This fic is a birthday present and I think I have all the requested subject matter, possessions (but who? Or is that whom?), visions, brotherly bonds, whumpage all around, hurt!Sam, protective (to the enth degree) Dean, incredibly cute canine wonder (someone called it Valkyrie!love), gunfire, explosions, messed with head Sam, angry and very dark Dean (whose head is also messed with), did I mention possessions? Fist-fights, awesome Bobby and big, bad, nasty supernatural villains, and well…possessions, maybe some crying—we'll see. Oh, yeah and just to be novel, I threw in a plot too. Many thanks to Mizpah who was kind enough to beta this for me. Did I mention the possessions?
Happy Birthday Stephanie! Girl, this one is for you!
It is suggested you read Bonding of Souls since this is a sequel, and references to that back story may not make sense if you haven't read it before.
"Go to HELL!" Sam shouted.
"Do it." The voice, calm, calculating, determined. The voice he knew was dead.
"No." Sam couldn't… wouldn't avert his eyes from Dean. Dean lying there in blood. Conscious enough to feel the pain know what was happening to him, to Sam. Enough to know he couldn't stop it, help his brother, free him from the cage.
Grabbing the bars Sam shook them.
"Do it or I will."
"No.." Sam choked on the word. "Please…"
"Is that how my brothers begged for their lives, how you imagine I begged for mine that day in the junk yard?"
The bars vanished, Sam was free. Stumbling he was at Dean's side in seconds, dropping next to his brother, hand on his chest. Dean's ribcage filled and emptied in a quiet rhythm. Sam stayed protectively between Dean and Abaddon, McCreedy, his name was Joey McCreedy. Dean's hand pushed against Sam's arm, trying to move him away. His mouth worked, nothing but wet garbling noises came out.
McCreedy advanced, Sam shoved closer to his brother's side, drawing on strength he had no idea he still possessed. Ignoring McCreedy and Dean, Sam tried scooping his brother up, getting him out.
But Dean's body became tremendously heavy, Sam couldn't lift him. McCreedy advanced on them, shoving a flame thrower into Sam's hand. Sam wanted to throw it down, away, but couldn't.
McCreedy sneered at him, held Sam's wrist in a vice-like grip, Sam's body annoyingly unresponsive to any commands his brain gave. "Do it!" McCreedy demanded.
Sam was forced to feed Dean the flame thrower. His brother's screams lasted only a few seconds in reality, but in Sam's mind it was an eternity.
Mike Redding merely laughed at Sam's screaming, "DEAN!"
Two souls bonded through eternity. Without one there truly would not be the other.
I'm still alive
Must've been a miracle
It's been a hell of a ride
Destination still unknown….."Alive" by Meat Loaf
Dean Winchester went from deep, peaceful, dreaming of strippers slumber to awake and horrified in a far shorter period of time than anyone ever should.
He was used to it.
On his feet and moving at his brother before the fog of sleep completely cleared or his eyes completely adjusted to the light Dean went on the sound of Sam's harsh voice and instinct.
Not sure of the exact words Sam was shouting, but his own name was in there somewhere. The kid was standing in the middle of the room. Dean lurched forward, grabbed at Sam's shoulders and shook hard. "Sam. Sammy!" A second, far gentler shake. "Sam…"
Sam's reaction was immediate, he grabbed Dean's arm, then half collapsed against him, dropping his head to Dean's shoulder, free arm snaked around until he hooked his hand over Dean's shoulder. It scared Dean some, the uncontrollable shuddering, something he hadn't seen in Sam in months. One arm over Sam's shoulder, hand resting along the back of his neck Dean squeezed.
"Hey, it's ok, I'm here." He rubbed between Sam's shoulder blades. His younger brother's dreams of late, had the same basic theme, something happening to Dean. Usually the kid was calmed by a few words, a hand to his shoulder, reassurance Dean was there, alive and well. Half the time Sam wouldn't even remember the details in the morning. Dean found, mostly through Sam's mumblings, he died in a variety of mundane and spectacular ways. Or was taken by feds, demons, hunters, and there was one time it had been a roving pack of cheerleaders, Dean liked that one.
