Heroes-Revisited

By Ridley C. James, July 2006 re-edited in 2007

Beta & contributor: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me.

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Chapter 3/13

“Self trust is the essence of heroism” -Ralph Waldo Emerson

"Dean?" The name was the first thing on his lips as Sam blinked, feeling slightly out of sorts as he looked around the dark cavern he found himself in again.

He must be asleep. Because Sam was certain he was at home in his family's kitchen. The teen didn't have time to think much more about it as a torch appeared in his hand, immediately after thinking how helpful one might be. Now Sam was certain he was dreaming.

Dean's name echoed in his foggy mind. Sam concentrated on his brother. The flickering light illuminated the cave. The cages were still there, but only held one quivering boy who looked out towards the dark abyss.

"Dean?" Sam tried again.

"Sammy? That you?"

Sam sighed in relief. "It's me."

"Why are you sleeping, Sammy? I told you to wake up." The tone was slightly scolding.

"I did wake up," Sam defended. "But that was a while ago.” The last thing he recalled was eating a bowl of cereal and watching his father and Caleb argue over topical maps. Sam had slipped on his brother's headphones for a moment’s peace. "I must have dozed off," the teen finally concluded.

He heard his brother laugh. "I told you that camp wouldn't be very exciting. You should have gone for Six Flags or Williamsburg."

Sam held the torch up higher to illuminate Dean's location. "Are you okay, Dean?"

"Define okay, little brother."

"I can't see you."

"I'm here, Sammy. Don't worry."

"But…"

"Speaking of butts, how'd the panty raid go?"

Sam continued to search the darkness for the wall he'd seen earlier. "We're looking for you, Dean. You just have to hold on until we get there."

"You got a mouse in your pocket, Sammy?’Cause you seem like you're flying solo to me."

Sam rolled his eyes. His brother could irritate him even in a subconscious state. "No, Dad and Caleb are coming, too. We think we know where the raw head took you."

"Yeah, Damien must be pissed…and feeling guilty. Don't blame him, Sammy and don't blame Dad either."

Irritating or not, Dean still knew Sam better than anyone. The teen swallowed thickly. "I won't. You just have to hold on."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam." Dean said confidently as if he could read his brother’s morose thoughts.

"I'm coming, Dean. I promise," Sam called out, not understanding why he couldn't get a better fix on his brother in such a small area.

"No. Let Dad and Caleb handle it. I don't want you hurt."

The words brought sudden emotion and Sam had to blink to keep the tears gathered in his eyes from spilling over. They also magically brought much needed illumination. Sam's breath caught in his throat as he panned the torch around.

Two chains hung from the wall, extending to the floor where they were attached to Dean's wrists. Dean was sitting on the floor, his arms slightly extended above his head, and his body slumped to the side. He seemed to be unconscious.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, half relieved and half frightened when he found himself able to continue moving closer to his brother this time. "Dean, say something!"

"Something," Dean told him, opening his eyes and favoring his brother with a dopey smile.

Sam dropped to his knees, and cupped Dean's bleeding face with one hand. "Smart ass." Sam sighed, but couldn't keep from smiling.

"Would you prefer I go on and on about how freaky it is that I'm dreaming about my kid brother instead of Cindy Crawford, or how about the new song I've come up with on how much I really hate freakin' raw heads?"

"At this point, I'd probably listen to you talk about anything-even sex."

"Whoa, I should send you out in the woods more often, kiddo. All that fresh air does do wonders for broadening your horizons and opening your eyes to Nature's mysteries."

Sam’s grin faltered. "It's not done a lot for you though, huh? You're still stuck in the same old, same old."

"Are you kidding? I have met the nicest people. And seen one of Nature's biggest mysteries up close and personal."

"Not the kind of mystery you really want to write home about, though." Sam quipped as he set the torch down and tried to judge the solidity of the chains.

"Yeah, Dad wouldn't be impressed. Now if I'd run upon a big foot, or a wood troll had snatched me that might have been noteworthy to the old man."

Sam ignored his brother's ramblings. It confirmed Dean was in trouble. "Can you move?"

"Nope." Dean looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Seriously, I really don't get why I'm dreaming all this screwed up shit. If I could conjure you, I'd at least have given you super powers or something."

"It's not your dream," Sam explained as he knelt on the cold floor once more. "It's mine."

"Then why do I hear Skynyrd in the background."

Sam thought of the headset, and shrugged. He wasn't supposed to touch Dean's things.

"And shouldn't you be dreaming about rescuing some scantily clad teenage girl instead of your way too cool, self-sufficient, heroic brother? Or seeing as how this is you, how about saving your precious science project from a tragic lab explosion? Or-is this some twisted thing you've come up with because you're still pissed at me?"

