I tried to put this up earlier, but I couldn't get the thing to update the new chapter. I don't know if this is just me or the whole site, but sorry for the delay.


Disclaimer: The TV show Supernatural belongs to the CW. All recognizable characters are property of the CW and Kripke. Fletcher, Everett, Gunner, and Asher belong to me.

This chapter jumps between Sam and Everett's point of views. I hope it's obvious enough who's POV is when. If not, feel free to ask questions.

Thanks to darkdestiney2000, Cbloom, Twinciniama, Ghostwriter, My heart beats only for you, and Sinead-Conlan for reviewing!!

----Increbresco: Latin-To grow strong, prevail.----

Increbresco

Chapter V

By baseballeatsyou

South Dakota, Present Day

Late that night, Sam lay on his back, staring at the dark ceiling. For some reason, he felt extremely anxious. Maybe it was those burgers they'd had for dinner. No way the 'food' met FDA standards. Then again, perhaps the cause of stress was the fact that they were going to start hunting the Majestin the next day. He'd done this kind of thing a million times and yet-

A nearby whimpering sound pulled Sam from his thoughts. He sighed heavily before sitting up and flipping on the bedside light. Why couldn't anything in this family be easy? Couldn't even get a decent night's sleep.

"Hey, Everett," he whispered, giving his cousin's shoulder a gentle shake. For once, they'd taken pity on Everett and let him share a bed with Sam while Dean took the sofa, and Gunner, as usual, was fast asleep in his very own bed. Sam was now regretting volunteering to double up, Everett took way too many liberties with the covers.

Sam shook him a little harder, "Everett, wake up, man. You're dreaming."

The younger man's brow was furrowed, his mouth twisted into a wince, soft jerky whimpers emitted from his throat. He was pale except for a slight flush to his overheated cheeks, sweat beaded along his hairline then streaked down along his face, leaving behind glistening tracks on the ashen skin. He was obviously in the midst of some kind of internal battle.

"Dammit," Sam slid a hand behind Everett's lolling head and slightly lifted him. He raised his voice as loud as he dared without waking the others, "Everett!"

With a strangled intake of air, Everett launched forward. Eyes wide, struggling to distinguish nightmare from reality.

"Whoa," Sam kept one hand on the back of Everett's sweat drenched head while grabbing his upper arm with the other. "Easy, Rook. You alright?"

Everett swallowed, trying to calm his breathing and slow his rapid heartbeat. His brain was still lost in a hellish haze. "Y-yeah, 'course I am. Just a dream," he said when he could finally speak.

"You're shaking, man," Sam said softly.

"I'm fine," said Everett. But contrary to his claim, he latched his fingers tightly around Sam's thick wrist.

This further concerned the youngest Winchester. Very rarely did Everett want physical comfort. Despite all the time that had gone by since he'd last been beaten, somewhere in the back of his mind he still feared contact would bring pain.

After making sure Everett was awake enough to hold himself upright, Sam released him and grabbed a half-finished bottle of water from the nightstand. "Here," he handed it to his cousin. "Think you can keep some of that down?"

Everett nodded, soaking in the attention. Though he wished it was Dean instead of Sam giving it, the elder man gave him a great more sense of security. Sam…well, Sam was physically strong but definitely did not give off an air of confidence. And that's what Everett needed, assurance that everything was okay. Sam could say it, but Dean could say it and mean it. Or at least he'd make Everett believe it. Then he'd throw in a sarcastic remark and Everett would forget all about whatever was bothering him in the first place.

"Take it slow," Sam watched as Everett downed most of the remaining water in record time. "So," he said after giving Everett sufficient time to calm down. "Which one was it?" Both Everett and Gunner suffered from reoccurring nightmares that were actually more reminiscent of flashbacks. The frequency of the nightmares had greatly decreased over the years but that didn't lessen the intensity when one did occur. This must've been a less terrifying one since Everett didn't wake up screaming bloody murder as was the usual case.

Everett fiddled with the white bottle cap, pretending to examine the shallow, vertical grooves along the circular outer edge. "I don't really want to talk about it, Sam."

"Which one?" Sam pressed.

"I don't remember." Everett felt horrible for what he was doing. He really did want to talk about the nightmare, but he intentionally danced around discussing it. He wanted sympathy, he wanted someone to feel sorry for him. Mostly because he couldn't feel sorry for himself, or even knew if he should. Wasn't it wrong to feel sorry for yourself? Seems like it was. But he couldn't let himself feel the emotions that made his stomach flip inside out and ties itself into knots. Anger and avoidance were all he was comfortable showing, it was all he'd ever known.

What Everett didn't know was that Sam was well aware of this as he pried the water bottle from Everett's clenching fist. "I still have nightmares about Jess all the time. I always see her on that ceiling, her eyes staring down at me. And some visions can be just as-"

"It's not the same thing," Everett cut him off.

"Of course it's not," said Sam. "My point is, everyone has something that haunts them. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Everett snorted, "Easy for you to say."

"Look, Everett. I'm never gonna completely understand what happened to you-"

"Exactly," Everett interrupted his cousin once again. The scared, battered little boy in him wanted nothing more than to break down and for Sam to make everything all better again. Unfortunately, his ego had other ideas. "So leave me the hell alone already!"

Sam stared hard at the younger man until Everett began getting uncomfortable then Sam just turned off the lamp and lay back down. It was a pointless waste of time and breath to even try. The next day Everett would be back to calling him a wuss and accusing Dean of playing favorites. Then they'd be right back where they started-nowhere.

Several silent minutes went by.

"Sam?"
"What?" Sam asked coldly.

"Can…can we leave the light on?"

"Are you serious?"

"Never mind."

