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 8/13

Sometimes ordinary men must do what heroes cannot. –Quintin Schnehage

"You want me to what?" Dean looked from his father to Mac. They were both standing near his bed, and the mattress dipped slightly as Ames sat down near him.

The doctor patted his leg. "It's not as strange as it sounds, Dean. Caleb will help you. It'll be sort of like meditating."

"On crack." Caleb snorted, Dean glared at him.

Mackland ignored his son’s interruption. "The process is very similar to astral projecting, or dream sharing. Caleb tells me that you've already done some of that."

Dean frowned. "I dreamed about Sam, or he dreamed about me, but I was unconscious. In case you haven't noticed, Mac, I'm not exactly gifted in this shit."

"You don't have to have abilities Dean-just a connection with your brother." The older man grinned. "You definitely have that and that is a power all its own."

Dean held the other man's gaze, and Mackland knew the boy was reading him in his own way. Dean didn’t trust easily, but the doctor was certain the teen knew he would never intentionally mislead him. He also knew that Dean trusted Caleb implicitly. It would aid in the process. "What do I have to do exactly, Magnum?"

Ames grinned, his mustache twitching slightly, dimple showing. Dean liked to tease him. With a Hawaiian-print shirt and a Ferrari he could pass as Thomas Magnum, eighties TV detective extraordinaire. "You just have to relax and focus on Sam. When the time is right Caleb will guide you through the rest."

"When can we start?"

"As soon as possible." It was John who answered, never one to wait, especially when one of his own was in jeopardy.

“What?” Caleb looked at him, standing up from his relaxed pose against the wall. "Maybe you should give it another day. See if Sam wakes up on his own.".

"It's been fourteen fucking hours, Caleb," John snapped. "We don't know what could be happening, what he's going through, or how much damage this could be causing."

"Damage?" Dean's eyes widened and he looked to Mac. "Do you think Sammy's hurt? You said he was just trapped-unable to pull himself out of this?"

Mackland sighed. He wished John had an ounce of tact, a minuscule of patience. "I haven't seen Sam yet, son. I'm not sure of anything at this point."

"I know you, Mac," John said.

Mackland took it as an accusation. “And that means?”

“It means you're pretty damn sure of what's going on, and it has you worried, or you wouldn't have jumped a flight here as fast as you did. Brotherhood or not."

Mac bit his lip, his eyes unconsciously going to John’s hands, where the only ring present was one from a promise made to his long dead wife. He tried to understand Winchester’s reluctance to wear the symbol that bound them together, but when John questioned ‘his’ loyalty it was rather difficult. "I came because I was needed. I came for Samuel."

"Then do what you're here to do. Don't beat around the bush."

"I'm not one to rush in, Johnathan." Ames stood slowly, glancing at the other man's damaged ankle. "I like to avoid pitfalls where someone could get hurt."

"Maybe Dad's right. Maybe we should do this now." All Dean's hesitation had seemed to flee at the perceived threat to his brother. "I'll do whatever it takes, Mac."

The doctor nodded. "I know you will, Dean." John's damn conditioning ensured that.

“But maybe he shouldn’t.” Caleb spoke up again and Dean growled in frustration. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Mackland could understand his son’s concern. Not only was he certain Caleb was doubting himself, Dean was a mess. Ames reached out and ran his trained fingers over the massive bruises on the side of teen's forehead. The blues and purples bled down from his hairline where the impressive hues were hidden by dark, blond tresses to splatter in full color across his cheek. "We’ll have to be careful."

"Ow." Dean winced. "Careful with the merchandise."

"You took a couple of hard blows to the skull, I see." Mackland released him, a contemplative frown on his face.

A couple had been more like five or six, but the teen shrugged. "I have a hard head."

Some of the worry lines softened and Mackland winked at Dean. The doctor jutted his chin slightly towards John. "That's a genetic trait, you know."

"Dr. White said he had a concussion when he came to talk to me in the waiting room," Caleb supplied, garnering twin glances of surprise from the Winchesters. "What? I'm family."