"No." Sam stopped what he was doing. "I'm not mad at you."

Dean watched him for a moment, the emotion in his green eyes unreadable. Dean smiled. "That's good to know."

Sam nodded, unable to bring himself to say all the other things he needed to while his brother was so hurt and defenseless. "I have to get you out of here." Sam reached out and tried to maneuver the crude shackles. The bands were pieces of discarded metal bent and squeezed with brute force until they bit into Dean’s wrists. The skin around them was bruised and bloodied.

A renewed sense of fury and loathing for the raw head washed over Sam. "I can't leave you here again." There was no way to get the manacles off.

Sam wondered what would happen if he just held on to Dean and forced himself to wake up. Dean's soft voice brought his gaze away from his brother's injured wrists.

"I don't think it works that way, little brother."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, innocently.

"I mean, I…don't really know what I mean." Dean blinked. "But, if this is one of your freaky dreams, then I don't think hauling my ass out of it is an option. If so, I'd be up to my eyes in hot rides and have more supermodels hid in my closet than you could find at the Playboy Mansion."

Sam forced a smile, even though the truth of it made his heartache. "Dreams aren't real." He breathed. Dean had told him hundreds of times. Words which had once brought comfort and security now tore all that away.

"Exactly. So, I'm not going anywhere. But you are."

"I can't leave you." Sam let his hand find his brother's. "I won't."

Dean surprised him by squeezing his fingers. "You have to."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when Dean tightened his grip and smiled. "But feel free to use that freaky mind to conjure up some pretty little nurse to look after me while you're gone. I like blondes."

"I don't think it works that way, Bro.” Sam looked around them, licked his lips. “Do you at least have any idea where you are? How we can find you any faster?"

Dean frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to concentrate. "I remember hearing water."

"I heard it too."

"I was pretty out of it after that thing used my head for batting practice, but I smelled something sweet, really sweet."

"Like what?"

"Like perfume."

"Perfume?" Sam frowned again. "Some kind of flower maybe?"

"Maybe. You tell me, Botanist Boy. It kind of smelled like Mom."

"Like daisies?" Sam asked. That's how Dean had once described Mary. Sunshine and daisies. It had stuck. Sam rarely saw a daisy without thinking of their mom.

"No." Dean shook his head. "Not like her. Like her perfume or maybe her soap or something." Dean swallowed hard. "Dad will know."

A sound in the distance caught both their attention. The seventeen-year-old dropped his brother’s hand. "You need to go, Sammy."

"No." Sam shook his head.

"It's coming." Dean’s voice held a hint of urgency.

"But this is just a dream and you said dreams can't hurt me."

Dean reached out and touched his brother's hand again. "I lied."

Sam bit his lip as he heard the monster coming closer. He knew in his heart the raw head couldn't physically touch him, but Sam had a pretty good notion his brother wasn't talking about that kind of hurt. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"It's okay, Sammy. Wake up and it will all be over."

"Stop saying that." Sam couldn't see the beast, but could hear it lumbering closer.

"Hey, it's your dream."

"Yeah, well…" Sam started, but suddenly Dean winced, reaching up to grab his head. Sam watched in morbid fascination as his brother's form actually flickered out of existence and then appeared more.

"Sammy. Wake up!"

"Dean? What's happening? What's wrong?"

Dean gasped again. Sam tried to grab onto his brother's shoulders to maintain contact as the seventeen-year-old was once more rendered invisible. Sam panicked. "Dean? Dean! Please come back!"

"God," Dean groaned, his body shimmered in front of the wall once more. His pain-filled eyes met Sam's and he forced a weak imitation of his grin. Unfortunately, his clenched teeth were a dead giveaway to the agony he was obviously enduring. "Hurry, Sammy. He's coming for the other boy."

And then he was gone. Sam looked around the cavern as it flickered and then faded, just like his older brother had, leaving Sam alone in the darkness. "No!"

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Dean was pulled to consciousness by the falling of dirt on his bruised face and by the sound of muffled sobs. Daryl, the youngest of the Patterson boys, was crying louder-his voice dulled slightly by the ringing in the seventeen-year-old's head.

Dean looked around; realizing he'd once again passed out. Whatever the raw head had hit him with had done a number on him. And that was only the beginning.

The thing had taken some insane pleasure in making sure Dean was not in any shape to escape. Dean's screaming ribs were testament to the beast's thoroughness. But what had taken the cake was the sick way it had looked at him as it enveloped each of Dean's wrists beneath handmade, scrap metal cuffs. Who knew raw heads were so crafty? Wait until he told Caleb.

