Chapter 3- Look Who's Back

Day #11

Bobby's living room was filled with Dean's soft, barely-there snores. While familiar by then, Sam wasn't done being grateful to hear them again. Mundane everyday things reminded him of reasons to keep trying, and at the same time, made harder to work out the best course of action. Leaving was safer. Staying was just too tempting.

Sam opted to get up for the moment. Planning usually was easier after coffee.

He stretched and jumped out of the couch. He didn't know a word that could describe how pleasant it was to not have his bones cracking upon waking. Whistling quietly, he hunched to pass the doorway to the kitchen on reflex. Sam smiled to himself. His old height wasn't exactly fun, but it did come with perks.

A trick of the light it look like someone was by the window for a moment. He shook his head and leaned against the counter. The coffee maker buzzed in the background. They were safe. Everything was well.

Bobby's booted steps climbed down the stairs. That was Sam's cue to get some mugs, just in case the man insisted on an explanation. He stood on his toes to reach the mugs.

Bobby chuckled from the doorway.

"Need a hand?" he said.

Sam took a third mug in his hands and threw him a pointed look.

"No, I got it," he said, unamused.

Bobby laughed all the way to the fridge.

Sam poured coffee for two, handing Bobby the emptier one.

"What's cooking?" asked Sam after a sip of coffee.

"Eggs and bacon. Maybe toast," said Bobby from the stove. He had some bacon strips ready to jump into the pan and scrambled some eggs next to them.

Sam set his mug on the table. He opened the cupboard to the right of the sink and took out the bread. He put two slices in the toaster when someone entered the kitchen. He turned to ask Dean what he wanted in his toast, but it was Pastor Jim who greeted him.

Pastor Jim.

Who was there the night before.

When Sam told everyone about the apocalypse.

And his father walked out on him. Practically disowning him.

Because Sam turned out to be everything he feared he would become.

"Good morning," said Pastor Jim cautiously. "How are you, Sam?"

Sam forced his mind to focus.

"'m fine."

No one was convinced.

Sam went to get his coffee, the only shield he had against awkwardness. However, an arm wrapped itself around his neck, bending him down. His hands flew up to fight off the not-quite choke-hold, when coarse knuckles roughly rubbed the top of his head.

"Knock it off," snarled Sam. He elbowed Dean's torso with little to no leverage.

Dean rubbed harder.

"What? Never figured out how to get yourself free?" he said smugly, finally letting up.

Sam immediately backed away, finger-combing his hair.

"Never needed to." Not without seriously hurting him.

"How come?" said Dean, passing some plates to Bobby.

Sam smirked. Calmly he took his mug.

"It's hard to give someone a noogie when you can't reach their neck."

Dean sputtered.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

Sam raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee.

"No! No way, dude!" raged Dean, "No way in hell you end up taller than me!"

Sam shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee.

Pastor Jim laughed at Dean's aghast expression.

"How tall, Sam?" called Bobby from the stove. The corners of his mouth quirked up.

"Six feet four."

"You're kidding, right? No way you're that much of a giant," said Dean, wide-eyed.

Sam gave him a self-satisfied smile.


Sam swallowed the last of his eggs with little enthusiasm. Food still tasted like ash after his display the night before. Which was crazy. He was a full grown adult, he didn't need his father's approval. It wasn't like he ever really got it the first time around. If anything, he had simply precipitated the inevitable. Knowing that didn't make the food taste any better, though.

Dean, Bobby, Caleb, Ellen, Pastor Jim and Rufus carried on as if it was the most common morning ever; there was more food shoveled down than words spoken, all in all. Yet, Dean's eyes couldn't hide the apprehension. Having Dad walk out on them must have been a huge blow to a young Dean. And early-twenties-Dean did what he had done every day of his life: show his little brother everything was okay when it obviously was not.

Each reassuring smile stabbed Sam's heart.

His shield against socializing was empty by then. Needing a break from worried looks, he got up to refill his mug. The bitter aroma was a blessing, such that he didn't notice Jo entered the kitchen.

