Hooray I have wireless internet to post this!

Written for the 2009 Summer of Sam Love Fic Exchange, based on Gidgetgal9's second prompt: Sam is trapped by some sort of creature that feeds off of human desires. Before the creature is killed by John or Dean- it feeds off of Sam and his desire not to hunt. It takes Sam's (voice, sight, hearing- something like that). Sam learns about his family's devotion and his own strength while dealing with the disability.

The story is set pre-series, right before Sam leaves for Stanford, and also examines his reasons for leaving with references to the pilot, which is something I've always wanted to explore.. I have to admit I took great liberty with the mythology because I just couldn't figure out how they would kill it…anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it and give Sam some love!

Standard disclaimers apply. Spoilers for Pilot only, in the prologue and epilogue.

Caecus

October 2005

"Now," said Dean impatiently, "you gonna come with me or not?"

"I'm not." The response was practically reflexive, the argument solid and based on four years of going over the conflict in his mind, wondering if there was anything he would have done differently.

There wasn't.

"Why not?"

"I swore I was done hunting for good." He had meant it, too, every word. There were just some things you should stay away from.

"Come on," his brother said lightheartedly. "It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad."

"Yeah?" He replied, annoyed. "When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45."

"Well, what was he supposed to do?"

"I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, 'Don't be afraid of the dark.'"

"Don't be afraid of the dark? Are you kidding me, of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!"

Indeed, it had been Dean, so many years ago, who had told him that it wasn't the darkness itself he should be scared of. It was something far worse.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said patiently. "But still – the way we grew up after mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her…we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we can find!"

Before it kills us, maims us, or destroys our lives.

"Save a lot of people doing it, too."

That was Dean, the world's white knight in shining armour – or dark knight, really, because it was hidden under layers of illegality, subterfuge and crude humour. But who knows who they would have been, the both of them, if not for some cruel trick of fate?

If it was a trick of fate.

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us?" He played his final overplayed card. If not for hunting, Dean could have gone to school as well, been anything he wanted to be. Sam was the "geek boy" of the two of them, but Dean was far from unintelligent. He was just…distracted.

Sam followed his brother outside.

"The weapons training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors."

"So, what are you gonna do? You just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?"

Dean's tone was mocking, but almost accusatory

"No, not normal." Sam paused, searching for the word. "Safe."

"And that's why you ran away?" Dean scoffed. Sam can almost hear the words he doesn't say…You're a coward…You deserted us…You're a selfish bastard and a poor excuse for a brother...The monsters won't go away, just because you did.

"I was just going to college," he replied angrily. "It was Dad who said if I was gonna go, I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing."

"Yeah, well," Dean continued, "Dad's in real trouble if he's not dead already. I can feel it. I can't do this alone."

"Yes, you can."

"Yeah, but I don't want to."

Sam looked at Dean then, really looked at him, and knew what his decision was going to have to be, whether he liked it or not.

May 2001

He could feel the blistering heat all around him. A woman above him, on the ceiling, screaming and burning…don't look don't look but of course his treacherous eyes are open and he can see her face. Soft, and beautiful, long blond hair, pure white nightgown drenched in blood that drip drip dripped into his open mouth…

Sam Winchester woke with a start, drenched in sweat, the terrible coppery taste still on his lips and making his stomach rebel. He made it to the bathroom and spit into the sink, shaking; he had bitten his tongue, nothing more. It was his own blood.

Sam made his way back to the bed, hoping he hadn't woken Dean. He was lucky enough to have his own bedroom for once in the house they were currently renting, but his older brother seemed to have a sixth sense for Sam's nightmares. Which was fine when he was five, but now he could look after himself.

It had been his seventeenth birthday, a weekend when he was confined to the house with the flu and a seriously bored sibling, when he had finally asked Dean what he had wanted to know for years. Sam had been told that his mother had been killed by a supernatural being, nothing more; now, however, he knew the whole truth.