Daryl’s crying pulled him from his dark thoughts and Dean cleared his dry throat, trying to bring some much needed moisture to his mouth. "It's okay, kid. Just hang in there." He finally pushed out past swollen lips. The seventeen-year-old was only slightly relieved when the little boy's sobs quieted marginally. A faint memory of dreaming about his own kid brother tugged at the corner of his mind. Dean fought harder to stay awake.

Daryl sniffed and looked at the older boy. "I thought you were dead-like Phillip."

"Phillip's not dead," Dean lied. In all probability Daryl's brother was dead. The raw had taken him several hours ago, despite Dean's best efforts.

The teen had to fight off a wave of nausea that washed over him at the thought of what might have become of Daryl’s brother. He pushed himself up to a seated position against the wall, gasping when the metal cuffs around his wrist rubbed his mangled skin. "You have to think good thoughts. Remember?"

Daryl nodded, rubbing a dirty hand over his face. "I heard the bad man coming."

"I know." Dean sighed, unable to ignore the rumbling growing closer. "How about you scoot back as far as you can in that cage and make yourself as small as possible."

"Like a beetle?" Daryl stared at Dean. "Sometimes we pretend to be beetles in school at nap time.”

"Sure." Dean smiled. "Like a beetle." Beetles weren't very appetizing. Better than having the little guy pretending to be a sausage.

Daryl crawled to the rear of the cage and collapsed in on himself, pulling his head and knees tightly together. In the darkness, the teenager could barely see him. It wasn't going to fool the beast, but at least out of sight out of mind was a concept that could apply. After all, Dean never craved chocolate chip cookies after dinner unless Sam left them out on the counter in sight.

"Just remember beetles are very quiet." Dean added, unsure if that were actually true. Sam could probably tell him which beetles were quiet and which ones weren't, but the walking encyclopedia wasn't there at the moment. And as the rumbling and growling grew louder, Dean couldn't have been happier that Geek Boy was safe and secure at some brainy camp forty miles away.

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Caleb nearly spilled his coffee over the pile of maps scattered across the table when Sam sat up and screamed his brother's name. He quickly reached out and grabbed the kid to keep him from tumbling out of his chair. "Sam?"

The screaming got John’s attention too. He thundered through the living room holding the cordless phone. It had taken forever to get a hold of a park ranger at four thirty on a Saturday morning.

Caleb waved him off. “I got it, Johnny.” They couldn't afford for John to hang up on the man.

Sam was still breathing heavily and murmuring. "I'm okay. It's okay."

"Hey. Take it easy, Runt." Caleb placed a hand on Sam’s head, hoping the touch would bring the teen some calmness. It seemed to help, but Caleb caught the backwash of the kid’s fear, pieces of Sam’s dream painfully slicing through his own thoughts. Reaves frowned. Dean was hurt. He could feel it now. "Bad dream?"

Sam nodded, slowly reaching up to slide the earphones he was wearing off of his head, letting them dangle loosely around his neck.

Caleb smiled as he recognized Saturday Night Special. "You saw Dean again."

"Yeah." Sam blinked and then rubbed his eyes. "I mean…I think so."

"Just take a deep breath, Sammy. Clear the cobwebs." Caleb was patient. Sam had information which might help, but Sam was still pumped full of adrenaline, preventing him from getting a clear reading.

The kid did like Caleb suggested and within seconds the intelligent gleam returned to the brown gaze leveled on the older hunter. He licked his lips, nervously. "Caleb? Am I really dreaming Dean or just about Dean?"

Someone else might not have understood what the thirteen-year-old was asking, but Caleb understood the confusion all too well. It was damn unnerving to try and tell the difference between a normal dream, a vision, and a prophetic warning. Even after all the years Reaves had been dealing with his gift, he still felt frustrated. "I'm not sure, Sam. But if I had to put my money on it, then I'm guessing that you are dreaming Dean."

"But how's that possible?" Sam asked, slightly shaking his head and causing his too long hair to fall across his eyes. "It's never happened before. How can I talk to Dean in my sleep?"

"I'm not sure." Caleb frowned, rubbing a hand over his five o'clock shadow. He had his strong gut instincts; the hunter really wasn't sure why Sam was connecting so strongly with his brother. He would have to ask his father, Mackland Ames. "Could have something to do with you and Dean being separated when he was taken." Or could mean Sam was coming into his abilities.

"Does all this mean that I'm a freak?" Since turning twelve, that had been one of Sam's biggest fears. Maybe all teens felt that way at some point, but Sam had specific reasons for worrying about it, with the odd lifestyle his family led. He was consistently an outsider and under harsher scrutiny by his peers.

