Far Away Part Two

[grianchloch]

Sam threw himself down on the porch swing and it jiggled and twitched as he made himself comfortable. His feet stuck over the arm at one end, and he stretched back, his T shirt riding up to expose a strip of skin.

“Sam, please remember that poor seat is older than I am.” Beth chided as she walked past on her way to the garage.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry.” Sam mumbled and nibbled on a fingernail.

Beth sighed, still unable to pinpoint the day her easy-going, bright natured nephew had turned into a teenager with a side of sullen. Not that Sam was ever mean-hearted, but she’d definitely come to know the true definition of “emo” since Sam had turned fourteen. He’d also begun to sprout like a weed, and she had a hard time keeping him in clothes that fit.

But that morning, he’d been almost bouncing with anticipation over breakfast. He’d wolfed down his granola and knocked back enough OJ to fill a lake and then raced past Beth on his way to the porch, stopping to give her a now rare kiss on the cheek.

She didn’t have the heart to remind him that it’d be at least early afternoon before Dean arrived. This was a ritual Sam went through every summer when Dean came to stay, haunting the porch until he heard the familiar sound of the Impala’s engine.

Beth glanced over at the porch, wondering if Sam knew that things would probably be different from now on. Dean was eighteen, and not going to college so he’d no longer have long weeks of vacation in the middle of the year to spend with Sam. The friendship that was started on a beach had been forged that first summer into a lasting bond and Dean had spent every summer with Sammy and Beth. This year, he’d only be staying for two weeks at the most. Now he was older, John had work for him to do.

Beth couldn’t pretend to agree with John’s parenting methods. She’d made it plain from the outset, when it became clear that John rarely held down a job, that she didn’t want to know how he supported them. She would happily have taken Dean in full time, given him a home and made sure he got a good education, but Dean needed his father, that was clear to see, so she’d never out-and-out suggested it to John. She did make sure that John knew they were both welcome at any time and there’d been several occasions over the years that he’d dropped Dean off for a few days while he dealt with something particularly nasty.

Beth would never have called John a friend. John didn’t cultivate friends well. He had a habit of pissing people off with his single-minded approach to life. But she knew that he’d be there for her and Sam if they were in trouble. Bobby on the other hand, was a softer touch. He’d helped her to cajole John into the five of them, John, Dean, Bobby, Sam and herself, spending Thanksgiving together one year, and Christmas the next. It had become a tradition she’d sometimes had to fight to keep.

Another difference this year was that John wasn’t coming with Dean to drop him off. The Impala was his now. Beth had a suspicion, after inadvertently overhearing a snippet of a phone call, that the boys would be taking a road trip of their own down to the coast for a few days. She’d make them squirm a little when they asked for permission for Sam to go, but she trusted Dean with her nephew, he was like a big brother to Sam, and it would do them both good to blow off a little steam together.



Dean took I 5 north out of California, following a well traveled route that took him to Sam and the place he thought of as home.

“’cause I’m a problem child, make my stand, no man’s land …” He sang along to AC/DC as he drove.

It had taken a lot of talking to persuade his dad to let him make the trip this year. Now he’d finished school, John was keen to take advantage of Dean’s freedom to hunt with him full time, but Dean had stood firm. He hadn’t seen Sam for over six months, not since Christmas and he missed him. Sam was more than a friend, he was more like a brother, and the age gap between them had never bothered Dean.

What did bother him, something he hadn’t mentioned to his father, was the fear that hunting full time would subject Sam to more of the nightmares he got when Dean was in danger. So far, they’d been sporadic, but Dean guessed they’d increase if he were dealing with spirits and demons and fugly monsters more often. He’d only been around for one of them and he’d been shocked to think Sam went through the same thing every time it happened.


Dean was fast asleep in his bed under the window in Sam’s room when a nightmare grabbed Sam. Dean woke, heart pounding to Sam yelling and flailing on the other bed. He threw himself towards his friend, pulse racing, as he took hold of his arms and steadied him while Sam fought his way out of the dream.

