Chapter Text
He sees it. A hand, elegant and clean, trembling, while holding a gun. It feels wrong, as if that specific hand isn't supposed to be holding it - it's not made for it. But it does. The hand has a silver-looking bracelet hanging around it with its weight being pulled down by a small and flat charm of half a heart. The charm is sliding back and forth, left and right, up and down, from the shaking of the hand. The finger is on the trigger, yet it is still unsure of whether it wants to shoot or not.
It took Sam a moment to realise that the gun was pointed directly at him. He feels a need to get out of this situation, as if there’s something he needs to do, someone to take care of: but he knows that the situation is unescapable and he knows that he deserves whatever was coming to him.
So he finally closes his eyes, prepares himself for the hot, electrifying shock of pain he’s about to receive, and drifts into the bliss of unconsciousness.
But surprisingly he woke up, with the only pain being the one in his head. The sharp migraine was slowly backing away as he opened his eyes and began to feel himself coming back to his senses. A figure was in front of him, calling out his name. The voice was familiar, accompanied by a firm grip on his shoulders as he finally understood what was happening: he had a vision.
He felt his face scrunching up as the migraine gave him one last punch before fully fading away. He was sitting on something cold, his back leaning against something firm and immovable. He looked up, already knowing that he was going to find Dean beside him. His expression was full of panic and worry - no matter how many visions Sam has, Dean will never get used to them. He’d better not. The words that came out of Dean's mouth had started to reach Sam.
“Sammy? Sam?” Dean said with a bit of force in his voice, as if he’s trying to prepare himself for anything that could happen and tightened his grip around his brother.
Suddenly, an insatiable thirst filled Sam, as if he hadn't drunk anything for the past month and to top it off someone pushed insane amounts of sand down his throat. He bent down and started coughing, trying to hack up the thirst but found himself unable to do so.
“Easy, easy, man.” Dean lightened up his grip and put his arm around his back.
“W- wat-” Sam said in the small interval of his coughing fit and Dean rapidly got up and filled the first cup that he saw with some tap water. He rushed back to his brother, sitting on the floor, wheezing. He lifted the hair from his face and brought the cup to his mouth. Sam moved his hand up to grab the cup from Dean’s grip, and did so successfully, even though he couldn't help the tremoring.
He desperately wanted to chug the entire cup in one go, but the weakness in his arm did not let him. After a few moments, he finished the water and felt like he regained his energy. Dean, standing on his knees with his arm still on Sam’s back, grabbed the cup with his free hand and put it next to the bedside table. Sam leaned back against the wall again, making Dean move his arm, and finally started to assess his surroundings. They were between 2 beds, in some sort of motel. He became almost immune to all of them, feeling that whatever motel they were in - they were all the same. Were they on a hunt? Why couldn’t he remember? Oh wait, there was something more important than that.
“Hello? Earth to Sam,” said Dean, waving his hand in front of Sam’s face.
Sam cleared his throat, and mumbled out: “Yeah, m’fine.” He took in heavy breaths, trying to clear his head from any external distraction that prevented him from recollecting his vision.
“Sure you are.” Dean scoffed quietly, and waited a beat to let Sam get himself together.
“Did you have a vision?” He finally muttered out.
“Yeah.. Yeah, I did,” said Sam, almost as if he was in a different world. All of a sudden, his look changed. His eyes widened, and his face became a bit paler than it was before. As if for a heartbeat, he stopped breathing.
“So?...” Dean questioned, a bit disturbed from the quick switch in expressions.
Sam tried to find the right words to say, but he knew that there weren’t any.
“I… I saw a hand, holding a gun. And…” He paused, as if for an eternity, and looked down, not wanting to see his brother’s reaction to the information he’s about to say.
“It shot me. I died, Dean.”
The words hit Dean like a baseball bat to the skull. Hell, he’d probably prefer that than ever hearing those words again. For a mere moment, he couldn't move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe: he felt like he was stuck in time. Like he should do something, prevent something from happening, but he knows that physically can’t.
And then he shot himself back to reality. He can. He can prevent it.
“Ok. Ok.” It certainly wasn’t ok, but he needed to collect himself somehow. He got up from his knees, and started pacing slowly around the motel room, stumbling, fingers clutching the bridge of his nose.
“Do you remember anything else? Where were you, what were you doing, if who- whatever shot you said anything?” Desperation filled his voice.
