Predictably, it all started with a girl. Everything from Dean almost dying to Sam's broken bones and black eye. It wasn't really that Sam would have done anything differently had he been given the chance to do it all over, but he thought he would have liked to have had some warning that the Winchester family's normally bad luck was able to get a lot worse.
The day it all started was the one when Sam decided he kind of liked Manhattan, Kansas. He didn't have any particular reason to be thinking that a week into their stay here but the thought passed through his mind as he stepped out of school into a glorious indian summer day and felt the warmth of the sun caress his face. Fall in the midwest was unpredictable at best, dealing devastation in turns through freak snowstorms and gale force tornados but today was a different creature entirely, drenched in sunlight and dressed in brilliant scarlet, yellow, and orange. His buoyant mood was not in the slightest deflated by the fact that he'd eaten lunch with a couple of kids who held great promise as potential friends, that his chemistry experiment had been perfect, or that his English teacher had asked him to join the newspaper editorial staff. The only thing that would have made the day really perfect was for Dad to tell him to settle in, that they were staying a for a few months. It was as unlikely a thing as he could imagine.
He scanned the parking lot and street beyond for the Impala without success. Dean said he'd pick Sam up from school today if possible. Apparently it wasn't but it didn't matter. Sam had no problem walking. Manhattan was small enough that he would have been hard pressed to find anyplace in the town to which he couldn't walk.
The school campus was mostly empty by the time he left, the throngs of students having long since fled for home and work and practices of various sorts. He skipped down the steps two at a time, glancing over at the athletic fields and shaking his head. Manhattan was something of a college town, which might explain why lacrosse was such a big sport at Calvert High. Or maybe it didn't. The players moved fast, he had to give them that, but they also carried long sticks laced with what looked like a jock strap on one end. He didn't even want to think what Dean would have to say when he saw that.
Grinning at the thought, he turned, jogged across the street, and cut through the middle of the block, slipping through a split rail fence and crossing the deserted backyard. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and checked the address he'd written down earlier, visualizing the map of the city in his head. He'd seen a brochure about a place called the Goodnow House and planned to spend the afternoon delving into the 19th century history of the area.
Head bent in concentration, he didn't see the seriously hot girl coming down the sidewalk until he slammed directly into her, sending her books and papers flying every which way. Sam didn't have a lot of experience dealing with girls given his track record of rarely being around the same girls for more than a couple of weeks. It was not a constraint that Dean allowed to limit him. Sam had plenty of opportunities to watch Dean in action, but that gave him nothing particularly useful for any setting in which Sam might find himself, even had he been able to effectively emulate Dean's signature style.
"Oh man, I'm sorry," he said, reflexively, immediately dropping his backpack and starting a mad scramble for the loose papers that had been caught by the gusty Kansas wind typical the area on any given day.
She had a good six inches on him, glossy dark hair that spilled past her shoulders, long, incredible legs bared by a classic denim mini skirt, and soft swelling curves, faithfully outlined by a stretchy light pink shirt. Sam swallowed hard when she dropped to her knees, scrambling for books, the curve of her shapely rear on the level with his face. He dragged his gaze reluctantly up the long line of her back, snagging on the creamy skin exposed by her shirt. She was way out of his league, which was probably why it took so long for him to finally realize her face was streaked with mascara and eyes were red and swollen.
He left off paper gathering and laid a hesitant hand on her delicate forearm. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, concern overcoming his normal reticence with strangers and complete terror of interacting with girls.
She gave a jerky nod, swiping angrily at her tear stained face, and turned slightly away. "I'm fine," she said, voice wobbling slightly.
He settled back with a frown. "You sure? I mean you don't really sound okay. Maybe...maybe I can help...?" He knew how stupid that sounded, that a complete stranger, a kid with no idea what was going on could possibly help, and a dark flush of embarrassment rose into his cheeks. Unless her problem was monster related, he was unlikely to be of much use.
She swiped at her face again and shook her head. "I'm all right. I just got - " her voice faltered before she regained control. "Some bad news about a class."
A class? Sam felt a little jolt run through him. On the other hand, perhaps he could help. He was good at school. In fact, he was probably better at school than monster hunting. "Oh yeah?" He started gathering her things again, mind spinning with possibilities. "What class are you having troubles with? I mean, I'm pretty good at school so maybe..."
She gave a watery laugh. "That's very nice but it's AP world history. I'm a junior. It will be fine I just - " her voice faltered again and she sighed. "I've just never gotten a D before and I can't get credit if I don't get an A."
He was unsure how to feel about her dismissal of his potential ability to assist. The junior comment indicated she'd classed him as too young to be useful and that stung a little. He'd not quite "grown into his feet": as Dad liked to say but he wasn't a midget either. He decided to bypass offense and stick with being helpful.
"Yeah, I know how that works. Kind of sucks, huh? So what happened? Bad test or two?"
She brushed her hair back from her face and sighed. "Yeah, something like that. And he doesn't think my papers are up to standards. He says he can't justify even letting me take the exam if I don't show huge improvement on my next few assignments." Abruptly, she stopped talking and glanced around the empty street. Maybe she'd just remembered who she was talking to and wanted to be sure she'd not been seen.
He thought about the AP world history teacher, trying to fit what he knew of the man with what she'd said. He actually liked Mr. Able, finding him to be more knowledgeable and entertaining than most of the teachers he'd had so far. It was coming up on a week now and Sam was starting to fall into a routine in spite of Dean's advice. According to him, Sam didn't need to bother getting comfortable. The job was an easy salt and burn and they'd be out of here before the end of the week. It was funny how Dean always said things like that as if it were a good thing, like Sam was just waiting to pack up and go when Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd been restless like that, itching for road beneath him and new vistas ahead. He was pretty much the only one who ever wanted to stay...of course he was also the only one who actually had to live a straight truth rather than a complex nest of lies.
