Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor do I own the related characters.
Notes: Hello all. This is a short story that I wrote a few years ago, and as it was previously posted on this site don't be too surprised if you recognize it. It is four chapters long, already completely written and I will be updating every couple of days assuming it is well received! I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!
Dream a Nightmare: Invisible
Sam was alone.
He was terrified, and he was alone. He was going to die alone, and it was going to kill Dean. Sam knew that the idea that he had suffered and then died alone would haunt Dean forever. Why couldn't he wake the fuck up?
Sammy, you can't hide from me forever. What would daddy say? Better face your fears, boy!
Sam couldn't help the involuntary wince as the invisible voice took his fathers voice. No, his dad would save him. He might give him shit about it later, he might yell at him later, might tell him he needed to buck up, be strong like Dean, the perfect son, but he would save Sam. No doubt. He wouldn't let his son get slaughtered like this.
So where were they?
He had nearly forgotten that he was all alone at a motel for a while. Seventeen year old Sam Winchester, still four hours away from his daddy and brothers' arms.
God, he hadn't slept in days. And he had finally pulled over, knowing Dean would kill if he totaled the Impala just to drive another hour, and gotten a motel room just so he could catch some shut eye. He had been at Pastor Jim's for a day, picking up something for his dad and doing some extra research while John and Dean stayed back in Wisconsin for a hunt. He was on his way back when he had pulled over.
He had been exhausted. He didn't know why he hadn't slept at Jims. He just couldn't sleep. He had tried, but at the time it had been the last thing on his mind. And he figured he could make it the eight hour drive back to his dad and brother; after all, he'd gone twice that long in one ride before, why not this time?
Because this time, he had made a mistake in his judgment, and he was going to die.
He didn't know what it was yet. He had fallen asleep, and woken up in some sort of dream-world, with a demon whose voice he could hear but whose body he could not see. The voice confirmed his impending death though, unless he woke up. Soon.
So Sam stood up. He had been lying on the street, where he had awoken in the first place. There was nobody around; just him, and the voice in his head directing him and threatening him at the same time.
"What the hell do you want with me?" his voice echoed along the dark alley, and he looked up and down as it bounced off the sides of the buildings around him. His heart pounded in his chest. He didn't think he was getting out of this one.
Oh, I've been watching you, Sammy. And damn, aren't you powerful. Well, you will be powerful. In the future. And I just need to stop you from getting there. And this world? This is my way of getting the job done.
"Those other people," realization fell upon him like a punch in the stomach, "They were killed and-and nobody could figure it out, but it was you. You killed them in their dreams. Why? If I'm going to be so goddamn powerful, why not just go after me?" Sam backed up against the side of the building and looked around cautiously for any sort of weapon.
He wasn't sure if this was a spirit or a demon or what. Logically, a spirit probably wouldn't have this power. That left a demon, but Sam didn't know. Being able to meddle with peoples dreams, kill them in them, prevent them from waking up… not that it mattered if he made a sound decision as to what he was dealing with. He didn't think he'd be finding any salt or holy water in this dream.
You never really got a good look, did you? Always kept in the dark. Always the black sheep of your little family. It's a shame really. You would have noticed the ties they all had to you. All of the victims. If you had noticed, you probably wouldn't have left. But now you're alone, Sammy. Daddy and Dean aren't coming to get you this time. They're too late.
"No," Sam shook his head, his fists gripping his jeans, "No, you're wrong. Even if you do kill me, you're not going to get away with it. They're going to find you. And they're going to kill you."
Oh yeah? Oh Sammy Sammy Sammy.
Before Sam could respond, he was being thrown forward, completely unable to stop himself, and into the opposing brick wall. He felt his nose crack under the pressure and tasted the familiar metallic in his mouth, along with the accompanying pain. He slid to the ground and breathed heavily, on his hands and knees with his head bowed.
"They're gonna… kill… you," Sam groaned again, bringing his hand up to feel his nose. He winced. Yup, definitely broken.
An invisible force slammed down on his back, pushing him hard onto the ground, his limbs lying awkwardly and his face pressed into the concrete.
You make yourself such an easy target. I mean, you were practically asking me to go after you. Even with all the strings of death, you went out on your own. And then you rented a room! On your own. Really, kid. Too easy.
Sams face scrunched up in pain, "You're the reason I couldn't fall asleep at Pastor Jim's."
