Fight Hard
Chapter 1
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Disclaimer: I don't own them; I just like to bring them to my sandbox once in a while.
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In each family a story is playing itself out, and each family's story embodies its hope and despair - Auguste Napier
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Sam Winchester sat across from his brother at a table in the crowded bar just like he'd done countless times before. Normaly Dean would be flirting with the waitresses or scoping out the competition for a game of pool or darts. Sam would either be reading their father's journal, a newspaper, or surfing the 'Net on his laptop. He wasn't really into the bar scene, but it's where Dean liked to unwind after a hunt or a long day on the road.
But things weren't like they used to be. Their father was dead and the Colt was gone. They had no idea how to kill the demon, even if they could find it. They were depending on the help of strangers; one in particular was someone that John knew but never told them about. They found out that there was an entire network of hunters they knew nothing of, and just when they were getting to the point of trusting some, they found out they might not be able to. If their lives weren't weird enough before, things really made up for it now.
"You're hitting it pretty hard tonight." Dean noted as Sam ordered another beer. Normally one was his limit, but he'd already had three.
Sam said nothing.
"Sammy." Dean hesitated when Sam didn't even look up, then leaned forward. "Sam."
Sam looked at him, but Dean didn't recognize what he saw in his brother's eyes. He still said nothing. Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. The waitress set another glass in front of Sam and he wrapped his hands around it.
"Dean." he said after a moment. "You'll do it, won't you?"
"Do what?"
"Kill me." Sam said. "If I turn evil."
Dean felt sick. He grabbed his beer and took a long swig.
"Dean."
"I don't want to have this conversation." Dean said after a moment. "You're not going to turn evil."
"You don't know that." Sam smiled sadly.
"The hell I don't."
"Dean, please. I have to know that I can count on you."
Sam knew this was hard for his brother. Dean had been charged with protecting Sam his entire life only to find out he may have to kill him instead. Sam understood how that must feel, but had to know that Dean could do what might become necessary. He watched as Dean trained his eyes everywhere but on him.
"Dean."
"I'm gonna hit the head." Dean said and stood up.
Sam took a long drink of his beer, watching as Dean walked away.
Dean made sure the bathroom was empty. He leaned against the sink and stared into the mirror, then slammed his fist into the wall.
"Damnit." he growled, shaking his hand. "Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!"
He turned over the trash can, kicked the stall doors, and hit the wall again. He was back at the sink when Sam walked in.
"Get out." Dean hissed, glaring at him.
Sam took a step forward.
"Get the hell out, Sammy. If you're going to try to make me talk about killing you, you can just get the hell away from me."
"I'm not gonna make you talk." Sam said quietly. He'd spent some time being angry with his brother for keeping the secret, but it didn't take long for him to realize it wasn't Dean's fault. John told him not to tell Sam, so he didn't. At least he didn't until it was too much for him to handle.
Dean stood up straight.
"Come on, man." Sam said. "Let's go back to the motel."
"I'm not going to talk about it at the motel either."
"I said I wouldn't make you talk."
Dean looked at him for a moment, then turned back to the sink to wash the blood from his hand. It was already starting to bruise. He leaned against the sink and closed his eyes.
"I can't do this, Sammy."
"Which this are we talking about?"
"Everything. All of it."
"You really want to do this here, man?"
"I don't care." Dean whispered. "I just don't care anymore."
Sam stepped forward and pulled Dean away from the sink. "Come on, let's go."
To his surprise, Dean let himself be led out of the bar and to the parking lot. Sam knew he probably shouldn't be driving, but he figured he was in slightly better shape than his brother right now. He was glad the motel was only a couple of miles away, though, and they made it without incident.
Dean sat on the edge of his bed, looking sullen while Sam filled the ice bucket and got two sodas from the machine at the end of the building. He wrapped some of the ice in a towel and handed it to Dean as he sat next to him. The older brother put the ice on his injured hand without comment. They sat that way, neither one speaking, for a long time. Sam knew he could probably get Dean to talk if he pushed hard enough, but he knew when not to force him and this was one of those times.