Still, last night, Dad had admitted it wasn't going to be quite so quick or easy. He'd picked up information through his research that he wasn't expecting, including a line on some demonic activity. For some reason, this place was seriously hopping with supernatural stuff, and that meant they were going to be hanging around until he could figure out why. Sam was glad he'd made an effort to get along. He and Mr. Able dealt pretty well together but he understood how it might be a confusing class for some people. And he could hear Mr. Able's measured voice telling this girl in the kindest possible terms that she just didn't have what it took to be in his class.
"Well, I have Mr. Able for world history too so if you want help, I could probably give you - look over your paper or something," he fumbled, handing her a stack of papers.
She accepted them, cramming the whole lot quickly into a folder. "Thanks but I think I can manage."
The note of condescension set his teeth on edge but Sam couldn't really blame her. It wasn't like she'd sought him out - they'd collided on the sidewalk and she'd no reason to either believe he could help or want to be seen with him. Short of handing over his SAT scores which wouldn't prove much in any case, he had no credibility.
"Right, well if you change your mind, let me know," he said with a shrug, handing her one final book. It was a slim volume on Greek myths and appeared to be something like a Cliff Notes version of Bulfinches Mythology. He felt a smile tug up the corners of his mouth. "Just one piece of advice for you - steer clear of the better known myths. If you're doing a piece on the Greeks, Mr. Able is much happier with the really obscure stuff," he advised, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. "Take Cerebrus - most people think he's a horrible vicious creature. Turns out he's actually a sea monster that can breathe underwater. He's being blackmailed by Hades to guard the gates of the underworld to protect the soul of a little girl he loves. Good luck." .
The girl blinked a couple of times, her condescension morphing into confusion and interest. "Wait -" she caught his arm as he started to walk away and he allowed himself to be turned. "What are you getting in world history?"
Sam quirked a half smile and ducked his head a little in embarrassment. "An A. That's why I thought I might be about to help. Well, maybe anyway. I'm Sam Winchester. We just moved here a few days ago so it's early yet but my placement scores were high enough to score me an A." He kept his eyes fixed on her face, though the stretchy pink fabric and scoop neck of the girl's t-shirt made it a challenge.
She stood, evaluating him with renewed interest. "Well, Sam Winchester, I'm Madison Hale. Welcome to Manhattan and Calvert High. Where do you suggest I start with this paper?"
That was the beginning. She'd gone with him to to motel, claiming there were too many distractions at her house. Her little sister was bound to be home and annoying, while her mother would want Madison to watch her little brother for 'just a minute', and she seriously needed this paper to be brilliant.
The motel wasn't much to look at but, to Sam's relief, the room was deserted. Dad and Dean were off who knew where, which left him the space all to himself. They worked together for a few hours, books and papers spread across the kitchen table haphazardly. They reviewed her tests, discussed what she'd missed and why, talked about the chapters, and worked on her paper. Overall Sam thought Mr. Able had been a bit harsh on her. Madison's stuff wasn't horrible, she just needed a little focus. Once he'd gotten her thinking channeled in the right direction, she would be fine.
Sometime during the afternoon, Madison confessed that she and her boyfriend, lacrosse team center Chance Talbot, were having trouble. She was curled up in the sparse room's only comfortable chair at Sam's insistence, sipping root beer from an old fashioned brown glass bottle. It was one of the few things turned up by his earlier refrigerator raid. Dean was going to have a fit because root beer in those old fashioned bottles was one of his particular weaknesses, along with pie and a well made cheeseburger but he was just going to have to deal.
There was plenty of beer but he wasn't going to offer that to her and alcohol didn't hold much appeal for him. John, in yet another shining parental moment, had handed Sam a beer after his first hunt. John said life was short and that if he was old enough to wield a shotgun, he was old enough to have a beer. Sam kind of wished John was a more traditional father who would have grounded him for weeks for snaking a beer. It was true what they said about the forbidden being so much more enticing than the allowed. In Sam's case, the forbidden involved the really hard core stuff like playing soccer and going to school.
"Last year felt like a total fairy tale," she said softly. "Chance made varsity and he was so happy. He thought he'd really made it to the top and then the coach made him a starter and..." She waved her hand vaguely, her smile a little sad. Sam took a sip of his own soda and listened, watching her long fingers abstractedly chase droplets of water down the side of the sweating bottle, her eyes fastened on her hands. He still couldn't quite fathom that lacrosse was this town's big sport. It was the midwest for Christ's sake, home of rough handed farmers, work hardened ranchers and down to earth kinds of people. It wasn't the kind of place he would have expected to find a sport like lacrosse alive and well. Football he got, lacrosse not really.
"And then he asked me out. It was like all his dreams were coming true and then he was making all mine come true. And he was so incredibly romantic. One day he took me out to the lake and we rented a little paddleboat. We paddled around the lake until sunset and he gave me this as the sun went down." She lifted a small gold key that hung on a chain around her neck, rubbing her thumb gently over the surface, remembering. "One night we stayed home and made chocolate, once we had a bonfire on the beach and roasted marshmallows, once he took me to the fair and we rode the ferris wheel. The engine stopped working so we were stuck on top for half an hour." She shivered. "I don't like heights too much so it was a little scary but he held my hand and talked to me the whole time. He used to bring me flowers on Tuesdays and candy on Thursdays, and we went out every night we could. He'd text me all day and we'd talk on the phone every night. I went to his practices and games and I was almost like part of the team."
Sam just couldn't imagine a relationship like that, partly because he'd never stayed in one place long enough. He wasn't entirely sure he would want anything quite that intense even if he had the opportunity. It was smothering enough having Dean always hovering over him and Sam couldn't imagine wanting anyone else to do that. On the other hand, odds were good a girlfriend wouldn't be all about watching out for him. Sam sometimes wondered how much of a useless freak he really was since it seemed Dean had to spend so much time and energy making sure Sammy was okay.
"So it was pretty much a perfect year that rolled into a perfect summer. Then my family went on vacation just before school started and when we got back, Chance was all different."
"Different how?" He asked.
"I don't know. He just - he was quieter and didn't want to get together as much. He was - is - meaner...and he just wasn't Chance. Then the coach benched him and..." she set the bottle down and stood restlessly, wrapping her arms across her body and walking to the window. "And he's just really different now."