“It’s okay, Sammy, I gotcha.” Dean flicked the bedside lamp on and moved closer.

Sam blinked at him, taking a while to focus on the real world, and shuddered. Dean hugged him close and Sam cried quietly in his arms.

The bedroom door opened, and Beth came straight to their sides, looking down at her twelve-year-old nephew with concern.

“Are you okay honey?” She squatted down beside them and smoothed Sam’s sweat damp hair back from his face.

He nodded and turned to her for a hug.

“Do you need some tea?”

Sam nodded against her neck, and she put him back into Dean’s care while she went to brew it.

Once he’d slowly drunk two small cups of herbal tea, a blend Beth had come up with to help him through the aftermath of a nightmare, she tucked them both up in Sam’s bed. Sam snuggled against Dean’s chest.

“What did you see?” Dean asked in the dark.

Sam shook his head and wriggled closer.

“I need to know.”

There was a long silence, and when he did speak, Sam’s voice was little more than a whisper.

In the dream, he'd seen the spirit pick Dean up and throw him against the wall, breaking his arm so badly that bones had sliced through his skin from the inside, and Sam had thrown up when he’d woken up.

“The man that killed his family, his spirit threw you against a wall and your arm broke.” Sam winced at the memory of the sickening crunch as Dean landed on his already injured arm and cried out in pain. “The bones … they were all broken and sharp and poked out of your skin …”

Dean held him tighter and Sam tangled his fingers in the cord of the amulet he’d given Dean the first Christmas they’d spent together.

“Who was the man?”

Sam shook his head.

“Don’t know.”

“I’ll call Dad in the morning, find out what he’s hunting.”

“Don’t go with him, please Dean? Stay a few more days?”

“Okay Sammy, I’ll stay.”

“Swear?”

“I swear.”

Sam let out a ragged breath and relaxed in Dean’s arms and Dean thought back on the other times he or Dad had gotten a frantic phone call to say Dean was in some kind of danger. Sam had always sounded upset, but now Dean had seen for himself what the dreams did to Sam, guilt flooded him. If he’d been some regular Joe, it might not have been as bad, but even at 16, hunting put him in danger way more often than any normal kid, and Sam would suffer because of that.

The next morning, Dean called John, and he confirmed that he was hunting the angry spirit of a man who’d killed his wife and two daughters then hung himself. They agreed that he would finish the hunt on his own, then pick Dean up. Sam smiled a little at the good news, but Dean could see he was still shaken.

So after breakfast, Dean dragged him down to the field beyond the tree, determined to put a real smile back on his face.

Dean had already decided that Sam needed to learn to take care of himself in a fight, and the extra few days would give him a chance to show him a few moves, and also take his mind off the dream.

Sam was still short, but Dean had seen photographs of Sam’s Mom and she was tall and willowy like aunt Beth, so unless his Dad had been a midget, Dean wasn't too worried that Sam wouldn't grow taller eventually. And despite his size, it was time he learned a few things.

Dean stood in the field in a fighting stance.

"Okay, Sammy, attack me."

Sam looked at him.

"Like, jump you?"

"Yeah. If you were gonna attack me, how would you do it?"

Sam eyed him.

"Why would I ever attack you, Dean?"

Dean huffed and dropped his hands.

"Well, pretend I'm a bad guy."

Sam bit his lip and frowned. Dean decided he'd have to goad Sam into it.

"You know the spirit of that guy who killed his family? Pretend I'm him."

Sam's face darkened. Sam took the anger he felt towards all the things out there that wanted to hurt Dean, and let it grow. He launched himself at Dean and caught him off his guard. Head down, he barreled into Dean’s stomach and knocked him over, landing on top of him in a mass of flailing fists.

It took a winded Dean enough time to recover and grab Sam’s wrists that Sam got a couple of good punches in with his smaller fists. Dean flipped them over, pinning Sam to the ground.