Bingo! I couldn't very well kill you on holy grounds. I just had to lure you out; make sure you were tired enough to need to make a pit-stop. You were very convincing when you were telling your friend you could make it home fine, without any problems, without falling asleep… man, is he gonna be pissed when he finds out you're dead. Again, the black sheep, Sammy.
"Fuck you," Sam growled, attempting to push himself up, but the force was still strong on his back, paralyzing him.
You're unique, you know. Not many would be so defiant in the face of death. Most would be pleading for their pathetic lives by now, but not you. I don't know why you're pretending. We all know you're not nearly as strong as your brother or father, so why are you trying? It just kills you knowing that you will always be second best compared to their love and need for each other. Especially since you need Dean so much. Now, don't get me wrong. They'll be upset that you're dead, but nothing compared to if it was one of them. You never learn.
Before Sam could move another muscle, something hard slammed into the back of his head; blurring his vision and making him feel as if he was going to throw up. He was suddenly flipped over onto his back, and the same thing that hit him in the back of the head slammed down onto his face, and he could feel the sickening pain as the object made its violent connection. That was going to bruise, and hurt like a bitch later, no doubt. He felt more blood seep into his mouth from other parts of his face, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
I'm just saving the world from the future leader of all evil, Sam. There's a twist for ya.
Sam felt his vision darkening as the object, he still couldn't figure out what the hell it was, hit his stomach forcefully, making him cave into himself and whimper like he had sworn he wouldn't, "Demons… lie," he groaned, turning his head for some sort of relief. He was pathetic. Lying there, not fighting back… his dad would be ashamed of him.
I'm not a demon, Sammy. I'm much more than that.
He felt himself being lifted up, and he closed his eyes, trying so hard to give into the oblivion, but unable to. His back slammed against the brick again, his feet were hovering above the ground. He breathed deeply through his nose to avoid throwing up, and silently said goodbye to Dean. He apologized in his mind, imagining that his older brother was listening. He apologized for being weak, for giving in. For dying and leaving him alone.
He apologized for the teenager he became, and all the times he took Dean for granted. He told Dean he loved him, asked him to tell dad that he loved him too.
He opened bleary eyes just in time to see a wooden stake in front of his face. He was going to be killed like the monster this thing thought he was. He hoped his father and brother never found out exactly how he died. He was still struggling idly, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't even budge.
And then he heard something. His eyes popped open, and the world began to fade. He realized what it was.
Someone was calling his fucking cell phone.
Sam Winchester bolted upright in bed, sweat and tears and blood on his face. He brought his fingers up to his nose, and realized all the injuries that had been inflicted on him in crazy dream world had affected him in the real world too.
The fingers on his right hand pawed at the nightstand until he grabbed him cell phone, falling back onto the pillows. He glanced at the caller ID before flipping open the phone.
"Dean," his voice was half a sob as he closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing and maintain his emotions.
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"When's Sammy gonna be back with the supplies?"
John looked up at his eldest son, "He was on his way back when he called. Said he was going to stop at a motel and get some sleep, but then he'd be about four hours away."
"He better not screw up my car," Dean muttered, slouching onto the lumpy mattress below him, "I'll kill him."
John smirked slightly, easily hiding it in the spread of papers in front of him. The grin fell from his face slowly, replaced with a frown and a sigh. This case was really getting the better of him. These people… he couldn't figure out what had killed them. Or what connection they all had with one another.
The first woman, seventeen years old, a kid really. Her lungs full of water, but her body completely dry. The locks on the door and window still in tact and asleep in her bed. Like she had drowned in a pool instead of asleep in her twin bed in a quaint little neighborhood.
The second man, twenty three years old. All the bones in his body crushed, like he had fallen off the roof of a building. And a distraught fiancée insisting that he had never left the bed with nothing to prove otherwise.
The third man, twenty five years old. Fell asleep at his desk at his basic, normal everyday office job, and was strangled. With a rope imprint and his neck nearly snapped. Typical of a hanging. Only this man had never left his desk, and the security tapes showing no evidence of anyone coming in or out of the office until his body was discovered.
And the fourth man, twenty eight years old. His insides fried when he fell asleep at his parents' condo on the beach. It was a usual sign of someone being burnt alive, coroners said. Only this man was left without a mark on the outside of his body, and he was alone overnight.
