Owl's Head, Maine –December 1998
The salty breeze from the east blew a few strands of Sam's long, brown hair over his eyes as he read, prompting Sam to tug them back roughly. It was ridiculously late and everything was annoying him. The clock was ticking so loudly he could not concentrate. The stars were twinkling too merrily. Most annoying of all was his persistent thought that his dad and Dean should be back already.
Where are they? Sam was distinctly irritated. While his dad may have had a habit of becoming so wrapped up in a hunt he forgot everything else, Dean would always remember Sam. He would always remember his little brother who was sitting at home, alone, in a seedy motel worrying about his family. Dean had promised to check in if they weren't going to be back that night. Dean never broke his promises. Which is why Sam wasn't really irritated. He was worried. Sam hated being worried.
Five more minutes passed and Sam was still reading the Sam paragraph. He glanced at the clock, then at the phone. No messages. So he hadn't somehow missed the phone ringing and Dean really hadn't called yet. He had a test in the morning and he couldn't study because he couldn't focus because Dean hadn't called. Hunting was ruining everything.
Just as Sam decided to give up for the night, resolving to get up in five hours to try studying again—and hopefully find his dad and brother safely at home—he heard the rumble of an engine, which cut off, followed shortly by the sound of slamming car doors. Sam darted to the window, letting out a sigh of relief. They were back.
A scowl flashed across Dean's face momentarily in reaction to something John said. The expression was there so briefly Sam wondered if he'd imagined it and, if not, what could possibly get that response from his excessively obedient brother. Honestly, sometimes Sam wondered if Dean had been actively brainwashed by something, forcing him to follow their father's orders and conform to their father's thinking at all times. His obsession with pleasing his father was not normal, and it couldn't be healthy. Although, Dean seemed to be obsessed with making sure Sam was happy, too, so maybe it really was just a weird personality quirk.
Lost in the moment of introspection, Sam was startled when the door banged open and the weapons duffle dropped loudly to the floor beside it. John grunted in greeting and made a beeline for the fridge, where he grabbed the last beer. Dean followed him in, closing the door softly behind him.
"Hey Sammy," Dean smirked, "What are you doing up? You weren't worried, were you?"
Dean was a complete and total ass. Sam couldn't believe he had actually been concerned about the jerk five minutes ago. Obviously he shouldn't have been, his brother was fine and his dad was already working on getting drunk. Life as usual when everyone was home. The fact that they'd been hunting the ghost of an old sea captain in the Owl's Head Lighthouse, a ghost whose body had been lost at sea, was no reason for concern. Irritation and maybe a little anger coursed through Sam. Putting on his best unconcerned face, he replied, "No, why would I be worried? This is what we do. I just have a test in the morning that I was trying to study for. The entire colonial era, plus the Revolutionary War is a lot to remember and I actually care about my grades."
Dean held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, still smirking. He looked like he was going to respond, but John beat him to it, "Did you manage to find anything else about the lighthouse or the captain while we were gone? Any of his belongings still floating around? Burning the stuff at the museum didn't work."
Taking a deep breath to quell the growing irritation, Sam answered, "He was supposedly coming back to Owl's Head to unbury a box full of some family heirlooms that he was trying to keep safe. If the artifacts at the museum aren't what he's latching on to, the heirlooms could be."
"Why didn't you mention that earlier? Where is the box? We can go burn it tonight and be out of here by the end of the week," John demanded and Dean's smirk finally faded into a blank, if slightly resigned, expression that barely registered with Sam.
Sam creased his forehead and tightened his lips into a thin line of anger and disbelief. Seriously, this was his dad's idea of motivation? Berate him, then "bribe" with exactly what Sam didn't want? Sam liked it here. He liked the school with its challenging classes and engaging teachers. He liked his new friends, who could actually hold an intelligent conversation and didn't tease him for being the new kid. He liked that Dean had a job at the garage a few blocks over and couldn't hover constantly. Most of all, Sam liked that they had been here for almost the entire fall semester and there were only two weeks left of class. Sam's tone remained even in spite of his anger, "The box is supposedly buried "where the trees and the rocks meet," so probably near the rock closest to the trees. The one that had a bunch of tourists trample over it in the new tour route. That'd explain why he just started killing people. And I'm not leaving until the end of the semester. If you go, I'll just have to meet up with you later."
"You'll leave when I tell you to leave. And we're leaving this weekend," John's voice was cold and authoritative. Sam opened is mouth to continue arguing, demanding that they stay here for the two weeks because, really, it wasn't that long and it wasn't like Sam was demanding to stay for the whole year.
Before he could say anything, though, Dean cut in, "Its late. Why don't we look for the box tomorrow. First rock by the trees isn't that specific because there are a lot of trees. And rocks. And the new tour route only narrows that down by half the shoreline by the lighthouse. Once we take care of that we can talk about leaving, but Dad, it could really help if I keep my job at the garage a few more weeks. Unless you have another hunt lined up, a few weeks' cash never hurts."
John looked distinctly unhappy about Dean's disagreement, but couldn't fault the logic, and switched to whiskey. He was settling in for the night. Mildly jealous at how easily Dean was able to appease John while fighting for Sam, and inordinately happy at Dean's rare demonstration that he had a mind of his own, Sam decided that it was definitely time to call it a night. A glance at the clock showed it was already almost one in the morning. So much for his plan to get up early and study, he'd be lucky to make it to school on time.