John shook his head." I don’t care what he told my ‘brother’. He told me Dean would be fine."

"After some down time," Caleb added with a little more force, and sent a challenging look in John's direction. "The brain isn't something to mess around with." He cut his eyes to Dean. "Deuce, this isn't as simple as it seems. There are some risks. . .you could be hurt worse."

Ames agreed with his son to a point, but John’s reasons were also valid. “Dean, you have to understand that this isn't going to be a walk in the park. It will be work, and it could be painful, especially if you're injured in anyway up here." He tapped his own head. "Projection will activate parts of the brain you're not accustomed to using."

“But Sam needs me now.”

Mackland ran a finger over his brow. "If Sam's condition is what we believe it to be, acting quickly would be the best action."

"I’m all for acting quickly." John wrapped his hands around the bed rail. “What’s going on in that massive brain of yours, Mac?”

"Shouldn't you be sitting down-elevating that leg?" Ames asked, gesturing to the empty chair. He made it quite clear his words weren’t a question.

The oldest Winchester frowned, limped over to the chair and gingerly propped his foot up on the mattress. "Satisfied, doc?"

Mackland smiled. "Now, as I was saying, it's dangerous to leave Sam in this condition because like any state of deep unconsciousness, the longer one remains the more risk of complications. Other body systems, like the renal and the respiratory, may shut down, causing the need for life support."

"Life support?" Dean paled.

"And then there's the brain itself. If Sam is focused in one area, stimulating it, then circulation and electrical synaptic activity in that area may deprive other sections of precious oxygen and blood flow."

"Causing brain damage?" John queried out loud and Ames nodded. The oldest Winchester raked his hands through his hair. "God damn it," he snapped. "Just do something, Mac." He'd heard enough. "We get the picture."

"I want to do this," Dean said, fiercely, looking first to the doctor and then holding his father's gaze.

John looked to Mackland. "It's not like Dean will actually be in physical danger, right?" He made a gesture towards his own head. "I mean it's a mental process. It'll all be happening in his head."

"And everything I did was happening in Sam's head." Caleb stepped forward closer to the bed. Mackland wasn’t sure if his son realized he had placed himself between Dean and the two older hunters, or if it were second nature. Either way Caleb’s countenance was determined. "You see how that turned out."

Dean reached out and caught Reaves's sleeve giving it a hard tug that had Caleb reluctantly facing him. "And you did it because you had no other choice, right? This is the same kind of thing, man."

"We have a choice. We can wait. Give Sammy a chance to come out of this on his own." Reaves shook his head. Dean didn’t understand what he was asking of him. "You're all gung ho to throw yourself in front of a bus, as usual, but how do you think Sam is going to feel about that if he wakes up as an only child?"

"Better than him not waking up at all," Dean shot back, anger making his voice tremble slightly.

"What are the dangers?" John asked pulling Mac from Dean and Caleb’s argument.

"Let's see, stroke, hemorrhaging…" Caleb started listing possible outcomes.

John shot him a heated look. "I was talking to the doctor."

"I'm doing it," Dean stated, bringing all eyes back to him. "I don't care what might happen to me."

"Deuce…," Caleb tried again.

Dean interrupted him. "Sam's lost, Caleb, and probably scared-maybe hurt. He'll be waiting on me." He turned his earnest, green gaze back to Ames. "I have to try."

Mac felt both boys’ silent pleas, each wanting him to side with them- to see their dilemma. It was hard to consider everyone into the equation when Caleb’s gaze held more than a hint of fear and hurt. But in the end he had to do what was best for them all. "Then let's go see Sam."

The visit to see Sam had been easier this time around because like Dr. White had promised, Attila the Hun was off for at least twelve hours, and everyone else was in awe of Dr. Mackland Ames. They paid little attention to the fact that a seriously injured, limping patient was in the hall in the wee hours of the morning.

Dean quickly reclaimed residence by his brother's bed, moving his braced leg so it was tucked under the bed. He took the brief moments before Mac began his examination to try one last time to reach his brother the old fashioned way. "Damn it, Sam! Open your eyes," he whispered, laying his hand on the other boy's head. "You're just bound and determined to make me do this the hard way, huh?"

