AS: I've got a few things to say up here first of all. Ignore it if you want but I'm only being...it's either boring or polite. Anyway, apart from my oneshot Chasing Cars that I did, this is my first Supernatural fanfic, so don't flame! Thanks for the reviews for Chasing Cars and thanks toBewitched by Potter, because I've decided to write a little childhood fic from Chasing Cars, so thanks for the idea!
Um...oh, yeah, I don't own the Supernatural characters. At all. I just like to stand there and admire them!
Oh and by the way, sorry if this is way too wordy for it's own good, i was in a...wordy mood.
So, enjoy...
"Ugh,"
Sam swatted at the fat ugly mosquito type creature as it crawled slowly over the top of the car door. The intense heat off the black car's hood near burnt Sam's skin. He glanced an irritated look over to the gas station where Dean was flirting with a pretty girl behind the counter. The heat had stripped her to a top as close to a bikini top as it was going to get, and white shorts to show the deep tan on her skin. Dean was loving it. He said something and she laughed, pulling a few strands of her overly-dyed blonde hair from her face. Sam rolled his eyes and peeled himself away from the car, scuffing his way over closer to the edge of the road where the cars whipping by allowed a breeze on his hot skin. The area was so hot that he could feel the soles of his shoes sticking to the hot tarmac. A couple of kids of skateboards rushed by, shouting into a wind that, when it came along, was about as sluggish and hot as Sam felt.
"Sammy! Come on!"
When he wanted his brother to be busy, why wasn't he?
"Yeah I'm coming!" he called, batting away a fly.
Dean got into the car and stashed his goodies about his seat, putting the two bottles of water onto the back seat where it was slightly cooler. Eventually Sam joined him, throwing himself into the passenger seat.
"It's hot,"
"Yeah I figured that Sammy,"
"It's Sam,"
"It's what I say it is,"
Sam hit the OFF button the radio the minute Dean turned it on.
"Don't Dean,"
"What!"
"I am not in the mood for Metallica-" Dean opened his mouth, "Or any other band, singer or guitar solo,"
"The heat gets to you so bad," Dean muttered under his breath, remembering a time Sam used to lay out on the beds they used to share at the motels, whining fitfully about how hot he was. The only way to keep his quiet was to wet a towel with cold water and give it him to drape over himself.
"You got food?" Sam enquired, looking down at the packets shoved down the side of Dean's seat and on thrown onto the dashboard. He distinctly saw the deep banana-yellow wrapped of peanut M&Ms, with the that smarmy M&M character waving a hand in mock salute at him. Why did everything bug him in this sort of heat?
"You call this food?"
"Fresh from one of the best food group's of all,"
"What, the fats! Dean, why didn't you just get a big bucket of salt instead?"
Dean smirked, "Oh come on Sammy, this is great food! Builds up those-"
"Artery clogs?"
"You're boring college boy. Hey look, I got you a sandwich. What more do you want?"
Sam picked up the inevitably stale bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich. He sort of wish he hadn't insisted on not going to a diner for their meal that night.
"Fine. But if you…" there was no point warning him he may feel sick. Dean ate this kind of food twenty-four-seven.
The motel was in the centre of town, seemingly absorbing every inch of heat coating the air.
"Have a nice stay," a man with a motorised hand fan at the desk said lazily, pushing the keys towards Dean. Dean snatched them up, "Thanks,"
As Sam unpacked, he began to feel light headed. Reality spun a second and he had to sit down.
"What? What's wrong? Not another freaky premonition thing, right?" Dean asked in a rush, tensing a little from where he was rifling around in his bag.
"No…I'm fine,"
Sam stood up, took a bottle of water and slaked his suddenly insatiable thirst.
"Slow down there Sam, or you're gonna to be sick,"
"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said irritably, going back to his unpacking. The dizziness hadn't quite gone yet, but he felt slightly better for shutting his brother up. And the sit down of course.
"Alright. But if you pass out I'm leaving you on the floor," Dean said, pointing at him with his tube of toothpaste. Sam ignored him. A moment or two later, nausea took a tight grip of his stomach.
"Whoa," he muttered under his breath, sitting down heavily on the bed. He gripped the water bottle and drank fitfully, not stopping for breath until almost the entire bottle was drained and the tightness in his chest made his blood pump hard.
"Sam!"
Dean's voice broke through the rushing in his ears and he dropped the water bottle to the floor.