"Night, jerk," Sam smiled as Dean replied with his own, "Night, bitch." As he walked to his small room, shared with Dean as always, he nodded a goodnight to his father as well. He would've brushed his teeth before going to bed, but Dean had darted into the bathroom to shower as soon as Sam had turned away.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
Dean let out a sigh of relieved content as hot water pounded against his aching back and shoulders. Bruises were setting in across his ribs and back, a result of being flung into walls and museum displays as he tried to haul all of the captain's crap out to the burning site. Dad had decided it probably wasn't smart to start a fire in the museum because it would probably set off the fire alarm and sprinklers, leaving them with a ghost and firefighters. And probably cops, knowing their luck. Now that he was nineteen, almost twenty, Dean really didn't want to get nailed with an arson charge. Jail was only fun if there was an escape route, because being confined anywhere was not an appealing thought. Sitting duck for all things evil, that would really suck.
As he lingered in the shower, basking in the warm water, Dean pondered what his dad had said earlier. While he claimed to have complete confidence in Dean's hunting ability, he didn't think Dean was ready to try a solo hunt. He didn't even think Dean could handle a hunt with Caleb, who had called about a possible hunt down in Texas. Succubus. It would've been awesome. While Dad had claimed that he didn't want Dean hunting alone, or with Caleb, on an extended trip because someone had to watch Sam, the kid was fifteen. At that age, Dean was already taking care of Sam and his dad, and going to school and working part time and hunting. Not to mention going to bars to hustle pool and poker every time money ran out, which it always did. No, the real reason was that despite everything, Dad still didn't trust him to get the job done.
What hurt more, surprisingly, was Sammy's comment earlier. I actually care about my grades. Like Dean was too lazy and stupid to get good grades while he was in school. Despite what everyone seemed to think, he wasn't stupid. He maintained a B average in school even though he was too busy to study and even after he'd dropped out, he got his GED by the time he would have graduated. Dad had required the GED and Dean hadn't even needed to study. He found the earliest test, took it, passed it, and now school was history. If he wanted to, he could apply to college. But he didn't want to, not really, He wanted to hunt and to keep his family together. Sam and Dad would kill each other if he left. Plus, normal sucked. Who wanted to be normal anyway? Other than Sam, probably no one, because normal was boring and it sucked.
Dean shut off the water and reached for his small, threadbare towel. He resolved to do better on the hunt this time around. He would find the damned box and burn it tomorrow, even if it killed him. Then, maybe, his dad would see that he was a good hunter. If not, he would find their next hunt and do all of the research before Dad recruited Sam. Then he could prove that he was perfectly capable to put together a hunt on his own and Sam could go on pretending to be normal. Happiness abounds.
He just needed to find a good enough reason to stick around this craphole for another two weeks so Sam could finish out the semester and not kill Dad. Or run away, which Dean was becoming increasingly fearful Sam would actually do. He had certainly threatened to run away enough recently. Then Dad would kill Sam, or bury him so deep in training that Sam would either run again, or cease to be the relatively normal, innocent kid Dean had worked so hard to keep. The throbbing behind Dean's eyes increased as he thought about everything he had to balance. Maybe he could find a werewolf somewhere. The full moon was three weeks away, it'd be perfect. He just had to keep his dad from finding another hunt before then.
A quick peek at the clock told Dean that it was just past one thirty. He definitely took too long in the shower. Dad was passed out on the couch, still fully dressed, muddy boots on and half empty whiskey bottle in hand. After slipping on his boxers and tee shirt, Dean wandered over to his dad and gently removed the whiskey bottle from his hand, setting it on the kitchen counter and replacing the cap. Dad would've been pissed if he woke up and it had spilled. Dean moseyed back to his dad, removing his boots and lifting his legs onto the couch before covering him with a blanket and gingerly tucking a pillow under his dad's head to prevent him from waking up with a stiff neck. Not once did his dad wake up or even move in his sleep, leaving Dean slightly concerned. He grabbed one of the guns and put it on the end table by his dad's head. If someone, or something, broke in, he wouldn't be defenseless as long as he woke up.
After a moment's indecision, Dean grabbed a knife and a gun and sat at the kitchen table and crossed his arms on the table, then rested his head on them. He had the gun tucked in the back of his boxers like usual, and the knife handle positioned centimeters from his right hand. If anyone came through that door, he'd wake up and he'd be ready. No one was screwing with his family tonight.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
Something smelled amazing. Seriously, the smell wafting into his room was absolutely heavenly. Pancakes and bacon, definitely, and maybe scrambled eggs, too. Sleep tried to call him back, but breakfast smelled too amazing to give in. Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up fully so he could eat some of the blissful meal undoubtedly made by his older brother. He may not like being ditched by his dad and smothered by his brother, and moving every other week for the hunt definitely sucked, but Dean's responsibility as caretaker had led to some seriously awesome cooking skills. Not that Dean actually exercised those skills often, usually settling for Spaghettios, Chef Boyardee, or Kraft Mac 'n Cheese because of time and budget constraints. Which begged the question, why was Dean cooking now?