Sam remained still, and Dean rubbed at his eyes, looking from all the machinery back to his little brother. "What'd I tell you about running off on your own, kiddo?" Dean let his hand move from Sam's forehead to slide through his soft hair, biting his lip to keep the frustration and lack of sleep from getting the best of him. "This is all your fault, Sammy. I hate this freaky Force shit, and now I'm going to have to play Yoda's mind games just to get you back"

"So, I'm Yoda, huh?" Mackland casually glanced in Dean's direction. "Couldn't I have at least been Obi Wan?"

"Caleb likes to think he’s Obi Wan," Dean explained with a shrug. "But Yoda taught him everything he knew."

"I hope your confidence in me is deserved, Solo," Mac's mustache twitched as his tactic garnered the smile he'd been hoping for, albeit weary and small. "I guess Sam is our young Jedi in training?"

The tainted smile faded out completely, and Ames didn't miss the fact that Dean tightened his grip on Sam's hand.

"So, your Dad's the hairy fellow then?” Mackland turned on his penlight and examined each of Sam’s eyes. “What’s his name? Chewbacca?"

Dean was quiet and Mackland clicked his light off and looked at him.

"No. Dad's Vader."

The doctor held the boy's gaze, unsure if the teen was joking. But it didn't take long for it to become obvious he was doing neither. "I see." It might have been the most honest the boy had ever been with him, and the doctor suddenly yearned for the mask Dean usually wore to slip back into place. "And the Emperor?" Mackland couldn’t help but to wonder if that spot was held by whatever had taken Mary Winchester.

"Who knew you were such a Star Wars geek, Mac."

"I'm somewhat of a fan. I haven’t lived with Caleb all these years and not absorbed some useless pop culture."

Dean's eyes returned to his brother. "Sam loves all the movies. We've seen them about a hundred times. He dressed up as Skywalker three years in a row for Halloween."

"Every boy needs a hero."

Dean licked his lips, his eyes lingering on Sam's face. "Yeah."

"Sammy's lucky enough to get to grow up with his."

The teen looked up. "I'm no hero, Mac."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, son."

"What's happening to my brother, Mac?"

"I told you, Dean. He's put up defenses, locked himself away…" Mackland gestured to the unconscious teen.

"I mean with…" Dean didn't know what to call it. "With all this dream stuff. How did Sam come to me when I was with the raw?"

Mac sighed. "Dean, these questions are not mine to answer."

"I can't protect him from something I don't understand," Dean said angrily. "He's going through something, and he won't talk to me, and Dad won't talk to me, and even Caleb's tight-lipped, so that leaves you, or Jim, and Jim's not here."

"Do you really want to know something that you might have to keep from your brother? Think about that before you answer. I know you have your suspicions, your intuition, but that's different than being a part of something that could hurt Sam in the future. He'll need someone to turn to when it seems everyone else has betrayed him."

"Are you betraying him?" Dean swallowed hard unsure how he would handle the answer if it was the one he didn't want to hear.

"No." Mackland shook his head. "We are protecting him."

"Was that Dad's decision?"

The silence was the only answer Dean needed. "I hope you all know what you're doing, because if anything happens to him…"

Dean let the threat trail off as John and Caleb entered the room. "I've signed the necessary paperwork," the oldest Winchester informed them. He made his way to his youngest son's side. He brushed the back of his hand over the boy's cheek. "His doctor made me sign one of those damn AMA things."

Mac nodded. "It's basic procedure. They want to keep their butt's out of the sling, just in case."

"Well, it's the just in case that I don't like."

"Sometimes we have to make hard decisions." Mac glanced at Dean. "And hope they are for the best."

Dean held the doctor's gaze for a moment before looking at his father. "As long as it's the best decision for Sam."

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Sam had done this all on his own. He had wanted nothing more than to be independent of his family, out from under his big brother's watchful eye-to be grown up. But he didn't feel grown up. He felt small and scared. Vulnerable. All those things he'd feared when he'd been so determined to push Dean away to sever his safety net.