"Good m-"

Panic gripped Sam's throat as blood pumped furiously through his veins and his fingers lost their grip on his mug.

SMASH.

That was not Jo.

"Long time no see, Sam," greeted Lucifer.

Sam shook his head frenetically.

"No," he muttered. On reflex he pressed on his left hand. His scar-less left hand.

"Aww, someone doesn't want to play?" mocked Lucifer, walking pass Sam with his arms wide. He took Sam's fork and held it in front of Dean's eyes. "Maybe Dean would like to have some fun. What's that, Dean? You can't wait to see what I got planned?"

Scratching his hand wasn't working.

"Sam," called Dean, "everything okay?"

Lucifer gave him a thumbs-up and pulled back his arm to swing.

"NO!" yelled Sam. He dived over the counter to reach the knife on the cutting board. He needed Lucifer gone before he began to question reality, before he wasn't allowed to sleep anymore.

He needed his scar.

Without hesitation, Sam slashed his left palm and pressed on the bleeding wound.

"Sam!" was everyone's horrified yell.

Dean was by his side in a flash. He wrapped Sam's wrists in one hand and the kitchen knife in the other. No sooner Sam's fingers kissed goodbye the handle it was thrown in the sink.

Dean shook Sam still holding his wrists.

"What the hell, Sam?!" he demanded in hysterics. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"

But Sam only had eyes to watch Lucifer disappear over Dean's shoulder.

It wasn't real.

His hallucinations were back, but at the moment it was enough knowing it was not real.


Dean did not say anything else stitching him up. He took the first aid kit from a solemn Ellen with a nod and set to work. They were left alone in the den after that under the guise of cleaning up the kitchen. Sam thought he caught a glimpse of Jo coming down the stairs, but he was not sure.

Sam hung his head. He had not meant to cut deep enough to need stitches, only enough to feel it if he pressed on it.

Dean finished binding a brand new bandage and let his head fall into his hands.

"Dean," sighed Sam.

He did not move.

That was the worst possible reaction. Sam could deal with anger -argue and defend your point. He could deal with disappointment, he had the practice with that. But to leave Dean in uneven footing in unknown land. That just made Sam feel like the lowest of life forms.

Suddenly, Sam felt utterly ridiculous. He was an almost thirty-year-old freaking hunter, and here he was expecting a nineteen-year-old boy to know what to do and take everything in stride. It was a long time coming that Sam maned up and take the weight off his brother's shoulders.

"Dean," he said, "I know all of this is complicated and damn scary, but I swear I have it under control."

The only response was Dean's fingertips gripping his own hair.

"And knowing what I know, I can take care of it. All of it. Maybe you should consider going with Dad and-"

Dean chuckled darkly.

"And what?" he snapped, sitting up straight, at ready for confrontation. "Leave you alone so you can keep everything under control by slicing up yourself and randomly freaking out?!"

Something in Sam's chest stung. He opened his mouth to argue, but Dean beat him to it.

"Seriously, Sam! That's how you solve your problems in the future? By hurting yourself and making the bad guys' job easier for them? Jesus!"

Dean began pacing in front of the couch. He was pissed, which shouldn't feel like an improvement.

"When the situation calls for it, yeah," said Sam in an even voice.

Dean stood still.

"There is no situation ever that justifies that," he growled, pointing a to Sam's face. "you hear? No situation. Zero. Nein."

Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Like it or no, life's a little more complicated than that."

He could almost see smoke coming out of Dean's ears.

"Fine," snapped Dean, taking a seat on the coffee table with arms crossed. "Explain to me what's oh, so complicated you have to slice your hand open."

Sam wanted to tell him, wanted big brother to make it all better somehow or to say it would be alright. That was what he was good at, hide from ugly reality behind Dean's reassurances.

"I'll tell you, all of you, it's part of the story," said Sam. He needed away before he pilled up more reasons to stress on his brother's back.

"There's more?!"

Sam shut his eyes. None of it was going well.

"Yes," he sighed, "and I'll explain when-"

"You'll explain now."

