Chapter Text
Dean knew that he was dreaming.
He wasn’t typically a lucid dreamer, but even he knew that going from a twenty-one-year-old to a preschooler was impossible. That and he was staring at the young face of his dead mother, looking just as beautiful as he remembered her. She was wearing a yellow sundress, with a bright yellow buttercup tucked behind her ear. A gift that a young Dean had presented to her at the beginning of the dream sequence.
“What do you think? How do I look?” Mary asked, gesturing to her hair while slowly showing off the flower like it was a fine piece of jewelry.
“Pretty!” a young voice came out of Dean’s lips, even though that’s not what Dean wanted to say.
He wanted to tell her that she was always beautiful, and how much he loved her. How much he missed her.
But that wasn’t part of the script.
Instead his dad came over with a baby Sammy in tow as the dreams—or were they memories?—continued moving forward, but there was something about them that was off. It was a lot like watching an old VHS tape that was faulty and kept skipping sections. One minute they were having a picnic in an open field, the next he was playing a game of catch with his dad, and then in another blink he was on a swing that was being pushed by his mom.
“How high do you want to go?” Mary would always ask.
“High enough that I can fly!” was young Dean’s trusty reply.
It only slowed down when they were packing up to leave the park for the day, Mary tensing as she shoved Sammy’s toys into his baby bag. Dean could see the way she clutched onto Sam’s dog plushie, so tight that she was losing color in her hands, and the way her eyes darted around nervously. So did his father.
“Mary, you okay?”
“I think I saw someone,” she said, slowly scoping out the area.
“We’re in the park, Mar. There are people running all over.”
“No, I mean… they didn’t look like they belonged.”
Dean wished that his dad had paid more attention to her claim; that he at least did a once over. Maybe he would’ve seen a weird guy in biker gear? Or maybe someone in an expensive suit and sunglasses? Someone who didn’t fit with the happy family scenery.
Instead, John continued stowing away their stuff, telling Mary that she had been out in the sun too long and would need some rest.
“I think you might still have some of that baby brain,” John teased.
Mary didn’t smile or relax, but she did acquiesce and returned to packing up their things.
Dean wanted to open his mouth and say, “Mom, you’re right! There is someone dangerous here. And he’s going to follow us back to the house!”
Instead the only reason he opened his mouth was to try to stick dirt in it.
“Dean, no!” Mary shrieked before she slapped his hand away.
“But it looks like dry chocolate milk!” four-year-old Dean tried to explain.
“Trust me, it doesn’t taste like chocolate powder.” Mary sighed and took one last glance over her shoulder before giving up on whatever she thought she saw. “How about you go keep an eye on Sammy in his stroller and then we can head home, okay?”
“Okay,” young Dean sighed, but older Dean was cursing his younger self. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a brat, his mom would have found proof.
The scene skipped again to them in the Impala, and his mother swiveling around in her seat to look towards the back window.
“Mary,” John sighed. “There’s no one there. Just keep your eyes up front and try to relax, okay?”
“I know I’m being silly, but I just can’t shake this feeling.”
“Sounds like you’re just tired from the long day. Maybe you should take a nap when we put the boys down for theirs?”
“Maybe.”
The setting shifted to after dinner where Mary was so twitchy that she shattered a plate while doing the dishes. John squeezed in right beside her, and slowly directed Mary out toward the living room.
“I got it from here,” John promised. “How about you go watch something with the kids?”
Young Dean perked up at that. “Scooby-Doo?”
Mary gave a shaky laugh. “Well I don’t think there’s an episode on at this time of night, but I can put in a tape for you.”
One moment Mary was leading him towards the living room, the next she was tucking him into his bed.
“For Christmas, do you think Santa can get me a racecar bed? No no, I changed my mind! I want an Imp-paula bed like Daddy’s car!”
“We’ll see. Remember, you have to be really good for a gift that big.”
“I’m always good!”
“We’ll see,” Mary repeated with a giggle before kissing Dean on the forehead. “I love you, sweetie. Remember, angels are watching over you.”
“Are the angels the ones that are going to report me to Santa? Can I only have one? I think I only need one.”
Mary laughed again, but then her laugh turned into screams of terror as the house was suddenly filled with smoke.
“Mommy?” Dean called out, but Mary was no longer in his room. Jumping out of bed, he toddled his way down the hall, which was quickly filling with smoke and ash. “Mommy!”
“Dean!” John yelled from behind before scooping him up around the waist and maneuvering him downstairs where the air was cleaner.
Dean didn’t have much time to process anything before a small bundle was placed in his arms.
“Take Sammy and go. Don’t stop and don’t look back!”
Dean tightened his grip on Sammy and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. He didn’t know if the bad man his mom saw before was still lurking in the shadows, waiting to snatch him and Sammy up.
Logically, he knew this was just a dream and that these things had already happened, but that didn’t stop him from running as fast as he could anyway.
His heart felt like it was pounding through his chest, but no matter how hard he strained to get to the door, it continued to be out of reach.
The flames were getting closer, and any minute now they would devour the both of them like they had already devoured their mom, and then—
Dean was jolted awake by a hard kick to the knee.
“Fuck, Sammy, I’m a human being, not one of your soccer balls!” Dean bitched, rubbing a hand over his abused kneecap.
“Yu were tossen and turn’g,” Sammy yawned, but he kept his eyes closed. “And you were whining in my ear.”
“Well, that’s what you get for crawling into my bed, you cretin.”
Despite Sam’s twin bed being directly across from Dean’s, his gangly brother was doing his best to squeeze into Dean’s already snugged bed.
“Shut up, I’m trying to sleep,” Sammy complained, burying his head deeper into Dean’s pillow.
“Then sleep in your own damn bed,” Dean retorted, but made no effort to shove his brother off. He hated to admit it, but he needed the company.
Whenever he had the dream about that day, he needed to have that confirmation that Sammy was still alive. To know that he didn’t lose everything to the fire.
“Your fat head is taking up all of the pillow,” Dean grumbled before reclaiming some of it.
Being this close to Sam, Dean could make out the mild earthy scent that was purely his brother. It reminded him of freshly cut grass, just like Dean’s own smell reminded Sam of juicy, sliced apples. As usual, the scent of family put Dean at ease, and he started to relax and drifted back to sleep.