mikiya2200 (mikiya2200) wrote,
mikiya2200
mikiya2200

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Along for the ride

Rating: PG
Characters: Sam, John
Pairing: No pairing
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or any of its characters.
Word Count: ~2 000
Summary: John, Sam, a vision. H/C of the fatherly kind.
Beta by Ghost (the one and only!)

A/N: Scene for "Salvation". Sam and Dean have just told John that Sam is having visions. *cut from episode to story* Forget about the phone call from Meg that follows, this is what could have happened instead. Shameless H/C, I need that right now, not really a plot inside.

Thanks go, again, to my ghosty who not only allowed me to keep the blanket but is also the very reason this fic exists since it was her prompt that made me write it. Thank you so much for being there for me and for understanding my weirdness! I have no idea where I would be without you...

I'm SO proud to have this wonderful banner done for this story by kiscinca  .
That girl is a genius, really, I love her stuff and I'm so in  love with the banners she's done for me.




Along for the ride


We’re alone when it happens.

Dean’s gone to get some food and Sam and I are left to do more research. No, scratch that, I’m going over the birth records again while Sam is going nuts. And taking me along for the ride.

He is… twitchy. It started with him bouncing his leg while he was scanning the files. Then he got up, opened his bag, went through it and put it away before going to the window. He was there for only a second before he turned back, scanned the room, not really looking at anything. Then he was back to the bag…

I started watching him, occasionally at first, openly now. It almost looks as if he is waiting for an attack, he’s that wound up. His hands started shaking at some point and right now he’s buried his head in them, like he is in pain.

“What is it?” I’d spoken in a low voice and still he starts badly, as if I had yelled at him. He turns, looking confused, not really with me.

“What?”

“You’re running around like a chicken with its head cut off, what’s wrong?” As an afterthought I add, “You worrying about Dean?”

Dean has only gone for food, there shouldn’t be any complications with that and I don’t think the demons have found us, yet. But with Sam’s newfound ability, maybe he can… sense something I can’t? What if—

“It’s not Dean,“ Sam starts, turning back to the window. I can’t see his face from where I’m sitting, but the hitch in his voice tells me all too clearly that my boy is hurting. After all, that is a tone I’m quite familiar with. Sam is silent for a moment, watching the traffic outside. I’m not sure if he’ll go on, he rarely opens up to me when something is bothering him that has nothing to do with the case we’re on. Not that I blame him.

“It’s not Dean,” he repeats, voice a little stronger. He turns to look at me, one hand on the window-sill, tousled bangs hiding his eyes.

And then it happens.

There is no warning, he doesn’t lose his color, he doesn’t even make a sound. One moment he is squinting at me, the next he collapses to the floor like a stone. I don’t remember getting to his side, but I will never forget the soft sound of pain he makes when his whole body suddenly goes rigid and his eyes snap open. I check his pulse, my own heart hammering so hard in my chest I can barely draw a breath.

“Sam?”

His heart is beating, steady, but too fast. His breathing hitches– tiny whimpers at the back of his throat as he gulps in breath after breath. I don’t know what to do, I stare at him until my mind starts screaming at me to help him, now! And then he starts shaking and I react, doing the only thing I can think of: I pull him up and against my chest, tipping his head against my shoulder to keep his airway free. The shaking doesn’t get worse, but it also doesn’t stop and some part of me is wondering if he is having some kind of seizure. He isn’t, somehow I know he isn’t. His eyes are open, wide, unfocused, yet tracking something I can’t see.

Seeing his eyes is what finally tells me he’s having a vision. A vision. He is seeing something that hasn’t happened yet, that has to do with the yellow eyed bastard who had destroyed my family. And is now torturing my kid in front of my eyes. And I’m powerless to stop it.

Sam makes that sound again, that weak, helpless sigh of pain that hits me like a punch to the stomach. I tighten my hold on him, pull him as close as I can. “I’m here, Sammy,” I mumble against his neck, shocked at how useless I feel, how helpless I am. There is nothing I can do, nothing to protect him, to help him. And I know, whatever I’m feeling right now is nothing compared to what he is going trough.

And suddenly Sam isn’t the only one who is trembling.

I know the vision won’t kill him, he logical part of my brain tells me over and over again that he must have been through a few of them during the last months. He is going to wake up, be in pain—migraines Dean had said—but he is going to be okay. Logically I know that…

I’m just not sure if I can ever feel okay again.

I don’t know how long we sit there— me holding on to my son, and Sam lost in this curse. We are both not really there, I can feel Sam straining for breath in front of me, but my thoughts are a million miles away, focused on my very own yellow-eyed nightmare. I will get this son-of-a-bitch, I will take him down, I will find a way—

And then it’s over, Sam collapses, again, goes limp in my hold. Everything falls silent; I’m holding my breath, not daring to move. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, how I can help.