It didn't make sense. The men had a somewhat similar physical appearance, but the one woman threw that all off. They had been handed this hunt by a contact of Joshua's, and they had been baffled like the Winchesters rarely were ever since. And as such, John had sent his youngest to go stock up on first aid supplies and weapons at Jim's house eight hours away while they were that close, since they were at a road block anyway.
He wasn't one to ever quit on a hunt, but he knew if there was ever one he would need to quit it was this one. They just couldn't figure it out; they had tried everything, and they had called every single one of their contacts, who were all trying in their own ways to help them to no avail.
He was snapped out of his reverie as a sharp ring caught his ear. Reaching over in one swipe, he grabbed his phone and flipped it open, pressing it up to his ear, "What do you got, Bobby?"
"I think I got this one figured out, John. I talked to an old business partner who had a partner who dealt with one of these."
"Well, what is it then?" John asked impatiently. He looked over at Dean, and saw his sons' piqued interest; this case had been bothering him as much as it had been bothering his father.
"They think it's a dreamscaper."
"What the hell is a dreamscaper?"
"They are powerful little sonsa'bitches. They usually only have one suspect in mind, and they go after hunters normally. They were condemned to death in their lifetime, and spend their afterlife targeting all hunters alike the ones that killed them. They go into dreams and murder their target there. It's in all sorts of ancient cultures an' stuff that if you die in a dream, you die in real life."
"That doesn't make sense, Bobby. We've already have four different victims, none of which, as far as we know, have been hunters," John sifted through the papers, shaking his head. Dean was standing in front of the table, his hands resting on it while he glared at the pictures and listened to Bobby's gruff voice coming out of the phone his father was speaking on.
"These dreamscapers target people alike their next victim until they can reach who they actually wanna kill."
John's heart leapt to his throat, "Sonuvabitch."
"What, John?" Bobby's voice was worried at the defeated tone coming through his side of the speaker.
"I'm gonna have to call you back," John hung up the phone, slamming it down on the table and picking up pictures of two of the men.
"Oh God," Deans voice was low, "Sammy."
John nodded gruffly, his eyes burning into the smiling men's faces. Both had shaggy brown hair and deep brown eyes, and the resemblance was just so there now that he looked a little harder. He ran a hand over his face. One glance down at the third man on the table confirmed his suspicions.
"But what about the woman? That has to account for something. She's a redhead for Gods sake, nothing like Sam at all," Dean's voice was shaking ever so slightly, and he was grateful when his father ignored it.
John snatched up the picture of the woman, and scanned the page.
The color left his face, and Dean gripped the table a little bit harder, "What, dad?"
"Her birthday," John slammed the piece of paper onto the table, "Goddamnit, she and Sam have the same birthdays," he stood up, pushing all the papers in a pile, "I have to go. Now. Call Sam, Dean. Don't let him fall asleep."
"What? No!" Dean walked right behind his father as he rushed around the room, "I'm coming with you to go get him!"
"No, Dean, you're not," John sighed, throwing his knife and gun into the duffle bag he was hastily putting together, "You need to stay here and talk to him. Call him; tell him to get onto the road. I don't care what you have to do, just make sure he's driving back this way and does not fall asleep. If he falls asleep, he's going to die, Dean. You need to stay here and do whatever you can to keep him awake. Tell him I'm heading his way, but I don't know… it might be two hours before we meet. I'll call him in an hour and a half and see where he is. You have got to keep him awake until then."
Dean collapsed on the far bed, already clicking the speed dial for his brothers' cell phone, and holding the phone up to his ear.
"Come on, Sammy," Dean begged, "He was already asleep, Dad. At the motel. What if we're too late?"
John didn't answer, but he didn't walk out the door either. Not until he knew Dean was talking to Sam. He watched the scene surreally as Dean hung up the phone, his face the picture of devastation, "Try again," his son didn't move and John was sure he was in some sort of shock, "Goddamnit, call him again, Dean!"
Dean obeyed silently, holding the phone up to his ear again with his eyes closed.
Thirty painful seconds passed, and John's heart was about to burst as he began to face the fear of defeat, when Dean suddenly sat up straighter, his face alert and his grip on the phone tightening.
Dean winced at the tears he could hear in his brothers' voice, "Sammy," he breathed, the relief flooding his body.
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