“Whoa, Sammy! That’s a good start, but you’ve gotta control your anger, not let it control you.” Dean quoted his Dad.

Sam stared up at him wild eyed, adrenaline pumping through him. Dean stood up and reached down for his hand to pull him to his feet.

“Okay, come at me again.”


An hour later, they wandered back to the farmhouse, Dean with his arm slung around Sam’s shoulder. Sam was grinning and Dean was giving him more tips as they walked.

Beth was weeding the vegetable patch when they walked up to her.

“Have you boys been enjoying yourselves?” She looked up, and her eyes widened with shock.

“Yes!” Sam exclaimed as Beth got to her feet and looked them over. “Dean’s been teaching me how to fight.”

“He has, has he? Well, that would explain the black eye.” She took a hold of Dean’s face and tilted his face up, examining the impressive bruising around his left eye socket.

Dean beamed at his student’s achievement, and Sam smiled proudly. Beth let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Do you two even know how much trouble you’re both in?” She glared at them.

“Yes, Aunt Beth.” The boys chorused.


“Dean!” Sam yelled happily as the distinctive black car drove up to the house. He threw himself off the porch swing and ran towards it.

“Man, you get taller every time I see you!” Dean commented as he got out of the car and was pulled into a hug by his friend.

Sam chattered away as they dropped Dean’s bag in the house and Dean gave Beth a hug and the parcel Bobby had sent for her. Her eyes lit up, and she chased the boys out into the yard with treats. They headed straight to the tree and pulled themselves up onto the higher platform, sitting side by side as they ate their oatmeal cookies. As Sam rambled on, telling Dean how he and his school friend Andy had played a prank on their science teacher, Ms Richardson, and had ended up being sent to the principal’s office, he realised Dean was hardly listening to him. He was staring off towards the mountains with a small smile on his face.

“Dude? Are you in there?” Sam poked him on the arm.

“Yeah, sorry, Sammy, I’m listening.” He focused back on his friend.

Sam scrutinized him through slitty eyes.

“Did something happen, Dean?”

“I met someone.” Dean’s grin was almost goofy and he jostled Sam’s shoulder.

“You meet lots of people.” Sam frowned, suddenly tense, knowing by the way Dean had said it that he wasn’t going to like hearing about this new someone.

“Cassie’s different.” Dean’s grin widened and he lay back against the worn boards, tucking his hands behind his head and gazing up into the lush foliage.

“Cassie? A girl?” Sam wrinkled his nose with distaste.

“Yeah, dork, a girl!” Dean snickered.

“Oh.” Sam didn’t know what else to say.

Dean had met girls before, but he’d never got that look on his face when he talked about them. They’d always been temporary, and Dean had left them behind when he’d moved on and he’d been fine with that. But this one? This Cassie? If she were different, Dean would want to spend time with her, obviously, going by the dreamy look on his face. He’d want to kiss her and touch her and Sam’s stomach began to tie itself into little knots at the thought of having to share Dean, even lose him altogether. Dean had always been his, always come back to him. What if they got married? Sam’s heart rate increased in panic. Then he’d never see Dean and she’d always be there, arms around his Dean like she owned him. “Have you fucked her?”

“What?” Dean shot upright, blinking in surprise. It wasn’t like Sam to be so blunt and he sounded angry, upset even.

“Well? Have you?” Sam sullenly crumbled the last of his cookie into crumbs and threw them over the side of the platform, suddenly not hungry.

“Well, yeah.” Dean looked down and Sam was horrified to see he was blushing. “But it’s better than that. She’s clever and funny and she thinks I’m smart.”

“You are smart, Dean.”

“And she’s got soft, coffee colored skin, and pretty eyes, oh so pretty ...” Dean zoned out a little until Sam let out a long suffering sigh. “And the way she kisses me ...”