Their last hunt, while not difficult or life-threatening had taken nearly three weeks. This was their first night back on the road, Dean reasoned the change in location triggered Sam's nightmare. That and the fiery car wreck they'd encountered along the way. They'd been forced to sit in a log jam of cars for several hours. Waiting for traffic to move again wasn't so bad, but they'd been one of the closer cars, getting a full and complete view of everything. The event disturbing on a whole other level than the monsters they hunted.
Sam nodded and gulped a few more haggard breaths.
Backing Sam up, Dean dumped him on a bed. "Want to talk about it?"
Sam leaned down until his forehead rested against his knee, "No." His voice sounded odd, strangled.
Dean gave Sam's back another pat, then turned, heading to the small refrigerator, planning on something for them each of them to drink. Sam's hand immediately shot out, fingers curling around Dean's wrist with enough intensity there would probably be marks left. It gave him a definite feeling of déjà vu, back nearly six months when Sam wouldn't let him out of his sight, often physically grabbing on. It'd slacked off, but never completely gone away, he wondered if it ever would, if that would change. Sam was rarely alone. When he was now it was only if he could be in contact with his brother. When they'd started their last hunt Sam had gone to a library, while Dean checked some leads. Dean smiled at the memory, being called every ten minutes or so with an 'update' and a few times Sam asking if Dean saw the police car that just drove by. But it was progress, and that was all Dean really asked for, worked toward.
Flopping on the bed next to Sam, still held captive by Sam's grip, Dean lay back, starring at the ceiling. "Was it a vision?"
"Sam, you haven't had one of these in a long while, months. Come on, talk to me."
When Sam turned his head, faced him, Dean's heart dropped, he hated that look, the frightened ten year old looking back. Another something gone away, for long enough Dean thought it might be gone for good.
"He was here. Both were here."
A cold, hard spike started in Dean's stomach, slithered a path down his spine, circled around his testicles and crawled up to his brain. "Who?" Didn't really have to ask, he knew.
"Come on Sammy, talk to me, tell me." Dean knew the drill, knew Sam knew it too. Keeping the freaky dreams locked away in his head did Sam no good. In the six months since Sam's kidnap Dean had done a lot of research on the subject. He was currently armed with a veritable arsenal of strategies, one that would make any shrink proud. "It was a dream, they weren't here. This room is warded and salted." Saying the last part out loud was part of Dean's general plan, remind Sam he was safe, those men weren't going to hurt either of them.
Sam nodded, but didn't talk yet. The grip he had on Dean's wrist was starting to cause some serious pain, but Dean refused to flinch or pull away or even mention it. Definitely there were going to be marks, big ugly bruises no doubt. He'd cope. Squirming a bit when Sam's fingers dug in further to the inside of Dean's wrist, Dean wondered if he'd ever have a pulse there again. Dropping his voice, putting more authority in it, "Sam."
Nodding, Sam swallowed, "Give me another minute, ok?"
"Thirsty?" Dean pulled to a sitting position. The hand attached to his captive arm was starting to tingle. Dean bit his lip.
"I am." Standing, he placed his free hand over Sam's arm, "Sammy, my fingers are starting to lose feeling. And I can't reach the fridge from here."
"Oh, god, Dean, I-I'm s-sorry." Sam immediately let go, staring at his hand as if it was some separate evil entity.
"It's ok, no harm done." Turning so his back was to Sam, he rubbed his wrist and retrieved a bottle of water. "Ok, Sam, talk, now. You know the rules."
"Your rules." Sam grumbled.
"Our rules, you agreed to them too. You know it does you no good to keep the nightmares bottled up. I get they're scary Sam, they scare me too. But they're nightmares, not visions. Nothing that can hurt you, or me, not in a warded room, not while I'm here. You know it helps you, and it helps me too."
When Sam shivered Dean sat down next to him again, rubbed his knee lightly for a second or two, offering the water. He smiled when Sam took a swig and returned it.
