Goodnight, Moon: Chapter 12

“Dad.”

The spirit of his father smiled softly. “Hey, kiddo.”

Before Dean could say another word, or really even completely comprehend what he was seeing, John leaned down and placed two cool fingers against his brow…and the past became present…

~*~

// “Sammy,” Dean admonished gently, looking up from his book. “Lazarus isn’t a pony…despite her size.”

Arms crossed, leaning against one of Bobby’s hollowed out cars, John chuckled not for the first time since he’s been back. He was often too lost in his own darkness to let it show, but his boys…they had always been his greatest source of entertainment.

“Yeah, well, do me a favor and make sure Simba there doesn’t get snot all over that cape of yours.”

Sammy slid off the dog, crooned something in her ear, then ended up on his butt giggling. He always had the best giggle.

Always.

God, he had missed them.

Walking closer and kneeling down, his grin widened to match his youngest son’s. “Heya, Sammy.” //

~*~

// Standing over his boys, John watched them sleep. They were exhausted. The both of them. And they were gonna need every last bit of energy they could get to see this through.

Noticing a book peeking out from under the couch unlike the kind he usually saw lying around Bobby’s, John knelt down to take a closer look. He grinned, remembering the story and how Dean would indulge Sam in his nightly ritual. The kid had to say goodnight to everyone…including a damn stuffed bear he owned for barely a month.

There were many times…too many to count that he wasn’t there to say it back.

This was not one of those times.

Wishing Mary were at his side, he laid a hand over the leather that currently blanketed both of his sons. Rubbing his thumb over the well-worn material, he never imagined it would be sheltering them long past his own abilities to.

Bringing his other hand up, he rest it atop of Dean’s head. He ached for them to feel his presence, to hear the words he denied them so many times growing up. With tears in his eyes and what-could-have-beens in his heart, he whispered roughly, “Goodnight, boys.”

Both still asleep, Sam’s face turned towards his as Dean breathed… “Dad.” //

~*~

Heart stumbling, Dean’s breath caught.

~*~

// She watched from inside the house as Dean ducked inside the Impala—brother held close.

“Sammy let you see?”

Missouri didn’t startle. She didn’t even flinch. “He did,” she drawled, then turned around to face him. He flickered in and out before her, then appeared next to her looking out the window. Worry darkened his features. “My boys…”

“Are more stubborn than you ever were.” But she smiled kindly.

A genuine grin met his lips. “Some of that, believe it or not, they get from their mother.” His face turned troubled again, though. So many odds were weighing against them. But these were his boys. Dean would get Sam what he needed and where he needed to be.

And Sam would hold on until Dean did.

Still…when one was in trouble, the other was usually blind to just about everything else.  “Look after them.”

“You know I will.” //

~*~

// Glancing back to the car to make sure Sam still slept, “I’m not sure I’ll get another chance to warn you,” she turned back around to face the man she knew would be there, “But stay clear of the caves until I call for you.”

Standing before the psychic, John nodded. //

~*~

// The entire building was falling in on them. He could hear Bobby and Missouri pounding on the door, frantically trying to find a way out.

He couldn’t hear his boys.

Wasting no more time, he thrust his hand through the door and triggered the latch to open. //

~*~

Gasping, Dean pulled out of the visions. Green eyes wide, mind and heart reeling, “H…” he breathed heavily. “How?”

“Everything will be explained. I promise,” Missouri replied, stepping closer. “But Sam doesn’t have much time.”


~*~*~*~

Backing out of the hand drawn circle, Dean stood anxiously beside an equally as anxious Bobby. This was it. No turning back. No room for error.

His fists clenched nervously at his sides. No second chances.

Deathly still—but for his sporadically hitching little chest, Sam lay in the center of the circle Missouri had drawn. He looked so vulnerable to Dean, so exposed, so damn small as their father’s spirit knelt beside his failing body.

Jeezus, this is it.

Dean watched as he placed a large hand over the bare sternum and leaned in to whisper something in his brother’s ear. Sam’s pinched brow furrow, but his eyes remained closed.

The kid always did sleep through the best parts of the movie.

“John,” Missouri prompted.

Hand still pressed against Sam’s small chest, he immediately bowed his head and started murmuring under his breath.

Missouri began her own incantation. Walking around the outside of the circle, she flicked drops from the elixir bottle over their heads. Instead of falling on them, however, the dark, glittering drops lingered—hanging in midair over their bodies.

Night in a bottle.

Sammy’s girly description had just become literal.

“Son of a…” Dean watched in awe. When his brother opened his eyes, “Sam?” he went to step forward, but Bobby’s hand on his arm stopped him.

/ “Okay,” Dean breathed out shakily, still on the ground with Sam in his lap, “We have a willin’…” he glanced up at their father, the word suddenly heavy on his tongue, “…spirit. Now what?”

“The most powerful person here performs the second spell.”

Dean looked expectantly at the psychic, but she was looking at…Sam. /

Still suspended, the drops began to move.

