Sioux Falls, South Dakota -- 1992
Something was wrong with my little brother.
Not wrong like when he caught that flu in Wisconsin, or wrong like when he broke his arm falling out of that tree in Ohio. This was different. At thirteen, I was starting to notice things that my childhood self might have missed.
Sammy had always been weird – too smart for his own good, reading books bigger than his head, looking at things like he was seeing more than what was there. But lately, it felt like he was carrying something heavy. Something he wouldn't share.
"Dean, stop hovering and help me organize these shells," Bobby grumbled from his workbench, surrounded by ammunition of every kind imaginable. The familiar smell of gunpowder and metal filled the air.
I reluctantly turned away from where Sam sat cross-legged on Bobby's worn couch, buried in another ancient book. Kid was only nine, but he read Latin better than Dad.
"He's reading too much," I muttered, starting to sort shotgun shells into neat piles.
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Since when is reading a bad thing? Thought you'd be happy he's taking to the life, learning what's out there."
"Since..." I struggled to explain the knot in my stomach. "Since he started having those headaches. Since his nose started bleeding sometimes when he thinks no one's looking."
That got Bobby's attention. "Bleeding? John didn't mention that."
"Because Sam won't tell him," I said, lowering my voice and glancing toward the study. "He thinks I don't notice, but I do. He wipes it away quick, always has an excuse ready. He's hiding something, Bobby."
Bobby set down the shell he was examining and studied Sam through the doorway for a moment. The kid was completely absorbed in his book, making notes in that journal he never let anyone see.
"Might be his abilities developing," Bobby said thoughtfully. "Your daddy mentioned he's shown some sensitivity to things. Psychic tendencies ain't uncommon in hunters, especially young ones."
"But why's he hiding it?"
"Because he's nine and scared, ya idjit." Bobby's voice was gruff but kind. "Come on. Got something that might help us understand what's going on."
Ten minutes later, we were standing in Bobby's half-finished panic room. The iron walls were covered in symbols I recognized from Dad's training and some I didn't. Sam looked around with that expression he sometimes got – like he was remembering something instead of seeing it for the first time.
"Now," Bobby pulled out what looked like a crystal on a silver chain, "this here's supposed to react to certain... energies. Psychic energy, supernatural residue, that sort of thing. Found it in a monastery in Tibet. Figured we could make sure you boys are doing okay."
He handed it to me first. The crystal stayed clear, hanging lifeless between us. Then Sam took it.
The crystal flickered with the faintest blue light, so slight I almost missed it. But Sam's face – for just a second, something flashed in his eyes. Fear? Recognition? Then his expression smoothed out like nothing happened.
"Huh," Bobby said, scratching his beard. "Looks like you might have a touch of the shine after all, kid. Nothing to worry about – lots of hunters develop abilities. Helps with the job sometimes."
Sam handed the crystal back quickly. "Maybe. Can I go back to reading now? I found something interesting about protective sigils."
Bobby nodded, but I caught his eye. There was more to this, wasn't there?
"What do you think?" I asked after Sam had gone back upstairs.
Bobby leaned against his workbench. "Think your brother's got a gift. Might explain the headaches, the nosebleeds. Psychic abilities can be rough on a growing mind."
"But why wouldn't he tell us?"
"Put yourself in his shoes, Dean. Nine years old, already different from other kids because of hunting, and now this? Boy's probably scared of being even more different."
That... made sense, actually. Sammy had always hated standing out.
Later that night, I pretended to sleep while Sam read under his covers with a flashlight. He'd been doing that a lot lately – reading things he didn't want anyone else to see. Sometimes I heard him muttering in Latin, practicing protective symbols that he quickly erased.
A soft thud made me open my eyes. Sam had fallen asleep, a book sliding from his grip. Moving quietly, I picked it up – some old text about warding sigils. Normal hunter stuff, but why was he being so secretive about it?
Sam stirred in his sleep, his face scrunching up. Another nightmare. He'd been having more of those lately too.
"No," he mumbled. "Won't... let you..."
I placed my hand on his shoulder, and he settled. Whatever was going on with my little brother, whatever he was hiding, one thing hadn't changed – he was still my responsibility. Still my job to protect.
Thunder rolled outside, making the windows rattle. Sam twitched in his sleep, and I caught a glimpse of his notebook, fallen open beside him. The page was filled with protective symbols I'd never seen before, drawn over and over like he was practicing them.
Or like he was afraid of something.
"It's okay, Sammy," I whispered, tucking the blanket around him. "I've got you."
In the morning, I found Bobby in his study, already deep in research mode.
"That crystal," I said without preamble. "What did it really show?"
Bobby looked up from his books. "Shows he's got potential, Dean. Psychic abilities ain't common, but they ain't unheard of either. Missouri Moseley's got 'em. So do a handful of other hunters I know."
"So... he's going to be okay?"
"Course he is," Bobby said firmly. "He's got us watching out for him, doesn't he? Just... give him time. Let him come to terms with it in his own way."
I nodded, glancing toward where Sam sat on the porch, scribbling in his notebook again. The morning sun caught his face, making him look younger, more vulnerable.
"Should we tell Dad?"
Bobby considered this. "Let's wait. Your daddy's got enough on his plate, and Sam needs space to understand these abilities without pressure. For now, we watch, we support, and we make sure he knows he's got people in his corner."
I grabbed my jacket, heading for the porch. "Thanks, Bobby."
"Dean?" Bobby called after me. "You're doing good, kid. Being there for him – that's what he needs most right now."
Outside, Sam looked up as I approached, quickly closing his notebook. "Want to practice shooting?" I offered. "Dad'll be back tomorrow. Better make sure you're sharp."
Sam smiled – a real smile, not the worried one he'd been wearing lately. "Yeah, okay."
As we headed toward Bobby's makeshift shooting range, thunder rolled again across the clear South Dakota sky. Sam's step faltered for just a moment, but I pretended not to notice.
Whatever was happening to my little brother, whatever he was so afraid of, he wouldn't face it alone. Not while I was around.
That was a promise.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
I know, this one is on the shorter end, but with what I chose to focus on, Dean's perspective on Sam, it couldn't really be longer.
So yeah, do please tell me how you found it and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)