“…oh…god….” There is no voice, no strength behind the words, it’s no more than a breath against my neck.

“Sammy?” I whisper and Sam flinches weakly, groaning.

“Don’t…talk…” he pleads, breathless, head slowly rolling to the side, facing me. Sam is pale, sweating, still trembling like a leaf. His eyes are closed, his face screwed up in obvious pain. “…light…” he grounds out a moment later and I see how much talking hurts him. “…too bright…”

I look up, look around. It’s dark outside and we’d turned on the light earlier. But to turn it off I would have to move, get up and let go of him, move him. And for some reason I can’t make myself do that. But there is something I can do, we’re close to one of the beds and Dean’s open duffel is on it, close to me. I reach out, grab one of the shirts and pull it over, slowly covering Sam’s eyes with it. He gives a soft sigh and relaxes against me, his breath evening out and I realize he’s falling asleep. As much as I know he needs the rest, needs to sleep, I just can’t let him drop off, I need to make sure he’s really okay first.

And I need to know about the vision, what if it was about Dean? I have no idea how they work, if Sam would even see something happening to Dean.

I shift slowly, move the shoulder he is resting against slightly to rouse him. “Sam.” I keep my voice to a whisper, but he still flinches, moans. “Sam, wake up, I need you to focus.”

A shudder ripples through his body and Sam groans again, but then he tenses slightly, turning whatever is available of his attention to me. “What?”

“Sam, the vision, what did you see?”

He winces at every word and there is a long silence before he answers, “The baby… Mom… burning… ceiling…” He takes a deep breath and groans again. “God, it hurts…”

“I know, son…” I don’t like how his body is so limp against me, there’s almost no tension left, hands hanging at his side, most of his face hidden by the T-shirt, his lips a thin line in his pale face. “You think you can move? Get on the bed?”

That gets a reaction, his head twists slightly, I think he’s meant to shake it. “No,” he rasps, “no… moving now… sick…”

I don’t know if he’s already sick or if moving would make him, but I get the message.

“It’s… harder… when they hit… close…”

And, just like that, my heart starts hammering like mad. Again. This isn’t the first time it had happened today. Sam has already gone through this earlier. I remember how tired he’d looked, how he couldn’t stop blinking, squinting at us, constantly massaging his temples, the bridge of his nose, hunched over on that chair, in pain. I had seen it then, but Sam had seemed more or less okay, relaxed.

He isn’t now, and I realize this isn’t at all like the psychic visions I have seen before, none of the psychics I had met had been in pain— at least, not like this. It had never been something they had enjoyed doing or experiencing, but they had never been this weak, this drained after one of them. What If something had gone wrong, what—

Dean. I need to call him, he knows more about this than anybody besides Sam. I fumble for my cell, taking care not to move Sam too much.

The phone rings, twice. “Yeah?”

“Your brother’s had another vision, is there anything that helps with the pain?”

I can hear the car in the background and from the sounds of it Dean has just stepped on the breaks.

“He’s had another one? This close? What the hell—“

“Dean!” I snap and next to me Sam moans in pain at my raised voice, flinching away from me. “Sorry,” I whisper at him, then turn back to Dean.

“Uhm… turn off the lights, no loud noises, don’t talk… oh, don’t move him, get him comfortable where he is. You gotta keep him from throwing up, Dad, that’ll kill him.” I flinch at his choice of words and Sam groans again. Damn it, I just keep adding to the pain he’s in. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, just… don’t mess with him, okay?”

The line goes dead and I blink, not sure if I’ve just heard what I think I have. What the hell—who does he think he is talking to? I glare at the phone and am about to toss it away when I remember how that would hurt Sam again. So, instead I just place it on the bed next to me.

I can’t believe this. How bad is it that I have to ask Dean what to do? That I have to listen to that new tone of his? And how much has changed with Sam? It’s been years since I’ve seen him and now this? What else don’t I know? Where the hell have I gone wrong with him—with them?

It takes me a long moment to calm down, to focus on the problem at hand. Sam is out, completely unresponsive in my arms, breath coming deep and even. He is still trembling, hands twisting weakly at his sides and I reach behind me, getting a hold on the blanket on the bed. I pull it over to us, cover him with it as best as I can without moving too much.

This ends now. I’ll see to that, I’m gonna stop that yellow-eyed son of a bitch. No more of this. He took my wife, my boys’ childhoods, and to a large extent our future. He doesn’t get Sam’s sanity. Or anymore of my family. Ever. Somehow I’ll find a way. I promise. I’ll get us together as a family again.

 

Tags: fanfiction, h/c, one-shots, spn john, spn sam, supernatural
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