Chapter Text
The Pounding in My Head
2006
“I’m gonna go grab us some pizza and beers. If I leave you two crazy kids alone for an hour, is everything gonna be okay?” Dean Winchester asked.
“Piss off, Deuce. I ain’t a kid, and Sam here doesn’t know how to do anything fun, so don’t worry about that,” Caleb replied.
Dean looked over at Sam Winchester, clearly expecting some kind of sarcastic comeback. When he didn’t get one, he frowned.
“You okay, Sammy?”
Sam didn’t look up from the book in his lap.
“I’m fine, Dean. Go get the damn food.”
“Grouch,” Dean muttered before heading out the door.
The second it closed, Sam shut his eyes.
Pain pressed behind them like a vice.
The visions were getting worse.
And the headaches afterward were becoming unbearable.
He dropped the book — something about demons, though honestly he wasn’t even sure anymore — and swallowed hard against the nausea rolling through his stomach.
“You sure you’re okay, kid?” Caleb asked from the kitchen table.
Sam shrugged weakly.
“Besides feeling like I got kicked in the head and spending the last hour trying not to throw up? I’m peachy.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said quietly. “That happens sometimes.”
Sam glared at him through his hair.
“It doesn’t happen to you.”
“The nausea?” Caleb shrugged. “Not much anymore. Headaches still suck though.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve had a lot more practice than you, Runt.”
“Yeah, well, this wasn’t hidden from you your whole life,” Sam snapped. “It’s not my fault this shit didn’t start till now.”
Caleb studied him carefully.
“You sure about that, Sam?”
Sam frowned.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Caleb pushed his research aside and crossed his arms.
“C’mon, kid. Think about it.” His voice softened slightly. “You know somewhere in that giant brain of yours this started before now.”
Sam swallowed hard.
Then something flickered across his face.
“You mean…” He hesitated. “At the farm? When I was sixteen?”
“Yeah, Runt,” Caleb said quietly. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
July 1999
Sam and Dean were staying at the farm for the first time in months.
Their dad was off on a hunt with Bobby Singer, and while he usually took Dean along, this time John had asked him to stay behind and figure out what was going on with Sam.
Something had changed.
Sam had always been stubborn and argumentative, but lately he had gone quiet. He disappeared for hours at a time, wandering into the woods surrounding the farm just to be alone.
Dean hated it.
At least out here Sam was safe.
Or safer.
Dean sat near the pond when he noticed Caleb watching him from the porch. Smirking faintly, he brushed dirt off his jeans and headed over.
“You know, Damien, it’s kinda creepy when you watch me.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to come sit by that pond,” Caleb replied. “I hate water.”
Dean snorted.
One of the few things they completely disagreed on.
“Where’s the walking ball of hormones you call a brother?” Caleb asked. “I miss the little guy.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“How loose is your definition of ‘little’? He’s basically a tree now.”
Caleb laughed.
“So where is he?”
Dean shrugged.
“No clue.”
That immediately made Caleb raise an eyebrow.
“You let him outta your sight? That’s new.”
Dean scowled.
“He keeps disappearing on his own lately.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And before you say it — yeah, I know he’s sixteen. It’s just…” Dean sighed heavily. “Something’s off.”
“Off how?”
“He disappears for hours, barely eats, barely sleeps, and he won’t talk to me.”
Caleb tilted his head slightly.
“You ever think maybe he’s just being sixteen? You weren’t exactly sunshine and rainbows at that age either.”
“Just wait till you see him,” Dean muttered. “You’ll get it.”
The two headed inside and dumped Caleb’s stuff upstairs before settling into the living room.
A few hours later, the front door creaked open.
Sam walked in slowly, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Hey, Sammy,” Caleb called.
Sam jumped slightly at the sound of his voice.
“Hi,” he mumbled before immediately heading upstairs.
Caleb frowned as the bedroom door shut.
“…Okay. Yeah. You were right. Kid looks like crap.”
“Told you,” Dean muttered. “Dad thinks he’s just being moody, but I don’t think that’s what this is.”
And honestly?
Neither did Caleb.
Sam looked exhausted. Tense.
Dark circles sat under his eyes from lack of sleep, and in all the years Caleb had known him, Sam Winchester had never been quiet.
Angry? Sure.
Loud? Constantly.
Sarcastic? Absolutely.
But never quiet.
And beneath all of that, Caleb could feel it.
Fear.
Panic.
Something was seriously wrong.
Worse, Sam was blocking him out.
Caleb knew Sam could do it — he knew a lot of things about Sam that Dean didn’t — but Sam had never actively shut him out before.
That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
They didn’t see Sam again until dinner.
Even then, he barely spoke.
He pushed spaghetti around his plate more than he actually ate while Dean watched him with growing concern.
“Do you not like the spaghetti, Samuel?” Pastor Jim Murphy asked gently.
Sam glanced up and forced a weak shrug.
“It’s great, Jim. I’m just not really hungry.”
“Alright then.” Jim nodded toward the counter. “Leave your plate there. I’m sure Scout won’t mind helping you finish it.”
Sam nodded gratefully before disappearing upstairs again.
Dean sighed heavily.
“I swear he hasn’t eaten a real meal in four days.”
“I’m sure it’s just teenage angst,” Caleb said, though even he didn’t sound convinced.
Dean snorted quietly.
“I never thought I’d miss him being his usual bitchy self.”
That got the faintest smile out of Caleb.
Jim, meanwhile, had gone unusually quiet.