"Dean," appealed Sam.

"No," snarled Dean, "my little brother is playing tic-tac-toe on his skin. I don't care about apocalypse part two right now, but you're going to tell me what your little episode back there was about."

Sam rummaged his brain for something that could delay the answer.

"Might as well, son," said Bobby, coming from the kitchen, the rest of the adults behind him. The man gulped a few times and sat next to him.

Sam was reminded Dean wasn't the only one taking more than he could handle from him. The first time around the bigger cause costed him his legs, his friends, his house and at last, his life. The man had been a second father -arguably a first- who never failed either of them no matter what.

And now Sam had gone and upset him, too. He was on a roll.

"Fine," said Sam once everyone was settled. "I think I've mentioned how time's different in Hell. Well," -Sam took a deep breath- "let's just say I was in the cage for a long time."

Sam shook his head at Dean before he could ask. After a century time began to blur.

"I was there long enough to not come out exactly right."

"With Lucifer and Michael?" asked Pastor Jim. Bobby flinched. Dean clenched his fists. They clearly hadn't considered the implications of jumping in the cage beyond technically dying.

"Yeah," nodded Sam. "Well, Michael pretty much left us alone. Anyway, when I, my soul got out, Death built a wall in my mind to keep the memories out of reach."

"And your time adventure cracked this wall?" said Caleb. A humor-free tone definitely was not something that belong in him.

"No," said Sam. "It broke down over a year ago." -he could have sworn he saw sympathy in Rufu's face for a second there- "After that I started getting this hallucinations a-about Lucifer and the cage, and sometimes they're too much, okay?"

"But you haven't had any since coming here," said Ellen, running her hands around her knees, "that's good, right?"

"I'm not supposed to have them at all anymore."

Silence fell for a moment.

"Cas managed to make all the crazy go away," continued Sam. "I hadn't had a problem since. Until today, that's it."

"What's with the whole knife show, then?" said Dean. He pushed out his lower jaw, a tick probably older than Sam.

"I found out that pain made them go away temporarily."

"You're not doing that anymore," ordered Dean.

"We'll find another way," confirmed Bobby.

"I know you mean well," laughed Sam humorlessly, "but you're not the ones who have to see him every damn time."

"No, but what happens when one little cut is not enough, eh?" argued Dean. "Are you gonna go deeper? Or you gonna resort to something more dangerous?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Last time I almost died because they got so bad I couldn't sleep for weeks!"

"I think it's best if all of us take a break," proposed Pastor Jim.

"No, might as well finish the story now," said Sam.


"Wow," said Caleb, "I always knew corporations were full of dicks, but this is another level."

Sam gave him a lopsided grin.

"So, everything's fully over for you? In your time, I mean," asked Pastor Jim.

"Yeah, I guess." He wasn't sure when he would stop having nightmares, or when he would stop looking over his shoulder every two seconds, though. In a way, once you start, it never truly ends.

"You keep hunting?" said Rufus. Old man was already thinking about retirement, most likely.

Sam looked down and shook his head. He was secretly glad John wasn't there to hear that part. After the actual apocalypse, not hunting was the worst betrayal in his eyes. Just another item crossed off his checklist of disappointments.

Dean hunched forward to grip his knees. Sam could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

Before Hell, Dean's coping mechanism of choice was motherhenning the shit out of his kid brother. Sam, being the independence-seeker he was, usually fought it. Except when there was no other option to help his brother.

Sam fixed his sight on a random point on the wall. As planned, everyone turned to make sure no hallucination materialized behind them, somehow. In a swift movement, he undid the bandage. As Dean's gaze returned to his little brother, Sam pulled a pathetic expression and lifted his injured hand.

The response was immediate. Dean was again focused, in control.

"That means you finally got your Apple-pie normal life?" he said, re-wrapping the bandage.

Sam flinched. He hoped they blamed his wound. Thoughts of Amelia still hurt his heart.

"Sort of," he told the ground. "I live in a cabin and drive around sometimes."

Dean's hand landed on his shoulder. He always knew when Sam hid his sadness.

