Chapter 2: Gimmie Shelter

Gimmie, Gimmie shelter

Or I'm gonna fade away

War, children

Is just a shot away

"Gimmie Shelter" – The Rolling Stones

Dean stared at him for a moment and Sam thought seriously that his brother was seconds away from slamming the door in his face.

He couldn't say he blamed him.

To the youngest brother's surprise, he didn't. Dean merely shook his head and opened the door further, "Get your ass in here before a strong wind knocks you down."

Sam walked into the room, immediately noticing the cringe-worthy décor. Vomit-green walls along with brown carpeting… his brother probably hadn't been happy about that. He heard the door close behind him as he got to the middle of the room. He turned to face his brother, prepared to launch into a lengthy explanation, when the world tilted on its axis. He reached out for something, anything to grab onto, but there wasn't anything.

"Sam?"

Sam could hear his brother calling him, but his hearing was suddenly becoming distorted. He tried to look at Dean, but colors were mixing together, swirling into disturbing patterns. He blinked, trying to right himself, but to no avail.

His body was finally demanding the sleep he had been putting off.

"Dean, I—" Sam started, before swallowing back the panic swelling in his chest, "Dean, take her. I'm going to pass out."

He distantly felt a weight being lifted off his chest as he stumbled back towards what he thought would be a bed. Thankfully, the softness under his fingertips confirmed it just as his vision darkened around the edges. He didn't fight it anymore, letting the darkness take him over.

"It's my life!" Sam screamed at his father, waving the piece of paper around, "You can't tell me what to do with it—"

"The hell I can't! You are my son and as long as you're living under my roof, you will do as I say!" John Winchester screamed back at his son, showing no restraint. Not this time.

"Well, maybe I won't be living under your roof anymore!" Sam exclaimed, briefly noticing the sound of the front door opening and keys being put on the table by the door. He could hear familiar footsteps make their way to the kitchen.

"You want to go off, live some Apple-Pie life while people are dying out there? People are being brutally murdered all across this damn country," His father had thrown him up against the wall at this point, hands clutching his son's t-shirt as he slammed him in to the wall, once, twice, three times as he tried to make his son see clearly, "and you want to join a fraternity and chase cheerleaders around campus?! God, Sam, how selfish are you?!"

Sam's head pounded and his vision blurred, but he didn't respond.

All he wanted was to go to college. All he wanted was a taste of the normal life he desired since he found out what his father really did for a living.

"Dad, I—"

"Sam? Dad? What's—" Dean walked into the kitchen, before stopping in the doorway, "what the hell are you doing? Let go of him!"

"You want to tell him or should I?" John sneered, getting in Sam's face. Sam turned his head away, to the left, locking eyes with Dean. Dean's eyes were wide with concern, begging Sam to let him know why this was happening. Sam remained silent for too long, apparently, because John released him and stalked back to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair, plopped himself down and threw back his nearly empty glass of Whiskey. Sam sunk against the wall, breathing heavily as he looked anywhere but at his brother.

"Sammy, what's going on?" Dean walked to him and immediately dropped to his side, turning his head so he had no choice but to look at him.

"I got into Stanford." Sam said softly, "Full ride—"

"He's going off to get himself killed, that's what he's doing." John interrupted, pouring himself another glass of whiskey and downing it in seconds. "Also, abandoning us in the middle of the god damn hunt."

"I'm not—"

"I'm done. You want to go, go. I wont stop you." His father sounded drained, emotionally and physically.

"Dad?" Sam asked, cautiously, attempting to stand himself up. Dean, it seemed was frozen on his knees and wouldn't look at him. "I'm not leaving forever—I just want—"

"I think you've made it perfectly clear what it is you want, Sam." John snapped, glaring at him from across the room, "Get your shit and leave. Just know, if you do, don't you dare come back."

"What? Dad, please—"

"I mean it, Sam." John stood up from the stable, slightly swaying. He made it to the far end of the kitchen, close to the stairs, "Don't you dare come back."

With that, the oldest Winchester made his way up the stairs. The boys could hear the exact moment he made it to his bedroom, because the door slammed shut and the whole house rattled.

"—such a candy ass. Passing out is for girls, you know that?" a worried voice loomed above him.