"Do you think he might be taking steroids? I mean that would change his behavior in all the ways you described."
She shrugged. "Maybe but I don't think so. Chance just wouldn't do that. And even if he had, it should have made his athletic performance better. He shouldn't have been benched. I just don't know anymore. I never thought he would pull away from me either so maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just crazy."
He shook his head. "No, I don't think you're crazy. Or even overreacting. I mean people do change, especially after being apart. I know that's pretty hard to handle but maybe he met someone else and doesn't know how to tell you. Or maybe his parents broke up. It's hard to tell. The thing is, he may be a great guy but maybe he isn't the one for you." And yeah, he knew how that sounded. He wasn't trying to hit on her, him being a geeky, freakish little sophomore and her totally outclassing him along with being a junior. He just couldn't quite understand how a girl like that could be that hung up on a guy who treated her badly, lacrosse team center or not.
It was an old story, centuries old, in fact, and one in which the only thing that ever changed were the players. In years past, it had been the warriors in the place of honor; in the American high school, it was the jocks. He'd seen Chance Talbot's type in every last place he'd lived. The privileged group granted special status by their peers for no really good reason, except that they were kinesthetically gifted, swaggering through the world like they were entitled. A few managed the notoriety well enough but most of them wound up destroying nice girls like Madison who couldn't seem to believe in themselves enough to avoid the destruction. Not that the breed was limited to males but Sam had seen more guys fall prey than girls.
She was shaking her head quite adamantly, on more certain ground now. "I'd know if he met someone else. And he doesn't have to hide it. I mean he's on the lacrosse team so he could have any girl he wanted." She said it like it was the holy grail. "If he didn't want to be with me..." her voice trailed off, low and heavy with distress.
Sam felt a surge of guilt. He didn't think he'd helped her confusion or her sadness. Should have kept my mouth shut, he thought. Maybe there just were no solutions and wasn't that a place he where he was on familiar ground? He was beginning to wonder how they'd even gotten on this subject. "Look," he started, taking a deep breath and hesitating, dropping his gaze to the worn tips of his battered gray sneakers. "I know I don't know you very well but from what I do know, I think you're such an awesome girl that you deserve better. Maybe Chance is on the lacrosse team but maybe it's also true that he doesn't deserve you."
He kept his gaze on his feet, not daring a glance up, noticing that the left side of one of his shoes was totally blown out. He would need a new pair soon, something he dreaded having to tell Dad. Dean said that if he was like a fucking dog and grew into his feet there would be no room left in the Impala for anyone else. A new pair of shoes because he was busting out of the old ones would not ease that line of teasing. And wasn't that kind of weird - he was taking a shot with her. Sure he had zero chance but the one useful thing he'd learned from Dean about situations like this was that you had to take your chance when the opportunity was there because you just never knew.
She gave him a wan smile, rubbing her hands over her bare arms as if chilled, and shrugged. "Thanks but you did just meet me. There are a lot of things you don't know about me. Anyway, it's not like there's anything I can do about it."
"There's always something you can do," he countered, thinking to lighten the mood a little. He couldn't possibly screw this up any worse. "I mean you could always hire a detective or kidnap him or something." He tipped his soda bottle at her in a mock toast and drained the last of the liquid, setting it on the table with a soft thump of punctuation. "Or you could get dressed up really nice and go to the dance this weekend with your friends, tell him you think you need some space. Guys are really all about the hunt, you know."
"Really?" Her laugh was faintly wobbly.
"Absolutely. We guys are so simple it's a wonder you girls aren't running the world."
"Oh yeah? What makes you think we aren't?" She countered, throwing a wadded up piece of paper at him in mock outrage.
"Well, there's the whole thing about women not getting the vote until what 1920? Hard to run things when you can't even vote on them." He pointed out, hoping she recognized the teasing in his words as his best effort to comment on her impossible situation. "Do you want another drink?" He asked, ducking another projectile paper wad on his way to the kitchen. They'd pretty much run out of study material but he really didn't want the day to be over. His chance meeting with Madison had given him an experience he couldn't ever remember having had before and he was reluctant to let it go.
"No, I'm good. I should probably be thinking about heading home. What time is it?"
"Ummm...eight" he said, checking the glowing red numerals on the cheap beside clock, surprised at how late it had gotten. "I thought my brother would be back by now - "
Eyes widening, she glanced back out the window and seemed to only then notice the darkness, jumping as though shocked. "Oh my God - I have to get home. My dad is going to kill me." she babbled, rushing to gather her things into a haphazard pile.
"Right well, I can't give you a ride but I can walk you home...unless you want to call your dad?"
Distracted from the process of cleaning up, she blinked and frowned at him then gave him a small smile.. "Thanks, Sam. That's very sweet."
They stepped out into a cool, crisp night, heavily scented with the wistful aromas of fall, layers of leaves and apples and acrid woodsmoke. Sam locked the door and headed down the sidewalk beside Madison, hands jammed in his pockets. Sundown had dropped the temperature significantly and he caught her full bodied shiver as they walked. Her cute pink tee and mini skirt were not particularly suited for a stroll through the fall night and he wished he'd thought it before they'd left the room. He was fairly certain he could have found something of Dean's for her. As it was, she was going to have to make do with his too short jacket and wasn't that going to be embarrassing? Still, better that than to have her be cold. He shrugged his coat off and handed it over as they passed the pool, closed for the season, covered by a large dark cloth.
"Wh - what's this for?" she asked, not quite able to keep her teeth from chattering and her words from stuttering.
Sam hid his grin in the darkness but couldn't resist saying, "It's a coat."
She stopped walking abruptly, clutching the worn denim in one hand and gave him a glare he could feel through the darkness. It didn't do anything to remove the smile from his face. "Smartass," she muttered, pushing her stack of books at him and tugging coat on. He couldn't see very well but enough to note that it was a surprisingly good fit for her. He figured that was probably because Dad bought Sam's clothes a little oversized since there was no telling when Sam would hit another growth spurt and whether or not it would coincide with them being in position to replace outgrown clothing.