Only one way to find out, Sam reasoned with a sigh as he pulled himself out of the warm, if lumpy, motel bed. Running a hand through his messy, bed tousled hair, Sam shuffled out of his room and into the kitchen, where Dean was flipping pancakes onto a platter and adding more batter to the griddle pan. In a separate frying pan, bacon was sizzling to crispy perfection. Scrambled eggs were already cooked and waiting in a large serving bowl. They were extra cheesy, just the way Sam liked them. Real maple syrup was sitting on the counter, heated up, which was John's favorite. John, however, was not at the table yet. Sam wasn't even sure he was conscious. He was lying on the couch with a pillow and blanket, which Sam thought was ridiculous because the couch had a pull out bed. Or, if they were a normal family, John could have his own room with a real bed, and Sam and Dean could each have a room, and lumpy mattresses and pull out couches would be a thing of the past. But they weren't normal, so Sam just scooped up some scrambled eggs, grabbed four pancakes off Dean's platter, and snagged a couple pieces of bacon.
"Dad up yet?" Dean asked quietly as Sam grabbed his pancakes. Sam just raised an eyebrow and shook his head because, honestly, Dean could see John just as easily as Sam could. If Dean was implying he should wake John up, he could forget it. Sam would much rather eat breakfast with just Dean, or even by himself, anyway. Dean sighed audibly, and flipped the pancakes on the griddle pan before turning to Sam, "I figured breakfast would lure you out of your room. You should have a little while to study before you go to school, geekboy. I'll talk to dad about staying here for a few more weeks when he gets up, I know how much you love moving at the end of the semester."
Sensing an opportunity, Sam pressed, "Do you think you get him to stay for the rest of the year? We could stay here and you could keep working at the garage while he hunts and uses this place as a home base. Then we might actually be able to get an apartment here and save enough money to not have to pull more credit card fraud. You and dad can't help anyone if you're in jail, you know."
An odd look crossed Dean's face, a combination of amusement, pain, and maybe even sorrow, as he hesitantly replied, "Maybe the end of the calendar year, Sammy, but even that is pressing it. Dad is never going to agree to us living here without him, especially not for six months. It'd be great to have some money, but half the time we have to leave town at the end of the hunt because something happened and we're going to be arrested, you know that. I'll do my best not to get arrested or draw anyone's attention while looking for the box today, Sammy, but you know if something does happen we'll be leaving right away."
It was completely unfair. If Dean, or his dad, were careless today, Sam would have to leave. It didn't matter what he wanted, or what was best for him, all that mattered was getting rid of some stupid ghost. Sure, they'd gotten to stay after the black dog hunt that had brought them here to begin with back in the beginning of August, but that was because Dean had found out that the lighthouse was supposedly haunted. One of the guys at the garage had mentioned something about it being a tourist spot because, in Dean's words, "people are crazy and some of the nutjobs actually want to hand themselves over on a platter for the chance of a good time." A week later, when Dean stumbled across the first article about a tourist going missing while visiting the lighthouse, Sam wondered if the tourists were in more danger from his older brother than any supernatural entity. Dean was pissed. Two days later, when the tourist's body was found, Dean didn't say anything, but Sam could tell he was blaming himself, adding another death that wasn't his fault to his tally. Sam was glad to see he cared because sometimes he though Dean flirted a little too much with the line of being a sociopath, but he wished his brother would stop blaming himself for things that clearly were not his fault. The lighthouse ghost had been dead for over a century and, while there were the haunting rumors, no one had ever died.
"You won't get caught doing anything, Dean," Sam sighed, "I just wish we could settle down for once. Even if its not here, I wouldn't mind moving in with Pastor Jim or Uncle Bobby. Schools are better here, but anywhere stable would be better than moving all the time."
"I know, Sammy," Dean replied, exasperation creeping into his voice, "but dad likes to keep us with him. We're family, and we're all we've got, so we have to stick together, even when you're driving us crazy."
Dean's aversion to chick flick moments was still intact, then. Sam swiped some more pancakes and bacon, drowning them in the maple syrup. With a frown, Sam asked, "Aren't you going to eat? You didn't do anything to this, did you? I have a test, it's not a good day to start a prank war."
Dean laughed, "No pranks, I promise. I'm not suicidal and dad is eating this food, too, as soon as he wakes up. I was going to wait for him so I could talk, but I was really hoping he'd be up by now. When I prank you, you'll know it. And it won't be something that could affect dad, too. Or me, for that matter, 'cause I'm not stupid enough to prank myself."
Sam rolled his eyes, stuffing in a mouthful of pancake. Dean was ridiculous sometimes. Sam had no doubt Dean would pull a prank that looked like it would affect him, too, just to lull Sam into a false sense of security. Hell, Dean was crazy enough to actually follow through with pranking himself if Sam called him on his bluff. Before he came up with any sort of retort, John twitched and made a grunting noise, then sat up. Dean was already filling up a plate for John and pouring coffee. John grumbled a "thanks" as he dug in, not waiting for Dean to return for a plate of breakfast of his own. Sometimes, Sam thought, Dad can be incredibly rude. He has to know Dean waited for him, why couldn't he return the favor?
