Elementary, Winchester (d.w)

7. A Watchful Eye

WARNING - THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME TRIGGERING SUBJECTS

A shiver ran up my spine.  It was snowing.  Not hard, pelting, bone-chilling snow; more light, floating snowflakes drifting down to the icy forest ground.  I crossed my bare arms to preserve the little heat I had, wishing I had been wearing something thicker.

"This is my favourite kind of snow," I noted in an attempt to get Dean to talk instead of fully relive the memory by himself.  He didn't say anything.

Snow crunched behind me and I whipped around to see Dean when he was about seventeen.  He wasn't wearing a jacket or a scarf, but didn't look cold at all.  Instead he looked frantic, eyes darting in every direction.

"Sammy!  Sam!" He yelled, but was met by silence.

"Dean!" A gruff voice roared.  His dad emerged from amongst the thick trees, ready to explode.

I had only seen John Winchester once when I was at Bobby's.  He had come to pick Sam and Dean up and practically ignored me the five minutes he was there.

Young Dean straightened his back as if to prepare himself for what he knew was coming.

"How could you let this happen?!  I gave you one job, and you can't even do that right!  You may as well not be here Dean, I can't rely on you for anything!" John furiously shouted in Dean's face.  A vein was nearly popping out of his temple and his whole face was red.

"I'll find him, Sir," replied Dean, trying to keep his face expressionless.  What kind of father made their sons call him sir?

"That's not the point," John screamed.  "The point is you're pathetic!  Now get out of my sight!"  He stomped out of the clearing leaving Dean to collect himself.

What made the situation worse was that Dean didn't seem surprised by his father's out bust, as if it was the kind of thing that happened often.  He looked hurt, but his expression was guarded.

It had occurred to me that his father wasn't the best.  After all, he left Sam and Dean at Bobby's half the time.  But I couldn't have imagined he was like this.

"Was he like this a lot?" I asked, looking up at Dean.

"Yeah," he answered simply.

"You're not any of those things he called you, Dean," I stated.  He didn't answer and kept his eyes locked on a tree a few metres away.

Young Dean ran through the clearing, screaming Sam's name at the top of his lungs.

In the blink of an eye we were no longer in the snow covered forest, but in my old house.  My younger self was sitting on the floor, arranging old photos and paper.

My breath caught in my throat.  I couldn't let Dean see this memory.  I had buried this one deep down and only told Kate that it had ever happened.

Suddenly the door burst open and my mother sauntered in.  Her hair was a brown mess and her eyes were vacant.  She staggered over to me and pulled me up by my ponytail.  Young Me gasped and tried to get out of her grip.

"Carol!  You're hurting me!" The young girl screamed as she clawed desperately at her mothers bony hand. 

"After all I've done for you!  This is it, you are not living in my house any more!" She screeched, finally letting go of my hair and grabbing onto my top instead, pulling my face to hers. "You have the audacity to steal money from me, when I send you off to that bloody hillbilly farm every year?"

The fear in the girls eyes made me shiver.  I thought my emotions were hard to read. 

"I didn't steal anything," she tried to reason, but her mother was having none of it. "Maybe it was that guy who stayed over last night?"

Her mother screwed up her face. "Do not lie to me! You're just like your father. Get out of my house!"

"Carol- mum, you're not thinking straight. It's the drugs mum, they're making you do stupid things. You don't mean what you're saying," Young Mags attempted to salvage the horrible situation. "Let's get you to bed, yeah? And then-"

I knew exactly what was coming next. I squeezed my eyes shut just as the sickening slap echoed around the tiny room.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I opened my eyes and looked at Dean instead of the chaotic scene playing out in front of us. His bright eyes looked into my dull ones.

"Please don't tell Sam," I whispered emotionless.

"I had no idea, Mags."  He stared right into my eyes.  "I- I was horrible to you and you were- your mom-"

"If it wasn't for you, Sam and Bobby I can't imagine where I would be," I said truthfully, "no matter how much you got on my tits."  My eyes avoided looking back into his.  "You were the only thing I looked forward to."

My nose tingled and I could feel my eyes watering, but I blinked them profusely.  A single tear escaped down my cheek and I wiped it away.

All of a sudden I was pulled into Dean's chest while he awkwardly patted my arm.  It was strange being close to him like that.  I don't even think we had even touched each other unless it was to slap or punch.  That being said, it was nice to know that he was at least trying to comfort me, and I appreciated it.

"Will you look at that!" Zachariah exclaimed.  I jumped away from Dean and stood to my feet.  "I really out do myself sometimes.  Didn't take much either, only had to sift through your messed up brains to find the juicy bits.  And let me tell you, there was a lot of crazy up in those nogens!"  He grinned like a little boy being praised.

"Whatever trick you're trying to play, it's not working!" seethed Dean.  "I still won't do it."

Zachariah's face fell now that no one was talking about him.  He turned to Dean with a tired expression.  "Listen, you annoying little oaf.  You will do what you are meant to."  His mouth grew back into a grin.  "In the mean time, I'll be keeping a watchful eye on your new pal Magora.  There are still so many lovely memories of yours I would love to share with her."

He nodded his head at me and disappeared with the ruffling of feathers.  Dean and I were back in the Impala together in the same place as when Zachariah had stopped us.

The engine was still running, and the time on the dashboard said not even a minute had passed.  Dean pressed down on the gas and we shot off as if nothing had happened.

Maybe it was really all just a dream.  An extremely realistic dream in which I imagined Dean's childhood and created some angel guy called Zachariah.  Or maybe I had damaged my head last night and was hallucinating.  There was only one way to find out.

"Eh, Dean?" I said.  He was speeding down the empty road way above the limit.

"Yeah?"

"Was there a guy in the middle of the road back there?"

He diverted his eyes from the windscreen to me.  "If you're asking if that whole memory thing with Zachariah just happened, then the answer is yes."

"Okay," I feebly said, sinking into the car seat.  That meant that Dean had really seen all of that, and I had seen some things too.

At least I had an angel keeping a keen eye on me.  That had to be good, right?