He thought deeply about it, trying to drag something back to the surface of his memory, but he didn't get anything.
“No, I can’t remember anything else.”
Dean didn’t react and continued to pace around the room.
Sam used all the strength he had and sat himself down on the edge of the bed to his right.
The bed was hard like wood. Now that he thinks about it, the whole motel room was crappy. Wallpaper was tearing off, the corners of the ceiling had mold and the fridge sometimes just turned off. Why were they staying here?
He finally remembered. There was a job - a wendigo, he thinks - which was in the forest next to the road by the motel. He remembered driving here - to the middle of nowhere - for a pretty long time; maybe 10-15 hours, and whenever he asked, Dean would not let him drive. Which is why when they got here Sam had to go by the morgue by himself, while Dean caught up on his much needed beauty sleep.
There were 3 - or were there 4? - bodies found in the woods, all missing their hearts and some limbs. He could remember only one body: a young man, early 20’s, went out to the woods during the night with his friend. His heart was carved out, he had a small birthmark right above the carving and his entire arm was ripped out of his shoulder. The thought made Sam sick. He remembered that he and Dean discussed it, and found out that the wendigo is probably so hungry that it doesn’t hoard its food anymore: it eats it immediately. And because the bodies were found progressively closer to the edge of the forest, it's probably moving out to the town. they have to stop it.
He snapped back to reality when Dean started a conversation.
“Ok. We just have to do the opposite of- of whatever the hell we were doing earlier, and we're going to prevent this… vision, right?” He stopped in the middle of the room, standing rigidly, with his hands dropped down to his waist. He looked at Sam in a concerned expression, his brows furrowed. He was hoping - praying - that Sam, for this one time, would agree with him.
“What about the wendigo? It’s moving out of the woods, we have to stop it,” said Sam, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.
Dean let his shoulders drop. He shaked his head slowly and looked down, releasing a scoff. He knows that he can’t change Sam’s mind on anything, and if he doesn’t want to leave, he won’t.
“We can get someone else to hunt it, call Bobby or- or Caleb, anybody.” Dean said, bit more harshly and went to sit on the other bed, his back turned to Sam.
“Dean, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Caleb could be anywhere right now, and it would take Bobby at least 2 days to get here, which would be too late because it will kill tonight.” Sam pleaded. He couldn't just let these people die, his consciousness wouldn’t let him. He needed to help someone, save somebody, especially after he- after Meg possessed him. He just needed to.
The silence felt like it went on for a decade. Thankfully, it got broken up by a knock on their door. Both of the brothers looked at it, then at each other, and Dean got up to see who it was.
Behind the door was a young girl, maybe late 20’s, with straight black hair and dark brown eyes. She was beautiful: she spoke in a sort of flow, undisturbed, indifferent to everyone around her.
While she was talking to Dean, she put her right hand around the doorframe. And then Sam remembered: the bracelet, the one from his vision, was dangling around this girl’s wrist, shining bright because of its silver coating reflecting the bright morning sunlight. This girl was holding the gun in his vision. She kills him, she has to be, right?
He felt an adrenaline rush fly over his body as he quickly looked up to examine her face more, to try and remember her- but in exactly that moment Dean had shut the door, and walked back to the bed, now sitting in front of Sam.
“What did she want?” Sam tried to contain the panic in his voice, and his mind.
“Nothing, just that we have to pay for last night.” Dean said as he looked up to see Sam's face, trying to understand what was the reason for this abrupt silence. Sam looked uncomfortable, disturbed, looking back towards the door when he rotated his head back to face Dean’s and said.
“I remembered. I saw that girl- well, maybe it wasn’t her, but I saw her bracelet on the hand that… shot me.” It never gets easier saying that.
Dean looked shocked and paralysed for a moment as he swiftly shot up from the bed and ran to the door, opening it to look if the girl was still there. The quick movement made Sam twitch and get up from the bed too, as if he’s trying to stop Dean from doing something both of them will regret. Yet Dean saw nothing, and went back inside.
Sam stood firmly in front of Dean, preparing himself for what he’s about to hear, even though he already knows.
“We either get the hell outta here, or we stop her.” There it is. The dreading words that he certainly didn’t want to hear. His tone was rough, face even rougher as he looked Sam in the eye. This is non-negotiable. But he knows Sam will try anyway.
