Chapter 5.

Dean was walking along the peek of Panther’s Creek trail, carefully avoiding jagged rocks and jutting saplings that had struggled to survive their limestone surroundings.

He could hear the soft gurgling of the water better than fifty feet below him, feel the heat of the late afternoon Southern sun baking his shoulders.

Sam and Caleb were several yards ahead of him, pieces of their conversation about water spirits floating back to him on the humid breeze.

He stopped for a moment, running the back of his arm over his sweating brow before any more of the salty perspiration could leak into his eyes. It was dangerous to have blurry vision at this altitude, especially when he was standing so close to the edge.

Dean glanced over the cliff, wondering at what exactly possessed a kid to willingly throw themselves from this height into the tiny splotch of blue water below. He didn’t care how cool or invigorating it was. Why the hell they didn’t just step their feet in the old fashioned way, he’d never know.

Apparently this place, Panther’s Creek Falls, was a favorite spot for summer time fun.

Despite the accidents and recent death of yet another high school senior, other teens still came. Still climbed out onto the rocky cliffs to find their adrenaline-packed high as they plummeted to the mountain fed stream below.

Dean shook his head with a slight shiver, as the ground seemed too eager to rush up to greet him. He would take the thrill of hunting any day-his dislike of heights mixing uncomfortably with his aversion for water.

He could almost hear his father’s voice telling him that fear of anything was a weakness-especially fear of something as innocuous as H2O.

“Go ahead. Jump in, Ace.”

Dean jerked around, to find his father standing in the middle of the path, separating him from Sam and Caleb. “Dad? What the hell are you doing here?”

John Winchester was suppose to be nearly fifteen miles away saying a binding spell to keep Kendall Humphreys bound to the earth that held her body, and her spirit away from the water that had claimed her life two years prior.

The older man didn’t answer the question. He merely pointed at his son. “Do it, son. The only way to overcome a fear is to face it. Winchesters don’t have time to be afraid.”

Dean faltered. “But…I don’t like the water.”

“I don’t care what you like, Dean.” John’s face hardened. “Do what I tell you to, no questions asked. Questions cause trouble.”

Dean glanced down to the water again, his heart doing a triple take, as it skipped against his chest. “No. I’m not doing it.”

“Yes. You are.”

Dean’s eyes widened as suddenly his father was standing beside Sam, who seemed oblivious to his presence, continuing to talk with Caleb.

“No!” Dean seemed to know what was going to happen, even before his father’s hands shot out, shoving the younger boy off the cliff, plummeting towards the water below.

“You just need the right motivation, son.”

The nineteen-year-old watched helplessly as Sam’s arms wind milled, finding no perch, no leverage. Dean’s mind screamed at him to move, for Caleb to react, for Sam to suddenly grow wings and fly far, far away from this horrific scene.

But none of those things happened. Sam shouted his brother’s name before landing in the water with a splash.

Dean recovered the use of his body, spinning, falling to his knees so that he could see over the ledge to where his brother had landed.

The water was still, not even ripples breached the inky blue surface. Then she was there, bursting from beneath the glass-like prison, her eyes meeting Deans, even as she smiled triumphantly. “I’m not alone anymore,” She whispered the same words that Dean had heard when he had been submerged in the icywater, when he’d felt himself falling into the emptiness. He’d known he was going to die at that moment, and that meant one thing…Sammy was dead.

“No!” Dean screamed. “Sam. NO!” He shot up in his bed, gasping as he braced himself with his injured arm in a rush to break free of the nightmare.

“Dean?” The light between the two beds in the small room was switched on, casting the only occupants in a faint wash of yellow. “Are you okay?” Sam struggled to untangle himself from the blankets.

His older brother held up his hand, but this time Sam ignored the silent command to stay back and he shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, his concerned gaze never leaving the older teen. “Dean?”

Dean was struggling to get his breathing under control, back to normal despite the bruising on his chest from the CPR compressions and his still weak lungs.

He coughed, deep and wet, before he could stop himself and Sam reached out to steady him. “Hey?” His little brother’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Is it your breathing?”

“Dean?” He asked again and the urgent fear in his voice along with the residual feelings from watching his brother go over the edge of that cliff was almost too much for Dean.

The older teen forced his eyes open and took a deep breath although it hurt like hell. “I’m…okay. Give me a minute, Sammy.”

“Should I call somebody?”

“No.” Dean shook his head and met his brother’s concerned gaze. “Nightmare.” That one word should have summed it up for Sam, who had always had his share of battles with the dream demons.

Sam simply nodded, not relinquishing his hold or offering to move back to his own bed.
“What was it about?”

Dean looked at him. “That damn Cindy Crawford again. She has a nasty S&M fetish.”

The fifteen-year-old let his hand slide from his brother’s shoulder, for once relieved that Dean was feeling well enough to joke. “You want to talk about it?”

Dean shook his head. “A gentleman never talks, Sammy.”

“I’m serious.”

“No. I’m good.”

“Sure you are,” Sam sighed, reaching up a hand to check his brother’s flushed face for a fever.

“Dude,” Dean leaned back out of reach. “Personal space here.”

“The doctor said to watch out for fever.”

“Trust me, I’m hot…but not that kind of hot.”

“You’re a jerk is what you are,” Sam said with an exasperated sigh. It was too late to be going a round with his brother. “Just…you’d tell me if you were sick…right?”

That hint of fear was back, so Dean shoved aside the quick come back and nodded. “I’m fine, Sam. Really…go back to sleep.”

The younger hunter watched him for a moment, running his usual visual scan to see if he could detect any dishonesty in his brother’s features. “All right.” Sam stood and made his way back to his own bed. “Good night, Dean.”

Dean waited for the other boy to turn the light off before easing himself back to the mattress, wincing as his sore body protested. He’d just reached the mattress, when Sam’s voice called his name again.

“Yeah?” He said into the darkness.

“I’m sorry…about Dad.”

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