Slightly repulsed by the scrambled egg caught in John's beard, Sam excused himself to go study. Dean looked a little disappointed, but Sam wasn't sure why. He knew Dean had made breakfast for John, probably trying to butter him up so he would agree to stay for a few extra weeks. Sam's presence would just remind the man that staying would make Sam happy, which John seemed morally opposed to for some reason. Dean would say Sam was being ridiculous. Sam knew Dean was just blinded by his faith in their father. John didn't want them to be happy or normal. He wanted them to be soldiers in a never-ending, unwinnable battle against evil. Sam dropped his empty plate in the sink and grabbed his clothes for the day before going into the bathroom for a shower.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
"You look tired. Did you ever go to bed last night?" Dad asked between bites, his critical eye picking up the bags that were forming under Dean's eyes and his paler-than-normal complexion that made his freckles stand out.
Dean picked at his breakfast for a moment, reluctantly replying, "I slept and I'm fine. If its okay, I thought we could find the box and Caleb really needs help with the succubus in Texas—"
"I know you want to hunt on your own, Dean, but we've talked about this," his dad cut in gruffly, "Your brother needs you. I need you to be here and I'll need you for the next hunt when I find it."
Dean tried desperately to keep his face blank, to keep the hurt and frustration off at his father's belief that not only could he not handle hunting with Caleb, but that he couldn't even follow his dad's orders to drop the subject. Calmly, Dean continued, "Yes, sir, but I think you should go help Caleb. He called again earlier and he said it's a two-man job. We have the truck now, so we can split up temporarily. I can keep working at the garage and make a little more money while I look for another hunt. Sammy and I can do the research and be ready to go, or meet up with you, when you're done."
"Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into this," Dean was practically glowing at the compliment, "but don't think I don't realize this conveniently lets Sam stay in school for a few more weeks. Is that the real reason you came up with all this?"
"What's wrong with everyone being happy? Sam just wants to be normal for a while and it's almost the end of the semester, so it really makes more sense to stay. Besides, when I decided to get my GED instead of finishing high school, you're the one who said education is important," Dean reasoned, hoping his dad would agree. He wasn't looking forward to Sam's attitude if Dad didn't go along with it. Staying here seemed ridiculously important to Sam, and Dean just wanted the kid to be happy. It seemed like he had been in a constant state of misery for the last few years and it had gotten worse after Truman High last year.
Dad sighed and rubbed his eyes, obviously searching for some sort of counterargument. Dean hoped his logic would hold because he really didn't have a backup plan. After a moment, his dad agreed, "We'll try it. As long as nothing goes wrong today and we don't have to leave town, I'll let you take care of Sam here while I go help Caleb in Texas. You will find a new hunt and I want details by next week. Location, disappearances, theory of what's causing it, how to kill it, everything. You will make sure Sam keeps up with his training, don't let him slack off. Don't hunt anything on your own, just keep me informed. If anything goes wrong, you know what to do."
Dean grinned broadly as he replied, "Yes, sir."
He actually had a chance to take the lead on a hunt. Usually, although Dad had no problem leaving him and Sam alone for a few weeks at a time on a hunt, he found hunts on his own. Dean was relegated to Sam's caretaker and occasionally research help, but Sam usually did more of the research because he actually enjoyed it. Occasionally Dean would find a hunt and tell his dad, but it was usually given to one of his dad's hunter friends who would do all of the research and take care of the problem. Dad's friends never called Dean for research help and, with the exceptions of Caleb, Pastor Jim, Bobby, and maybe Joshua, they all thought Dean was too young and, frankly, too much of a "pretty boy" to be helpful in a hunt. It was part of the reason Dean wanted a solo hunt so badly. He needed to prove to himself, and everyone else, that he was just as capable as any other hunter.
Dean started clearing the table and washing the dishes as the shower shut off, prompting his dad to start searching for clean clothes for after his own shower. Sam left the bathroom, glancing at Dean as he walked by, clearly wondering how the discussion with Dad went. Dean grinned and nodded, leaving Sam practically bouncing in excitement. It was good to see the kid smile, he didn't do it enough lately.
Finishing the dishes, Dean started to consider the problem of actually finding the box of heirlooms. He doubted it would be marked, but checking for some sort of maritime symbol couldn't hurt. The best option would probably be a metal detector, but he wasn't sure where to find one. Maybe his dad would know. Or maybe Sammy would know. They were both better with those kinds of details. Dean preferred to strategize how to kill the fugly, not to research and look for the tools. If they didn't know, he would ask around. People were always wandering the beach with metal detectors in movies, someone should know where to get one. They were on a beach, after all. Okay, so it was more of a shoreline than a beach, but whatever. It was close enough that someone should have a metal detector. Mostly Dean hoped it wouldn't start snowing again. The search for buried treasure was kind of awesome, but hunting for buried treasure in snow just added to the amount of digging he had to do. There would be enough difficulty because of the frozen ground, no need to add any.
The clock's noisy ticking became obnoxious as soon as he turned off the faucet. A glance at the cause of his annoyance told Dean it was time to get Sam to school. Just as he started to walk toward the room, Sam emerged with his overstuffed backpack, ready to go. His earlier excitement about staying for the semester seemed to have faded into nervousness about his test if the slightly constipated expression was anything to go by. The kid worried about his grades way too much. They didn't really matter and everyone knew Sam was the smart one. Even if he got a B in something, Dean was sure he would blow any standardized test out of the water and get into college anyway. If he applied, and Dean was pretty sure he would. Sam wanted out of hunting and wasn't exactly subtle about it.
"Ready?" Dean asked, grabbing his keys and handing a brown bag lunch to his brother.