Mary Winchester has been killed in his nursery, burned on the ceiling above his crib.

It was sometimes hard not to wonder…did that make it his fault? Had the demon, perhaps, been after him? Dean had tried to quell that notion immediately; after all, the – thing wouldn't have left him if Sam was truly what it was after. And his Dad, of course, with his need-to-know policy, never told him anything.

Then the dreams began.

Every so often in the year that followed, he would see his mother's death – or what he thought was his mother's death – in his sleep. Sam knew that, in all probability, it was just his subconscious reacting to Dean's description of what had happened – but there were details there he shouldn't have a memory of…the stuffed animals in his bed, the feel of the blankets around him, his mother's face – something he had only seen in the rare photos left lying around – and her voice. He couldn't recall his mother at all, and yet Sam was revisiting her murder in his dreams.

Maybe Dean was right to call him a freak, although that was out of affection and for very different reasons.

Sam tossed and turned for another half hour before giving up on sleep altogether…after all, the sun was up and they would need to get moving in a few hours. They were moving locations again, now that he was done with final exams. He had already said goodbye to his friends of the past three months, half-heartedly waving aside their invitations to graduation parties, with empty promises that he would see them all again.

The chances were he wouldn't. Probably not in this lifetime, because of his father's obsession; they were moving around more than ever, as Sam grew into adulthood. Dean didn't mind, of course; then again, he enjoyed one-night stands more than actual relationships, as well as the "bad-boy" aura that came with the constant secrecy and the impermanence of their homes.

With a sigh, the youngest Winchester decided to check the mail one last time before resigning himself to a new address. He liked to do this before his Dad got up, in case there were letters of…a specific nature.

With the help of one of his teachers, Sam had been looking at colleges for the latter half of the year. The expensive application fees made it virtually impossible to choose more than a few, but so far it had paid off incredibly; Columbia, the closest to where they were staying next, had booked him an appointment for a pre-law scholarship interview on the weekend. If he could somehow get out of his Dad's next hunt…

The letterbox was almost empty; Dean and his father hadn't sent out any credit card applications lately. But there were a few things…some sort of magazine addressed to his brother (he flipped it to the bottom of the pile quickly), a bill they would probably never pay, and –

A letter. Addressed to him. Emblazoned with the obvious symbol of Stanford University.

Sam wondered if his heart had ever beat so fast; the only equivalent was probably his first vengeful spirit, and he had been about nine years old at the time. This was different; it was nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with excitement. The envelope was far too thick to be a rejection letter.

He was back in his bedroom and sitting on his bed before he even realized where his feet were carrying him. His hands were shaking as he turned over the envelope, carefully putting one finger under the edge of the flap…

"Sam?"

Oh, crap…Dean. He fumbled wildly with the envelope, stuffing it under his pillow and then sitting on top of it, trying to look nonchalant. The door opened and his brother stuck his head around.

"Hey, kiddo, what're you doing up?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, before realizing that the pile of envelopes at his feet gave him a perfectly innocent alibi. "Just, you know…looking at the mail."

"Really?" There was that annoying, knowing look in his brother's eyes. He knew something was amiss, and he wouldn't rest until he found out. Sam tried not to shift nervously, hoping the unopened letter beneath him would remain silent and unseen.

His brother's eyes scanned the pile of mail; Dean reached out and pulled the magazine out from underneath the rest, grinning.

"Sammy, were you looking at porn?"

Although he was inwardly sighing in relief, Sam did his best to sound incredulous.

"What? No!"

"Oh my God, you totally were."

"No, Dean," he said, putting enough annoyance in his tone to fool his brother. "I wasn't. Don't be stupid."

He wasn't meeting his brother's eyes, but he could imagine his brother's expression.

"Hey, man, don't worry, I won't tell Dad," Dean snickered.

He sat down on the bed beside Sam, who immediately tensed up.

"Come on, Sam, you don't have to be such a prude all the time! Lighten up! Didn't you even have a date for the prom?"