“I forgot! Mr Petersen’s mare foaled and he said I could go and see it!” Sam scrambled down from their perch in the tree, not wanting to hear anything else about clever, pretty, Dean-stealing Cassie.

Dean peered down at him, startled by Sam’s sudden change in mood. Sam stood looking up at him for a moment, then made a decision and took a step away from the tree.

“Um, can I come?” Dean asked, really not sure by the way Sam was acting if he’d be welcome or not.

Sam took a deep breath, then let it out with a huffed “Sure”, and waited while Dean climbed down to join him.

“It’s a roan,” Sam told him as they walked across the field, wanting to keep the subject away from girls. He kicked at the grass as they walked, hands shoved in his pockets.


Later that night after they’d gone to bed, and Dean had fallen asleep in his bed under the window, Sam lay on his side and watched Dean sleep. It was a warm night and Dean’s T shirt lay in a small heap by the side of the bed. He rolled onto his back and Sam watched his amulet rise up and down with each breath. That was a good sign, Sam thought, that Dean hadn’t replaced his gift with something Cassie had given him. Not yet, anyway.


Just before the first Christmas they’d all spent together, Sam had driven Beth half crazy looking for a gift for Dean. Nothing was perfect enough, no matter where they looked.

“Why don’t you make him something?” She’d suggested.

Sam raced off to the studio and dug around in her craft drawers, still not knowing what he was looking for. Then in a drawer filled mostly with ribbons and buttons, his fingers brushed over something hidden away in a corner.

He picked it up and studied it, a small gold colored metal head with horns and a loop at the top for a cord or chain to go through. It felt solid, heavy, sitting in the palm of his hand and he knew for certain that he’d found what he was looking for.

“Did you decide what to make, honey?” Aunt Beth asked.

“No, but I found this. What is it? Can I give it to Dean?”

Sam handed it to Beth and she looked at it, turning it over in her fingers. She couldn’t remember where it had come from, couldn’t even remember seeing it before and assumed it had been in one of the lots of beads she’d bought at craft fairs over the years.

“Sure, why don’t we clean it up first, and find a strong cord to hang it on?”

It was soon gleaming and ready to be wrapped and Sam took his time finding the perfect box to put it in.

Beth flicked through a couple of books, looking for any similar symbols.

“It might be a protection amulet, Sammy, to keep whoever wears it from harm.”

Sam brought over the box he’d chosen, a small, metallic black one, and took the amulet from Beth, looking at it gravely. She found some black tissue paper and scrunched it up inside the box, making a nest for the amulet to sit on. Before he put it inside, Sam held it tight in his hand and closed his eyes.

“Keep him safe.” He whispered, and then placed it on the tissue paper.

A small shiver passed down Beth’s spine at the sense of ritual her small nephew had give the act of wrapping Dean’s present and she wondered what the future held for both of them.


Dean snuffled in his sleep and turned to face Sam, and Sam’s eyes were drawn to his lips. Lips that Cassie had kissed and could kiss again anytime she wanted. Sam wondered what it would be like - to press his lips against Deans, to feel Dean’s breath against his mouth, maybe touch tongues. He shivered and was shocked to feel himself get hard at the thought.

So far, he’d been kissed by two girls. Amy, at Andy’s last birthday party, had cornered him and planted her lips against his. It had been messy and gross and Sam had managed to escape when she’d tried to push her tongue into his mouth. Then there’d been Megan, who Sam liked a lot as a friend, and she was pretty and funny, but he still hadn’t wanted to kiss her. They’d been sitting side by side under one of the bigger trees on the edge of the school grounds studying, when she’d turned to him and kissed him gently, with anticipation in her eyes. He hadn’t wanted to upset her, so he’d kissed her back with the same tenderness, and she’d smiled and blushed and they’d gotten on with their school work. Megan obviously expected things to progress from there, but when Sam hadn’t made any moves to ask her out or kiss her again, she’d been distant for a few weeks and now they were back to being friends.