"No." Caleb said louder than he had meant to, surprising himself with the sudden need to make this point loud and clear. Caleb had been called a freak. It wasn’t something he would ever let happen to Sam if it was in his power to stop it. "You are not a freak, Sam Winchester. No matter what. You might dream like this again, or maybe you won't. But no matter what, don't let it make you doubt who you are. You're still the same little Einstein you've always been. Dean Winchester's little brother. The son of one of the best damn hunter's I've ever known and my favorite Winchester."

"I thought Dean was your favorite?"

"Not this week." Caleb replied with a grin. He wished Dean had listened to him on the hunt.

Sam glanced down and fiddled with the tape player in front of him. He seemed to digest the words and appeared somewhat appeased. He glanced back up at Caleb. "Have you dreamt about the raw head?"

The hunter sighed. "Yes. That's why I called your father." His visions were from the perspective of the evil being. He’d been forced to watch it kill children. It felt as if he was the one attacking the unsuspecting victim. Caleb was pretty sure the nature of his visions was why he couldn’t connect with Dean this time. His subconscious mind was protecting him from being in a position where he felt he was the one hurting Dean.

Sometimes his abilities were truly a curse, although Pastor Jim tried to convince him otherwise. "Have you seen the raw head, Sammy?"

The thirteen-year-old swallowed. "Not this one. But I've heard it."

"What about Dean and the boys you saw from before? Did you see them all again in this dream?"

"There was only one boy this time."

Caleb shoved his hands through his hair. "Damn." He swallowed the failure. They needed to save the other boy and Dean. "Go on, Sam."

"Dean was still chained to the wall. He's hurt, but he talked to me. So that's good- right?"

"It's great. Did he pass on any pearls of wisdom?" Caleb was trying to be comforting.

"Caleb, he thought he was dreaming about me."

"That must have been a change. I imagine most of Deuce's dreams involve leather and scantily clad bar maids."

Sam smiled at both the nicknameand the images Caleb's description conjured. "He was wondering why I was there instead of Cindy Crawford."

"Yeah, if your brother's unconscious digs up chains and cuffs, the nighttime movie is going to be rated way too high for your viewing pleasure, Runt."

Sam's smile faded some. "I told him it was my dream, but I'm not sure if he believed me."

"I'm sure he did. He never doubts you, Sam."

"But he blanked out on me a few times in the end-and then just disappeared."

"Blanked out?"

"Yeah. Sort of like the flickering of a light."

A smile spread across Caleb's features. "Now that sounds like good news, to me." It was the first real sign Dean was alive.

"Huh? Why is that a good thing? It hurt Dean. He was in pain."

Caleb shook his head. "Sleep or unconsciousness provides a medium for the kind of conversation you had with your brother. He was in pain, and momentarily out of contact with you because he was waking up."

Sam still looked confused so Caleb rushed on. "Dean would have to be in a deep state of sleep to communicate with you so, if he blanked, as you put it, then…."

"He's alive." Sam was relieved. The young psychic could always put Sam at ease.

"And we're going to save him." Caleb gave the teen an affirming nod. There was no choice. Dean would be alive, they would save the boys, kill the raw and then have pizza and beer to celebrate. Then when Dean was feeling good as new, Caleb would let him have it for disobeying the chain of command.

"Well, I've got good news and bad news." John reentered the room. His tired features, made him appear more rugged and haggard than usual.

For the first time in a long time, Sam saw a hint of defeat and weakness in the man. It scared him into silence.

"There are some abandoned mines in that area. Several, in fact." John rubbed his bloodshot eyes and took the seat next to Sam, tapping on the map in front of him.

"And the good news?" Caleb asked, standing to refill his coffee cup.

"That was the good news. The bad news is that most of them have been blasted closed because of their unstable conditions. They're basically death traps, whether a big ass monster inhabits them or not."

"Great. Nothing I like more than chasing a mouse in a maze while the walls are falling down around me."

"What about the others? The ones that aren't in such bad shape?"

John looked at his son. "There are two good possibilities." He glanced at the map. "They are several miles apart, and that means a time limit considering we'll have to hoof it in.

Caleb stifled a yawn. "If we get close enough then I might be able to sense something, but it is still a fifty-fifty shot."

Sam interrupted. "Dean doesn't have a lot of time. He told me to hurry."

The oldest Winchester frowned. "What do you mean- he told you?"

"We could separate?" Caleb suggested. He refilled his coffee mug, and pushed it in John's direction. "That way we could cover both our bases."

"No. You know the rule-no hunting alone.” John picked up the cup. “And if Dean's hurt, I'll need you to get him and Sam out of there while I finish that thing."