"Yeah," Sam replied, definitely nervous. Yeah, the kid worried way too much. It was one test and it was history. Sam knew history. He used to entertain himself by reading about the history of the states they were moving to, or the history of the US as a whole, or really anything geek-like all the time. And Dean knew that Sam knew what he was talking about because he used to inform his brother and dad about what he thought was most important or most interesting. There was no way Sam would fail the test. At worst, Dean was guessing he'd get an A-, which was still pretty awesome.
"Stop worrying, Sammy," Dean mock-ordered. Then, smirking, he asked, "Want me to quiz you on the way to school? I bet I can think of some good history questions."
Sam laughed and rolled his eyes, exactly as Dean had intended, "I don't think any of your favorite history facts will make the test. I think I'm ready. Or at least I'm as ready as I'm going to be. Thanks for talking to dad, don't know how you did it but at least he listened to you."
Dean pulled up in front of the school, wishing Sam good luck on his test and telling him that he'd be back after school. He watched Sam walk into school before leaving the parking lot and driving home, to the annoyance of some of the parents dropping off their kids. Whatever, he wasn't leaving until he knew Sam made it in the building. He wasn't letting anything happen to Sam on his watch. It was bad enough that he wasn't in school to watch the kid anymore.
Dad was heading to the parking lot when Dean got back to the motel. He had somehow obtained a metal detector, which was a relief because Dean really wasn't sure where to get one. Dean pulled into his parking spot carefully, getting out of the Impala and asking, "Ready to go? Which car?"
"We'll take the truck. Let's go," Dad ordered. Dean loved the Impala and was happy to leave her out of harms way. The lighthouse ghost had a tendency to cause destruction and cars in the parking lot were in the line of fire. Dean locked the door before shutting it and stuffing the keys in the pocket of his leather jacket.
"Yes, sir," Dean replied as he climbed into the passenger side of his father's truck. Unable to resist, Dean asked, "Where'd you find the metal detector?"
"Neighbor had one. He was looking for coins and wants a cut of whatever we find, if we find anything," Dad replied, tone indicating how ridiculous he thought the metal-detector-wielding neighbor was. If they did find the ghost's treasure, there was no way they were sharing any of it. It would burn.
Companionable silence descended for the rest of the drive to the lighthouse. Dad wasn't much of a talker and Dean was perfectly content with silence. He preferred music, but his dad had opted not to turn on the radio and driver picks the music. Dean stared out the window, watching the beautiful, if slightly snow covered, Maine landscape flashed by. Thankfully, it wasn't snowing again and there wasn't much on the ground.
The lighthouse was just far enough from the motel that Dean's eyelids began to droop before they arrived. Nearly asleep, he was startled when the truck came to a halt in the lighthouse parking lot. Quickly brushing away all signs of exhaustion, Dean opened the door and hopped out of the truck. He followed his dad around to the back to grab a canister of salt and a tire iron that could be used to repel ghosts. Typically ghosts weren't a problem during the day, but why take chances if you don't have to? Dad grabbed a canister and an iron pole before leading the way to the trees on the new tour route. Dean trailed behind, wary of any movement. If it were a ghost, Dean would take care of it. If it were a group of chattering tourists, he would distract the group while his dad hid their more questionable items.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
Historical facts whirled around Sam's brain as he attempted to finish the test before class ended. Of course his teacher, Mr. Whitmore, had decided to talk about his cat and her newborn kittens for the first ten minutes of class, eating away at precious test-taking time. Mr. Whitmore was a young teacher, only in his late twenties, with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes. His gaze practically oozed intelligence, but he loved teaching too much to try for a high paying career. Although he was pudgy, single, and had more cats than any cat lady Sam had ever met, Sam thought Mr. Whitmore was the coolest person he had ever met. He didn't care about money and did what he loved, in spite of his family's wishes. He went to Harvard. He knew every trivia fact Sam had ever found about US history and then some. He was Sam's new hero.
Besides, the test was supposed to take forty minutes and the class was fifty minutes long. In other classes the teachers gave them the extra ten minutes, but Sam liked Mr. Whitmore enough to give him a pass this time. Sam had always liked dogs more than cats, though, so he really would've preferred one of Mr. Whitmore's college stories. Crap, he was getting off-topic again. It wouldn't be so bad if Mr. Whitmore gave multiple-choice tests like most of the other teachers. Instead, he gave a test with a short answer section and two essay questions because he said it was more realistic to the college experience and this particular class was Advanced Placement, which could count for college credit if the students passed the AP test in May. Sam desperately wanted to stay so he could take the AP tests for almost all of his classes this year, but it didn't seem likely. Hopefully wherever they ended up next the school would offer the same AP classes so he could get college credit.
The bell rang just as Sam was finishing his last sentence. Sam put his pencil back in his backpack and brought his test up to the front on the way out. Most of the class had finished early, leaving Sam as the last person in class. As he placed his test reverently on the top of the stack, Mr. Whitmore asked, "Have you been thinking about college, Mr. Winchester? Your paper was outstanding and I'm sure your test will be similarly delightful to grade. I would gladly write a letter of recommendation if you would like."
Sam felt the heat rising in his cheeks at the compliment, replying, "I would love to go to college, Mr. Whitmore. I think I want to go to Stanford, or maybe UCLA. Maybe even the University of Texas. Stanford would be my first choice, though. I would be honored to have a letter of recommendation from you, but I think my family is going to move again soon. I'm not even sure where I'll be when I start applying to college."