Sam didn’t understand why kissing Megan hadn’t done anything for him, but the thought of kissing Dean, kissing his friend, was making him ache for it to happen.

He wrapped his hand around his unexpected erection and jerked off quietly, guiltily looking over at Dean, and imagined kissing him. He let his fantasy go one stage further, imagined that it was Dean’s hand working his hard flesh, and he came without warning, biting back a yell so hard it left his lip sore. He lay still for a while to make sure he hadn’t woken Dean and cleaned himself off with his t shirt and stuffed it under the bed, hiding any evidence that he’d got off thinking about his friend.


In the morning, Dean came back from the bathroom yawning and was about to pull his jeans on when he did a double take at Sam, and walked towards him, staring at him intently.

“Dude, what did you do to your lip?” Dean took hold of Sam’s chin and tilted his face up so he could get a better look at the swollen bruise on Sam’s lower lip.

“Nothing.” Sam mumbled and licked his lips nervously.

“Nothing? That nothing must have hurt.” The pad of Dean’s thumb ghosted over the swollen flesh and Sam almost whimpered.

“I bashed it.” He pulled away from Dean and rummaged around for his own clothes.

“Bashed it? When? It wasn’t like that last night.” Dean probed.

“In the bathroom. I bashed it in the bathroom in the middle of the night. It was dark and I tripped and I bashed it, okay? It’s no big deal.” Sam really wanted Dean to let it go.

“Okay, Sasquatch, no need to get your panties in a bunch.” Dean pulled on a clean T-shirt and changed the subject. “So did you ask Beth yet? About going to Twin Rocks?”

Sam shook his head.

“Oh, I see, so I get to be the one to break it to her?”

“You’re the oldest.” Sam reminded him.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Okay, bitch, lets do it over breakfast and hope she’s in a good mood.” Dean poked him in the ribs on the way past.

“Ow! Jerk!” Sam exclaimed and followed him out, grabbing him round the neck and pulling him back so he could be the first one downstairs. Dean laughed and chased him, swearing revenge.


Sam spent a lot of the next two weeks trying to behave normally and ignore the odd feelings he got sometimes when Dean was close. He desperately didn’t want Dean to find out what he was thinking. It was bad enough that Dean had Cassie to think about now, although after the first day he hardly mentioned her, and Sam only noticed him making a couple of calls over the time they spent together. He didn’t want to push Dean further away by telling him that he’d really like to kiss him until neither of them could breathe.

This time when Dean left, and Sam hugged him goodbye, he held on for a little longer than usual, and broke away with a “Take care, man. Watch your back.”

“Hey, that’s what you’re for, right? You still got my back Sammy?” The question was plain. Dean was putting Sam’s odd behavior during his visit down to him being fourteen, but it had concerned him more than he’d let on.

“Yeah, course. Always.”

Sam watched Dean drive away, waiting until the Impala drove out of sight before going back inside.

Beth found him half an hour later sitting on the couch, his sketchbook on his knees. He had a pencil in his hand, but he was staring out of the window, distracted and deep in thought.

“What’s up, sweetie?”

“Oh, nothing, just thinking.”

“Want to share?”

Sam paused. “I think Andy from school has a boyfriend.”

“Okay.”

“It’s cool.” Sam shrugged but then his forehead creased up as he frowned as if he were trying to work something out. “If someone likes girls, will they always like girls or could they like boys too?”

“I’ve always thought that if you love someone, it really doesn’t matter whether they’re the same as you or different.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Like ice cream.”

“Well ...” It was Beth’s turn to be puzzled.

“I love peanut butter cookie dough choc chip, but sometimes I love double chocolate. I like them both!”

Beth was pretty sure that wasn’t what she’d meant, but it seemed to make sense to Sam. She wondered what the boys had talked about during Dean’s visit.

“Honey, does Dean like boys?”