“Dean-” Sam started, in his beseeching tone, which got interrupted by the sharp resonance of his brother’s voice.
“Sam.” Don’t start. They kept staring each other in the eye, communicating with each other mentally when Dean abruptly stopped their psychic conversation and went to pack up his things. But Sam won’t let go.
“Dean, we can’t just leave. People are dying. And as for the girl, we can’t just kill her, we don’t know if it’s her and we don’t even know if she’s a monster,” Sam pleaded.
“Oh yeah? Why in the world would a human - a young girl - kill you? You haven’t done anything to her, hell, you haven’t done anything!” Dean knows what position he put himself in. He looked back at Sam, who was walking back to be in front of Dean, and was just waiting for the words to come out.
“You know why. What if I-” turn evil. Go rogue, embrace the dark side. Dean shakes his head and chuckles sarcastically before Sam could finish his sentence, which he didn’t
“Then we should stop it from happening even more.” Dean declared, and returned to packing his duffle bag rapidly.
Sam roughly grabbed Dean by his wrist and looked him in the eyes with a face that screams “please” more than ever. He couldn’t handle knowing that he could prevent something evil from happening to innocent people but didn't do anything for it. He couldn’t handle the responsibility, not after Jess, after- Well, there’s too many things to list.
“Dean. Please, just listen.” Dean tried avoiding looking at Sam, but he gave in eventually.
“Innocent people are going to die. It's moving out of the forest, and sooner or later will be in town. We’ll avoid this girl as much as possible, but we have to kill this thing.”
Dean looked at Sam as his expression went from sternness to a mix of worry and care. He swiftly turned around from Sam and swung his hand out of his grip. Damn puppy eyes.
“Dammit!” He exclaimed, while Sam still stood there, waiting for his next move.
“We’re not getting out of town, but we are moving motels. You don’t go 30 feet away from me and don’t even think of getting close to that girl, got it?” He said, still not facing Sam.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Sam felt relief flooding him. A subtle but short smile graced his face as he dropped his shoulders and started packing up his own bag.
How could this happen? Why was it always them? Why can’t Dean just have a moment of peace? Without worry, or frustration or whatever the hell was happening to Sam. He still can’t wrap his mind around it. You think you’d get used to it, but he never did. It still freaks him out every time. And he knows that there’s little he can do to help Sam, but he’ll do his damn best at whatever he can. Even if it kills him. He can save Sam.
Dean walks with Sam back to the impala, they shove their bags in the trunk, and as Sam opens the door to get inside the car he notices Dean is going back to the motel.
“Where are you going?”
“We have to pay for the night, remember? Just wait in the car.” Dean orders as he quickly runs to the motel's entrance, and disappears out of Sam’s sight. Sam sighs. He’s tired: tired of worrying about his destiny, tired of Dean worrying about him, tired of the arguments, of the guilt, exhaustion, nightmares. The vision probably did a number on him too which made him even extra-tired.
He looked up at the motel. It was pretty big, and looked nice on the outside: probably because of the giant sign, which was doing 90% of the illusion. In big and cursive lettering there was written “Sunset Motel” with a symbol of a yellow sun behind it. It looked basic enough, but it was enormous and was on top of a motel room on the second floor.
He felt like he wanted to sleep forever. Maybe he would, when they get to the other motel. Maybe he could start sleeping now. He closed his eyes for a second, but then the click of the car door opening and the loud bang following it made him startle himself awake.
“Alright, I found this motel at the edge of town. 20 minute ride and has a diner next to it so we won't get hungry. Good?” Dean looked at Sam, trying to assess his mood, or condition or whatever the hell was happening. Sam rubbed his eyes with his fingers and muttered:
“Yeah- yeah, ok,” he said, with a higher pitch to his voice than usual.
“You didn’t have another vision, did you?” Dean said in a serious tone.
“Dean, you were gone for 5 minutes, I'm fine.” Sam said, back to his bitchy tone, just as usual. Dean dropped his guard a little, and tried to forget or put away the urgency of knowing the fact that Sam could die. It’s fine. Dean won’t let him die, they will be fine.
“Yeah, well, if only you weren’t as fragile as fine china, maybe I wouldn’t have to look after your ass every 5 seconds.” He said in a snarky tone, trying to lighten up the mood, for both of their sakes.
Sam chuckled, and a smile appeared on his face. “Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
It'll be fine.