Title: In Another's Eyes
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: A migraine, a vision, a mysterious killer and Dean may just lock Sam away in Bobby's cellar to keep him safe whether he likes it or not. post 2x11 "Playthings" hurt/comfort/awesome!Sam/Dean
Author's note: Ok so…I swear this was supposed to be a one shot but then…it sort of mutated and grew and decided it wanted at least two chapters…maybe three. XD We'll see where I end up.
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P
Dean tossed the burning matchbook down into the open grave and smiled as the flames caught and shot up into the darkness. The orange light showed him the pained visage of his little brother on the other side of the grave, holding his head and trying not to look as miserable as he obviously felt. Dean turned and packed up their gear, glad the spirit of Jasper Newman had been laid to rest and wouldn't be terrorizing teenagers anymore. He straightened and slung the bag over his shoulder before looking over to his brother.
"Let's boogie," Dean said and watched as Sam worked at smoothing the lines of pain from his face to force a smile.
"Good. It's freakin' cold out here." Sam hefted his own bag and followed as Dean turned and headed for the car. He'd been trying to convince himself for hours that it was only a headache, but it was quickly becoming impossible to ignore that he was headed toward a full-blown migraine. It'd been a long time since he'd had to deal with one and he shied away from that memory - Jess pressing cold cloths to his forehead and drifting feather light kisses over his jaw to take his mind off of it.
He closed his eyes for a moment as he trudged through the grass and tried to push the heartache away. On the heels of their father's death, everything seemed to hurt more. Old wounds felt new again, and Jess' loss was once more an ache in his chest now joined by the empty spot that had held his Dad. He stopped suddenly as a hand slapped into his chest and opened his eyes to find Dean staring at him.
"You planning on walking through the fence?" Dean asked, irritated, and gestured behind him to the low fence Sam had been about to crash in to with his eyes closed. "Works better if you go around."
"Yeah. Sorry." Sam turned and headed for the gate.
"What's up with you, Sam?" Dean asked and narrowed his eyes as they neared the car. "Cause it kinda looks like your shining's about to have a go at you again."
Sam groaned and shook his head. "It's just a migraine, Dean. No psychic weirdness, ok?" Sam asked and rolled his eyes at the look of disbelief he received. It proved a mistake and he slammed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose as new pain throbbed through his head.
Dean sighed and let it go. "Get in the car." He turned his brother and gave him a gentle push to the passenger door, tugging the bag from his shoulder. He had to admit it didn't seem to be one of his visions. Usually, Sam would be cringing and groaning on the ground already, so Dean took a breath and allowed his nerves to settle. He didn't stop watching his little brother, however, the way he squinted at every flash from a passing cars' lights as they drove, the low moan when a semi passed them and honked its horn, or the look of intense concentration on his face as he fought the urge to throw up. All were typical symptoms of one of Sam's migraines. It may have been years since he'd had to nurse his brother through one, but he hadn't forgotten the steps.
Dean took pity on him a little after midnight and got them a motel room. He pulled Sam from the car and guided him into the room, dashing ahead to turn on the bathroom light and leave the main lights out.
"Thank you," Sam said softly, gratefully, and curled onto the bed furthest from the door. He buried his head in the pillow and listened to the soft sounds of Dean moving in and out of the room with their bags, going into the bathroom, coming back out, opening a bottle of water, and Sam flinched when Dean's hand landed lightly on his shoulder.
"Easy. Take these." Dean soothed, remembering how even his brother's skin became over-sensitive during a migraine.
Sam cracked his eyes open only enough to see the pills in Dean's hand. He took them and swigged from the bottle he handed him before hiding his face in the pillow again. "M'fine," He mumbled. Dean snorted softly and set the bottle on the bedside table. "Get some sleep."
He stood up while Sam curled a hand protectively over the back of his head and pulled Sam's laptop out, setting it on the table and settled in for a long night. He wished he could turn on the television or even a light, but either one would cause Sam pain. He was left with the silence and the sound of his brother breathing, and it wasn't enough to push away the shouting in the back of his head, the voice that had been screaming at him from the moment he'd heard the heart monitor's unforgiving drone telling him his father was gone.