He thought back to when Dean told him the secret. It wasn't that long ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. They left the deserted Oregon town where they learned that Sam was immune to some kind of demonic virus and stopped at a lake. That in itself was odd; Dean wasn't normally a stop and see the scenery kind of guy and the unwritten rule was to put as much distance between them and the job as possible when it was done.
He sat on the simple wooden fence, while his brother leaned against it looking out at the water. Sam was worried about him. Before they knew Sam was immune to the disease, Dean sent the others away and stayed with him. At the time, they believed they were both going to die; Sam begged him to save himself, but Dean wouldn't go and admitted he was tired of the hunting lifestyle. Sam never thought he'd hear those words from his brother's mouth. He always thought Dean was the perfect hunter and lived for the job, but he'd been so different since their father died. Sam attributed the changes to missing John and, while that was part of the truth, the rest of it was beyond staggering.
Before Dad died he, he told me something. Something about you.
What? Dean, what did he tell you?
He said that he wanted me to watch out for you. Take care of you.
He told you that a million times.
This time was different. He said that I had to… save you.
Save me from what?
He just said that I had to save you. That nothing else mattered. And that if I couldn't. I'd –
You'd what, Dean?
I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.
Sam replayed that part of the conversation in his head a million times. His brother might have to kill him. Dean might have to kill him and had kept it a secret from him for months. And it was a secret John had kept for who knew how long?
You had no right to keep this from me.
You think I wanted this? Huh? I wish to God he never opened his mouth. Then I wouldn't have to walk around with this screaming in my head all day.
We just have to figure out what's going on, then. What this all means.
We do? I've been thinking about this. I think we should just lay low, you know? At least for a while. Be safer. Then that way I could make sure –
What? That I don't turn evil? That I don't turn into some kind of killer?
I never said that.
Geez, you're not careful you will have to waste me one day, Dean.
I never said that! Damni Sam, this whole thing is spinning out of control. All right, you're – you're immune to some weirdo demon virus and I don't even know what the hell anymore. And you're pissed at me. That's fine. I deserve it. But we lay low until we figure out our next move, okay?
Forget it.
Sam, please, man. Hey, please. Just give me some time. Just give me some time to think, I'm begging you here, please. Please.
Dean Winchester didn't hide and Dean Winchester didn't beg. But that's exactly what he'd done standing next to that lake. Sam had vacillated between anger and concern for his brother, but in the end, anger won out. For a little while, at least.
And now he sat next to his brother in some dingy motel room with the only light coming from the bathroom. Dean was cradling his hand, holding a towel filled with ice against it, his head down and looking totally defeated. He wasn't used to losing a fight; he always got the bad guy he was up against. But what if the bad guy turned out to be Sam? Would Dean have the courage he'd need to go up against his own brother?
"I'm scared."
Sam looked at his brother, not even sure he'd really spoken. The ice had started to melt and cold water was rolling down Dean's fingers onto the floor, but he didn't notice.
"I'm scared, Sammy."
"I'm scared, too, Dean."
"I don't want to have to kill you."
"But you'll do it if you have to, right?" it sounded more like a plea than a question.
"Sam." Dean whispered.
The younger brother knew not to push. Dean was closer to a breaking point than he'd ever seen him, so he only nodded to himself and reached for the towel.
Dean lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling. He knew he couldn't keep going like this; he had to keep it together for Sam's sake. He could hear Sam's even breathing in the next bed and knew he'd finally fallen asleep. He couldn't even imagine what the kid must be going through; he'd always felt different and now to find out that he may very well be, that he might somehow turn evil, had to be devastating. And Dean was being absolutely no help by wallowing in his own self-pity. No matter what, he had to take care of Sammy. That had always been his number one job.
Watching Sam as he moved, Dean got out of bed and pulled on the jeans he'd discarded on the floor earlier. Moving in true hunter mode, Dean put on his shoes and slipped into his jacket before going outside. He could see the Impala across the parking lot through the fog and once inside, he turned on the radio. He leaned back in the seat, listening to classic rock, and trying to figure out what to do about Sam. It had been several weeks since he'd shared John's secret and, so far, his brother was the same as he'd always been. There was no sign that he would – or even could – become evil.
