Finding Home (7/?)

[nightspear]

Title: Finding Home (Main Post and Chapter List)

Rating: PG-13/R for language, mostly

Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine. I gain nothing of materialistic value from this.

Pairings: Mostly gen. Briefly, Sam/Jess

Notes:

In case you hadn’t noticed by now, I’m not from Stanford, nor have I ever been within five hundred miles of Palo Alto. I probably should have mentioned it before (but I forgot).

Chapter 6

XXXXX

“I dreamt about Jessica’s death. For days before it happened.”

(“Home”)

XXXXX

They’d only gotten a few miles from the hospital when Sam woke.

This time, there was no slow, groggy return to consciousness. One second he was lying in the back seat, dressed in borrowed—okay, stolen—scrubs, a stolen pillow under his head and a spare jacket spread over his body.

The next instant, he was sitting up so fast he wobbled and rolled halfway off, his bent legs hitting the floor and his ass barely catching the edge of the seat.

Dean jumped so hard he almost crashed into the car in the next lane, barely regaining enough control to pull off to the shoulder. “Holy shit, Sam!” Then, “Sam? You okay?”

When he didn’t get a response, he twisted in the seat to look at the brother.

Sam’s hand was at his head, and he stared straight ahead. As Dean watched, his eyes flicked from one point to another, as if he were seeing something.

Or, considering what Joshua was saying, seeing something.

“Sa—”

“Did you stop her?” Sam asked suddenly, his gaze almost feverish, but piercing, unwavering. “You promised.”

“Calm down, Sam, we’re going somewhere safe. Joshua, you remem—”

“No, Dean! We have to go back! We have...have to save her. It’s gonna kill her...”

“Who?” He thought frantically back to the hospital. “You think something’s after your girlfriend? Sam, I just saw her half an hour ago...”

Sam made a noise that could have been pain or frustration. “It’s waiting for me, Dean. In my room, and she’ll walk right into it. We have to...I’ve got to go back.”

“Sam, listen to yourself! You’re not making any sense. We need to get you to Joshua. You’re sick...Sammy? Sam! Stop that!”

Sam had pushed himself partially out the door by the time Dean scrambled out to intercept him. His breaths were fast, panicked, and his eyes stretched wide. “Let go of me! Please...I saw it happen, it’s gone after her, just like Mom...”

“Fuck, Sam!”

“I’ll walk back if I have to!” He surged forward again, still fighting against Dean, close to hyperventilation.

“Okay! Jesus. I’m listening!” Dean staggered as Sam collapsed limply in his arms. “You...you dreamed about it?” he asked uncertainly, thinking of the warnings about the demon and the Black Dog and of Joshua’s advice of listening to whatever bullshit Sam was imagining.

“It wasn’t just a dream. I’ll go back on my own if you don’t help, I swear to God...” His eyes were tight with pain, but clear and bright with determination. Desperation.

Dean only needed a second to see Sam was deadly serious. If he was right, he’d be crushed if something happened to his girlfriend and they didn’t try to stop it. And if he was right...if this was what killed Mom...

Letting out a shaky breath, he heaved his brother back into the car. “Fine. We’ll go back and check on her, and then we have to get you to Joshua. Jesus, would you help me out a little here, you giant freak?”

Dean turned back to Palo Alto. Sam sat back up, more slowly this time.

“Lie down,” he said tensely.

“Am I a freak?” Sam asked.

“You really want me to answer that?”

Sam didn’t joke back. Dean caught his gaze briefly in the rearview mirror before focusing back on the road. A freak? Whatever this was, it sure as hell wasn’t normal. “You’ve always been a freak, Sammy.”

That seemed to be the right response, because Sam looked away and nodded. “What’s happening to me?”

“Hell if I know. Dad says Joshua Smithley, from the arms shop—said he can help you.” Not quite true, yeah, but close enough. “We’ll figure this out.”

Sam frowned, wrinkling his brow and bringing a hand back up to his head. “I thought I dreamed about Dad.”

Dean forced his voice to be light. “Must’ve been one hell of a nightmare for you, then.” Maybe Sam didn’t remember—it would cut down on the questions, at least, until someone could give them a damn answer.

“Huh.” He blinked in pain, or maybe confusion, then turned to watch the road pass outside his window.

XXXXX

“Stay in the car,” Dean ordered when he’d spotted Sam’s dormitory. “I mean it, Sam.”