"He, they…w-were both there. Redding was watching. McCreedy, J-Joey he…um…I was in the cage, then not….and Joey, they made me somehow…" Sam broke off, choking, stumbling over his words.
Dean rubbed his brother's back again, "Take your time."
Looking at the floor, Sam finally spit out the last bit, "They made me shove a lit welding torch, or maybe it was a flame thrower, not sure…" Swallowing hard, "T-they made me put it in your mouth, kill you with it." He wiped one hand quickly over his eyes, not looking at Dean's face.
"It didn't happen. It won't happen. They can't hurt you or me." Dean repeated. It had become one of his mantras. Sam looked at him and nodded. The kid was still visibly shaken, but better. As Dean predicted talking about it eased Sam's anxiety some. Dean wasn't one for words, but he could listen just fine.
They'd established the ground rules not too long after leaving South Dakota, while Dean was still reading up, getting advice from wherever he could, anything to help Sam get better. He'd gotten some really sound, solid pointers too. Sam had to talk about the dreams he remembered, holding them back only made them worse. Dean, for his part, did his best to make their lives as normal as possible. To an outsider they certainly didn't have normal lives, as most people would consider normal. But their lives had a normalcy, a cadence, a rhythm. Dean worked very hard in the past six months to maintain that. He tried to make sure they stopped for dinner about the same time, and didn't shy away from hunts. He stuck them to a schedule as much as he could. It was working too; little by little Sam was reverting to his old self. Dean, though he'd never admit it, was having a hard time letting go of Sam, letting him go back to what he was. He knew he wasn't actually giving his brother up, but his natural inclination to be a caregiver, protector was amplified times one-hundred where Sam was concerned. He was having a difficult time not shielding the kid from anything and everything that might cause some harm or fear, in anyway.
Dean realized very quickly, Sam wasn't the only one who needed to recover, Dean had to put what happened to his brother behind him too, deal with it too.
Sam stared at his eggs, pushing them around the plate, into the potatoes, making circles with the bacon they caught.
"You gonna actually eat those, or just exercise them some more?" Dean stopped eating long enough to comment on Sam's playing with his food.
"What do you think happened to their bodies?"
This time Dean put his fork down, leveling a steady gaze at Sam that made him want to squirm. Sam hated when his brother did that to him. Dean sighed, a bit heavily, suddenly looked tired, drawn, worried. Sam hated even more that he was the cause of Dean's expression. "I've been wondering when you'd bring that up again."
"That's not an answer." Sam pointed out, picking up a piece of bacon, didn't bite it.
"No, I suppose it's not. There would have been an autopsy for them. If no family claimed them they'd be buried in a mass grave by the county I believe."
"You checked?" Sam's chest tightened, he wanted to pound his fist against the table, but there were people around. "You didn't tell me!" He hissed the last part between clenched teeth.
"Oh, put your pants back on Sammy. I looked up general information on Google."
Sam took a few deep breaths. He couldn't have this conversation and piss Dean off. Dean didn't want to do anything he thought would make any of it worse for Sam, as if it could have gotten worse. If it were up to his brother Sam was sure he'd be hidden away somewhere only known to Dean. Well considering the only person they had regular contact with was Bobby, Sam practically was hidden away. "Could we go back?"
Dean's eyes dropped to the table, he was suddenly quite interested in the pattern on the plastic cloth covering it.
"To check. Make sure, about the bodies." Sam said quietly, watching his brother's face closely.
"You been seeing them anytime other than when you dream about them?"
He knew he should have expected that question sooner or later. He couldn't lie to Dean, not that he didn't want to in this case, but it seemed physically impossible for Sam to do so. Trying for distraction he played with the eggs some more.
Dean reached over, grabbing his wrist, Sam's chest tightened, his stomach twisted from the large twinge of guilt when he glimpsed the bruises on Dean's arm, bruises left by him. Dean forced his hand to be still. "Sam?"