"God, I wish you were still here, Dad." he said. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm fighting. And I'm so tired."
He closed his eyes. He wasn't just physically tired, he was mentally tired. For so long it had just been the Winchesters; they fought everything together. When John died, Dean felt lost. He didn't want to let anyone else in and despite what John told him, he wanted to cling to his brother. Then they met Ellen Harvelle, an old friend of their father's. He didn't immediately trust her, but Sam did and he trusted Sam. But someone at the Harvelle Roadhouse had fed Gordon information about his brother and Dean didn't know who was safe anymore. Again, it was just the Winchesters.
"I don't know how to take care of Sammy, Dad. I don't know how to do this without you."
He took a deep breath and looked back toward the motel room. It didn't matter if he knew how to do it or not; he had to do it. It was his job to take care of Sammy and he never turned his back on a job; or on his family.
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The next morning, the brothers headed to a nearby town to check out a haunting. Neither one brought up last night's conversation and, as far as Dean knew, Sam was still unaware of his almost nightly trips to the car. Sometimes he just needed to be completely alone and listen to music to relax and clear his head.
"So we're doing a simple haunted house?" Dean asked as he drove west on a back road a little while later.
"What? You're too good for a haunting now?" Sam joked.
Dean rolled his eyes.
"It's a job and we're close by. Why not handle it?"
"I didn't say we shouldn't handle it. What grabbed your attention?"
"It's a job and we're close by." Sam said again.
Dean nodded. "Got any more details for me?"
All Sam told Dean when he'd come out of the shower earlier was that he'd found an interesting story about an alleged haunted house in a town about eighty miles away and wanted to check it out. That was good enough for Dean, so they packed up and got into the car.
"Young family bought a hundred year old house that no one had lived in for over ten years. Back then, it was all Amityville. Another young family ignored the rumors; they lived in the house only to be terrorized by something. They moved out and they house stayed empty until these people moved in."
"What were the rumors the others ignored?"
"Stories that the house was haunted." Sam said as if it was obvious.
"And you got all this from one newspaper story?"
"No." Sam sounded offended. "I know how to find information."
Dean smiled to himself. He liked it being this way with Sam; easy and comfortable. He could certainly do without the pain and the serious conversations.
"So what else did you find out, Sherlock?"
"I searched county records as far back as I could. The house hasn't been occupied for more than a couple of years at a time in the last thirty."
"How long have there been rumors about it being haunted?"
"I found some other news stories from the last few years. I also found a local paranormal site that has information about it. According to that site, the house has been haunted for about fifty years."
"Owners?"
"At that time the owners were a James and Amanda Perry. Allegedly, James hung himself in his study."
"Nice. Why?"
"He made a lot of bad investments and was broke. He also found out Amanda was sleeping with someone else."
"So this guy is our ghost?"
Sam shrugged. "Makes sense."
"Any idea where he's buried?"
"Not for sure, but they were prominent members of the only church in town at the time. He's probably buried there in their cemetery."
"I gotta take shorter showers." Dean muttered.
Sam grinned and put away the laptop, where he'd been reading from the notes he made. He didn't have an Internet connection or he would have continued the research while Dean drove.
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Dean followed Sam's directions to the house they were in town to investigate. The family that bought it left in the middle of the night less than a week ago, claiming the stories about the haunting were true. They were staying in a hotel and refused to go back to the house for any reason other than to pack up their things.
The house was at the end of a street, the closest neighbors were at least a half mile away.
"We should probably talk to the Davidsons before we go in." Sam said.
"I guess." Dean sounded unsure.
"Dean –"
He pulled away from the curb. "Fine."
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The family was staying at the Grand Inn. The desk clerk wouldn't give out the room number, but called to find out if the Davidsons would agree to talk to the brothers. A few minutes later, they were sitting in the hotel's coffee shop with Carolyn Davidson.
"My husband is at work." she explained again. "He's an accountant and all the news has been hard on him. He's lost clients already. Do you really believe us? About the house?"
The brothers exchanged a look.
"The stories I read are interesting." Sam said carefully. "And, well, we've investigated this kind of thing before."