Not waiting for an answer, he put the Impala in park and took off, slipping into the building behind a group of entering kids and taking the stairs two at a time.

With a start, he caught a glimpse of Sam’s girlfriend just as he reached the second floor. The hallway was otherwise empty, and she was carrying a thin stack of papers. “Hey—Jessica!” he called, and she turned, startled.

“Dean? What are you doing here?” Her tone became accusing. “You said you’d stay with...”

“Sam’s in the car,” Dean said quickly.

“What? Are you crazy? What did you do, break him out of the hospital? He could be...”

“Jessica, I can’t really explain...” Now that he was here, it felt a little stupid. I took my brother from the hospital and was going to drive him hours away but turned around and then left him in the car because he was worried about his girlfriend. Yeah, ‘crazy’ sounds about right. “Look,” he tried. “He’s been freaking out about you...”

“He’s not thinking straight!” Jess returned, furious. “And neither are you. Were you even thinking at all? Don’t answer that,” she added, pulling a keychain from her purse and digging deeper until she’d grabbed another key. “I’m going to drop these off for him, and then I’ll drive him back myself.”

She turned to Sam’s room and turned the key in the lock as she spoke, pushing the door open and hit the light switch hard.

Light filled the room. Then it flickered once and died.

Shit, Dean thought.

“Shit,” Jess muttered, startling and tripping over the rug at the threshold. The stack of papers fluttered messily to the floor.

“Jessica...” Dean reached back, wrapping a hand around the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans. “This is important. You don’t understand...”

“You’re right, Idon’t understand,” she shot back, scooping the papers back up, her angry movements leaving a corner of the rug lifted. “I thought you were...” Her eyes moved to something behind him. “Sam?”

Dean whipped around to see Sam coming up the stairs, still looking ragged and breathing hard, but standing straight.

“Goddammit, Sam, I said to wait—”

And then Jess screamed.

Dean glanced down to see a scuffed and broken line of salt under the rug.

Instinct taking over, he threw himself inside the door and found Jessica pinned against the wall.

“Jess!”

Dean barely had time to see Sam come barreling in behind him before feeling himself slam hard into the plaster inches away from Jessica. Winded, gasping for breath, his eyes widened as a column of fire rose from the center of the floor.

Sam wasn’t the only one who used to have nightmares about fire.

The fire alarm rang.

Voices sounded in the hallway. The door slammed shut.

“Get out of here,” he choked out as smoke began curling toward him. “Sam, get out...”

Sam turned his gaze to Dean, and suddenly, there was no trace of pain in his eyes. His stride steady and certain, the youngest Winchester stepped between the wall and the swirling fire, one arm flung out in front of Jessica and the other in front of Dean.

“You...fucking...idiot...” Dean spat out against the pressure holding him in place. Sam didn’t even twitch. Dean wasn’t sure he’d even heard. He was yelling something, though, the cadence familiar, strong, and forceful.

“...omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica...”

A hissing issued from the pillar of flame. “Samuel Winchester...”

Only a slight hesitation in Sam’s recitation told Dean he’d heard it. “...Vade, draco maledicte, inventor et magister fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei...”

A screech sounded as the flames flared higher, and Dean thought his skin would burn from the heat. His eyes watered, held open against his will, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a figure standing in the flames.

“Stop,” came the voice again, and Sam was flung aside to crash against the desk.

Dean forgot to breathe as the fire flared higher yet, scorching the ceiling and moving toward them. Jessica whimpered.

“No,” Sam coughed, stirring. “No!”

Just as the tongues of flame would have reached them, a dresser wobbled and fell with a crash onto its side, catching fire immediately but temporarily blocking Dean and Jess.

Helplessly watching the dresser smolder, Dean saw Sam crumpled in the corner, and the spreading fire moved toward him, instead.

Sammy...

But the flames only licked briefly at Sam’s face before pulling away. Dean thought he heard another whisper, too soft to hear over the fire alarm and the crackling flames...

And then he dropped to the ground in a heap, Jessica landing partially on top of him.

For an instant, he remained there, gasping, not quite believing...

Then the spreading flame caught his sleeve, and he ripped off his jacket, standing and dragging Jessica to her feet as he did. Edging past the dresser, he threw her unceremoniously toward the door. “Go! Go!”

Sam was on all fours and struggling to regain his feet. Dean bent just enough to hook one arm under Sam’s and another around his wait and pulled him the rest of the way up, half supporting and half carrying him.