And here he was, swinging in the wind. All by himself. But not alone. The fire was there. It had found him despite all his hopes of escape.

Just like in his childhood nightmare the beast chased him through the night into the old house where it reached for him, seared his mind with its intrusion and burned his arms with its vicious touch.

Sam tried to fight, but it was relentless. It forced him deeper and deeper into the old, gutted structure of the house. Dean wasn’t there to wake him up or pull him into a comforting embrace. He couldn’t whisper to Sam everything would be okay. For all Sam knew, Dean was gone forever; killed by the raw he had been fighting before everything had gone black.

So Sam ran until a voice had called to him from the emptiness, telling him to go somewhere safe. It was a woman's voice and the scent of honeysuckle and daisies filled his senses, giving him a trail to follow in the darkness.

The door was unlike the others in the old house. It was pristine, unmarred by the flames. The door was white with a large brown bear painted on it. A bear with butterflies and honeybees buzzing around its head, its large paws buried in a honey jar. Sam recognized it as his old kindergarten classroom, but didn’t have time to question the oddness of it or the newest facet in his twisted nightmare.

Sam heard the fire crackling close behind him. With only a slight touch of the knob the door swung open, revealing a cheerful room painted a sunny yellow with daisy trim, and tiny empty desks in five tight rows.

He quickly entered, closed and locked the door behind him. It rattled and shook, as the fire monster tried to breach the newfound sanctuary, sending Sam farther into the room to safety

Large cutout, laminated letters curved in an arch above the small alcove. The Bear's Den. Memories flooded him. The thirteen-year-old surged forward, hearing the scratching and digging at the door behind him.

Sam weaved through the cooking and shopping play centers around books and board games to find himself in front of the large papier-mâché boulders at the entrance to the class coatroom. He pushed aside some of the branches from the fake trees, and slipped inside, his heart catching as he caught sight of the bear-skin rugs and familiar bean bags scattered amongst discarded coats and backpacks.

Even Stellaluna was there, resting near the painted stream. Sam felt himself fall to his knees. His heart was starting to calm, and his breath evened out as he wrapped his fingers around the soft fur of the stuffed bat. One thought rushed through his mind as he brought the animal to his chest.

His brother would come. Dean would find him. Just like before. Just like always. His big brother would fix everything.

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"So, big brother is going to fix everything?" Caleb asked, casually fingering the corner of the blanket covering Sam. His eyes were on Dean though.

Mackland had worked his magic, convinced the other doctors to release Sam from ICU, and move him. So now the thirteen-year-old and all the equipment monitoring him had been brought to Dean's room where the world-renowned Dr. Ames would take over his care.

"That's the plan," Dean replied, his gaze affixed to Sam's pale features.

"Just be careful. Don't throw yourself in front of that bus if you can just as easily pull you and Sammy up on the sidewalk." Caleb wasn’t please he was being forced to be a part of a plan that willingly put the Winchester brothers in danger, especially when Dean was so gung ho about the damn thing.

Dean raised an eyebrow, and his mouth twitched. "You worried, Damien?"

"If I get gray hair at an early age, I'm blaming you." Caleb pushed his hair off his face.

"It could be a whole new look for you. Very Pepe LePew." Dean grinned.

"I mean it, Dean." Caleb looked at him. "You never listen to me, and honestly I think half the time you just do the opposite of what I say to piss me off."

Dean frowned, unsure of how the conversation had taken such a turn. "No, I don't."

"Yeah, you do, like when I told you to stay put back when we were trailing the raw."

"Geez, how many times have I got to say it, I heard a noise. The bastard got the drop on me."

"Uh huh, and how about the time when you were like nine, and I told you not to go near that beehive on Jim's farm?"

Dean's mouth twitched again. "I didn't go near it. I just had an amazing pitching arm even then."

"The words were barely out of my mouth when the whole damn nest was falling at our feet."

Dean grinned. "That hurt like a bitch."

"You nearly died."

"Who knew I was allergic?"