Sam looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Dean? No! He doesn’t like boys!” Sam got up from the couch and started pacing. “He likes girls, a girl. Cassie. And she thinks he’s smart, and he likes kissing her. And now he’s got her, he won’t want to come around anymore, he’ll want to be with her, not me! So no, Dean doesn’t like boys at all!”

Sam threw his pencil in the air and stormed out, leaving Beth sitting on the couch, eyebrows raised at his outburst. Then realization hit.

“Oh!” The small, soft sound was about all she could manage.


“Hey Sammy.” Dean answered his cell with a smile. It had been two weeks since he’d left Oregon and even if Sam was calling with a warning, it was good to hear his voice.

“D ... Dean?”

“Sammy? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not. Where are you?” Sam whispered through chattering teeth.

“California. Some dead vineyard owner is terrorising the new owners. Soon as I’m done here, I’ll come see you.”

“No! Come now, Dean, just get in the car and drive north now.”

“Have you had a dream? Tell me what you saw, and I’ll be careful. Like always.”

“Please, Dean just come home. I ... can’t ... I need to see you.” His voice dropped back down to a whisper.

“Okay, Sammy, I’m on my way.”


When Dean arrived, Beth was waiting for him.

“He’s refusing to come out of his room. He hasn’t eaten all day. He …”

Dean took the stairs two at a time, and tried to open the door to Sam’s room only to find it locked.

“Sammy, come on, open up, it’s me dude.” Ramirez wrapped himself around Dean’s ankles as Dean waited, hearing the bed creak.

The lock clicked open and the door was pulled just wide enough for Dean to see Sam’s stricken face staring through the crack. Sam’s hair was wild, and there were tear tracks all down his cheeks. His eyes were red and he was shaking.

“D ... Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy, let me in.”

Sam backed away from the door and Ramirez shot in, jumping up on the bed as Dean entered the room and found himself with his arms full of Sam.

The boy clung to him, trembling. Dean slowly walked him back to the bed and sat them both down.

“Tell me what you saw, Sammy.” Dean stroked his hair as he held him tight.

“It wasn’t like it was before.” Sam’s voice was a whisper. “I was there, I was in it’s head, I was in your head, I was ... It pinned you down and slashed you open and I could smell the blood and you were terrified and then ... and then ... it killed you, Dean, and I felt it, saw you die and I was right there, right there ...”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m fine and I’m here and I’m alive.” Sam still clung to him as if he might disappear any second.

Dean got Sam into bed, and crawled in behind him fully clothed. He held him until, exhausted, Sam fell asleep in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Sammy, so sorry.” Dean mumbled into his hair and kissed his temple.

Once Dean was satisfied Sam wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, and Ramirez had curled up against his back, purring, Dean slipped downstairs to see Beth. She was waiting for him in the kitchen with a bottle of Jack and two shot glasses. As he came through the door, she got up and ladled out a bowl of soup for him, which he ate gratefully.

“Something’s changed. The dreams were never this bad before, were they?”

Beth shook her head.

“It wasn’t a dream. It happened while he was sitting here having breakfast. He started breathing erratically, clutching his head and he collapsed on the floor. He was so deathly pale.” Beth was shaking and Dean put a hand over hers. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was having a seizure. Soon as it passed, he ran off and locked himself in his room.”

She threw back a shot of bourbon.

“If you didn’t know better?”

“He takes after his mother.”

“What?”

“She had dreams, bad feelings about people when she was a kid. Once she hit puberty, they escalated into full blown-visions. I don’t know why I thought it wouldn’t happen for Sammy. Guess it was just wishful thinking.”

“Visions? As in ... visions?”

Beth nodded and twisted the glass in her fingers.

“And you knew this was gonna happen and you didn’t tell us?”

“What was I going to say, Dean? Sorry kid, you were born into the wrong family. Just wait until you hit fourteen, it’ll be a blast?”

Dean was taken aback by her tone, and Beth crumpled a little.

“Sorry, it’s just I’ve been through this once with Sam’s mom. Is he in danger? From other hunters?” Beth tried to keep her voice calm, but Dean could hear the fear in it.