They walked a little farther, dried leaves crunching underfoot, stars sparkling in the dark sky above and she finally said "Thanks," in a very soft voice. The glow of pleasure in his belly warmed him and the darkness hid his smile.
After another moment, Madison began to talk, telling him that her house wasn't far, that the town was small and that he could likely make the walk in ten minutes or less. Then she started a running commentary about who lived where and what he needed to know about each. Sam listened, retaining only about half of what she said because he'd never need to know any of it. There was no chance he would be here long enough to care.
The motel was situated adjacent to a large apple orchard that stretched back at least a mile. No fence separated the dark line of sentinels from the ribbon of sidewalk because it was simply unnecessary. A huge, harvest moon hung low in the sky, its blood red casting dim light across the flat fields that lay beyond the orchard and casting the silhouettes of cattle, the edge of a barn, the checkerboard pattern of a chicken wire fence into relief.
This was the Jensen place, according to Madison. They owned both the farm and the orchard and had for years. Mr. Jensen was a pillar of the community, evidently, as was his wife. The kids were a little strange but that happened when you intermarried.
Sam choked on a laugh. "Intermarried? Like brother/sister or something?"
"Never anything so crass," Madison said, slapping his arm lightly in mock offense. "It was more like first cousin once removed...or maybe second cousins. My dad says whatever it was they were way too close. But most of the land east of town belongs to them. Some people say they perform black magic rituals way back in the brush."
"Black magic? What kind of black magic?"
"Blood sacrifice," she replied, her voice dropping to a low, mysterious whisper. "Every fifteen years the family is required to perform a blood sacrifice."
"For what?" he asked, playing along even though he knew she was teasing him.
"To maintain the fertility of the land, of course. And according to legend, it has to be a human sacrifice and it has to take place on Halloween."
"Uh huh. Of course it has to be Halloween." He shook his head, marveling at the way stories got started. "So do people go missing every fifteen years? On Halloween?"
"Oh come on, you're not even a little creeped out?" She demanded, obviously disappointed. But then she shrugged. "Nah. Not that I've ever heard. It's just a story parents use to keep their kids from sneaking out after curfew on Halloween. There's always a huge party somewhere in the county on Halloween and everybody who is anybody figures out how to get there. As a thank you for helping me with my history, I'll even tell you where it's going to be this year."
He doubted they would still be here in a month but it was a nice thought. "Fifteen years is a strange time frame for something like that anyway," he pointed out. "Ten is standard for a demon deal and most of the pagan gods required more frequent sacrifices."
She huffed out a laugh. "Really, Sam? You know about black magic too?"
He shrugged. " A little. Enough anyway."
They turned away from the orchard and headed down a residential street for another couple of blocks.
"So what do your parents do?"
"It's just my dad and my brother, Dean. They're - " he hesitated, wondering what lies his family had been passing around town recently. He wished he'd paid more attention to the IDs Dean had pulled out earlier in the week. He tried to remember if they'd broken out the suits because that narrowed the field but then gave up the attempt. It narrowed the field but not enough. "They're in law enforcement."
"Law enforcement?" She sounded surprised. "Wow. What kind?"
"Federal. One of those three letter acronym agencies - FBI, CIA, HSA, MIB...I lose track of what they are calling themselves this week."
She laughed, stopping in front of a lovely little two story house, ablaze with lights. The warm glow of the porchlight revealed white paint and neat black trim, and an old style porch, complete with a swing. His heart suddenly ached at the picture of small town normalcy, something that only ever came to him in tiny slices.
"Nice place."
She grimaced. "Yeah, well, it's okay. Listen, thanks for helping me with history and for walking me home. You're very sweet."
He felt a flush burn into his cheeks and shrugged. "It was no problem," he replied, stepping back as the front door opened, spilling out another pool of light. "Good luck with world history."
"Madison? Is that you?" A tall, thin man in a plaid shirt and neatly pressed khakis stood in the doorway peering out. His dark hair was generously shot through with streaks of silver, the gray at his temples a distinguished offset for the weathered bronze of his face.
"Yeah, Dad, it's me," she called. "I'll be right in."
"Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is?" he demanded, pushing the door open hard enough to slam against the wall. "What did I tell you about walking home in the dark?" His voice held an edge of deep worry and Sam wasn't enough of a jerk to let her shoulder the blame on her own. Taking two steps back out of the darkness into the warm glow from the porch, he offered his most engaging smile.
"Good evening, sir. I apologize for getting your daughter home so late. We were studying history and lost track of time. My father and brother are still out so we had to walk."
"I know I'm late and I'm sorry I forgot to call. We just lost track of time. This is Sam Winchester, Daddy. His family only just moved here. We met today and he offered to help me figure out 'the jerk':"
Sam grinned involuntarily. "Jerk is a little harsh," he pointed out. "I thought we settled on obscure?"
She waved a dismissive hand. "Dad knows him as 'the jerk'."
Her father bit off a laugh and Sam felt a pang of loss sweep over him. It was weird because no way he'd ever experience any of this kind of banter with his dad. And the last time John had bothered to learn the names of any of Sam's teachers let alone what Sam called them, well, that had pretty much been never.
"Well, at least you're home now," Mr. Hale murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you for walking my daughter home, Sam. Can I give you a ride?"
"No, thank you, sir. I can find my way back. Sorry again for being late." Sam nodded towards Mr. Hale and lifted a hand to wave at Madison as he turned to head back down the sidewalk. "See you tomorrow."
As the welcoming warmth of Madison's house receded, Sam felt the darkness close around him like a tomb. He had no desire to return to the empty motel room; it would be dark and empty and as cold as the night air. All he had waiting for him was an unopened can spaghettios and he wasn't hungry enough to go back just for that. He changed direction, turning off the path he and Madison had taken earlier and kept walking, making his way down the darkened streets, passing strings of brightly lit houses full of families winding down from busy evenings, and relived the hours of the afternoon. He felt incredibly good, buoyed by the experience of spending time with Madison, of being able to help her all on his own. The high of the day was headier than any champagne.