He shook his head and turned on the laptop. Dean angled the screen so its light went nowhere near Sam and pulled up the bookmarked sites his brother used to find them hunts. He started sifting through the websites and hoped the search would help drown out his father's voice and Sam's demand that he keep his promise.
Sam turned off the shower and rubbed his still-tender head. The migraine had backed off enough to be manageable thanks to Dean and the pain pills he made him take several times in the night. He smiled as he dried off and pulled on his clothes. His drunken night at the Pierpont Hotel may have been painful in the morning, but it had done something to start to heal their relationship. The distance that had sprung up between them with their Dad's death had closed somewhat, and it was comforting to have the big brother who cared back.
He opened the bathroom door and reared back as a cup of coffee was thrust in his face. "Dude, what the hell?"
Dean chuckled. "Mornin', sunshine."
Sam took the steaming cup with a smirk. "You are such a child."
Dean studied his brother and nodded, liking what he saw. The pinch of pain was mostly gone from around his eyes and he didn't do more than flinch at the sunlight coming in through the window. "Got us a hunt, if you're up for it."
Sam nodded and sipped his coffee. He sighed happily at the flavor - Dean had made sure it was just the way he liked it - and felt a little more of the tension in his head slip away. "I'm good. What'd you find?"
"Another pissy Casper two towns over." Dean grinned. It was an easy job but it needed doing and wouldn't tax his brother's tender head too much, he hoped. "Been tossing people down stairs in this renovated bed-and-breakfast."
"Do we know who it is?" Sam went to the table and sat in front of his laptop that was still open, glancing at the pages Dean had left open.
"Likely suspect. Old lady that died in the house fifty years ago." Dean went about packing up his stuff and Sam's. "There's a couple witness statements about seeing some old woman before they took a header."
"No one's dead yet. That's good," Sam commented and scrolled through the pages. "You find where she's buried?"
Dean chuckled. "Back yard." He nodded when Sam looked up in surprise. "Yeah, digging her up's gonna be…fun."
"Wonderful." Sam rubbed a hand down his face and sat back. "Don't suppose we get lucky and the house is closed this week?"
Dean shook his head. "Nope. Already called and booked us a room." He tossed Sam the bag for the laptop. "Let's get moving unless you want some more beauty sleep, princess."
"Bite me," Sam laughed and closed the laptop, sliding it into the bag. He grabbed it along with his coffee and followed Dean out of the room feeling much better than he had the night before.
"Anyone looking?" Dean asked for the tenth time as he dug furiously behind the large Elm tree out back of the bed-and-breakfast.
"No. Windows are clear." Sam turned and rubbed a hand over his head. "Everyone seems to be asleep." His migraine had yet to leave him completely, and he couldn't shake the feeling he'd had for the last hour or so that it was building to something.
"Good." Dean tossed another shovelful of dirt up, brought the shovel back down and grinned as it clanked. "Yahtzee. Got her."
Sam raised the sawed-off shotgun he carried in readiness. This was usually when the spirits took notice that they were about to be forcibly sent on. He turned his head to glance back at the house and his head spun. He put a hand out to the tree to steady himself as his vision blurred. "Crap."
Dean cleared the dirt from the lid of the coffin and pried it loose with the blade of his shovel. The desiccated remains of Grace Masterson shone in the beam of his flashlight. "Time to say goodnight, Gracie," He said irreverently.
"Dean." Sam's voice brought Dean around in a rush. There was a quality to it that set his alarm bells ringing.
"Sammy?" Dean went to the edge of the grave and levered himself out in time to watch Sam go to his knees. "Sam!" Dean scrambled the rest of the way out and caught him, holding on to his shoulders. Panic clawed its way up his throat. Sam's eyes were screwed shut, his hands clamped around his head, and blood poured from his nose to run down his face and onto his shirt.