Mr. Whitmore looked mildly distressed at the news that Sam might be leaving, but told him, "I have no doubt you'll get into whatever school you want to, and Stanford is excellent. The climate is a lot nicer, too, at all the schools you mentioned. Do you have a student directory? My office phone number is listed. Whenever you apply to college, wherever you are, just give me a call and tell me where to send the letter. Someone with potential like yours, Mr. Winchester, deserves to shine."
"Thank you, Mr. Whitmore! I'll be sure to give you a call. Thank you!" Sam exclaimed, once again picturing his college dream. His grades were excellent in spite of his family's propensity for moving before they had gotten settled in any particular area, and now he had one teacher who offered to write a letter of recommendation for him. Mr. Whitmore had gotten his bachelor's degree from Harvard, so Sam figured it would carry some weight. He could go to sunny California and actually live in the same town for four years, maybe more. He could make friends and keep them and forget about hunting. He could be normal. Maybe he could bring Dean and Dean could work at a garage nearby, or apply to a community college. They could live together again, but not worry about hunting. Without John and his orders, surely Dean would be less overprotective. It would be perfect. They could be normal and happy.
Full of hope for the future, Sam hurried to his next class. The bell rang as he slid into his seat, prompting his friend, Mike, to grin at him. Mrs. Temple, the Algebra 2 teacher, was notorious for awarding tardy slips to anyone who wasn't in their seat as the bell rang. Mrs. Temple, to be frank, was Sam's oldest and most strict teacher. He had hoped, when he walked in and saw the elderly woman, that she would be the grandmotherly type. She wasn't. She distinctly reminded him of the stories about nuns who hit students with rulers for any infraction. Sam would dearly love to see a parent-teacher conference between Mrs. Temple and John because he honestly wasn't sure who would win if they got into an argument. John was stubborn and scary, but Sam was sure Mrs. Temple could hold her own. She had raised three children on her own after her husband died and none of them had ever gotten into any sort of trouble outside of their home. They had all gone to Ivy League schools and were now incredibly successful in their careers. Mrs. Temple's eldest was a US Senator for Maine. Mrs. Temple was scary, but if he could get a letter of recommendation from her, too, and a good score on the SAT, he would definitely get into Stanford.
Thoughts of college kept Sam occupied until lunch. Sam claimed his usual spot, pulling out the brown paper bag containing the lunch Dean had packed for him. Since he had gotten his job at the garage, Dean enjoyed surprising Sam with a real lunch instead of cafeteria food on occasion. Sam qualified for the free lunch program, as had Dean while at school, and it was nice to have a break from the questionable foods often produced by the cafeteria. Sam cheerfully pulled out a turkey sandwich, loaded with vegetables, an apple, a bag of chips, a granola bar, and, at the bottom, still in the individually packaged container, a slice of cherry pie. As he pulled out his water bottle and began devouring the lunch his brother had thoughtfully packed, containing more "rabbit food" than Sam thought Dean would ever consider decent, Mike took the seat beside him.
"Did you hear about the body that showed up? Dad said it was over by the lighthouse again and it was that tourist that just went missing. Something is going on, it's too weird. I think someone is trying to amp up visits to the lighthouse by peddling that ghost crap," Mike said, grinning far too broadly for someone discussing the discovery of a body. Sam knew it wasn't real to the rail thin blond beside him, but he was disturbed nonetheless. The tourist that had been found was one that Dean had taken particularly hard. She was the third tourist to go missing and turn up dead a few days later. By the time she had gone missing, Dean and John had already been on the trail of the ghost and Dean claimed fascination with lighthouses so he could join an inordinate number of lighthouse tours. He had met the woman, a twenty-two year old college senior with long brown hair and naïve blue eyes. She had been studying Exercise Sports Science and was pre-Physical Therapy. Dean had gotten her phone number and was supposed to have a date with her the night she went missing. Dean had left the tour early to go to work and the woman had disappeared within fifteen minutes of his departure. Sam couldn't remember ever seeing his brother so devastated.
"Yeah, I heard. I hope it stops soon," Sam replied sincerely. He really did hope the hunt wrapped up soon. Everyone at school was talking about the disappearances and not being able to stop it was killing Dean, so Sam would gladly see the ghost cross over. Then he could enjoy a couple weeks of normal school, line up his letters of recommendation, and prepare for moving. Dean would be less stressed, too, and maybe they could see a movie this weekend. Or, if nothing else, a de-stressed Dean had fewer mother hen tendencies. By the time Sam tuned back in to the conversation, a few more of his friends had arrived and the topic had shifted to school gossip. While he embraced normal, gossip just wasn't his thing.
The rest of the day passed quickly and, by the time the final bell rang, Sam had become increasingly curious about how the hunt was going. He did not want anyone else to go missing while Dean believed they were on his watch. Besides, if the hunt was over, John would be leaving and it would just be him and Dean. Sam, while disapproving of his father's tendency to abandon his children, always preferred Dean's company and his father usually just made everything tense. Sam never knew how to respond to John and they never agreed on anything. He'd rather live with Dean alone. Sam said goodbye to his friends as the Impala rolled up, then walked briskly to his brother.