/ Dean looked down at his brother. Eyes closed as his body struggled for breath, one hand hung limply at his side while the other lay curled in his lap. No longer did tiny fingers cling to Dean as they have done for nearly an entire day.

“Sam?” Dean asked, frowning. He squeezed lax fingers in his hand, missing the hitchhikers. “He couldn’t win a staring contest right now.”

“Well it’s a good thing he doesn’t have to.” /

Foreign words; soft and breathless began to tumble from Sam’s mouth. They held little force behind them…but demanded to be heard.

/ “The most powerful,” Bobby mused warily, handing her matches and the elixir. “You talkin’ about his abilities again?”

“When the hobyah connected with his mind during the transformation,” Missouri answered, taking the items, “Sam’s mind rebelled. His powers allowed him to. And in that moment, when his mind met with the hobyah’s, it triggered a series of events to save itself that not even Sam would fully be able to understand until now. The spell you two did in the kitchen told us what we’d need.” She turned to where Dean was gently placing the small body in the middle of the circle. “Sam has to do the rest.” /

Missouri lit a match and dropped it onto a symbol in the circle—one of the same ones Sammy had been drawing. Then whispering words so softly Dean could barely make them out, flames erupted from the engraving.

/ Thumb brushing against his brother’s temple—gauging temperature, offering comfort, “He’s the one that brought dad here.” Dean’s eyes turned to the older man—still finding it hard to believe that he was actually there.

The psychic nodded. “Sam’s powers surged with the creature’s allowing him to reach out to your father.  John had to answer the call, though. He had to be a willing spirit for this spell to work. Sam couldn’t force him here, even though he had the rare chance with the temporary power he possessed.” /

Missouri lit another match and another, walking around the two as her whispers turned into commands. The atmosphere was beginning to feel alive, charged and the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood up.

/ “Sam is the second spell.” This time it was Bobby realizing another piece of the puzzle. “That’s why we could never find it.” /

Swirling, the starlit drops weaved around and between John and Sam in the circle, increasing speed and light as Sam gained strength with every word that passed his lips—words that had been buried deep in the hobyah’s mind and hid away in Sam’s until it was time…until everything was set into place.

/ “Yes, in a way. It’s in Sam’s mind.” Kneeling down, Missouri pulled two small clear crystals from her pocket and placed one in each of Sam’s upturned hands. “These caves are full of residual power from the spell that turned Sam. It’ll help him with the transformation. These crystals, but mostly your father will help channel that power into Sam’s body.” /

Flames continued to erupt as Missouri circled them—drawing on residual power as John guided it into his son.

The drops and crystals burned brighter and brighter, out-shining the candles and flashlights. The drops grew so bright and large that they completely encompassed man and boy. Dean could barely see them through the piercing light.

/ Standing, Missouri finally turned to them and said, “We’re ready.” /

Crying out, Sam screwed his eyes shut and Dean stepped forward, but was once again held back by Bobby’s grip. He went to tug free when a sharp gust cut through the cavern extinguishing all light. All Dean could hear was his own breath. All he could see was darkness…until a blue flash erupted within the circle, forcing him to bring his hand up and close his eyes.

When he opened them again, flashlights were working, candles were burning and Sam was…Sam; six-feet-four-inches…and convulsing. “Sam!” Running over and dropping to his knees, Dean’s anxious hands hovered over the writhing body. “Saaaam” For once he was unsure how to hold his brother. For once he was unsure how to comfort. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Don’t do this.”

Long seconds passed before the seizure finally eased and Sam went limp against the earth. “Sam?” Panicked, Dean clutched at his shoulders, his neck, his jaw. “Sam!”

Sam’s head rocked, his lips parted…and beautiful, continuous breaths followed. They no longer sounded painful. They no longer sounded labored.

They did it.

Letting out a long held breath, Dean bowed his head, hands cupping both sides of his brother’s face. His twenty-four year old face.

Jeezus, they did it.

“Dean?” Bobby was the first to speak, but Dean was too busy taking stock of the man before him. The deep lines of pain that had been furrowing Sam’s brow for most of the week had smoothed out considerably, his lips were no longer blue and the lump he had on his forehead from running into a low hanging doorway two days before he was turned…was back.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean whispered, thumb brushing against the stubble on Sam’s cheek. They really did it.

“Dean?”

Finally, he pulled his eyes away and turned to the two hovering forms. “We need…” But it was then that he noticed their father was missing. “Dad?” Alarmed, he sat back, hand anchored to Sam’s arm as he looked around the cave. “Dad!”

~*~

“Here,” John reappeared. “How’s he doin?” he nodded at his youngest, shivering as he tried curling into the nearest heat source—his big brother.

Shoulders dropping with visible relief, Dean pried his eyes away from him and looked back down at his trembling brother. “Hey, hey…” Carefully and easily—as if he were still small and fragile, he pulled Sam’s exhausted body up against his. “You with me?” He brushed straggly damp bangs aside. “Sam?”