He'd gone about four blocks before he remembered he'd forgotten to retrieve his coat. Immediately he felt colder, a circumstance not helped by a faint breeze that ruffled his hair and sent a shiver throughout his body. He had no idea how he was going to explain the loss of his only jacket to Dad. If he gave it to them straight, Dean would probably volunteer to go get it and that thought made Sam's stomach twist. He didn't want Dean talking to Madison, didn't want Dean anywhere near Madison, which was stupid and he knew it. It wasn't like Dean would touch a girl Madison's age for any reason, but he would charm her and Sam couldn't stand the thought. Another gust of wind cut through his thin t-shirt making his whole body shudder and he was suddenly fiercely glad he'd given his jacket to her. Maybe he could scope out something in the lost and found before anyone noticed. Of course, it was kind of unlikely Dad would ever notice something like that.
He wasn't really tracking how long he'd walked or how far he'd gone and was surprised when he found himself standing on the road next to the water tower. He tipped his head back, regarding the smooth blue metal sphere that loomed over him with amazement when he realized he'd walked all the way across town. He figured an hour or so had gone by, long enough for the red cast to fall away from the moon as it climbed higher in the sky, leaving the tree covered rolling hills lit up by a bright, luminous glow. He supposed that was one thing he liked about Manhattan versus the rest of Kansas - the gently rolling, tree covered hills.
He hunched his shoulders as he walked down the slick black ribbon of highway. Taking the highway route reduced the distance and hence the time involved in getting back. Sam figured it was coming up on ten and he needed to get to bed. It was a school night after all.
He was a little surprised to have not heard from either Dean or Dad. Usually one of them would have called by now, just to check in and let him know what the plan was, that they were still alive, and when he might expect them back. The when they'd be back was always the fuzziest part of the conversation but Sam understood that monster slaying wasn't really bounded by nine to five hours. The letting him know they were alive was really the point of the exercise. There had been lots of days when Dad failed to call but very few occasions when Dean didn't. Still, standing orders were that Sam couldn't start worrying, freaking out, or implementing any kind of emergency plan until he'd not heard from them for a week. Seven full days. Sam figured he could probably make it five before the terror and tension broke him. Fortunately, Dean had never been out of contact with him for more than twenty four hours in all the times he'd gone off hunting with Dad.
Sam dug his phone out of his pocket, powering it on as he pulled it free from his jeans. He wasn't really worried, he just wanted to check the time. Still he could feel the cold edge of fear beginning to press into him and he ruthlessly pushed the sensation away. No news wasn't necessarily good news but neither was it bad. He glanced at the screen, jolted by a burst of shock that shoved all other thoughts away. Crap. He'd missed seven calls. The ringer was off, probably still from school. The collision and subsequent afternoon spent with Madison meant he hadn't followed his usual routine which meant he'd never turned his phone back on. Seven missed calls meant for sure that Dean and maybe Dad too had tried to contact him tonight more than once. Crap.
With a litany of filthy curses running through his head, Sam thumbed through the log, heart sinking. Five calls from Dean, one from Dad, and, oh shit he was really in for it tonight, one from Bobby. Reluctantly, he flipped to voicemail and started listening. The first one was from Dean at five thirty or so.
"Sam? Where are you, man? I know you aren't at school anymore so you need to pick up your phone." He spoke loudly compensating for the cacophony of noise in the background. "Right there, sweetheart," he murmured, away from the phone. Sam's guess was a bar. "Listen, Sammy, we're going to be another hour or two here. It's five now and we're an hour out so be ready for dinner around 7."
The next message was also Dean's and came in about an hour later. "Hey Sam - where the hell are you?" The background noise was muted now but Sam could still make out distinctive bar noises. "We're running late so go ahead and eat. We should still be in by eight but no guarantees."
Same old story there - if it had not been for the fact that he'd missed calls from Dad and Bobby too, Sam would have known that the last message would be the 'sorry we aren't coming home tonight' message. The next call was time stamped 7:30, Dean again, his voice still strong and steady but starting to fray with concern. He got that way with Sam a little faster since Sam had taken off on his own last year. Sam refused to call it running away though that was pretty much what it had been. He'd caught every kind of hell for it, including Dean's even closer scrutiny. Lately it had seemed that he was being given more space and more latitude - as long as Dean could get ahold of him.
"Sam...we're on the way back now. We'll be at the hotel in an hour." A short pause and a soft curse. "Just call me back, okay?."
The fourth message was more pointed.
"Where the fuck are you, Sam? Don't make me drag Dad into this shit."
Sam glanced up and down the highway, half expecting to see the Impala cruising down the street. A message like that followed by calls from Dad and Bobby probably meant they were out hunting him down. He guessed Dean had already enabled the GPS tracker on his phone and squelched the sudden desire to turn his phone all the way off. It was just a misunderstanding, for God's sake, not an actual attempt to ditch the family again. The back of his neck itched where he knew Dean would grab him as soon as he was within reach.
"Damn it," he hissed out the word on a long exhale and picked up his pace. He really thought he would rather be found at the motel than on the street.
The fifth message was Dad. "Sam...you'd better have a good explanation for this," John's voice was heavy with anger and impatience. "We don't have time to be hunting you down right now. Call me."
Sam's jaw tightened painfully and his stomach knotted. Dad had neither time nor patience for anything not monster related, including his son. Anything Sam related was an inconvenience he didn't want to deal with. Sam deleted message five with particular vengeance.
Message six was from Dean again, his voice low and tight and unreadable. "Are you okay, Sam? We stopped by the motel and it looks like you had company. There's no sign of a struggle but I'm going to call Bobby now and we're coming for you. Just hold on."
Sam's stomach dropped into his toes. Oh man...really? That was just perfect. This was the kind of shit he'd been trying to tell them about. Normal kids didn't get the equivalent of the national guard called in when they were late. When Madison had come home, her dad was just glad to see her; his family had a freak attack. He glanced up and down the highway again then changed direction to cut across well manicured lawns. It was faster to take the highway as long as you were following roads. If he eliminated that constraint, he would be back even sooner.