“Dean,” he said suddenly, “mind taking a look at the church van tonight? It’s giving me trouble again.”
Dean immediately perked up.
“Sure. But seriously, Jim? Dad’s rusty. I’m definitely the better mechanic now.”
Jim laughed warmly.
“Go easy on the old man.”
Dean grinned before heading outside.
The second the back door shut, Jim turned toward Caleb.
“I need you to talk to Samuel.”
Caleb nearly dropped the plate in his hand.
“Uhh… why me?”
Because honestly?
Talking feelings with Sam Winchester sounded like his personal hell.
Jim’s expression softened.
“He obviously isn’t talking to Dean or John.” He lowered his voice slightly. “And if this is what I think it is… you’re the best person for him to talk to.”
Caleb slowly set the plate down.
“…You think it’s psychic stuff.”
Jim nodded grimly.
“John chose not to tell Sam there was a possibility he could develop abilities.” He sighed heavily. “Now if it’s happening, Sam won’t understand what’s happening to him.”
Caleb rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“Earlier his emotions felt completely outta control, but I couldn’t get a clear read on him. It was like he was blocking me.”
Jim frowned deeply at that.
“Do what you can,” he said quietly. “But don’t tell him about the abilities yet. And don’t tell Dean.”
Caleb immediately grimaced.
Dean noticing something wrong with Sam was already bad enough.
If he learned psychic abilities might be involved?
Full panic mode.
“Yeah,” Caleb muttered. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Caleb paused outside Sam and Dean’s bedroom door.
He still found it weird Dean never took his old room after Caleb moved out. But after sharing rooms their entire lives, maybe the brothers were just used to it.
Caleb knocked softly.
No answer.
After a second, he carefully pushed the door open.
Sam lay curled on his side facing the wall.
At sixteen, he was already taller than most grown men, but somehow he still managed to look painfully small.
“Sammy, you awake?”
Sam jumped slightly before turning over.
“Caleb?” he mumbled sleepily. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking on you.”
Sam squinted suspiciously.
“Who made you do that? Dean or Jim?”
Perceptive little shit.
“Jim asked,” Caleb admitted.
Sam sighed and pushed himself upright, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
“But,” Caleb added, “I kinda wanted to check on you anyway. No offense, kid, but you look awful.”
“M’fine.”
“Really?” Caleb leaned against the dresser. “Because I’ve never heard you this quiet in my life. Shouldn’t you be downstairs arguing with Dean about something?”
Sam laughed bitterly.
“So now Dean’s mad I’m not argumentative enough?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Nothing I do is ever right with you people,” Sam snapped.
Then suddenly he swayed.
Caleb frowned immediately.
“Sam?”
Sam pressed a hand hard against his temple.
“Something’s wrong.”
His knees buckled instantly.
Caleb caught him before he hit the floor.
“Sammy!”
Sam didn’t answer.
His breathing turned ragged as he stared blankly at the wall.
And then Caleb felt it.
Fear.
Not his own.
Sam’s.
A sharp pain exploded through Caleb’s skull as flashes tore through his mind — darkness, panic, John, Bobby—
“JIM!” Caleb shouted.
Footsteps thundered upstairs.
Dean hit the doorway first and immediately dropped beside his brother.
“Sammy!” Dean grabbed him carefully. “Can you hear me?”
Sam blinked weakly before grabbing fistfuls of Dean’s shirt.
“Dean…”
“I’m right here, kiddo.”
Sam swallowed hard.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Dean immediately hauled him toward the bathroom.
Caleb stayed frozen for half a second.
Because now he knew.
The abilities were developing.
And judging by how strong that connection had been?
Fast.
Jim appeared beside him.
“What happened?”
Caleb looked toward the bathroom.
“I saw what Sam saw,” he admitted quietly. “John and Bobby. Somewhere dark.” He swallowed hard. “All I could feel was fear.”
Jim’s face paled.
“You need to call them,” Caleb said immediately.
Jim nodded and hurried downstairs.
A minute later, Caleb carefully approached the bathroom doorway.
Dean sat on the floor with Sam half-curled against his chest.
Ridiculous, honestly.
Both of them were over six feet tall now, folded awkwardly across a tiny bathroom floor.
But all Caleb could see were the same scared kids they’d always been.
“How’s he doing?” Caleb asked quietly.
Dean looked up, terrified.
“He’s been getting migraines for weeks,” he admitted. “Bad ones. They make him sick.” Guilt twisted across his face. “I knew something was wrong. I should’ve pushed harder.”
“It’s not your fault, Dean.”
Dean just tightened his grip on Sam.
“I just wanna know what’s wrong with him.”
Caleb looked away.
Because he did know.
Or at least part of it.
And he wasn’t allowed to say a damn word.
“I know,” Caleb said softly. “C’mon. Let’s get him back to bed.”
They settled Sam into Dean’s bed since it was closer to the door.
Complete darkness.
No noise.
No movement.
Vision headaches were brutal enough without light making them worse.
By the time Caleb and Dean came back downstairs, Jim was pacing the living room.
Dean frowned immediately.
“What’s going on?”
Jim looked toward them grimly.
“John isn’t answering his phone,” he said. “And they missed their last two check-ins.”
Dean’s face drained of color.
“That’s impossible. It was supposed to be an easy werewolf hunt.”
“I know,” Jim admitted quietly. “But right now your father and Bobby are missing.” He looked between them seriously. “And we need to find them fast.”.”