puts his hands up instinctively. Notices Sam does, too.
Suddenly, the motel door is kicked open, the lock splintering the wood of the frame with the force of it and Sam crumples to the ground.
“I’m sorry, Dad! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean…”
John’s there suddenly, looming over his youngest and he picks Sam up by the back of the neck.
Dean’s mortified. What’s going on here? Dad never -
“Did you burn yourself, Sammy?” The tone is accusatory, not consoling.
And Dean hears the heavy sound of a fist hitting against skin. And his own left eye suddenly explodes in pain.
“AAHH!” he yells, raising his hands to cover it, and John turns at the sound.
John sees him.
John’s voice is cold. “What are you doing here, Dean?
The air feels like molasses again as the room begins to take shape. It’s incredibly thick here.
He hears the Impala screech off in the distance.
“You’re such a dumbass, Sam!”
“I am not, don’t say that, Dean!”
“You fucking pissed dad off, you asshole! He told you to be here by 4, and you weren’t here until fucking 7 o’clock! And we can’t fucking leave without you, so he had to cancel the next hunt! You pissed him off, and now he’s going to drink and he won’t be back until 2 fucking am, you dick, and he didn’t leave me any money!”
“I know, Dean! He yelled at me for fifteen minutes!” Sam still looked shaken, his eyes wet and puffy from that encounter.” His right arm was holding his left nervously.
“Why were you so late, dude?” Dean punches Sam’s vulnerable shoulder hard enough to make Sam take a step back and release his arms in order to catch his balance.
Dean could hear the anger in his own voice. He can’t move very fast here.
“Sam?” He tries. But Sam does not respond.
Sam’s lower lip trembled. “I had rehearsal, Dean. The play premieres in a week.”
“I still don’t know why you joined that lame shit, Sam. We’re gonna leave before you get to perform, you know that.”
“We can’t Dean, I have a big part!”
“Dad doesn’t care about your stupid little high school play, Sam. We have more important shit to do.”
There’s a pause.
“This is important to me Dean.” Sam points to himself angrily, tears welling in his eyes. He turns and walks quickly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
The lock clicks shut.
“It’s lame, childish shit, Sam. It’s kiddie stuff. When are you gonna stop playing? You’re almost sixteen for fucks sake! Fucking childish shit, dude.”
Dean watches himself leave the motel room, arms thrown up in exasperation. This younger Dean leaves without a word.
He remembers this. He remembers how angry he was back then.
The moment the door clicks shut, the molasses thickens around him. He can’t move at all. He can’t even twitch his muscles. He’s frozen in place. He’s only able to breathe.
And listen.
He can hear Sam talking to himself.
He’s not sobbing, he’s not crying. He’s merely sniffling a little bit. But it’s his words that worry Dean.
“Fine. You want me to quit, Dean? Fine. Okay. (sniff) I’ll quit this lame, stupid play. You’re – you’re right. I have to stop trying to put a little hope in my life. A little something that makes it all worthwhile. (sniff)A little happiness. I guess I have to realize that there is no hope. There never will be. (sniff) I don’t get to have a normal life. I want to be more like you, Dean. Always wanted to.”
There’s a long pause before Sam speaks again.
“I’ll give up the one thing that brings me any joy at all for you, Dean. For you, I will. You’re everything I want to be and everything I’m not. So yeah. If it means being tough like you? Hard, like you? Able to block out your emotions (sniff) like you? I’ll do it.”
Den’s heart is pounding loudly in his chest. He’d had no idea. Come to think of it, he does remember Sam dropping the play and asking him to help train him. He’d been proud of Sam then, thinking he’d made a smart decision. Sam had actually begged dad to leave that day, too.
And they did.
Dean only now realized it’s probably because he couldn’t have faced his friends and the cast after dropping out.
Shit.
Sam starts talking agin.
“Okay. Okay, yeah. Lame. Stupid play. Right. Stupid part. Stupid dream part. If I can’t have what’s right in my hands, why even bother? Stupid everything. I’ll never (sniff) be happy. Why even bother at all?”
Dean’s heart sinks.
“Fucking Mercutio.”
Dean feels as if daggers pierced his soul. Mercutio. He made his brother give up the role of Mercutio in fucking Romeo and Juliet? Sam never told him the name of the play or his role. Or that it was his dream role. Why didn’t he ever ask him that?
“Okay, Sam. Promise. You’ll never tell him. Never, ok? You have to man up. You can’t do fun stuff anymore. This is what we do. You leave fucking baby Sammy here in this bathroom. Push him away. (sniff) He can’t ever come back. You. You can’t ever come back.”
A longer pause.
Sam starts crying here and Dean tries desperately to get to him. He just can’t move.
“Yeah. Okay. Okay. Goodbye Mercutio. Goodbye Sammy.” (sniff) Sam clears his throat.
Dean hears the water run then. He tries again with all his might, and he still can’t budge. But he thinks he knows why he can’t move. Sam’s blocked this memory. He never told Dean, and he made himself forget. The memory, long forgotten catalyst to his whole switch into embracing the life he was given. Sam’s seeing this for the first time in twenty years.
No wonder.
The bathroom door opens.
Sam’s in sweats and no shirt. His hair is wet and his hair is wet.
I plan on writing for at least nine hours today and my goal is 5,000 words. If I can’t get this done, I won’t win NaNo. I MUST win this year. There are REASONS...wish me luck, I’ll post updates to hold myself accountable.