"What the hell is wrong with you, you practically went blue! For God's sake you can't be that thirsty,"
"I am," Sam croaked, wanting the water bottle again. Dean gave a small frown and grabbed the second water bottle, "Ok. Have a drink. But, you know, small sips, Ok?"
Sam nodded wildly and grabbed the bottle, tipping his head back and downing the lukewarm water as best as he could, "Christ Sammy, slow down!"
Sam dropped the bottle as a warm surge roared up his throat and he bent over the edge of the bed and threw up the water. Dean stared at his brother, not quite believing what he was starting to dread was happening again.
"Sam," he said quietly into the din of silence, "Sammy,"
Sam looked up from the floor, eyes narrowed, "Don't start,"
"Sam I'm sure you've had this before,"
"What?"
"You…you don't remember?"
"No. What happened?"
Sam eyed the water bottle on the chest of drawers. God he was so thirsty…
"Sam! Sam are you listening to me?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded, sitting up.
"You feeling Ok?"
"Just go on,"
"When you were about ten, we'd been jumped by some spirits possessing wolves out in the Michigan woods. Do you remember?"
Sam frowned through the buzzing in his heads. Michigan woods? Wolves? Dean carried on, "You got up a tree for cover and Dad and I slaughtered the things. You didn't come down. We searched everywhere for you and you weren't there. Dad went mad. We both did. You'd just suddenly vanished. You stumbled back to the car about an hour later, and you were…ill, for days," Dean shook his head, "Don't you remember that?"
"No. I can't remember it at all,"
"Gee Sammy I didn't think you'd forget that. It only heightened Dad's fears about leaving you alone,"
"What happened? When I disappeared?"
"We don't know. Dad told me not to ask you, but we assumed you knew,"
"No. I…I didn't, I don't, know,"
Dean paused, scratching his chin as he eyed his brother. Maybe he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Sam's face wasn't grey, in fact he still had his healthy tan. He wasn't shaking with cold, in fact he was still sweating and hot just like Dean was. He wasn't having a gushing, never ending nosebleed and most importantly…Dean shook his head, ridding himself of the memory.
"This might not be it, Sam, I'm just suggesting something since…back then you were constantly thirsty too,"
Dean stood up, lifting his brother up with him, "Well whether this is it or not, you need to go to bed,"
Sam was annoyed and embarrassed, and pushed Dean's helping hand away. He didn't care whether this was his old mystery sickness or what, he just wanted a drink…
"No, Dean, I'm fine-"
"You keep saying that somehow, and I just keep on not believing you,"
"No Dean-"
He didn't want Dean to mother him. He wanted to clean up the mess on the floor and have a long, long drink…
He felt his body relax completely and Dean lowered him down onto the bed. He slid into a deep sleep, trying to catch a whisper of a memory at the back of his head. Trees. Lots of trees. Something with wings, it beat the air around him, made him cool. He slept and dreamed uneasily as Dean cleaned up and watched over him cautiously. When Sam had been ill that time …it had scared the hell out of Dean. And ok, that had been years ago, and it may be something completely different, but he was going to be safe rather than sorry…
Sam felt the blood pooling in his mouth, sinking warm between his molars and slicking over his tongue. His eyes opened wide and the slightly heady, draining feeling made his senses hit him sharply. A million things raced through his mind as he heard the heavy 'pit…pit' of blood making it in large fat droplets to the off-white sheet beneath him. His thoughts threw themselves around his sleep and heat addled brain, jarring his ability to get up and sort things out until he came to a screeching halt in his horrifying theories. He brushed his fist past his nose and the back of his hand was swiped in blood. He flapped hurriedly out his close, stiff sheets. The bathroom light was too pale and too bright, casting gaunt shadows down his features as he grabbed the peach coloured hand towel. He switched the light off, unable to bare it's harsh light.
In the room beyond the bathroom, Dean was slipping hazily in and out of a lazy dream that seemed to be connected to sleep. Everytime he drifted out of it, usually at a point where he was about to turn the Chevy into their hometown of Lawrence, he'd blink sleepily across the dark room to see Sammy splayed on his own bed, feel the sweat on his skin and the sheets wrapped like cement around his ankles, then he'd close his heavy eyes and he would be on a long, sweet-smelling straight stretch of highway. He moved round and round in his dreams headily like an aching, longing dance, about to go home then suddenly miles away, interrupted by snapshots of their cheap motel room. The green figures on the clock convulsed and flicked to 4:54, and Dean rolled back into musty consciousness to see a different looking room. His feet jerked a little under the sheets and it felt like he had heaved them from caked on snow-boots. Sam wasn't in his bed. Carefully he lifted his head, feeling his skin break away from the creamy-coloured pillow and warm air drench his cheek. He opened and shut his eyes repeatedly for a moment or two to blink away the lasting image of the dashboard of his Chevy, and looked about the room. The curtains were still down, and the smell of the wet plants outside trickled in on the thick breeze. He pulled himself up from the damp sheets.