Eyes still closed, making a few indiscernible noises in the back of his throat, Sam promptly buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Or not.”

A grin only his boys could get out of him met John’s lips. He couldn’t count the number of times that Sam had hid there in the safety of Dean’s neck, sought comfort and fallen asleep there while growing up…or in the past week. It should have been him all those years that Sam sought safety in first, but he had accepted the outcome of his choices long ago.

Watching his boys curled into each other on the ground, John longed to stay, to set things right. To learn the reason behind the dark shadows in Dean’s eyes and Sam’s self-inflicted wound. He had returned to Bobby’s too late—only to find Dean clinging to his bloody brother on the living room floor…and desperation clinging back.

“Sam?” Peering down, Dean was squeezing his brother’s bicep. He was as eager to see those eyes, to hear his voice as John was…if not more.

But John would not get the chance. “I think he’s out, kiddo.”

~*~

Tears rushing to his eyes, Dean bit his upper lip and nodded. Slowly then, he looked up at his father—the man that had taught him everything from tying shoes, to pouring stainless steal rounds, to how to be a hero. The man he had fought beside, the man that had died for him, the man whose absence still resonated within him every single day.

He never got to say goodbye before—not when he died and not at Hell’s gate. He found he still wasn’t ready. “So uh…stickin’ around, or…?” he asked with a lump in his throat and the truth he already knew tearing through his heart.


John didn’t answer, though. Instead, he glanced behind him towards the direction of the cave’s entrance. When he turned back, tears were in his own eyes.

Tensing, Dean’s arms instinctively tightening around his charge. “What?”

But John grinned, showing everyone where Sam got his dimples. Looking to Missouri and Bobby, voice rough, “Get my boys home.”

Moisture blurring their own vision, they nodded.

Flickering, John disappeared, then reappeared in the tunnel leading out of the caves.

Grief rekindled cut a hot, deep path down Dean’s cheek. “Dad…” Now he was the one sounding four years old—his voice hesitant, small…and breaking. He wanted so badly to grab onto him, to make him stay just a little while longer. When he first appeared, there had been so much he wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to ask. But, as he watched him standing there, a mere flicker from goodbye, he could only think of one thing…

Tightening his jaw, he looked down at his brother, his life, and pulled him in a little closer. Then throat tight and memories long, “Who’d of thought he’d get so damn tall, huh?”

John huffed a laugh and Dean expected him to say what he always had. Watch out for your brother. Instead, he nodded and chin trembling, replied thickly, “You did good, son.” His eyes glimmered with a lifetime of pride. “Damn good.”

-

-

And then he was gone.

~*~*~*~

In the unbearable quiet of bated breath and breaking hearts, Missouri watched as a slow tear, thick with loss and longing rolled down a freckled cheek. Dean Winchester wasn’t Demon Hunter Extraordinaire in this moment. He was only a son. A son that had just lost his father…again.

He wasn’t the stoic big brother that had spent an entire week feverishly trying to save his younger half. He was just an ordinary young man…with an extraordinarily broken heart.

Taking a tentative step forward, she watched as another thick tear fell from searching eyes.  She could practically feel the echoes left by John’s abrupt absence crashing into Dean’s overly taxed body—wave after painful wave.

The heartaches these boys were forced to withstand would bring lesser men to their knees.

Reaching out, she laid a gentle hand over a trembling shoulder.

But these were hardly lesser men.

~*~

Closing his eyes at the warm touch, Dean scrubbed an unsteady hand down his face. Heart throbbing instead of beating, he looked down at his brother…and was surprised to find him looking back. A week’s worth of tension immediately rushed from his body. “Sam.” It was one word. It was ragged. It was relieved. It was… everything.

Exhausted eyes locked onto his. “Hey.” Sam’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was his, adult his, and it had a resounding effect. The throbbing in Dean’s chest found its beat again. “Hey,” he echoed hoarsely, his hand automatically coming up to brush his thumb against Sam’s temple. It was a hard habit to break.

Leaning into it with a tired sigh, Sam blinked sluggishly. “Yal’ ‘ri?”

A weighted question if ever there was one. Dean didn’t know if Sam had been aware of their father’s presence or not, but he surprised himself by answering softly, “Yeah.” Surprising himself even more that he meant it…well, someday. “You?” He was, after all, the one forced into a morbid rendition of Bobby, I shrunk the Sammy.

Sam’s eyes drifted closed and Dean was beginning to think he had fallen back to sleep when he mumbled, “Sas’qtch?”

Over the past week, there were times where Dean just…where he honestly didn’t know if he’d ever get his sasquatch back again, or if Sam would even…even… But thanks to their dad and a cave full of stubborn sons of bitches, including one puppy-eyed kid brother that just didn’t know how to quit, Dean got to keep the price of his soul. Shivering in his sleep, Sam turned and burrowed into his warmth. The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up. All seventy-six heat seeking inches of him. “Yeah,” he rasped warmly, tears in his eyes as he carded fingers through tangled brown hair. “Sasquatch.”

Epilogue