"I didn't go to the prom, Dean. We were on a hunt."
"Still, you could have asked someone, just for practise."

Dean seemed barely able to contain his enthusiasm, as if he had been waiting for years to find out that Sam was a horny teenager just like every other guy his age.

"I have more important things to think about, Dean."

"Geek," Dean said, clapping him on the back. "You cannot go through life without seeing a girl naked. Plus, it's like, the only kind of compensation we can get with the job."

Sam blinked.

"You're a bit of a man-whore, Dean, you know that? Besides, girls aren't interested in me, either. I'm just a freak with a bunch of scars and an unusual knowledge of firearms."

"What are you talking about? Chicks dig scars!"

"Not in high school, Dean."

"Whatever, dude. You're still a prude."

He stood up to leave.

"Five minutes 'til takeoff, Sam." He paused. "Actually, make that ten. I know how you like to fold everything, OCD boy."

Sam scowled.

"Hey, Dean, have you shrunk?"

His older brother scowled back and flipped him the bird as he left the room, and Sam grinned. It was the only thing he had over Dean; they were now the same height, to his great annoyance, and Sam was far from done growing.

He was mostly packed already; with a glance at the now open door, Sam carefully placed his unopened Stanford letter inside his duffle. He would have to wait to be alone again.

They had been driving for about an hour in silence (Dean's hand twitching every few minutes to the cassette player) before he finally asks the question. His little brother is fidgeting like crazy, crammed into the backseat practically with his knees up to his chin (damn kid needs to stop growing).

"So…you gonna tell us where we're headed, sir?"

He used politeness to the max because the look on Dad's face was like a friggin' thundercloud, which usually meant that one of them had screwed up badly.

"Greenville, Ohio."

Simple answer, no more or less than what he'd asked for. Typical Dad.

Behind him, Sam shifted and sat up.

"Wait, we're not going to New York?"

He sounded almost panicky. Dean wanted to respond with something snarky (Sorry, Sam, you'll have to cancel your tickets to The Lion King for now) but now that Dad was communicating he had more important things to say.

"And we're hunting…"

"I'm not sure," John Winchester said shortly. "Caleb phoned me this morning. Apparently an old friend of mine was killed there, and I need to find out why."

Damn. Well, that would explain it. He glanced at Sam, who suddenly had this sorrowful look on his face (moist eyes, fast blinking, rapid swallowing that made his Adam's apple look like it was on a pogo stick) that was his sort of automatic someone-we-sort-of-know-just-died mode. Which seemed to be in use more and more often lately…

Dude, enough with the chick-flick moment, he mentally chastised himself, turning away from his brother and muttering simply,

"I'm sorry, Dad."

He could be simple and concise, too.

"Did Caleb have any idea what did it?" Sam asked.

"No. But there have been other deaths in the area, might be a connection."

"So it might not even be anything supernatural."

Dean glanced at his brother. Why was he pushing this? He tried to give him his patented Shut up, Sam look, but he couldn't bend his neck far enough. He settled instead, for:

"People are dying, Sam. That isn't enough for you?"

"I'm just saying, maybe we should stick to the original plan, the poltergeist in New York - "

"Isn't killing anyone," his father answered sharply. "I'm sure they can survive a weekend of their car keys going missing while we check out something more dangerous. I assume you don't have any issue with saving lives?"

Dean tried to communicate his Shut up NOW, Sam look with similar results, but his argumentative brother was apparently on a roll now and could not be stopped. His motives, however, were still disconcertingly unclear.

"I'm not saying that, I'm just saying that we might be wasting our time!"

"Jason was a hunter. He was targeted for a reason - "

"So you don't think hunters can make mistakes, or be killed in 'normal' ways?" Sam was practically shouting now. "We're not friggin' invincible, Dad, we're just like everyone else - "

His father pulled over to the side of the highway with a screech of brakes that made neighbouring cows look up in alarm. He turned around to face his youngest son.

"Get out of the car."