"Guh…Dea…" Sam lost his fight against the agony piercing through his skull and didn't feel himself topple forward into his brother as the image of a woman and a house exploded behind his eyes.
The house was dark, clogged with shadows, as she opened the door and closed it behind her. She turned on the hall light, highlighting her platinum blonde hair, and set her keys on the little table. She took off her name badge and set that beside them, wiping a smear of ketchup off the filigreed engraving of her name, Marie.
"Eggie!" Marie called as she moved out of the lit hall into the darkened living room. The hall light sent her shadow ahead of her into the dark. "Come on, boy. Momma's home!" There was no customary bark of greeting and she frowned. She looked out the wide window above her couch to the skyline of Wichita and her car, the little blue Beetle, parked under the streetlamp out front.
"Eggie! Come on already." Marie turned away from the window. She reached down to turn on a lamp and jumped when the bulb blew. "Well, crap." The light in the hall behind her flickered. She turned to look, took a step forward and it too went out. "Eggie?" Marie called again as the house was plunged once more into darkness. "What's going on?"
She narrowed her eyes and instinctively backed up a step. The shadows in the hall seemed to gather together. They moved before her eyes.
"No." Marie breathed as dread clawed through her and stole her breath in short pants.
The shadows grew, looming up and seemed to float through the door toward her. They were an inky black, darker still against the dark beyond them.
"Oh, God." Marie whispered and stepped back again. The air seemed to freeze in her lungs as she saw dark, shadow arms emerge from behind her and fold in to wrap around her. She screamed as the darkness swallowed her.
"Sammy?" Dean caught his brother's weight as he collapsed into him and rolled him so he could see his face. The blood continued to flow, and, even in the moonlight, he was frighteningly pale and definitely unconscious. "What the hell, Sam?" He was used to Sam's visions laying him out for a little while, but this…this was new, and he frantically checked for a pulse before allowing himself to take a breath. He sat Sam up and tipped his head forward to keep the blood from draining down his throat and choking him.
"Dammit." Dean looked over to the open grave and then back to the house, torn. He needed to finish the job and he needed to take care of his brother. "Ok, tiger. Ok. You just hang on." Dean got up and pulled Sam back to the tree. He propped him up against it with his head hanging forward and gave his shoulder a pat. "Be right back. Just gonna go toast the old lady. Stay."
Dean hastily poured salt and lighter fluid down over the open casket, and with a last glance at the house to make sure they weren't being watched, he lit his lighter and dropped it in. The flames burst into life, lighting the night and illuminating Sam's disturbingly still figure. Dean quickly packed away their stuff, shouldering the bag and went to Sam.
"Sam?" Dean gave him a gentle shake. "Come on, dude. I really need you to wake up." He heard a soft moan and pulled Sam into his arms. "Sammy? You back with me?" He supported Sam's head as it lolled and leaned down so he could see his eyes.
Sam cracked his eyes open and saw the wavery image of Dean's face. "Dean?" His voice was soft and weak, and even that small sound was enough to make his ears ring. His head felt like it had split in two.
Dean sighed in relief and let his head rest in Sam's hair for a moment. "Scared the shit out of me," he muttered before leaning back to get a better look. "Can you stand if I help? We gotta get out of here before someone notices the bonfire." They'd taken the precaution earlier of telling a few people they were hunting that night and wouldn't be back, so no one would notice them missing or, hopefully, even consider them responsible for the desecration.
Sam nodded slowly. "Uh…yeah." He let Dean pull him to his feet and then just held on when the ground seemed to move beneath his feet. Pain ratcheted through his skull again, and he let his head drop forward to Dean's shoulder. "Shit. Wait."
"Ok, buddy." Dean got a firmer grip around his chest and supported him while he swayed, keeping an eye on the house.
"Sorry." Sam took a deep breath and coughed at the wet feeling in the back of his throat. He leaned his head back and touched his face. He gasped as he held it back out and saw it covered in blood. "Dean?"