"No one is going to buy the house with all the bad publicity. And the old stories about it being haunted are floating around again because of us. We never should have talked to that reporter." Carolyn said, wrapping both hands around the oversized coffee cup.
"Tell us what kinds of things would happen in the house." Sam said gently.
"We'd heard the stories, of course. Lee and I both grew up here. Everyone who has been here for any amount of time hears the stories. But the price was right; no one had lived in it for over ten years. We figured the stories were exaggerated." she smiled sadly. "I guess they weren't."
"What did you see in the house?"
"We never saw anything. I mean, we'd see things moved and that kind of thing, but we never saw the ghost." she took a deep breath. "At first it was just noises; creaks and groans. We figured it was just the house settling. Then we'd hear footsteps upstairs when we were downstairs; the kids started hearing things. My daughter, she's three, told us her stuffed animals were floating around her room one night. Sometimes it was almost like the ghost – or whatever – was playing with the kids. But then other things started floating around – and being thrown at us. It was horrible and just got to be too much."
"Did you ever call anyone for help?"
She laughed. "Like a priest or an exorcist?"
"Or a paranormal investigator?" Sam asked, thinking about the website he'd found.
"No. We had no idea where to even start looking for someone to help us." she looked from one brother to the other. "Can you help us?"
"Yes." Sam said confidently.
"Can we go look around the house?" Dean asked.
"Yes, of course." she said. "My keys are upstairs. I'll go get them and I'll be right back."
Sam nodded as she stood up.
"This is pretty Amityville." Dean said once she was gone, using Sam's phrase from before.
"Classic haunting. James is pissed off about losing his money and his wife was messing around on him. We'll find him, burn the bones and life goes back to normal for the Davidsons."
Dean looked at his brother. There was something almost wistful in his tone.
"Sam?"
He shook his head and took a sip of coffee.
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After leaving Mrs. Davidson, Dean dropped Sam off at City Hall where he hoped to get more information about the Perrys. Death certificates were public record in the county, but since it happened so long ago, it might take some searching to find. The library was also within walking distance. While Sam concentrated on research, Dean drove to the house. He parked in the driveway and examined the structure from outside before using the key Mrs. Davidson provided.
He had an uncomfortable feeling that the woman wasn't being completely honest with them, but it was nothing more than suspicion. Something seemed off in her answer about not knowing were to find help, but Dean had to remember that most people were completely clueless when it came to the supernatural and had no idea where to start to look for real information. He also had to remember that not everyone was as adept at research in general as his brother.
Dean thought back to Sam's tone when Mrs. Davidson left the coffee shop to get her keys. His mood had suddenly shifted, but he completely blew it off and there had been no way to get him to talk about it. He was still sullen when Dean dropped him off at City Hall. Dean's thoughts were interrupted by the low beeping of the EMF monitor he was carrying. He hadn't expected to get any readings during the day.
"Well, well." he muttered. He was in a downstairs hallway, just outside a room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and plush-looking chairs. Most of the shelves were empty and upon closer inspection, the chairs were old and worn. He decided this must have been the study where James hung himself. Mrs. Davidson had mentioned that many of the rooms were at least partially furnished when they bought the house and that their intention was to completely restore everything inside so they'd discarded only the most damaged pieces.
Dean walked around the room slowly, the EMF reader continually showing signs of activity. He heard something behind him and turned just a moment too late to avoid being hit by a magazine that had been on a side table.
"That was pretty lame." he said aloud, bending to retrieve the magazine. It was a recent issue of a financial publication with Mr. Davidson's name on the address label. Dean tossed it back onto the table. It wasn't impossible for spirits to be active during the day, but it was definitely unusual and he wondered what it meant. Was the ghost particularly strong or just particularly angry?
Dean reached for the pistol he'd loaded with rock salt and tucked into the waistband of his jeans. After a few minutes, he heard rattling and saw a few small items being moved on tables and the bookshelves around him. The EMF monitor reacted just before a series of books flew at him from across the room. He avoided all but the first and rubbed the back of his head as he walked into the hallway.
"You're not being very hospitable." Dean said. He looked back into the room and saw the books floating back to their places on the shelves. "But you're neat."
TBC