The last message, of course, was from Bobby. "Hey Sam," Bobby started, his gravel roughened voice low and so blessedly calm it made Sam smile. "Dean just called and said he thought something was wrong. Said he couldn't reach you and it looked like you had company at the room. I told him people do that but he thinks you've been monster-napped. Call me or your dad when you get this..."
Sam unconsciously slowed at the sound of Bobby's even tone and he started thinking rather than just reacting. His first thought had been to just get to the motel but there was no telling where Dean and Dad were now. Dean's message and the subsequent call from Bobby made it pretty clear that they were actively hunting him and were unlikely to be sitting around waiting for him to come back to the room. For a split second, he pictured them doing just that, sitting at the motel waiting, watching television and glancing at the clock every few minutes. It was weird and incongruous because his family was all about action. If John had taught them anything it was that possible and impossible were only words and that sitting around on your ass got you nothing but dead.
He moved silently across another dark yard and scaled a tall wooden fence, taking care to check for dog spore before dropping down on the inside. It was another anonymous suburban backyard, complete with swing set, redwood deck, high-end shiny gas grill, and quietly bubbling fish pond.
He kind of wanted to call Bobby but he just couldn't do it. Dean was honestly worried - Sam could hear it in his voice - and he was up five to one on the call ratio scale. Bobby might be easier to talk to but if he called Bobby first, Dean would kick his ass.
He walked to the back fence and dialed his brother, listening to the phone ring. It took five rings for Dean to finally answer.
"Sam? You okay?" Dean's voice was tight but even.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Look you can call off Dad and Bobby and whoever else you have on my case. I just forgot to turn my phone on after school." Sam hated the way his voice sounded, hated the bitter edge to his tone but he couldn't seem to stop it. This mess was his fault, he knew that, and it wasn't like he could blame Dean for worrying.
"Really...?" Dean hissed in exasperation. "Jesus, Sammy. Don't do that again. I can' t believe I wasted my chance with Candy Apple for you. Dude, you owe me."
"Candy Apple?" Sam repeated slowly, feeling the weight of resentment slipping away from him with the sheer Dean-ness of the conversation. "Seriously, Dean? What is she - a stripper?"
"No way," Dean scoffed. "She's a waitress at the Gold River. She asked me to come to the back room with her."
"I thought you were working a job today?"
"I am. She's a source," Dean's voice was laced with indignation that turned sly. "And anyway, I thought you were going to be studying and here I find you've had company over. You sly dog, you. Who is she, Sammy?"
Sam flushed scarlet with embarrassment, glad Dean was not in sight and busied himself looking for a branch or step or anything that would get him high enough to allow him to get his hands on the top of the fence but didn't immediately see anything. He supposed he could jump if he absolutely had to but it would be a pretty big stretch. He ran his gaze along the fence again, a little slower this time, and his attention snagged on a half hidden stone pillar in a tall stand of foliage. Clusters of bright orange berries were visible on the bush in the dim light spilling from the curtained sliding glass doors behind him. The stone was a little shorter than he'd hoped for but it might work.
"Don't be a jerk, Dean," he finally muttered. "It isn't like that. Madison just came over to study."
"But what did you study?" Dean asked, his tone suggestive.
"Bite me," Sam snapped. "We were studying world history. So did you call out the tracking dogs on me or what? I mean I got a call from both Dad and Bobby so I figured you'd freaked out and were going to be going medieval on me when I called. I mean did you really think I'd been monster-napped?"
Dean was silent for a moment and Sam couldn't hear anything in the background. No bar, no television, no music, which was a little weird. "No, actually I thought you'd skipped out on us again."
Sam flinched, feeling the words like a sucker punch. It was nothing he hadn't expected. Not really but it had still caught him unprepared. "I said I wouldn't," he muttered, swallowing past a lump in his throat. "You're just going to have to trust me."
"Yeah, I know." Dean sighed. "That's why Dad's following up a lead, Bobby's handling phones, and I'm having a beer." He paused, letting Sam absorb the words, both the ones he'd said and the ones he hadn't then continued. "So where hell are you? I would have thought you'd be in bed hours ago with it being a school night and all. You need a ride?"
"Nah. I couldn't tell you how to find me anyway. I'm standing in someones backyard somewhere between the water tower and the motel. I thought I could get home faster by cutting across yards. I gotta go now."
"All right, just hurry the hell up. It's after 11. And Sammy? You owe me a root beer."
"It's all we had, dude. And I wasn't going to give her a beer."
"Next time keep your grubby hands off my stuff and buy her a can from the machine."
Sam grinned as he hung up and pushed his phone into his pocket. He knew giving Madison one of Dean's special drinks would piss him off. Dean was so predictable. Candy Apple?
He pushed the branches away from the stone pillar, surprised to see an ornate pattern carved into the glossy surface. Huh. Usually if something was decorated it was intended as an ornament, not stuck back in the bushes where no one could see the artistry. He frowned down at the symbols, vague recognition tugging at the back of his mind. He thought it looked like basic celtic or maybe druidic symbols but he was unable to immediately place them. It was funny how people really liked to take old world symbols and use them to decorate their pretty little houses. Less funny how often that resulted in the inadvertent calling of really bad stuff. Sam wondered if it would make any difference had the people known what bloodthirsty, complete dicks the old gods were.
He bent down and traced his finger over the carving thoughtfully and would have investigated further but the yard was suddenly flooded with soft yellow light and he could hear the bark of a dog or maybe dogs. Time to go.
He set one foot onto the pillar and pushed up, bracing himself with a hand against the fence. As he'd thought, it was a bit of a reach but he was able to just hook his fingers over the top. He shoved off the pillar and pulled hard, lifting himself into a straight armed pull up. Not his favorite exercise but doable. A breath later, a pair of dogs dashed out the door and swarmed down the steps, bounding across the yard towards him, barking madly. He straddled the fence for a moment to gain his balance before swinging his other leg over the top and dropping lightly to the ground.