"Why do you get to finish it?" Caleb asked, a deep frown, marring his face. Reaves wanted a piece of the bastard that had made his life a living hell over the last month and now that it had hurt Dean…

"Dad?" Sam interjected, but apparently went unheard.

"Because I've got seniority," John replied, taking a long drink of the hot brew.

"Dad!" Sam shouted, getting his father's attention. "What kind of perfume did Mom wear?"

"What?" John nearly dropped his coffee. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Dean said you'd know."

"Again with the Dean said." John shot another accusing glance in Caleb's direction before addressing his son. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Sam nodded. "Dean told me that he smelled mom's perfume when the raw head was taking him back to its lair. We thought it might be a clue as to where he is. Maybe a flower or a tree or something in the vicinity. "

John took a deep breath and tried to still his racing heart. He raked a hand through his hair and held Sam's gaze. "Jasmine. I think it smelled like Jasmine."

"That can't be it," Caleb interjected, knowledgeably.

"How the hell would you know, Junior?" John snarled. "I think I know what my wife's perfume smelled like."

"Well, unless Dean is in Asia or South Africa, or the south tropics, I really don't see how he's near wild blooming jasmine. It's not a native blooming plant here."

When both Winchester's gave him a confused look, he rolled his eyes. "What? My grandmother liked flowers, alright? She taught me enough about them to know, you're not going to find some exotic patch of jasmine in West Virginia, unless it's in someone's flower garden."

"Well that wouldn't make sense, seeing as how we're looking for an abandoned mine."

Caleb thought for a moment and then raised a brow. "Could Mary have had a perfume that smelled like honeysuckle?"

John shrugged, conceding he didn't remember as much about his lovely wife as he wished he did. "Maybe. Could have been her shampoo." John had always loved the way Mary's hair smelled.

"I mean they're not the same, but both flowers elicit a strong aroma and have a sweet, almost intoxicating scent. Dean could have confused the two."

"Intoxicating scent?" John rolled his eyes.

Caleb gave him the finger. "You can tell Mac that I've been using that dictionary he gave me when I was fourteen."

"Honeysuckles are all over the place though," Sam pointed out. "We ate some this weekend at camp."

"You ate them?" John's head whipped around to look at Sam as if the boy might have received some mortal wound from the wild bush.

"Technically, I guess we just sucked the nectar out of them. Mr. Taylor showed us how. They were good." A slight pang of guilt washed over Sam. He thought about his brother, what he was going through, and what he had sacrificed to send Sam to camp.

"You know better than to be eating strange plants that some tender foot math teacher points out, Sammy."

"Johnny, they're perfectly safe. I've eaten them. . ."

"That's not a recommendation."

"Can we please get back to the subject?" Sam asked in exasperation. Sometimes his father and Caleb were as bad as Caleb and Dean. "Dean heard water too, if that helps narrow things down any."

"That's makes sense," Caleb spoke up. "Honeysuckle bushes often grow around creek beds. Now we have land marks. We need to see if one of those mines is near a stream, then we can just pack a picnic lunch and set off for the big bad wolf's place."

The oldest Winchester turned his dark, smoldering eyes on his son. "Sam, are you sure these dreams aren't just dreams. We could waste a lot of time looking for the things you're suggesting-time that your brother doesn't have."

Caleb hated the look of doubt that resurfaced on the thirteen-year-old's face. "I think Sam's had a premonition," the hunter answered for Sam. "It could just be a freak coincidence, but I don't think we should look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, in one of my first visions, the little girl had flowers in her hair. Thinking back, they could have been honeysuckle blooms."

Sam glanced from Caleb to his father. "Dad, I think I talked with Dean. I don't know how, but I'm sure of it."

John watched his son for a silent moment, staring at him so intensely Sam was tempted to look away, but he didn't. "Alright. Let's look at the map and see what we can do. First light will be here soon. We'll have to be cautious. Raw heads don't hunt in the day, but catching one off guard will be hard. What they lack in brains, they make up for in their damn good senses." He looked at Sam. "I know you want to come, son, but at the first sign of that thing. I want you out of there. They go for smaller targets; the smell of children can incense them. It's like dropping bloody fish into a school of sharks."

"I'm not a kid."

"You're not an adult either, Sammy. That thing knows the difference. It likes innocence."

Caleb nodded. "Listen, Sammy. It has Dean and we don't want it to get you too." Already the hunt would be difficult since they had a vested interest. By adding in Sam they were going to be hyper-vigilant. But everyone was coming home. There was no choice.

Sam finally nodded. "I'm going to go restock the first aid kit, and we need to find something that will cut through metal."

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