"Just a nose bleed," Dean assured him and smiled for him. "You always had lousy timing. Come on." He hitched Sam up against him and walked as fast as he could away from the fire and into the woods that bordered the back of the bed and breakfast. They had parked the Impala on the other side, and now he wished they'd just left her in the driveway as Sam weighed heavily against him.
"Had a v-vision," Sam said softly as they walked and closed his eyes, trying to breathe past the pounding in his head.
"No shit, Sherlock." Dean spared a glance at him and didn't like what he saw. His nose was still bleeding. "It can wait. Concentrate on moving those giant feet."
Sam was walking on autopilot by the time they reached the car. Dean folded him into the passenger seat and shoved a rag from the backseat under his nose. "Hold this." He put Sam's hand over it and waited until he roused enough to do so. Dean drove with one eye on the road and the other on his brother. He knew he couldn't take them back to the bed-and-breakfast without too many questions, so he checked them in to the first motel he found instead.
Dean opened the passenger door once they parked and had to shake Sam awake. He'd dozed off against the window and seemed happy to stay there. "Up you go, Sasquatch. You can sleep in the room. Here we go." He didn't wait for Sam to help, pulling him out and up and holding on while he got his knees under him. "How's the nose?"
Sam opened weary eyes and lowered the rag he'd still managed to hold to it. "Dunno."
Dean snorted. "Helpful." He pushed the door shut and got Sam in the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Whoa, hang on." Dean pulled him back up when he tried to lay down. "Lemme see that nose."
Sam swayed even with Dean's hand on his shoulder and wished the pain in his head would go away. "She's gonna die," He said softly and opened his eyes and Dean could see the haunted look in them. Dean hated seeing that look in his brother's eyes. "God, Dean…she was so scared."
"Easy, Sammy." Dean swiped the rag under his nose, satisfied the bleeding seemed to have stopped at last. "Get these off." He pulled on his brother's shirts and did his best not to laugh when Sam raised his arms like he had when he was ten, letting his big brother tug them off over his head. The amount of blood he'd lost made Dean nervous. The pale skin on his chest, spotted with blood, further worried him. "What did you see?"
"A woman." Sam frowned and tried to pull the vision back. "Uh…Marie. Her name's Marie. She has a…a dog." He braced a hand on his head against the pain and felt Dean's hand settle over the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze.
"Lay down now." Dean eased him back to the bed and went to his bag, finding the pain pills he'd scored from their last clinic visit along with a bottle of water. "Take these." He shook a couple out into Sam's shaking hand and gave him the bottle then went quickly into the bathroom for a clean, wet towel before coming back and sitting on the bed beside him. "What else?" He asked as he smoothed the rag over his brother's forehead.
"Wichita. She's in Wichita, and there was a…" Sam faltered as the images flashed through his mind. "A shadow? Something. It was dark." He rubbed his hand over his face and scowled as Dean pulled it away before it could dislodge the cold cloth on his forehead.
"Leave it," Dean said sternly. He knew the cold would help abate some of the pain. "Anything else? Need a little more to go on if we're going to find her."
"We have to," Sam said suddenly and looked up at him. "Dean, she was terrified and it…God it hurt."
Dean nodded and pressed his head back into the pillow. "Ok, we'll find her. We will. Get some rest. I'll start looking."
"She's blonde, young. Twenties maybe." Sam's voice dropped as the pain drove through his head again. "Has a dog named Eggie and a beat up, blue Volkswagen Beetle."
"Eggie?" Dean said with a soft laugh. "Poor dog. Alright."
"Ah…crap." Sam groaned and rolled to his side, pulling the towel from his forehead down to his nose as he felt it start bleeding again.
"Shit." Dean held a hand on his back and winced in sympathy. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I." Sam's voice was muffled by the towel and steeped in frustration. "Go on. I'm ok."
"You're not. This isn't," Dean growled and stood, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He grabbed Sam's laptop but instead of sitting at the table on the other side of the room, he brought it back and stretched out on the bed with it. He needed to stay near him until he was sure he'd be alright because this was not how Sam's freaky vision thing usually went. He was scared.
To Be Continued…