This is just a little idea that I had going in my head for forever before I finally wrote it down. Truthfully I've had it done for a couple months now, but I was waiting to finish my other story...except I got stuck on this one. So this is to tide everyone over until I get working on that one again! Hope you all enjoy. Let me know what you think!
"Hey, Dean!" The familiar voice caught Dean's attention and he turned to meet the boy racing towards him. Gary, a fellow third grader, had taken to Dean the day the Winchester's had arrived in this little back-road town. He had seen Sam and Dean together, and, having a little brother himself the same age as Sammy, had immediately decided they would be friends. "Hey," he said when he finally caught up to Dean, panting a little. "My brother said that Sam got sent down to the office. Thought you'd like to know."
Sammy in the office? Sam may be a hyper kid, but he knew when to behave and he would never mess up in school. He loved school. Dean clapped Gary on the shoulder.
"Thanks man," he said, already headed towards the principle's office.
Sure enough, sitting outside on the bench was Sam, looking down at his feet. He was swinging his short legs back and forth. Dean could tell he was sad about something.
"Hey Sammy," Dean said quietly while he sat down next to Sam. Sam didn't say anything, didn't even look up to acknowledge Dean. Dean bumped Sam's leg gently. This time Sam looked up at him, looking pretty pitiful. Obviously whatever he got in trouble for was affecting him. "What happened?"
"Don't know," Sam said miserably. "We was drawing today, and I turneded my picture in and mrs teacher told me to follow her. She took me here." Sam sniffed and looked back down at his feet. "They calleded dad," he said so quietly that Dean almost missed it. Dean raised an eyebrow. It must be serious then, if they had to call their dad in. He nudged Sam with his shoulder and smiled down at the kid.
"I'm sure it'll be fine. Dad'll take care of it."
Sam said nothing, continuing to look at his feet.
"I don't understand Principle Kenly. You called me down here because of pictures my son was drawing?" John asked, confusion clear in his voice. The kid was seven—what could he possibly draw that was bad enough to warrant calling him in?
"The problem is, we're not exactly sure what Sam is drawing, but he draws it often. Perhaps it means something to you," the principle said with a frown. She pulled out a folder and handed it over to John. John opened the folder-
And everything seemed to stop. Staring back at him were a pair of bright yellow eyes.
John quickly flipped through the pictures. The pictures themselves were supposed to be about the family, John guessed. Some of them showed Sam and Dean, while others showed the three of them. Another one showed the three of them, plus what was probably supposed to be Mary, standing in front of a house. But throughout each one of them, the pair of yellow eyes showed up, sometimes in the shadows or in the window of a house, always watching them.
"Mr. Winchester." The principle's voice reminded John that he was not alone in the room. His head jerked up to meet the principle's eyes.
"Sam had a…nightmare awhile back," he said, thinking fast. "I thought he was over it, but I guess I was wrong. I'll talk to him about it."
The principle nodded. "I'm glad we called then. If he continues to draw them, we'll let you know."
"Do you…mind if I keep these?" John said with an uneasy glance down at the folder.
"Thank you," John said as he stood up. He quickly walked to the door. Just outside was the child in question, still watching his feet as they moved back and forth. Dean was sitting next to him, obviously trying to make him feel better, which was just as obviously not working. Sam looked up as he heard the door shut. He looked like a hurt puppy and John's fear sky rocketed. "Come on boys, let's go home."
Sam slid guiltily off the bench, Dean quickly following behind him. John watched them walk towards the school exit. How could he possibly explain that Sam wasn't in trouble with the school, or with his dad, but that trouble seemed to be following around? How did you tell your seven year old son that what he was drawing was real, but he needed to stop? John huffed in annoyance. Other dads didn't have to put up with this. He could guess that he was probably the only dad that ever did. There was only one thing he could do now though. The hunt here would have to wait for the next available hunter. They were leaving town. Tonight.
As they piled in the car, John turned back to Dean and Sam. "How do you feel about going to see Pastor Jim for awhile?"
That seemed to cheer Sam up a little. He loved going to Pastor Jim's, where Jim would spoil him rotten. Dean recognized it for what it was though—a move.
"But dad, don't you have work to do here?" he asked. Dean knew he was missing something, and if he knew what his dad had been talking to the principle about, he thought he might be able to piece it together. Whatever it was was hidden safely in the folder that John had firmly placed his hand over.
"It can wait," John said firmly and Dean knew better than to question him again. He shut his mouth and leaned back against the seat. Sam had said he got sent to the principle's after he turned in a drawing…so it must be what he was drawing that sparked this whole event. Dean smiled. That would be easy. He could just get Sam to tell him what he was drawing. "When we get back to the house, pack up your stuff. We're leaving right away."
Three hours later, they were their way to Pastor Jim's. Sam was in the back, his head leaning against the window, eagerly watching the scenery pass by. Dean sat up front with John, scanning through the radio channels. John repressed the urge to slap Dean's hand away from the dials, but when they had gone on their fifth minute of channel changing, John gave in, slapping the hand away and giving Dean the look that told him to just try it again. Dean frowned and leaned back, joining Sam in window watching.
John sighed, trying to push away the fear that seemed to linger at the edge of his mind. Once they got to Jim's, he could figure all this out. Maybe it was just a distant memory that kept popping up in Sammy's mind. Sure, that didn't make it any less terrifying that Sam remembered the yellow eyed demon from that night, but it would be a lot more bearable then if Sam was still seeing him. His fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel, his eyes darting back to check on Sam every once in awhile.
Sam, for the most part, still wasn't quite sure what was going on, but his dad had made clear that he was not in any trouble. Sam could be happy with that. The car began to slow as John pulled up to a stop sign and Sam caught a familiar flash of yellow out of the window. His eyes sought out the figure, finding it standing just beyond the street sign. If Dean looked hard enough, he could have seen it too, but the figure stood just out of John's line of view. The man's eyes met Sam's, and Sam shifted away nervously, moving to the other side of the car. He tried to shake the feeling that he was being watched, but he was happy when the car began to move again. Sam spared one last glance out the back window as they pulled away, and found the eyes were still watching him. He shivered and looked away again.
"You cold Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean about the yellow eyed man, but the bad feeling Sam always got around the man made him close it again. Instead, he nodded. Dean handed over a blanket for Sam to wrap in, then turned back to his window.
Azazel stepped out into the road, watching the fleeing Impala. He laughed a little as the Impala moved out of sight, his usual smile playing at his lips.
"You can't run from me, Winchester. I'll always find Sammy," he said to no one in particular. Then he turned and vanished from the road.