"So, how'd it go?" Sam asked as he opened the door. Dean's grin told him all he needed to know.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
The end of the hunt had been distinctly anti-climatic. After all the research on the stupid ghost, and the inability to save Ally and the other two tourists, Dean couldn't believe defeating the ghost had been so easy. Dad had manned the metal detector and Dean had only needed to provide a distraction once, which was done easily by flirting with the tour guide and giving his own version of the tour. The three tourists and the guide were all in hysterics by the end and the tour guide had mentioned that if he wanted her job, she would put in a recommendation. Dean had laughed it off because he would much rather work at a garage than be a tour guide. By the time he had returned to his dad, the box was unburied and Dad was about to torch it. The ghost hadn't even shown up to defend it until the last moment, at which point all Dean had to do was drop a lighter on the box while his dad struck out at the ghost with his iron pole, causing it to vanish. Moments later, it reappeared, only to dissolve into flame as the contents of the box burned. The entire process took less than two hours.
"I'm heading out," Dad announced as soon as they arrived at the motel. Dean had noticed the duffle in the truck, but had chosen not to comment. He knew his dad would leave for the hunt as soon as he could. As Dean climbed out of the truck, his dad spoke again, "Remember what we agreed. You're finding the next hunt and taking care of the research, but you aren't hunting alone. Make sure your brother trains. Watch out for your brother. I'll see you in a few weeks."
"Yes, sir, I will. Good luck," Dean replied, shutting the door of the truck. He had a few hours to kill before he needed to pick up Sammy. Dean briefly considered going to the library to start searching for the next hunt, but ultimately decided he was too tired. Instead, he ate a small lunch before flopping on the couch and turning on the television. He also set the small alarm clock on the end table to go off half an hour before he needed to pick up Sammy. He wasn't going to let anyone else down this week.
The alarm went off so soon after Dean closed his eyes he thought he might have set the wrong time. A glance at the clock killed that hope and Dean traipsed into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. It was a good thing he didn't have to work at the garage today, he probably would have accidentally messed up someone's car. Pulling on his leather jacket and grabbing his keys, he headed out to pick up Sammy.
Noticing Sammy's inquiring gaze as he pulled up in the Impala, Dean smiled. He knew his little brother wanted confirmation that the hunt was over. He probably also hoped to get confirmation that their dad was gone. He'd consider the irony of Sammy wanting their dad to leave, but getting pissed off when he did, some other time. Or never. It usually just gave him a headache and a foreboding feeling about the future.
"So, how'd it go?" Sam asked as soon as he opened the door. Dean just grinned, giving Sam his answer. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Sam began asking for more details and Dean obliged. It was shocking how easily the hunt had ended. Frankly, it made Dean feel incompetent. He should have wrapped it up a month ago.
"What's the plan now?" Sam asked, ever eager to have a plan. Dean shrugged, not entirely sure what they were going to do.
"We have to run and practice hand-to-hand for a couple hours tonight and we're going to get dinner, but it is a Thursday. I know you have homework and all good geekboys do their homework," Dean teased as Sam scowled. He knew Sam would try to get out of training, he always did. He also knew that prying Sam away from his homework was going to be a pain in the ass. He would have to check, but there might be enough groceries left for him to make a real dinner. Hamburgers or spaghetti or something, but more than canned dinner.
Sam was wearing his bitchface. Crap. This was going to suck. "You know, Dad isn't here. We don't have to train all the time. We're already in better shape than anyone at school and we know each other too well for training to be helpful. We can do something else, like watch a movie or something. Dad doesn't have to know and you don't always have to do what he tells you. He's your dad, not your drill sergeant."
"Sam," Dean bit out, barely containing his exasperation, "we have to follow orders because it saves lives. We have to train so we can help Dad hunt. Dad only agreed to leave us here, to let you finish out the semester, because I promised that we would keep training. "
As Dean parked the Impala, he instructed Sam to change into his workout clothes. The sooner they finished the better. Dean really just wanted to eat some dinner and go to sleep. Sam huffed all the way to the motel room, grumbling about how ridiculous it was that his adult brother still obeyed their absent father to a fault. Dean tried not to let the tidbits he overheard bother him, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Sam could be thoughtless sometimes. Dean was starting to look forward to hand-to-hand, maybe he'd give Sam a reason to start paying as much attention to training as he did to his schoolwork.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
To Sam's delight, Dean decided that training the next day wasn't necessary. Instead, he picked up Sam half an hour after school got out, right after he got off work, and took him out to a movie. Sam got to choose the movie, and the movie snacks. He knew Dean was trying to make him feel better about having to train and give him a night of the normalcy he craved.
Saturday morning, at an hour Sam had believed Dean didn't know existed, Dean woke him by dumping a cup of water on his head. It was cold water and Sam was fairly certain there were a few ice cubes in there, too. The moment the first drop of icy water hit Sam's cheek, he jerked away, but wasn't fast enough to avoid the rest of the water. Oh, it was on. Dean was going to regret that.
Glaring, Sam demanded, "What the hell was that for? Its four in the morning, why are you waking me up?"
Infuriatingly, Dean just smirked and replied, "I couldn't sleep, so I thought we could get training out of the way. Get up and be ready in five minutes."
Dean, who usually stayed up late but refused to get out of bed before seven unless it was for a hunt, was actually awake and functional at four in the morning. It was unbelievable. He would choose a Saturday to pull this crap. Yeah, Sam was definitely going to get revenge.