Jessica was still hovering in the hallway when they staggered out. “What’re you still doing here?” he shouted.

“Too many people at the main door; back exit’s this way! Come on!”

Dean made a note to compliment Sam on his taste in women as they fled down the stairs.

XXXXX

The sprinklers came on just as they reached the ground floor and stumbled out onto the lawn. There’s useful for you.

Still following Jessica, Dean manhandled Sam toward a less crowded area, sparing a glance back at the evacuated building.

“I’m fine,” Sam complained, pulling away.

“Like hell,” Dean barked back. “You coulda been killed! Next time I tell you to stay put and you don’t fucking stay, I’ll kill you...”

Jessica let out a high-pitched giggle.

“What am I, your dog? You can’t order me to ‘stay’ when my girlfriend is about to walk into...” He cut himself off with a glance toward her, then, to Dean, “Like you were doing so great before I got there.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No? And Jess? I should have left her there?”

“I thought the fire would spread more,” she spoke up, her tone odd. “Weird.”

Dean looked back. Sure enough, smoke continued to billow out, but, even as he watched, a few feeble sparks flickered and began to fade.

That couldn’t be it. No fucking way it was over just like that. The other fire, the one he barely remembered from nearly twenty years before, had taken the whole house and almost spread to the neighboring ones.

He slid his eyes toward Sam to see what he was thinking and found him looking back.

“The room was too well protected,” Sam said, calmly now, staring hard at Dean. “It only got in at all because the salt barrier was breeched. The wards and the partial exorcism must have been enough to chase it away.”

It wasn’t unreasonable, but the explanation felt...off. Sam was too composed for someone who’d threatened to dive out of the car minutes before. A slight narrowing of Sam’s eyes, though, had Dean nodding. “Yeah. That must be it.”

Man, we’re so going to have a talk, little brother. As soon as we get out of here.

Speaking of which...

Jessica turned back to them and placed a hand on Sam’s chest. “What’s going on?” The question was tremulous but laced with hints of steel.

Sam shifted. He threw a help me look at Dean, who took pity and stepped in. “I was going to bring Sam to this other doctor in Nevada we’re more familiar with, so I came to grab some clothes and things from his room. Hey,” he added as an afterthought, tossing in his most charming smile, “guess it’s a good thing I happened to...”

“Bull,” she snarled. “An hour ago, Sam was out cold, and don’t think I’ve forgotten the excuse you gave me when you found me upstairs. You knew.” She glared at him. Not at Sam, he noticed, even though it was completely Sam’s fault. “How? Tell me the truth.”

Uh... “Well. This is awkward,” he said with a nervous chuckle and a meaningfull say-something-or-I’ll-kill-you look at his brother.

This time, Sam picked it up. “I dreamed about it, Jess,” he said, making an abortive move to catch her wrist when she stepped away.

Her face went through an impressive range of expressions before settling on wary concern. “You’ve been having a lot of dreams, Sam,” she told him carefully.

“Well, this one came true, didn’t it,” Dean broke in. He was sympathetic—really, he was—but the tension of these past few weeks had been tiring. He could still feel the heat at his back as he carried his baby brother out of the fire; he wasn’t even sure which fire. “What do you want us to say?”

Her eyes still held some skepticism as she looked from one to the other, but Dean knew that the easiest people to convince were the ones who’d just found out about the supernatural: not knowledgeable enough to question and willing to believe almost anything. “You’re saying...Sam’s psychic?”

“No, he’s not psychic,” Dean answered with a scoff, more reacting to the idea than thinking it through, because ‘psychic’ sounded to him like a quack woman wearing spangles and gazing into crystal balls. It was the first time anyone had used that word since this whole thing had started (only this fucking morning); it was the first time he’d had to run the idea through his head. “Well, actually...”

Sam gave him an apprehensive look. “We don’t know what I am.”

The fear that rose in Dean was quickly quenched by an equally intense anger. “Shut up, Sam. You’re my brother, that’s what you are; stop seeing things that aren’t there. Aren’t you the one who always wants to be normal?”

“Aren’t you the one who told me I’m not?”

However much Sam denied it, he was just as quick to turn to irritation and sharp words as a cover.

“So I’m guessing this has never happened before,” Jess said in a small voice.

“It’s kind of a new development,” Dean agreed, then did a double take when Sam looked away. “Sam?”

