Dream On

By: Tidia

Disclaimer: Ridley is all about The Brotherhood and Kripke is all about Supernatural. I do not profit from either.

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Chapter 4/6

Sam rolled on to his brother, fussing and unable to sleep. It was a late, hot summer in Georgia. The air conditioning in the apartment worked only intermittently. Dean glanced at the alarm clock, three in the morning. He would have to get up for school in three hours. First he would need to drop Sam off with Mrs. Collins and then the seven- year-old would head to his second grade class.

He felt the stifling heat too. Normally, he would rub Sam's back but any contact in the heat would make things worse. He began to hum to distract his brother and lull him.

The next morning, Dean was tired. He yawned his way through school, then picked up his brother and took him home. John would be back from work by dinner time. He played with Sam, all the while hoping the heat would break, the air conditioner would get fixed or he could distract his brother.

It was then he thought of a solution. Getting the silver duct tape from under the sink he began to cut out stars. After an hour there was an indentation in his right hand, but he had cut out about thirty stars. There would have been more but 5 were sacrificed to Sam to play with so Dean could finish the rest.

He went into the small room that they shared, grabbed the broom, stood on the bed and stuck the silver stars on the ceiling.

At night as they lay in bed Dean weaved his tale, shining a flashlight on the twinkling stars. "See, Sammy, we can pretend we're outside. Maybe like we're camping. . ."

"I like to pretend I can fly in space like Voltron." Sam put his arms out.  "But, I need wings. . . Think I can fly with no wings?"

"Go to sleep, we'll work on wings tomorrow." Dean yawned, and fell asleep as his brother did the same, under the stars.

Dean woke up with a start then groaned back. He blinked, feeling wetness drip into his eyes. He examined further, but screamed. Any slight movement of his right arm caused burning pain to envelope him. Dean took in some shallow breaths, trying to dull the pain and calm himself.

After awhile he used his left hand to remove the wetness from his face, feeling it was a mixture of grease and blood. He turned his head and examined his right arm. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could see the bone was broken, but it looked like it hadn’t gone through the skin.

"Great, just great."

He looked up, and found that was a mistake. He was trapped. The truck covered the opening to the root cellar, dripping a mixture of water and oil on him in a steady stream.

"Okay, Dean, stay calm."

Using his left arm he pulled himself to a sitting position, gasping as pain lanced through his midsection. He doubled over and shut his eyes tight, tears streaming down his face. "Ribs busted," he said with a groan, having experienced the pain before.

He leaned himself against one the crates, trying to get comfortable, feeling the cold earth seeping though his jeans. "Hello! Help!" he yelled out. But, he knew no one was there. John, Sammy and Caleb had gone into town and Jim had gone to help his parishioners.

"Where's MacGyver when you need him?"

A paper clip and some string were not going to get him out of this predicament. He looked around, noticing the bottles and some crates. There were some gallon water containers in the corner, but Dean didn't have anymore energy to drag his body over there. His body was protesting any further movement.

"This sucks!"

He could still hear the classic rock station, muffled as if it were at a great distance. He shivered. He didn’t know how long he was out. He looked to his watch, seeing the digital numbers glowing in the darkness. It was one o'clock. He hoped someone would be back soon. He rested his head against the crate, knowing it was a mistake to close his eyes, but it would provide release from the throbbing pain wracking his entire body.

The top of the crate had been splintered open, probably by the impact of his body against it. Dean could see the bottles inside. With his left hand he fished inside pulling out one. A few thumps against the crate and the top was off, Dean took a swallow.

Over the years, Dean had been allowed to have sips of beer, usually from his father, Caleb or Bobby. During the last year he had been allowed to nurse a bottle, but it hadn’t been a big deal-drinking was commonplace amongst the hunters.

Four bottles later and some wine, he was singing a song, feeling the throbbing diminishing in a haze.

Every time I look in the mirror
All these lines on my face getting clearer
The past is gone
It goes by, like dusk to dawn
Isn't that the way
Everybody's got their dues in life to pay

Yeah, I know nobody knows
where it comes and where it goes
I know it's everybody's sin
You got to lose to know how to win

Half my life
is in books' written pages
Lived and learned from fools and
from sages
You know it's true
All the things come back to you

Sing with me, sing for the year
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good lord will take you away

Yeah, sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away

Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until your dreams come true
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream until your dream comes through
Dream On Dream On Dream On
Dream On Dream On
Dream On Dream On

Sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away
Sing with me, sing for the year
sing for the laughter, sing for the tear
Sing with me, if it's just for today
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away...