Sam glanced up and away immediately. Dean was a hot, coiled spring ready to unravel since Sam had been kidnapped. Wanting only to benefit his brother, Sam knew Dean's heart was in the right place. But some things, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much Sam wanted him to, Dean simply could not shield him from.
The arm got a sharp jerk. "Sammy." It wasn't a question.
Lifting his eyes without lifting his chin Sam mumbled, "I'm not sure."
"Christ almighty Sam!" Dean hissed, then looked around, guilty. Tension hitched his shoulders, flowed out of him to assault Sam. People were looking at them. He lowered his voice to a harsh, angry whisper. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want you to…." He stopped, sighed, ran his free hand through his hair. "Dean, I won't break. It's like all you do is worry about me, how to protect me, make a safe place for me, for us. I know this, that, the whole thing is as difficult for you…" Maybe more so than for me. "Too, but you can only do so much. You don't know how much it means to me. The only reason I can sleep at night is because I know you're there. I just….I don't know, I wasn't sure and I didn't want to make it worse for you unless I was sure. I'm not sure, maybe more of a feeling and maybe it's not even real." Forge had forever planted in Sam's mind some of this might be a result of Sam's subconscious.
Dean sat back, sighed, and looked away, across the diner. "You make me worry more when you spring crap like this on me. There isn't anything, any reason you can't tell me…"
"I know." Sam cut him off quickly. "I know."
"You really want to do this, go back, check out the bodies?"
"All right." Dean nodded a bit. "All right, we can head there. If you promise me you'll stop keeping things bottled in, to yourself?"
Sam grinned. He'd hated not telling Dean, but he hadn't wanted to freak his brother out either. He should have known Dean would agree if Sam wanted it so badly. "I promise."
"Eat." Dean motioned to Sam's now cold breakfast, wolfing down the rest of his.
"It's cold." Sam complained.
Dean gave him an annoyed look, quirked an eyebrow and curled one corner of his mouth. "Whose fault is that? Eat, or sit here, I don't care, but you're not going to be whining at me all the way to lunch time you're hungry cause you didn't eat."
Sam ate the potatoes and bacon, left the eggs.
Taking a few days to get back to South Dakota, Dean refused to drive straight through, let him or Sam go without stopping for the night. Sam was fine with that, however sleeping each night was getting less frequent, more difficult. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Dean the only reason he could sleep at night, at all, do much of anything, was because he knew Dean was there. Feeling mightily guilty over Dean not getting enough rest, and doing almost all the driving Sam never argued when Dean wanted to stop. They were both worried Sam might have a vision while driving, they'd nearly wrecked once because of his visions. Leaving themselves open like that a second time was fool-hardy and dangerous. Even when Sam did drive Dean seemed on full alert these days. Sam kept careful eye on the time, suggesting it himself when he thought his brother was getting fatigued or bored or hungry. Dean's schedule hadn't gone unnoticed by Sam, it was one more thing Sam owed his brother, was eternally grateful for. Sam made every effort to repay Dean's gesture, take care of his brother in return. Most of all Sam made every effort to not sleep while Dean drove, reasoning if he was tired at the end of their day he'd sleep more, but it didn't work.
The closer he was to returning to South Dakota, the more Sam's dreams turned to violent, torturous nightmares.
Sam tried, admittedly not very hard, to keep from waking Dean every night. He wanted to keep Dean from constant worry. He also wanted, probably the most, the comfort of knowing his brother was close by. Sometimes he needed Dean physically within reaching distance. Efforts to quell that need were somewhat productive. Sam wondered if he'd ever not feel so vulnerable if left alone. At least it was manageable these days, barely. He'd wake up, now nightly with varying degrees of memory retained from the nightmares. Trembling, sometimes sobbing like a child Sam couldn't help his strangled voice as he'd search out his brother, call his name. Not once was his call unanswered. As much as Dean claimed to not mind, to have his own powerful drive to be needed, the intensity provoked by Sam's nightmares were wearing on him. They both needed this behind them.
Unfortunately Sam knew, just somehow knew it was far from behind them. Somehow he knew it was just starting.