"Sammy?" his voice was rough and low. He looked up, squinting against early morning sun that cracked light onto the dark red terracotta ceiling.
"Sammy?"
The bathroom light wasn't on. Groaning Dean pulled himself from bed, his head like an empty space full of hot air.
"Sam are you in there?"
No response. He was sure his brother was in there.
"Sammy what's wrong?" he asked, leaning heavily against the door. He swiped a hand across his forehead. How could it be so hot! Still blinking away the roads from his dreams, Dean knocked harshly on the door, "Sammy?"
"I'm fine,"
Dean paused, shaking himself to full awareness, "Well just by saying that I'm kinda getting you're not-"
"I'm fine, Dean,"
Dean rolled his eyes and stood to wander over to his bed to check his cell phone, deciding to leave Sam to his own devices for a few moments. He flicked open his phone, checked his messages and the time. As he moved back over to the bathroom door to rouse his brother from it's depths, he noticed the pool of dark blood on the bed, the smear of it across the sheets and the drips of it on the pillow. Dean strode over to the door and banged in once, with force, with his fist.
"Sammy?"
"What Dean?" Sam's voice was tired and drawn, and seriously annoyed.
"Open this door,"
"I'm fine Dean,"
"Look Sam, I am hot, I am tired, and right now seriously pissed off, so open the goddamn door,"
There was a moment's pause, then the latch clicked slowly. Dean fumbled and opened the door as quick as possible. Sam had taken up his position on the edge of the tub again. He gritted his teeth and stared up at Dean defiantly. Dean felt his hands slip from the doorknob and his mind spun for a fraction of a second…
"Don't forget to lock the doors-"
"Salt the windows, keep the phone close to me, know where the gun is, and watch over Sammy," a sixteen year old Dean recited, one hand on the rim of the kitchen sink, giving his Dad his full attention.
John nodded, "Right. You do that Dean,"
In a hurry John scrambled out of the motel room's flimsy front door. Dean sighed and turned the lock. Tiptoeing into his brother's room, he went to inspect his gangly twelve year old brother before he went to go and watch some TV. After what had happened today, after Sammy had disappeared for so long like that, Dean was determined to keep a vigil over his baby brother. Sam had annoyed their Dad greatly by not telling them what had happened. He'd gone temporarily mute and glared at the corner of the room, angering the older Winchester.
Dean wandered into Sam's bedroom. The bed was empty. The pillow had a blossom of red just off-centre. His body seemed to jerk like a shot had rang through it, before he collected himself and moved to the bathroom, "Sammy! Sammy you in there!"
He shoved open the door, falling through into the cool, white-tiled bathroom. The blood on the floor and the bath and the achingly white towels made Dean's stomach clench with nausea, "Sammy what's wrong!"
"Nothing," Sam kicked his brother away and clenched the towel to his nose, "Stop it Dean I'm fine!"
His face burned with embarrassment. Dean brushed away the sweaty bangs from Sam's forehead and planted his palm against his forehead. Maybe there was embarrassment under there, but it wasn't that solely that caused the angry red flush on Sam's tanned skin. Sam's eyes glazed for a moment and he slid forward, "Tired," he gasped, as his grip on everything was relinquished very suddenly, "Hey I've got you, I've got you Sammy,"
"I'm thirsty,"
Dean shook his head, lifting him up, "Alright, I'll get you a drink, you just sit tight there Ok, I've got you,"
Suddenly Sam was gripping onto Dean's shirt, the towel falling lose to the floor and the blood dripping down his neck and chin, "Dean!"
"Sam it's me, it's Ok, what's wrong!"
"Dean I can't see!"
Dean knelt by his brother and caught his brother's limp form as he slid to the floor, "Sam! Sam!"
"Thirsty," Sam coughed, the one hand not pinned underneath his fallen body moving about as if trying to grab something to drink. Dried tracks of blood trailed his chin and neck, all the way down the neck of his shirt.
"I'll get you a drink Sam just sit up,"
Sam's eyes cracked open slowly. His hand shot up to grab Dean's scruff, "Sam? Sam-"
"Dean I can't see,"
AS: Ok there it is, REVIEW PLEASE!
Thank ye