"No," Sam softened a bit, clicking on the lamp. Everett, though he'd never come out and admit it, had a fear of the dark. Ironic considering the line of work they were in. Sam figured it stemmed from his childhood, as did the majority of his problems. "It's fine."

Everett burrowed under the covers, scooting a little closer to Sam than usual, desperately needing to feel safe. "You say a word of this to anyone, I'll kill you."

"Whatever."


The next day

"Hey," Dean sat down across from Sam. They were at the local library trying to dig up some information on the poorly documented Majestins. But the small town must've not been as interested as they should've been because there were only a couple of books on the subject. The Winchesters had left their cousins back at the hotel, figuring they would be in and out a lot faster without them. "You alright, Sammy?"

Sam flipped a page in the rather large book of old newspapers, "Yeah."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

"You look freaking tired, man," Dean so kindly pointed out.

"That's because I was up half the night with Everett," Sam said wearily. "He had one of those nightmares."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I know."

"You were awake?"

Dean grinned, "I'm a light sleeper."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You seemed to have it handled just fine," said Dean.

"Next time, feel free to jump in," Sam finished scanning the last page and shut the book. "We need to take him to a shrink. Gunner too. One session isn't enough to undo over a decade of what they went through."

"No, Sammy. You take them to a shrink," Dean said. "I got other stuff to do. Like save Trinity from an electrified freak."

"Way to care, Dean," Sam said. "Would it kill you to have a heart?"

"It just might. Find anything?"

Sam decided to let Dean change the subject, "Nothing."

Dean leaned back in his chair, absently mindedly gnawing on a hangnail. "How're we supposed to hunt this bastard? We can't cover a thousand acres at once and we have nothing to go on."

"Maybe we don't have too," Sam said thoughtfully. He pulled his laptop from a ragged old backpack, "Gimme a dime."

"What for?"

Sam held out his hand expectantly, "Dime, Dean."

"Kids these days," Dean dug through his pocket for spare change. "Think money grows on trees," he continued rambling after Sam took his computer over to the printer table and hooked it up. "If I had enough money for a shrink, I'd send myself."

Sam came back to the table with one of those looks on his face, he had an idea. He slammed down a piece of paper, "Pen."

"You sure are needy today," Dean snatched a pen from the table behind them when the high school nerd wasn't paying attention. "Could at least say please."

Sam ignored him, fervently looking at the computer screen and making marks on the paper.

Dean leaned over, "Care to share?"

After another mark, Sam spun the paper around. "This is a map of the reserve, I marked where each hanging victim was found. What do you notice?"

"They're all within two miles of the river," Dean realized. "Except that one," he said, pointing.

"Right," Sam said. "Any guesses on which one that is?"

"Caleb Mercer, the only guy."

"Exactly," Sam said. "I'm thinking that Caleb hung himself, I bet the body isn't even mangled like the others. Dean, the Majestin didn't kill him. It's going after women."

"The question is why," Dean said. "Based on what I've heard, Majestins don't discriminate."

Sam frowned, "That's the theory."

Dean sighed in frustration, "Do the women have anything else in common besides being chicks?"

"Uh," Sam scanned one of the many windows he had opened on his laptop. "All between the ages of twenty and sixty, pretty broad range…huh."

"What?"

"They were all widows."

"Angel of mercy type thing?"

"Maybe," Sam scrolled down. "If there were just more information about Majestins, we're just speculating. We know what they might look like, what they might do-"

"Whoa, wait a minute," Dean said, picking up the paper. "So they have to be pretty stealthy not to attract any attention in hundreds of years. Which means they're not very active or there's not to many of them, or both. Either way, something big would have to happen to bring them out into the open like this. Maybe the connection isn't the women, but the husbands."

Sam nodded, completely in sync with his brother. "Hold on," his fingers flew over the keyboard for a good ten minutes. "Hey," he knocked napping Dean's feet off the table. "Okay, listen to this. The husbands were part of a contracting firm. Six months ago, they were contracted to relocate a Native American cemetery from the reserve to a cemetery in Shasta. The relocation went off without a hitch and all the graves were transferred. Then, a few weeks later, they all started getting sick and they were dead days later."

"The Majestin is a Native American spirit, that explains the tattoo. Some kind of marking of it's tribe." Dean said. "I'll be damned. But why's it going after the wives?"

"You know, I read somewhere about the Native American theory," said Sam. "The website was made by Mike Wilkins, a real crazy so I didn't read too much into it at the time. His idea was that Majestins were spirits left behind to guard the souls of the tribe. This one must've gotten pissed when the graves were moved, so it killed the husbands. And when no one moved them back still, it started killing the widows."

"Damn," Dean said. "Spirits sure have strange ways of getting their point across. "How many wives are left?"

"Just one, Patricia Lewinski." Sam closed his laptop, "Do we really need to kill it, Dean? I mean, it won't hurt anyone as long as the graves are put back."

"Say we don't get rid of it," Dean said. "And the graves get put back. Everything's peachy until someone comes along in twenty years and decides to move them again. Then more people start dying. We gotta kill it, Sam."

Sam knew his brother was right. "So…what now?"

The last section was very blah, but I had to get in some actual supernatural stuff in at some point lol. I promise, more action and family fun in the next chapter. Like I said before, the Majestin and everything about it is completely made up as are these places in South Dakota. No idea if they actually exist. I didn't spend much time thinking about it. It's not the main point of the story anyway.

I based the nightmare scene on how I felt Sam and Dean's discussions often go in the show, since Everett also has trouble showing his true emotions. Dean sometimes seems like he wants to talk about things, then says something that completely turns Sam off to sharing. Of course, that's just my take.

----Everyone who's interested enough to read this far, please review. If you don't, I have no way of knowing how I'm doing. Besides, it gives me inspiration to keep going. There's no point in continuing if no one's reading. To those who have stuck with me so far, you guys are awesome!!