Sam blew out a shaky breath. The dogs were going crazy on the other side of the fence and his legs trembled a bit with relief. That had been too close. He thought it might be better to stay on the sidewalks from here to the motel, or at least safer anyway. He moved towards the street, grateful to see that this yard was completely fenceless, which probably meant no dog. Of course, he'd checked the last yard for dogs and where had that gotten him?
Without warning, the overwhelming glare of a spotlight crashed in out of the darkness to pin him in place, assaulting his eyes and completely wiping away coherent thought. Reflexively, he threw his hands up to shield his eyes, a jolt of adrenaline slamming through his body. What the hell was this?
"Police," a sharp voice barked. "Drop it and place your hands on your head."
Sam's stomach knotted. Great. The last time he'd come up against members of the law enforcement community, he'd been picking up a slushie at the gas station after school. It was a completely innocent activity, one that shouldn't have devolved the way it had but the officers were on edge, aware that the someone they were looking for was dangerous. Sam did exactly as he was told, pulling out his ID slowly, placing his hands on the counter, and waiting for the officer to check him out. The fact that ultimately they were looking for a six foot tall skinhead with tattoos covering his entire body and that Sam was five foot six in sneakers with too long brown hair and no tattoos helped his case tremendously.
In his experience, the best thing to do in a situation like this was comply. Dad made it perfectly clear that the police were the good guys most of the time, and that hunters were on the same side as the police in the end even if not everyone knew it. All the self preservation instincts he had worked so hard to develop told him to drop the phone and do what the nice man said and it was exactly what he would have done if he had not been acutely conscious of the weight of his knife tucked safely in its leather sheath against his right calf.
It took only a second for him to catalog the charges that could be brought against him. The problem was determining which charge would be worse - carrying a concealed weapon or running? He could almost hear Dean in his head. "Dude, doesn't matter as long as you don't get caught."
He'd probably received better advice but it was the only voice in his head at the moment. He'd already scoped out his exits, a hunter habit that was particularly useful when you got pinned down into an untenable situation. He took a deep breath and made the decision to bolt, the sound of angry shouts chasing him.
He was out of the glare of the light within a second and halfway across the yard in the next. He didn't know if he was being pursued or not and didn't dare turn his head to find out. The adjacent yard also lacked a fence so he ran in a straight line, figuring he could break to the front as soon as he was confronted by a barrier. He ran as though he were being chased by a wendigo, hard enough to make his heart pound painfully and his breath tear in and out of his lungs, leaping over lawn chairs, and flower beds, and swerving around inground pools and sand boxes.
If he was being pursued, he was fairly certain he was outpacing them. He kept chanting phantom Dean's words in his head "Don't get caught," and that was the beat he was running to, his feet hitting the soft grass with every syllable. He had to be careful because the terrain was uneven and a tiny slip could mean the end of the chase. A wild exhilaration swept through him. He was going to make it, going to outrun them and he wasn't cold anymore. He was sweating now, felt drops of it running down his back.
He cut left at the first sight of a fence, the turn forcing him to lose speed. He checked himself further, not wanting to run in front of the police car searching for him, but the sudden crackle of a radio just over his shoulder made him jump as if he'd been electrified. Shit, they were way closer than he'd thought and he had no idea how many there were. Instinctively he turned to the right, trying to stay out of streetlight range and put on an extra push of speed. Come on, Sammy, you'll be fine if you just don't get caught. The problem was that he was pushing himself about as hard as he could. Sam had always thought himself fast when he ran but his pursuer seemed perfectly capable of keeping up which meant he needed to change tactics.
The barest brush of fingers against the dampness of his shirt pushed him farther into survival mode and he let instinct take over. If they were close enough to touch him, two things were clear. He had to get rid of his knife and he had to shake this tail, not necessarily in that order. The former couldn't happen until the latter did. Knowing that turns required a great deal of dexterity, Sam set out to trick his pursuer. Faking left as if he meant to cross the street, he then immediately turned back to the right and plunged into the darkness of the suburban backyards again. He'd gained a foot or two of breathing room and it was enough. He made another aborted turn and gained another foot then circled all the way around one house, smiling at the sound of the radio crackle now in front of him.
He backtracked several houses until he found one with a thick stand of bushes directly by the house. Dropping to one knee, he fumbled with the straps on the sheath of his knife, swearing as the buckle stuck for a second longer than he liked. Pulling the sheathed knife free, he palmed it and got to his feet, struggling to control his breathing so he could hear the sounds around him. A car was coming down the street to his left, engine idling slowly. He waited, guessing by its speed that it was a police car. The distinctive black and white vehicle came into view and crept down the street, wrath of God spotlights scanning the bushes on either side. He fingered the knife hilt, trying to determine how to best get rid of it wanting a hiding place that would not be easily found by either police or some random kid. Fortunately, there was a front porch attached to the house he'd selected, one with a crawl space. It wasn't ideal but it would do.
Sam dropped down to his knees next to the porch, feeling for a loose board or opening. Nothing. Damn. A gust of wind plastered his sweat damp shirt to his skin and he shivered. He had to be careful not to leave too many telltale marks or someone would start looking for sure. He shuffled forward carefully, still feeling along the edge of the porch. There was no way to stash it there but there was a row of bricks that stood on end and outlined the perimeter of a flower bed in front of the porch. Sam tugged gently on one of the bricks, relieved when it came out with just a bit of force. He pulled three bricks out and laid the knife in the hole. The bricks were set along the back of the bed so the height difference was not too noticeable.
He replaced the bricks, feeling urgency beating at him like wings. He was taking too long, way too long. He couldn't count on the officer chasing him on foot to not figure out that Sam tricked him and double back. If he didn't get moving they were going to catch him here and he'd be so screwed he'd never see the light of day. In hindsight, he might have been better off taking the hit for carrying a concealed weapon; something to remember for next time. He shifted to his feet and inched forward, checking for the police car - nowhere in sight for the moment.
Taking the chance, he made a quick dash across the street, swearing when he realized the whole row of houses across the street had fences, down as far as he could see in both directions. He was going to have to take the street and hope the wind would dry his sweaty hair and damp shirt quickly enough to make him look like just another guy on the street taking a late night walk. Or maybe he could claim to be an athlete, struggling to make the holy lacrosse team. He'd have to see what felt right if it came to that.