He sighed. He was tired, cold and damp. Another shiver ran through him sending tremors down his right, injured arm. Sleep was beckoning. He wanted to give in, but he remembered people with a concussion shouldn't sleep. Dean knew he wasn’t going to die in the root cellar. Someone would find him and then he would be fixed up as good as new. He hoped.

But, he had time to think, and that was dangerous. Dean never wanted to be alone and in his head too long. He thought about baseball for a few moments.

"And Winchester is at bat. Smack! It's back, back, it's out of the park! The Red Sox win!"

He loved spending time with a glove in his hand at the ready to catch. He enjoyed the outdoors and camaraderie of being on a team, playing for the love of the game not because of some heavy responsibility. He looked at his arm hoping he would still be able to play. It didn’t look too good for this season.

In the fall he had to sit out two weeks because of a ball making contact with his head. It had been warm October day with Dean playing first base and Caleb and Sam in the stands. John was working, and unpaid time off was a luxury. Usually he had to force his brother to come to the games, and then Sam did his homework in the stands, not paying attention to the action on the field. But Caleb had surprised the Winchesters with a visit.

Dean wanted to impress the older hunter. He was attentive at first base, glove in hand ready to catch and get an out. The batter had fouled towards third base twice. The next pitch he swung and missed. It was the second strike. Dean had confidence in the pitcher. So he was shocked when the batter connected to the ball and sent the ball towards Dean.

Dean didn’t know what happened next. He charged forward, jumping in the air, and getting his feet clipped from under him from the batter while the ball thwacked against his head, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Dean closed his eyes, unable to catch his breath as the force of the landing caused the wind to be knocked out of him. He blacked out, finding it easier to succumb to a moment of unconsciousness than the cacophony of sound around him.

He heard from his teammates that Caleb bolted to his side, Sam right behind. Blood was everywhere and Caleb was using his jacket to stem the flow. Within the six minutes it took the ambulance to get to the park, Dean was awake, hearing Sam crying.

"Hey," Dean said softly to get his brother's attention.

"Stay awake, Deuce." Caleb ordered him.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam got close to his brother's face, enough so a tear fell on Dean's cheek.

Dean hadn’t opened his eyes; his head ached and was stinging.

"Don't be such a pansy ass, Deuce. Open. Your. Eyes." Caleb squeezed the teen's arm.

Dean frowned. He could hear the worry in Reaves's voice. He obliged and opened his eyes to see the paramedics hovering. "Pansy ass?"

The psychic grinned, evidently getting a proper response. Caleb and Sam piled into the ambulance with teenager, and talked to him the whole trip to the hospital. The mild concussion and stitches required a twenty-four hour stint in the hospital, which John had been none to pleased. Dean had not been thrilled about missing the last two weeks of baseball season and the floating threat John would not allow him to play the team sport.

But, spring came around and Dean was back in the rotation. He knew baseball wouldn't be his career, but to have the dream truncated earlier than expected would have been heartbreaking for him. He wanted to harbor the dream as long as possible.

He had other dreams too.

He dreamed about girls. Those were very good dreams.

Sometimes he dreamed about his mom, but as time went on they were less and less. He wouldn’t call them dreams, and he wouldn’t name them nightmares either. He woke up feeling sad. Melancholy feelings of loss took time to shake.

He banged his left hand against the crate. He found another bottle and took a drink. He burped loudly, and laughed. At least he had time to learn how to burp the alphabet. It was a talent he admired. But once he got to the letter 'c' he noticed his ribs protested. Dean let his head drop back as another shiver wracked his body. He closed his eyes. At least when he opened them again, maybe he would be in a nice warm bed or in the least have a good dream.

Twilight dwindled at Jim's home as the Impala pulled in. Sam raced out of the car and charged into the house ahead of the two hunters.

Caleb got out of the passenger seat, balancing two brown grocery bags.