"What, you're kicking me out now?"

"Get out, and start running. I don't know what your problem is, but you obviously need to blow off some steam."

Fuming, Sam untangled his long limbs from the back seat and got out. Dean hesitated, then followed.

"I'll go too, sir."

"Fine. There's a gas station a few miles away, I'll meet you both there."

The door slammed, the wheels spun, and the Impala was soon gone in a cloud of dust. Dean turned to his brother.

"What the hell, Sam?"

"It's the way he treats us, Dean, it's like - "

But apparently Mr. Drama Queen had no words to describe John Winchester.

Altogether, the whole constant bickering both annoyed him (though he would only admit that to Sam) and worried him a little. It was like a natural disaster waiting to happen these days, or maybe even a nuclear explosion. How could they not see how much they were alike? Dean may have idolized his father since birth and imitated his every move through life (or at least tried to), but Sam truly fit John's shoes much better than he could. At least when he stopped being a whiny bitch and accepted the hunt as their way of life.

But honestly, he didn't know much further the crack could open before something devastating happened between them. It was like…they were both sliding down a cliff face, trying to grab for the same hand-hold without even realizing it. So where did that put Dean? He wasn't the cliff, that's for sure, and he sure wasn't hanging on there with him. Maybe he was the onlooker at the top, or the rocks that crushed them and were crushed at the bottom when his two remaining family members fell at last…

Okay, the metaphor wasn't perfect. Anyway…

"Still, you don't need to pick a fight with him every single day! He's not out to get you, Sam, he has other things on his mind."

"Right. That's what you said when he missed my graduation."

"So, he didn't have time to sit around all morning to watch you walk across the stage for thirty seconds in a friggin' gown."

"I gave the valedictorian speech, Dean. You were there."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Don't you ever – you know – wish we could just be a normal family? Even for a day?"

Dean paused.

"Well, to be honest, after what we've seen, it would be pretty friggin' boring." Sam turned away. "Look, man, I know you're into the whole 'fitting in, acting normal' stuff, but we are different. I've accepted it, hell, I enjoy the life. Maybe you could too, if you tried getting that stick out of your ass and stopped blaming Dad for everything."

"I don't blame Dad for everything."

"Yeah, you totally do."

"Do not."

"Whatever, Sam. What you were saying, about hunters dying just like everyone else…Dad knows that, he doesn't need reminding."

"What are you now, his personal psychiatrist?"

"You kidding me? Dad doesn't talk to me or anybody. But…he knows, Sam, and it scares him just as much as it scares you."

"Dad's not scared of anything," Sam muttered.

"Oh, yeah?"

But Sam didn't have memories of the fire, of his Dad's eyes when he saw…whatever it was.

His brother huffed, turned away and started running, looking even ganglier than usual. The kid needed new clothes.

Dean sighed, and followed.

Six hours…

As he sat on another crappy motel bed in yet another dilapidated motel room, tapping away on his laptop, all Sam could think about was the number of hours remaining before his scheduled (and un-reschedule-able) Columbia interview. Which would be absolutely impossible to get to at this point, being more than an entire state away. At twelve hours he had considered just hijacking the Impala and taking off before anyone was any the wiser, but Dean was dogging his every footstep. Not that that wasn't typical, especially this close to a hunt, but it was almost as if his older brother suspected something wasn't right.

Dean sat across from him on the other bed (their Dad had got a separate room so he could hang his newspaper clippings and have private conversations with other hunters who probably didn't even know he had sons) eating some disgusting fried concoction noisily and obnoxiously, though Sam knew his stomach was growling loud enough to be heard. His Dad had put him onto researching their potential prey, perhaps as further punishment for their brief shouting match on the road, and told him he could eat when he had discovered everything he could.

Kind of a long project, considering his hacking skills and the already enormous proportions of today's world wide web.

"So?" His brother asked, for the third time. "How's Dad's working theory…working out?"

