A/N: This is a fanfic idea I wanted to try for awhile. Although this, the prolouge, deals with the boys in the present day, I wanted to try my hand at what their childhood was like. So read and tell me if you enjoy the concept.
"Hey, Dean, do you remember our old apartment in Utah? The one with all those cats." Sam asked from beside me. We were currently cramped inside my Impala, the windows rolled down and the stereo blaring.
I rolled the volume buttom alittle to the left and peeked a glance at my younger brother. The afternoon was sunny and only the occasional vehicle swerved past on the deserted Oklahoma highway. Last night Sam had kept me awake for hours, screaming incoherent words in his sleep and lashing out at nothing. I attempted to keep his body still, holding his arms against the bed, but that only caused him to become angrier. Using those long legs of his he got in a few kicks at my ribs before I gave up and let go.
I stood at the end of the bed, watching it all pass, calling out his name, until the outbursts stopped and the boy began to cry. He buried his face into the deflated pillow and allowed the streaming tears to roll down his face.
That was the hardest thing for me to watch. My younger sibling, my only friend, let all his pain out in anguish and suffering. Twenty two years of caring for Sam, caused my feet to, without realizing it, move closer to Sam and place my hand on his shoulder. Beneath my fingers I felt his trembling body begin to ease. His shoulders stopped skaing as forcefully, and the tears slowed down. "Dean?"
"I'm here buddy, it's okay. You don't need to cry, I'm here for you," I qouted, placing my knee on the bed and bending down. I had said those same words over a million times to the sleeping boy. Sometimes they worked, and other times they didn't.
That time I got lucky. My voice and firm hand were enough to calm him down and send him into a light slumber, not awkening again until the next batch of dreams stole his mind.
Looking at him in the passenger seat, I wondered briefly if he knew I did those things for him. The answer was no, of course. I refused to be open and share what was on my mind with him because I was afraid. Deep down I was terrified that Sam might see me in a new light, and hate me. I was always scared I would share what I really felt and he'd leave me for it. He'd tell me I was a piece of shit and walk out.
But when he was asleep, I could tell him everything. I could really pour my soul out to him. Most nights I just talked about our hunting trips, telling him how scared I really was, how badly I had to cover it all up, for his sake. On occasional nights I'd spill on some memories I held dear. Although our childhood was a piece of work, there were still stories behind each day. Stories Sam and I longed to share, but knew that the past was dead and we could not uncover it again.
On particular nights, when I was feeling especially lost, I'd talk to him about Mom. He used to always want me to tell him about her. Every night I would crawl into his bed and share some part of her with him, but then Dad found out and forced us to stop. Sam argued that he had a right to know how she was, but the man had stayed persistant, and Sam stopped asking.
"Was that the apartment we stayed out while Dad hunted that pack of vampires?"
I saw Sam nod, his long brown locks flopping up and down as he did so. "Yeah, that was one of our longer stays."
"Well that's because it took Dad forever to find their lair."
"You were only thirteen. He didn't think you were ready for that kind of gig yet. So he had to do it alone." I could tell from the way the twenty two year old kept his head straight and his eyes on the road that a big discussion was under way.
"I could have taken them. Thirteen was pretty old."
"That was a week after you had to get stitches because you go cut falling on broken glass. You were most definitly not ready."
I rolled my eyes. The boy had tried to convince me Dad did the right thing back then, and he was still working it thirteen years later. "All right, dude. Besides, I didn't see you jumping in there either."
"I was a whopping nine, Dean. My blood would have been an appitizer for them."
"What's your point in this anyways?" I pressed my foot on the accelerator. Whenever Sam began his long, over-thoughtout speech, I tended to go faster. To try and make the miles pass quicker. To get to our destination sooner.
"Last night," I let in a sharp intake of breath, praying Sam hadn't seen my eyes widen for a second. "I dreamed about when we were there. About different stuff that happened. But mostly about that one time."
My eyelids closed for a minute. I should have figured it out when he had yelled David's name over and over again. Or when he begged his imaginery captive to let him go.
"Sam, that was thirteen years ago. It's over and done with. The guy's behind metal bars now."
"I just said I had a dream about it. I never said I was worried." He shot me a glare. I wasn't giving him what he wanted. He wanted me to listen to his dream, to try and prevent another one from coming. As much as I enjoyed playing along with that little game, that day I couldn't handle his juvenile fears. Not when I had to use every force in me not to spill my secrets out to him. To not bawl on his shoulder or seek comfort in his arms.
"And I'm just saying that there's nothing to worry about. Even if you do have those weirdo dreams...that wasn't one of them. That was just a bad memory coming back to haunt your ass."
"Oh yeah?" From the corner of my eye I saw Sam's hand reach under his seat and pull out a few sheets of computer paper. "While you went to go get some coffee I found this article in the local Utah paper."