“For having visions? No, Bobby knows psychics who help hunters. It’s not something I’d be sharing, though.”

Beth nodded and downed another shot.

Dean joined her and stared down at the empty glass in his hand.

“It’s because of me. He goes through this because of me. Is he gonna … will this happen every time I’m in danger of being hurt?”

“I don’t know. The dreams only happened when you were in mortal danger, maybe the visions will be the same.”

“But I’m a hunter! It’s not like I’m Joe Normal who might need to be warned about stepping in front of a bus one day. The job, it’s dangerous, you know that. How am I supposed to hunt when it’s gonna put him through this?”

“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be a hunter.” Alcohol loosened her tongue. “You’d be at community college putting those mechanics skills of yours to good use and you’d live an ordinary life away from spirits and demons and all those other things hunters like to get up close and personal with. And Sammy would never have another vision as long as he lived.”

She filled both their glasses again, and Dean sat quietly after her outburst.

“The one saving grace about this is that if his visions follow the same pattern as his dreams, they’ll be centered on you.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

Beth nodded.

“Cate’s were random. She never knew the people in them, and it drove her half crazy, trying to track them down and warn them. If Sam calls you and tells you not to go into, say, a warehouse on the docks, you’ll listen to him because you know him and trust what he says. Cate didn’t have that luxury. Half the people in her visions wouldn’t listen and died anyway.”

Tiredness hit her like a wave, and she stood up and put her own glass on the counter, leaving the bottle for Dean.

She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Can you stick around for a couple of days?”

“Yeah, Caleb’s got the vineyard owner covered.”

Beth nodded and kissed the top of his head, leaving him sitting alone in the kitchen. It was a long time before Dean got to bed, and the bottle of Jack took a hammering. He’d always known he’d be a hunter like his dad, but now? Nothing was clear anymore, and it made his head hurt to think about it all. He eventually slipped into bed with Sam, and held him close as he dropped off to sleep.


When Sam asked about Cassie the next day, Dean shrugged and said it was over. Despite seeing the hurt in Dean’s eyes, Sam couldn’t help but be glad she was out of the picture.


Two days after the first vision, and after Dean had left for Bobby’s, Sam stood in Beth’s studio in front of one of her larger blank canvases propped up on a stand. He’d tried sketching the images that still haunted him, but they were too precise and he’d ripped the page from his sketchbook and crumpled it up.

Sam fidgeted, fingers dancing against the seams of his jeans as he shifted from foot to foot, wondering what he was doing there. It was as if the vision had left something behind, something dark that squirmed in his chest, keeping him on edge and he didn’t know what to do with it. He picked up a brush and loaded it with blood red paint. Still not sure what to do with the compulsion to paint, he drew the brush over the canvas in a wide arc but it didn’t feel right.

Sam growled in frustration and discarded the brush. Angrily, he dragged his fingers through the colors on the palette and smeared them over the canvas. He stepped back and stared at the swirl of hatred he’d left behind, dark blues and black shot through with scarlet and a fine trail of white.

He cocked his head as he looked at it and ran his fingers through the paint again, the slip-slide of it on his fingertips feeling good. This time, his hand landed with force against the canvas, and he continued working until he’d covered most of the surface with what had been eating away at him. He stood back, chest heaving, fingers sticky, feeling more grounded than he had for days, and really needing a nap.

“Sam?”

Sam whipped around and found Aunt Beth standing in the doorway behind him, tears in her eyes.

“Is that what you saw?” Pain and anger and hate radiated out from the painting.

“It’s how it felt.” Sam swallowed his own tears back. “I needed to let it go and I didn’t know what else to do.”

She walked towards him and hugged him tight. Once she’d settled him on the couch in the corner of the room and covered his sleeping form with an afghan, she placed an order with her supplier for half a dozen of their large canvases and a wide selection of paints.

Chapter Three