"Everything seems to fit so far," Sam replied patiently. "All the victims were male, ages eighteen to forty…all basically in their prime of life. Went for a hike in the same patch of woods, all turned up in their homes later, dead -"

"And butt naked," Dean muttered. "Poor bastards. So we're dealing with some demon chick, right?"

"Well, not exactly," Sam said. "Dad noticed a few details that make it less likely to be a possession…for instance, no missing persons reports other than the victims, no one saw anything unusual like some kind of black smoke…but the rest fits."

"So, what're we dealing with then?"

"Well, I agree with what Dad told me…I'm pretty sure it's some variety of succubus."

Dean snorted.

"Dude, that's like, medieval times. Are you serious?"

"Dean, these things don't just die out. Not unless hunters kill them. People just started being more…rational, is all."

"Yeah, rational," Dean chuckled. "Don't you wish. So how's it kill them?"

"Just drains their energy, I guess," said Sam, frowning. "I can't figure out how exactly it knows what to tempt them with…but it's probably a bit like a siren, or a boggart, it can look inside your mind and use what it finds against you."

"A mindreader? That just friggin' sucks."

"Well, it explains why our age group is such easy targets. I mean, look at you, Dean."

"What do you mean?"

"You think I don't know what you're thinking about, most hours of the day?"

"Oh. Right."

"Yeah. And some of them had weird dreams beforehand, which fits as well."

"So how'd Dad's hunter friend get poisoned with some kind of Love Potion Number Nine?"

"Dunno. Maybe he went after it thinking it was something else and got caught by surprise?" Sam speculated.

"Yeah. Or else he was an easy target. Dad said his wife and kids died recently, he could have been off his game." He paused. "And stop making your emo-angsty-grieving face whenever I mention someone dying, it's really getting on my nerves."

"I swear, I don't know I'm doing it," Sam quipped, the corner of his mouth twitching. He glanced at the clock. Five hours…

"You got an appointment somewhere I don't about?"

Dean was watching him closely.

"What?"

"You keep looking at the clock. Even though it's an hour behind, no one bothered with Daylight Savings Time."

Oh, right. Damn. Four hours…

"Just checking the time," he said airily. "Anyway, don't you want to know how to kill it?"

Dean sat up, instantly attentive.

"Hell yes, I do. So what? Shotguns? It's not an ordinary demon, so no exorcism, right?"

"No exorcism," Sam confirmed. "It's like…a different breed of demon, doesn't need a host. Kind of like a shapeshifter. But there's no confirmed way of killing them that I can find…most of these sites just talk about protection from them."

"You're kidding me."

"Well, there's a lot of theories, I guess. Some people seem to think silver bullets would work, or anything made of silver. Other sites say drown them in holy water. One says…holy Gatorade…" He deleted it from his bookmarks. "There's a few kind of gruesome places that say you should just feed a priest to them, but, um yeah, not doing that…oh, and my personal favourite. Some say they can be killed by a scorned woman's tears. Shouldn't be hard to find with you around."

"Hey!"

Sam grinned.

"I'm the one who's had to listen to your hundreds of stories about casual hook-ups, Dean. You can't say they were all looking for just the one night."

"I pick 'em carefully, kid."

"Sure you do, Dean. That's why you're constantly getting your cell phone number changed."

"Hey, that's for our protection, Sammy, you know that," Dean admonished, but he was grinning.

"You boys ready to hit the road?"

Their father was at the door. Sam's stomach growled audibly again, and Dean tossed the bag of whatever he was eating in his little brother's direction.

"Yes, sir, Sammy's done with the research."

"It's definitely a succubus," Sam muttered, peering disconcertedly into the bag. "But there's no surefire way to kill it."

"Caleb and Jim have a theory," John said vaguely, offering no more information. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Awesome, let's get outta town," said Dean enthusiastically, grabbing his weapons bag and heading for the Impala. "I call shotgun!"

Sam sighed, stretched his already cramped legs, and followed.

Sorry about all the exposition and no action, but it is coming soon!