The papers were thrown in my lap, left for me to sort through, while still attempting to drive. "For the past two weeks there has been a community outrage in Patrick County, located just thirty miles south of the corn mill."
I shot Sam one of my, What Do You Think I'm Doing, glances. He returned one back that stated, Trying To Stall.
"Just last month the legend murderer of over seven children was realeased on false charges. The judge ruled that there was false evidence involved and David Robins was, in actuality, innocent. After spending thirteen years in prison, the man will be realeased from his sentence on Friday..." My voice trailed off. I met Sam's gaze once more, wishing that, for once, our life could just have coincidences. That his dream about the past could have been just that, a dream.
But not for us. We were Winchesters. We were forced to deal with every challenge the world threw at us. Our luck was currently, and had always been, at a ZERO.
"Now do you still believe that my dream meant nothing?" He asked in such a childish tone of voice. A tone that mocked me, said that he was right and I was wrong and he had just proved it.
"Well what do you want us to do about it Sam? The guy's being set free in three days. We can't stop it!" I chucked the papers back in his hands, angry at the entire situation.
For several minutes the car was silent. Somehow, during our discussion the Zeppelin tape had ended and failed to flip over. I had begun to think that our conversation was over, that Sam had figured out that what happened over a decade ago was history. There wasn't anything anyone could do to change it. As my hand reached for the eject button, Sam's gloomy voice stopped its journey midway.
"You know, he's being set free because nobody could testify. No one saw him do what he did."
"Just listen to me! They say it's false evidence. False evidence that WE left behind. Their going to let that man go because they believe he was framed. But really, who was there to testify? Those seven victoms are dead. He killed them. He was so fucking maticulous in everything he did...and that's why he made it to seven."
"I get it, Sam. But what are we supposed to do. We can't-"
"If I had done what I was supposed to I could have landed him on death row. He would never have been set free if Dad hadn't-"
"If Dad hadn't done what he had David wouldn't have even been arrested!" My voice had risen an octive. I had become frustrated with Sam's bagging on Dad. He knew I respected the man more than anyone else, yet he persisted in finding every wrong in him. Anything Dad made a mistake at, Sam would pick apart and throw back in his face. All his life he'd made Dad feel like shit, making him seem like this man who couldn't handle his life.
"And if I hadn't followed his orders he wouldn't be getting out! Don't you see Dean?"
"We prevented him from killing any more kids, isn't that good enough for you?"
"What do you think he's going to do when he's free again? Keep a clean slat? That's bullshit and you know it! He's just going to pick off where he left off. And Dad's not going to be around to help him get caught again."
I sped up faster. My brain knew what Sam was saying was correct. David would just restart the killings and the madness. He would continue to get in his sick pleasure at the cost of other people's lives. But I honestly had not the slightest idea on what to do. I was only thirteen when it all occured, I had allowed Dad to take control, following his orders like a good son.
"Dean, we have to go back there. We have to make sure he doesn't hurt any more people."
"I know we do. I just..."
"What?" My baby brother's eyes frowned in concern. He was silently pleading for me to let down a part of my walls, just enough for me to let loose what was tugging at my heart.
I decided to please him and answer. "This isn't some demonic spirit or paranormal force, Sam. This is real. And I don't know what we're supposed to do."
I saw a twitch in Sam's lips and knew he was satisfied that I had told him what was on my mind.
"We're gonna have to do it like when we were kids and Dad told us to connect the dots. Complete one dot, then move on to the next one. Eventually, they'll all connect and we can see the big picture."
"You went to college for four years and that's the best analogy you can come up with?"
"It came from the smartest teacher," Sam said simply. My lips clenched, because I knew, truely my brother was lying, that was justhis way of apologizing about what he said earlier.
"Mom, I know I talked to you just last night, but I really need your help. This whole situation, it's pretty fu-screwd up," I quickly corrected myself. I was sitting on the hotel chair, pushed up against the end of Sam's bed, my elbows perched on the mattress. Talking to my mother was also habit. When I was younger, and couldn't talk to my father about certain things, I would tell Mary. At first it was difficult for me. I never knew what to say, or what she could hear. But slowly, as time passed, I started opening up and poured everything out.
I had stopped for a few months when Sam had joined me, choosing to talk to his sleeping body. But after Ellicot got in his head, I found more comfort in Mom.
"Why'd it have to be Sammy? There were half a dozen other kids in our complex...why him?" My breath was raggid, I could tell I was on the verge of tears. "It always has to be him. Damn it! Did your killer put some evil spell on him or something? He's not as strong as me, he can't handle as much." I raged on, failing to censor myself that time.
As my rambling continued deep into the night, my head began to rest on my elbows, and my eyes drifted down. It was the same most times as well. I would fall asleep talking, wake up a few hours before Sam, with a bad cink in my neck, and would attempt to make it look as if I had slept on my bed.
As the night wore on my head became filled with memories of Utah and of that little, two bedroomed apartment.