John snickered. "Grocery shopping and long hair?" The older hunter tugged the younger hunter's ponytail. "You becoming domestic on me Reaves?"

Caleb raised one eyebrow, and shook his head. "You may want to refrain from insults on my manhood. Cause I literally am saving your ass."

John snorted in disbelief.

"Mrs. Olsen's tuna surprise is defrosting in the refrigerator." Reaves stated, clutching the steak filled bags close. Earlier in the morning while getting some juice, he had seen the silver wrapped package clearly marked. He wanted to throw it away, but knew Jim would be upset at wasting food.

John uttered an epithet, which Caleb didn’t hear. "That woman tried to kill us last time."

"I know." Reaves distinctly remembered when Mrs. Olsen had been thoughtful enough to send food to the pastor. She had almost single handedly wiped out The Triad, plus the next generation of hunters. "Jim said we couldn’t use her as werewolf bait."

"Because she'd be missed." John mimicked the words Jim had used. "Who would miss that cooking?" he asked Caleb as they entered the house.

Sam greeted them in the kitchen. "Dean's not here."

"Probably went with Pastor Jim to pick up Mac at the airport, Kiddo." John explained, noticing the barn was closed, and Caleb's Jeep was not in the driveway.

Caleb removed the plastic wrap from the steak packages. There was a grill out back. Reaves wasn’t a good cook, not even passable, but he could handle meat on the grill.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the raw steaks. "Red meat contributes to heart disease."

Caleb snorted. He didn't know if Sam read too much, or watched too much television, but the child knew some odd facts. "Thanks, Sammy," he said, gesturing for the boy to follow him outside. "You can have the tuna surprise if you want. Mrs. Olsen made it."

Sam jogged to catch up to Caleb's wide gait. "I'm only 10. I don’t want to die."

"I thought so," Reaves replied as he primed the gas grill. He gave Sam the steaks to hold as he tossed a match inside the grill and watched it catch a yellow glow. The boy was staring at the meat. Dean did most of the cooking and grocery shopping. Steak probably wasn’t in the Winchester budget. "It's just like a hamburger only better."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Can I put cheese on it?"

"Sure, why not?" Caleb answered. Cheese made everything taste better.

The steaks were ready and Sam had set the table. As they were about to sit down the headlights of the Jeep shined through the kitchen window. The trio decided to wait until the other hunters joined them.

Jim entered and looked at the table perplexed. "I already defrosted tuna surprise. . ."

The hunters ignored the comment, as Mackland Ames entered. He hugged his son.

"Hey, Dad." Caleb returned the hug. He hadn’t seen his father since the holiday break.

Ames reached out a hand to John. "I can see they gave you your clothes back."

John accepted the grasp and chuckled. "Ohh, I am already thinking of extra training sessions. . ."

"Daadd." Caleb cocked his head. He really hated being junior hunter amidst the senior ones.

Mac shrugged his shoulders. "For every action there is a reaction. Isn't that right, Samuel?" He tousled the boy's hair.

Sam pushed the fallen hair out of his eyes. "I tried to tell them."

Reaves mimicked being stabbed in the heart. The youngest one had abandoned him, and fed him to the wolves. "You wanted in on it, Runt."

Ames placed an arm around his son's shoulder. "Caleb, Sam's ten years old," Mackland admonished.

The boy made sure no one was looking and then stuck out his tongue at the hunter.

For a moment he felt like Sawyer being outwitted by the youngest Winchester. He shook off the feeling. Caleb hadn’t sunk to that level. However, the next time the kid wanted a drawing of a mythical creature, Reaves would make him beg for it. He decided to talk business to get the attention away from him. "Well, Jim, looks like you got yourself a friendly, neighborhood satanic cult."

John pulled some beers out of the refrigerator. "Junior and I are going to find out who the leader is and have a chat."

"Maybe you'll see your church membership go up—everlasting salvation, everlasting damnation—really all the same isn’t?" Caleb took a few of the beers out of the other hunter's hand and placed them on the table.

Pastor Jim cleared his throat. "I might throw in some training myself, John."

Mac's chuckling at his son's expense was interrupted by Sam who was looking at the kitchen door.

"Where's Dean?"

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