He tucked his hands into his pockets, took a step, and swore a second time when he realized he had no idea which direction to go to find the motel. From where he was standing, he couldn't even see the water tower to use as a navigational landmark. He glanced up and down the street at the identical rows of houses then squinted up at the moon. It was directly overhead so no help there. Okay then. Closing his eyes, he visualized the map of the city. The Regency motel was located on the edge of the east side so all he had to do was find north and he'd be able to identify which direction was east.
He looked up into the velvety night sky and scanned the smattering of stars still visible in spite of the brightness of the moon and the glare of the city lights. It was difficult to pick out a lot of the stars he knew where there but he could still identify the big dipper. Tracing his gaze long the handle, he located the cup of the constellation and followed it straight up to Polaris. There was north. That meant east was to his right, the same direction the police car had taken. It wouldn't have been his first choice but maybe it was okay this way. Maybe by walking toward them he would look less like he was guilty of something.
He started walking in a generally eastern direction, head bent and shivering, but he'd only taken a couple of steps before he was drawn up short by the stern, out of breath voice of the officer from earlier. "You'd better just stop right there, boy. You're in a whole mess of trouble."
Sam turned slowly, carefully, then lifted his hands and placed them on his head, a little confused. It was not the direction he'd been expecting someone to come from. He'd thought the guy was in front of him and would be coming at him rather than from behind and he had no idea what that meant. Had "Officer Murray", according to the name badge, circled around behind Sam or had there been more than one of them? There was no way to tell if the guy realized Sam was the same person he'd stopped before, in spite of the gun steadily leveled at Sam.
"Trouble? No, man, I'm not looking for any trouble," Sam said, giving the man a harmless smile "I'm just trying to get home – back to the Regency."
"You're a long way from the Regency. How did you get all the way out here?"
"I - just walked," Sam said with a frown.
"Uh huh." Officer Murray regarded him with narrowed gray eyes and cautiously holstered his gun, keeping the strap unfastened to allow him easy access. Sam hoped that might mean he hadn't been recognized. "You do know that you're out way past curfew?"
"Curfew?" Sam blinked. "There's a curfew?"
Officer Murray shook his head. "Yeah, genius, there's a curfew. Keep your hands on your head and spread your legs."
Sam obeyed, mouth twisted in a grimace. "You really going to arrest me? I mean, we just moved here..." Efficient hands moved quickly over his body, searching for weapons, and Sam was glad he'd made the call to ditch his knife.
Officer Murray was a compact man, a foot or so taller than Sam with large, impersonal hands, and well developed, broad shoulders. His salt and pepper hair was trimmed military short and face was lined with enough creases to make Sam place him in his mid forties, though his gray eyes were faintly haunted and made him look older. He was a man who took his job seriously, his crisp uniform well tailored, his shoes gleaming, and his gun well oiled.
"Ignorance is no excuse," Officer Murray pointed out, sliding his hands over Sam's waist. "Haven't you learned that in school yet?"
"No, sir," Sam said. "We haven't."
"Well then this will be your first lesson."
The cuffs he snapped onto Sam's wrists were cold against his skin. Sam wasn't sure why Officer Murray felt it necessary to cuff him at all but there he was, crammed into the back of the car, head resting on the seat while the officer did paperwork in the front. Probably to scare him into never breaking curfew again. Being arrested was on the bottom of his terror list, but Sam understood the thought process that had led him to this point. He kind of thought Murray was being a jerk, though, deliberately taking his time getting Sam to the station. Sam responded by relaxing, running through Latin conjugations, and picking the lock on the handcuffs and refastening them. It was good practice for when it really mattered.
"Where have you been this evening?" Murray asked.
Sam jerked, unprepared to answer the question directed towards him. He couldn't immediately see a reason to lie so after a brief pause, he told the truth. "I - was just...walking around. I was studying late with a friend and I had to walk her home. I didn't want to go back to the motel after I dropped her off so I just started walking."
"Where did you go?"
Again, Sam didn't see a reason to lie. "I wound up out by the water tower. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going so I had trouble finding my way back."
"Were you out by the orchard at all?"
Sam frowned. "No, sir. Well, I mean we were for a little bit before we turned down Mad - my friend's street, but not other than that."
"Who is your friend? We might want to talk to him."
"Her. My friend is a her. It's Madison Hale. I ran into her this afternoon and offered to help her with her world history."
Murray nodded thoughtfully. "I see." Sam listened to the sound of his pen scratching on the paper and wondered if he should have lied after all. But he really hadn't done anything wrong...well, other than run from the police and ditch his knife, but other than that...Abruptly, he realized the pen had stopped writing and was now tapping against the steering wheel.
"Sam..." Officer Murray said quietly. "I'm pretty sure you're the kid I was trying to run down earlier. I can't prove it but it is consistent with where you say you were and where I found you. I don't have to have proof of intent to cause mischief to run you in, just the suspicion. And you were clearly in violation of curfew so I can hold you on that charge. I don't know what you were doing in the Talbot's backyard, but I am going to find out. If you want to just tell me, I can promise you it will be much easier on you."
Sam dropped his gaze and felt his face go hot with embarrassment. Shit. Maybe he should have lied before. Maybe he should lie now. Definitely he should lie now. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir. Who are the Talbot's?"
"I have a lot of latitude in juvenile cases, Sam. Just be straight with me and I'll see what I can do to help."
"But I am being straight with you, sir. I just went walking and got lost coming back and I didn't know there was a curfew.:"
The pen resumed tapping, faster now, more agitated then stopped again abruptly and Officer Murray caught his gaze in the rearview mirror. "I guess we're good then. If you're leveling with me, all we'll have to deal with is the curfew charge. But if you're messing with me, Sam, if you're lying to me about any of this, I will bury you You'll be sent away to juvvie until you graduate. You understand?"
Sam nodded earnestly. He sincerely hoped his knife was well hidden. "Yes, sir."
Murray nodded once, decisively, and twisted the key in the ignition.