Three hours later, Sam dragged himself back into the room, but was blocked from the shower by Dean. He was such a jerk! Sam couldn't believe his brother was actually capable of making training more intense than John did, but apparently it was possible. Sam doubted he would be able to move for the rest of the day. Or tomorrow. He'd probably still be struggling on Monday.
The jerk emerged from the shower, no signs of soreness in his stride. As he spotted Sam's sprawled form on the couch, he asked, "Still think you don't need to train?"
Then, he smirked. The asshole had the nerve to smirk. It was unbelievable. Sometimes Sam couldn't believe he was actually related to his dad or brother. They were completely insane. Who runs for two hours, with intermittent push-ups, crunches, lunges, squats, and pull-ups, then does hand-to-hand, no holding back? It was crazy. It wasn't like most of the supernatural entities they encountered could be defeated in a fistfight. Usually they had to be killed with something specific, like silver, or salting and burning the bones or cursed object, or something like that. True, they got thrown around a lot, and running ability was helpful, but most of the training just seemed like a waste of time. Sam was not going to tell Dean that, though. He had no interest in three or four hours of weapons training. Or another day like today. Yeah, from now on Sam was keeping his complaints to himself.
Sam felt his eyes drifting closed and decided to ignore Dean's laughter. He'd get his brother back later. For now, he was exhausted and he doubted he could move if he tried. The jerk did earn a little redemption, however, when he brought a glass of water over to the couch and set it on the end table instead of dumping it on Sam's face again. With that thought, Sam slipped into the blissful oblivion of dreams.
SPNDEANSPNSAMSPNDEANSPNSAM
Dean chuckled to himself as Sam passed out on the couch. The kid had kept up better than Dean had expected. Despite all his protests about training, Dean knew their dad went easy on his little brother. Dad hated the idea of taking away the last of Sam's innocence as much as Dean did. While Dad firmly believed Sam needed to embrace the hunting life, he never wanted Sam to hunt alone. Sam, in turn, wanted nothing to do with hunting. The result was relatively lax training. Sure, Sammy had to learn hand-to-hand combat and staying in good shape, but Dad probably would have demanded that even if they weren't hunters. Sam also had weapons training, but it was nowhere near as extensive as the training Dean had received by the age of fifteen.
Preparing brunch, Dean decided to let Sam wake up on his own. He would love to dump water on Sammy's face again, his expression this morning had been priceless, but doing it twice in the same day just wasn't cool. From the way Sammy had flinched when he brought the glass of water over, he was expecting it, anyway. With a sigh, Dean noted that they were almost out of groceries again. They would have to make do for a few days on canned dinner and Lucky Charms because Dad stopped leaving money for them when Dean had a job.
As the scrambled eggs and hamburgers finished cooking, Dean noticed Sam moving on the couch. He'd be awake in a minute. Food and coffee were sure ways to wake up Sam on the rare occasions he slept in. As Sam sat up, Dean could hear his low moan of pain.
"A little sore, there, Sammy?" Dean asked, tone distinctly mocking. He couldn't help it, it was so easy to wind his little brother up sometimes. Sammy responded with his trademark bitchface and wandered into the kitchen. Assembling a scrambled egg hamburger and grabbing a cup of coffee, Sam was moving like a zombie. Dean almost felt bad for the training session this morning. It was Dean's usual workout with his dad, but Sam didn't have quite the same level of conditioning as Dean did.
As Sam continued his zombie impression on his way to the table, Dean filled up his own plate and joined him. Sam, looking distinctly disgruntled, asked, "So, what are we doing today? Nothing that involves moving, right?"
"I have to go to the library. If you're feeling up to it you can come with," Dean replied with a smirk, knowing that Sam would never turn down a trip to the library. It didn't matter how much pain he was in, if Sam had a chance to go read a book, he would. No question. So when Sam just rolled his eyes and asked if he could shower first, Dean smiled and approved the shower idea. Getting kicked out of the library for body odor was counterproductive.
Once they arrived at the library, Dean headed toward the computers to see if they had internet access. If not, the search for a new hunt was going to be a pain. He wanted to prove he could do it on his own, but short of traveling around randomly looking at newspapers, his only option would be to call someone. That would probably get back to his dad and defeat the purpose. Sam, on the other hand, had brought his backpack and found a spot at a table. He clearly planned to study, which for once was fine by Dean. This, Dean decided, was something he needed to do alone.
Fortunately, the computer had internet access. Dean started searching for people with missing hearts because werewolves were awesome. Nothing turned up, unfortunately in Dean's opinion because he loved a werewolf hunt. He continued searching for unusual deaths and disappearances and found something odd in Tomahawk, Wisconsin. People were disappearing from snowmobile trails that went through the woods. There were rumors that there were odd noises coming from the same wooded areas. No bodies were found. The weirdest part, in Dean's opinion, was that whatever was out there seemed to be discriminating. It only took people who could be considered beautiful. Other travelers would emerge injured, confused, and unable to indentify their attacker, but did not take them.
A small smile graced Dean's lips as he decided that this definitely sounded like a case. He would start really researching tomorrow, as the library was getting ready to close and Sammy would be getting hungry and impatient soon, but he did it. This was his chance and he just might prove himself to everyone.
TBC