Sam didn’t meet their eyes. “It’s happened before.” Dean felt his eyebrows climb. “The night before the shapeshifter. I just...I didn’t realize it, then.”

Dean gaped at him disbelievingly. “And you didn’t think this would’ve been worth mentioning?” Sam didn’t answer.

Sirens shrieked, approaching from a few blocks away. No one looked up.

“That’s why you left the hospital,” Jess pieced together. “Because this is something...not something the doctors can deal with.”

It wasn’t a question, but Dean answered anyway. “Pretty much.”

Sam shook his head, but not in disagreement. “I don’t really understand, but I’m better now. I just kept seeing...you. Burning. It was like...it got better once I was doing something about it. Like I would have gone mad otherwise.”

Remembering the panicked struggle in the car, Dean could believe it.

“But then you can...” She gestured toward the dormitory, then dropped her hand. “Well, not there, obviously, but they’ll find somewhere for you to stay if your room’s past repair. Right?”

Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye and felt his stomach drop. So close. We could’ve been a team again.

It wasn’t just that, he told himself. Wasn’t just selfish. It was for Sam’s own good, too. “I don’t know if...”

The expression on Sam’s face was enough to cut Dean off. Full of regret, yeah, but worse than that—resigned. How a man might look when he was dying.

In a way, he guessed part of Sam had started to die the minute he’d had the first dream. Or vision, or whatever it was.

It cut deep to see Sam’s hatred of the idea of life with Dean. It would have been easier just to stay away, even knowing how happy Sam was without him.

“Jess,” Sam said finally. His voice had fallen to the register he always used to comfort victims, but it was overlaid with a hoarseness that betrayed true sorrow. “Something’s happening. Maybe it’s something bigger than me...but this is...I think this could be what I’ve—what we’ve—spent our lives waiting for. Whatever’s going on, Dean and I...we have to see it through.”

Jessica’s eyes were starting to fill, and she held her hand out for him again. This time, Sam caught it in both of his.

Dean shuffled awkwardly.

“Baby, you’ve worked so hard for this.”

Sam exhaled shakily. “You saw what happened just now. Something’s coming—it’ll be safer if I’m not here.”

“No, Sam, you don’t have to give up your education—your future—for us. We’ll be more careful from now on...”

“It’s not safe for me, either, Jess. If the premonitions start again... There’s someone who knows about these kinds of things. That’s where we’re going, now.” Sam looked, out of habit, to Dean, who nodded to confirm.

She was quiet for a while. Finally, she sighed and nodded, leaning forward to rest her forehead against Sam’s chest. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just...I don’t...” Her voice hitched, and when she continued, Dean was reminded that she’d just barely avoided death, too. “What do I do now? What do we do?”

Clearing his throat, Dean forcibly erased all uncertainty. “You take precautions.” He knew that wasn’t what she meant, but it had to be said, anyway. “Now, I don’t think it was after you, but it never hurts to be careful. Ward your room—”

“I don’t know how,” she protested. “Or how to learn.”

“Then you lay down salt,” he insisted, “at every entrance. It should be enough.” He glanced at Sam, who was looking like a kicked puppy and obviously wasn’t going to be helpful here. “We’ll stay in touch, help you find what you need to stay safe.”

She laughed hollowly. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again.”

Her words were familiar, something uttered by many of the people they’d saved. The pain that flashed across Sam’s face--

(“We grew up being scared, Dean. All the time.”)

--was worse.

“Jessica.” Dean waited until she turned and acknowledged him. “This demon...it’s not targeting you. You’re not in any more danger than you were before. You just know more now. And I know it doesn’t feel like it, but I promise you’re safer for it.”

She took a breath and looked down. Nodded.

They made a ridiculous scene. Sam still stood in too-short, singed hospital scrubs; Jessica’s curls were loose and tangled.

And a fire had started in Sam’s room an hour after he went missing from the hospital on campus.

The sirens were growing louder.

Shit. They had to go.

“Sammy...”

“Give us a minute, Dean?”

Dean hesitated, then, caught in his brother’s pleading gaze, said, “Okay. Fine. Meet me back at the car. We don’t have much time before people start asking questions.”

He’d taken a few steps way when Jessica called, “Dean, wait. You’ll...” She sighed. “Take care of each other. Please.”

Take care of Sam, he heard.

Cocking his eyebrow at her, he answered, “You don’t have to ask.”

XXXXX

Chapter 8