Caleb shook his head in frustration. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"And it really doesn't suit you, man. Plus, we don’t do serious."

"Yes, we do serious when you get hurt." Caleb sat down in the chair near Sam's bed and picked up a discarded magazine. "Just be careful, damn it."

Dean sighed. "So, what's it going to be like?"

Caleb read the slight nervousness in the green gaze staring at him. Dean wasn’t the only one on edge. "Projecting?"

Dean nodded.

The other man put the magazine down and shrugged. "Kind of like dreaming, only things are more real, I guess." Caleb searched for a way to explain it. "Imagine being placed in a movie, where you don't really know what's going on, someone else is controlling the script, but you have to let it play out before you can get to the end."

"So, I'll be in Sam's version of whatever he thinks is going on?"

"Yeah.” Caleb thought about his father’s revelation of Sam perceiving him as the thing that had taken their mother. “And trust me he thinks things are pretty bad. Things won't be the way they appear, Deuce. But if they're real to Sam, then you experience what he believes."

"Can I change things?"

"You mean project your own reality?" Caleb frowned. "I don't think so. I tried that when Sam was fighting me. It didn't work. It's better to play along. Look for clues."

Dean laughed. "I'm going to be Dorothy and Sam's the Wizard."

Caleb smiled despite the knot of worry unfurling in his gut. "Yeah. Just don't forget your ruby slippers. It'll be up to you to get you and Toto home safe. I won’t be able to help." Sam would see him as a threat. As it was, Mac was going to have to be the bridge to the thirteen-year-old.

"What? No Glenda the Good Witch?"

"With the Winchester luck, I wouldn't count on it."

"Hey, what can I say, when you've got looks, brains and talent, not to mention kick-ass weapons, who needs something as undependable as luck." Dean shrugged his shoulders.

Caleb laughed. "Don't forget the car. The Impala at least gives you all a little class."

"That she does." Dean glanced at the clock again. "What the hell is taking them so long?"

"And here I was just thinking you had the patience of a saint."

"Yeah, why's that?"

"Dealing with the terrible teen." Caleb nodded towards Sam. "I remember when you were his age. A real pain in the ass when the hormones hit."

"He has his moments." Dean couldn't help but to remember the words he and Sam had exchanged before his brother left for camp. Sam said he hated him, and it hurt to admit that his brother might as well have ripped his heart out.

He couldn't stand the idea those words might be their last. It had been hard the last few months. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless as how to reach his brother, make things better between them. Everything he tried only seemed to drive Sam farther away. "He's not a baby anymore."

"No. But he's still your kid brother. He still has your back," Caleb said. "Don't ever doubt how he feels about you-no matter what the extra testosterone might say."

“Two serious conversations in one day.” The teen raised a brow in surprise. "You getting sappy on me in your old age, Reaves?"

"No, just picking up the vibes." Caleb wiggled his fingers.

"What did Jim say about privacy?"

"It’s only a suggestion which is never enforced." Caleb grinned. "Seriously, I saw how upset Sam was when you were missing. He let me and your dad have it pretty good. The old Sammy's still in there. He's just trying to figure it all out."

"Yeah. It was just easier when he was little."

"Wait until he gets taller than you."

Dean snorted. "Like that's ever going to happen."

"Stranger things have."

"Stranger things than what?" Mackland asked as he and John entered the room, carrying some Styrofoam cups of coffee, and a paper bag, which John tossed to Caleb.

"Stranger than John actually thinking of someone other than himself for a change," Caleb replied with a half-assed grin, digging into the bag of food.

"Where's mine?" Dean shot a disgruntled look in his father's direction.

"Sorry, Ace, Mac said no food, in case things go south."

Dean's brows drew together. "That's comforting."

"It's just a precaution," Mac supplied, sitting on the corner of Dean's bed. "Besides, I'm going to be putting you out for a while and it's never a good idea to have food on your stomach."

"Right." Dean relaxed against the pillows and let his arm fall across his face. "That makes me feel oh so much better."