"Not a girl," Sam muttered, blinking his eyes sleepily as he started to roll his head to the left on the pillow. He hissed in pain and immediately moved his hand to touch the source of the pain. His hand was swatted away and he frowned.

"Yeah, I found that. Don't touch it."

Dean? Sam found himself thinking. Why the hell was he with Dean? His head pounded and Sam's eyesight gradually came back. He found himself looking at the ceiling of a shitty motel. Something nagged at him in the corner of his mind. He was forgetting something. What was he forgetting?

"How're you feeling?"

Suddenly the memories rushed back.

"Mary Ellen!" Sam exclaimed, bolting up and nearly taking his brother out with him.

"Hey, easy. She's right there." Dean's hand was on his shoulder, steadying him.

Sam looked around the room, finding Mary Ellen sitting in a—playpen. He looked at his brother in confusion.

"Where—"

"You've been doing that shitty Sleeping Beauty impression for a while. A guy owed me a favor. Here. Take these."

Sam looked down at the white tablets offered and didn't second-guess. He just took them, downing them with the bottle of water that was also offered.

"How long was I out?" Sam asked, eyes drifting back to where his daughter was playing contentedly with a stuffed animal in the playpen.

"6 hours," Dean replied, sitting on the opposite bed and facing towards Sam. Sam put a hand to his head, sighing. "So, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

"You want to know what I'm doing with someone's baby?"

"Someone's? Dude, that kid is yours. No doubt."

Sam looked at him surprise written all over his face.

"What? You think I don't remember what you looked like as a kid? I'm not a moron. She has your freakin' mop hair and, if that wasn't enough, the poor kid has your dimples, too."

Sam's lips quipped up in a half-grin, "True. She can also do a mean puppy dog eyes."

Dean groaned, "Great. Just what the world needed."

There was an awkward silence.

"Where's Dad?"

Sam's voice had that childlike quality to it that took Dean back about 13 years or so. Right about the time Sam found out what their Dad really did for a living. It shocked him so much that Dean barely had time to answer.

"Uh, he's not here—"

Sam stood up from the bed, a look of pure panic on his face. Dean stood up to, ready to push his stubborn ass little brother back on the bed before he fell over.

"What do you mean, he's not here? Not here as in, he's going to get some food or not here as in he's not in Nebraska?"

"He's not in Nebraska. Sam—"

"Damn it!" Sam exclaimed, startling the baby. The baby whimpered from the playpen and Sam immediately went towards her—on shaky legs— to comfort her. He swooped her into his arms and cradled her to his chest. "Shit. It's okay, shh."

"Dude, seriously, what's going on—"

"You need to call him, Dean. Right now." Sam looked up when he didn't hear him reply, "Dean, do you trust me?"

"Yeah," Dean answered immediately, watching as his younger brother nodded.

"Good. Call him. Now."

Dean went to the nightstand in between the two beds and got his phone. He looked at Sam, a little hesitantly, but then he caught the raw fear and terror in his brother's eyes and started dialing. He held the phone up to his ear as it started ringing. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing Sam's bed. What had always been Sam's bed.

Sam sat on the other bed. Mary Ellen blinked up at him, a slight smile on her face.

"Hey, princess." Sam whispered, smiling as the baby gurgled in response. He kissed the baby's forehead before moving so that he was sitting directly across from Dean. Mary Ellen sat directly beside him.

The baby played with Sam's hands happily as Sam watched Dean with the phone.

It wasn't long before their father answered.

"Dad?"

Sam perked up, listening intently.

"Everything's fine, I just—Dad. Dad, will you just shut up for a second?"

Sam raised an eyebrow in surprise at Dean's tone, hearing his father's stunned silence from where he sat. Dean shrugged at him.

"Sam's here and—"

"Let me talk to him." Sam interrupted, hand outstretched. Surprised for what seemed like the millionth time that day, Dean immediately handed him the phone. Sam took it and stood up.

"Dad?" Sam asked, that little boy quality to his voice came back with a vengeance. Dean picked up the baby and looked down. The baby had bright blue eyes, but the face. Yeah, that was all Sam.

The baby had freakin' dimples when it looked up at him, smiling. Despite the situation, Dean couldn't help but smile back.

"Sam?"

AN: Alright, that's the end of Chapter 2! Tell me what y'all think :)