"Really, Dean, it'll be okay, as long as you don't fight." Ames checked the I.V. port in Dean's arm. "I'm going to put you under to prevent most of that, but not too deeply due to the concussion you've already sustained. So you're going to have to work with us."

"Is that necessary?" Dean winced. "Can't I just stay awake? I’ve had Damien pilfering through my head before. It’s never been a problem."

Mac looked up at him after applying another piece of tape over the puncture site. "I don't think it's a good idea, son. Your instinct may be to challenge any presence. Winchesters aren't known for easily giving up their control."

"Caleb connects to us easy enough."

"This is different, Dean. Those are usually on a conscious level, present in the moment. Delving deeper…well, it can be a bit of a shock." Ames patted Dean's blanket-covered knee. "The sedative will merely make your mind…more pliable for lack of a better word."

Dean frowned. "Damn, Mac, you make my brain sound like it's made of Silly Putty."

"Rock is more like it," Caleb interjected, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I suggested he use dynamite instead of Prince Valium."

"You're so funny. The first time you tried this Atticus fell in love with you."

Caleb used his finger as a retort.

"It might seem odd at first, but you should recognize Caleb-his touch-and your mind will represent him in a way you'll understand." When Dean frowned again, Mac smiled. "It's a psychic thing. We all have our own presence, kind of like a scent. For instance, I bet you know when Sam is in the room with you, without even seeing him, right? Or you know when he's awake, or asleep? You are aware of him on an essential level?"

The teen looked decidedly uncomfortable with the shift in conversation, and he shot a sidelong glance in his father's direction before answering. "Yeah." He shrugged. "I guess so."

Mackland nodded. "You're a hunter, Dean. You pick up on more than you think. For example, in wolf packs each dog is recognizable by scent. Some even believe that wolves and dogs have psychic abilities and are able to communicate telepathically. They know when one of their own is coming from miles away."

"They also sniff each others butts, but I don't see that happening here, Mac."

"Just go with it, Deuce," Caleb interrupted yet again. "Trust me; you'll recognize me, especially since you're expecting a visit."

The teen sighed. "So Super Psychic gets up close and personal with my unconscious and then what?"

"When Caleb connects with you, I want you to concentrate on Sammy. Think only of him."

Dean glanced to the bed where his baby brother was lying. "That I can do."

"That's when Caleb will give you a kind of mental boost, a jumpstart, per say. I'll make physical contact with Sam, acting as a type of conduit between you and Caleb and Sam. Does that make sense?

Dean licked his lips. "So, you'll be a bridge?"

"The yellow brick road," Caleb interjected. "Straight to Oz."

"Dean, once you make contact with Sam, you'll have to convince him that he's safe. It will be up to him to come out of hiding. You can't force him. Do you understand?"

Dean's brow furrowed. Lately, he'd been unable to convince his little brother of much, especially that he was safe. Sam didn't even trust him to share what was bothering him. "And what if he doesn't listen?"

"He'll listen to you, son," John spoke up, running a hand through Sam's hair. "You're his brother."

Mac smiled. "I agree. You may be the only one that can reach him."

"But, what if I can't find him?"

"I doubt if you'll have to. Like I was saying before, Sam will feel your presence. He'll find a way to lead you to him."

The teen nodded and Mackland held up the syringe and met his green gaze. "You ready?"

Dean swallowed hard and glanced up at Caleb. "I'm ready."

The doctor stood and injected the contents of the syringe into the I.V. "Just count backwards from ten."

The teen closed his eyes. "Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…" Dean's voice trailed off at four and his breath evened out.

Ames reached over and took Dean's pulse, glancing at John who had an anxious look on his face. "He's fine."

"Are you sure this will work, Mac?" John looked from Sam to his oldest son. "I can't lose them. Either of them."

"I think it's the best option we have."

"That's not an answer."

"There are no answers, Johnathan, not really-not about anything."

"How about we get this show on the road," Caleb spoke up, tossing the empty brown bag in the garbage and moving to stand by Dean's bed. "The sooner Deuce goes and gets Sammy, the better we'll all feel."

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