"You mean all alone?" said Caleb.

Sam shrugged. He did not feel like talking anymore.

"Why not ask for help, hon?" said Ellen. Her eyes were wet and her right hand rested in her chest.

"To who?"

"Uh, to any of us, dummy," smiled Caleb. As if it was the most obvious thing to do.

Sam sighed and lowered his head. He almost heard Caleb's smile fall off. All of them were smart enough to get the message.

"All of us?" said Ellen. Her voice shook, bringing memories of the last time they met.

Sam nodded.

"Even...?"

Sam knew perfectly well who she meant. The currently safe thirteen-year-old Jo, who had no idea her life would be cut short much too early.

Hesitatingly, Sam nodded. He could only imagine what she was feeling. Or any of them for the matter. He still expected at least one of them to call it quits before getting involved. Not that he would blamed them.

There was always plan B: going at it alone.

Bobby clapped his hands and stood up.

"Well, if you ladies are done weeping into your handkerchiefs, I think we have work to do," he said, adjusting his cap.

One by one, they straightened up. Determination burned behind their eyes. Except Dean, who did not need the convincing in the first place. He probably could not conceive the idea of not protecting his brother, even if it was from the Devil himself. The idea entered Sam, that he was taking advantage of his brother's current naivety. Knowing and living through the end of the world was different, after all.

"We'll need to learn the sigils you mention," said Rufus as he stood up.

"And we better start drawing a plan," said Pastor Jim.

Their confidence boosted up his own. Maybe it would turn out okay this time.


Sam took two beers out of the fridge around midnight. He couldn't help the mild rush of adrenaline at the thought of being caught. As if he really was an unruly teenager. It did not help he didn't dare taking them while everyone else was still awake.

He knew alcohol was not the best thing for a growing body, but Goddammit if it wasn't a trying day. Weeks. Years, even. He was entitled to a little forget-me juice.

As expected, Dean's silhouette waited up on his couch. He furrowed his eyes at the bottles, but accepted one without a word. Sam sat down at his side. Both sipped in silence under the moonlight that reached them from the window. If he closed his eyes, he could have been stargazing on the Impala's trunk. When was the last time Sam had stopped to look at the stars? Or stopped to do something more than survive?

The atmosphere morphed into uncertainty.

Sam drank a long gulp of beer. The bitterness down his throat prepared his courage to answer Dean's inevitable questions.

"So," said Dean, "who's Adam?"

Of all the questions, that was not one Sam had considered to keep his brother up at night. Nonetheless, honesty was the best policy, as proven numerous occasions. So, Sam promised himself, no more lies between them.

"Our half-brother."

Dean fumbled with his bottle.

"Excuse me, what?" he exclaimed.

Sam nodded. Anger should be rearing its head soon.

"He's dad's eight-year-old son."

The silence turned eerie. The calm before the storm. Dean put his empty bottle forcefully on the coffee table.

"How could he?!" he growled, standing with his fists clenched. "How could he keep something like that from us? How could he-" He cut himself off to focus on pacing.

Sam kept sipping his beer calmly. While Dean deserved to feel whatever the Hell he wanted to feel, Sam could only regret that Adam suffered the consequences of a war that was not his own.

"All this time he kept it from us! Kept what he knew about Yellow Eyes and kept his secret son!," Dean threw his fists in the air, "What the hell?!"

Sam took a deep breath.

"Dean, I know it sucks-"

Dean's head whirled around to glare at him.

"How are you not mad? How-?"

"Because I've had years to come to term with it, okay? And it wasn't like there was someone left to be angry at by the time we found out," interrupted Sam.

Dean sat down and put his head on his hands.

"I just can't believe it," he whispered.

Sam clasped his shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. He was still marveled at how quickly he had single handedly destroyed everything his big brother knew. In less than a week Dean lost his father, their stability, his beliefs, essentially his little brother and his image of their father.

Sam idly wondered if he would ever stop screwing up everybody's lives.


Sam waited two hours after Dean's first snore to make sure.

He put on his shoes swung his duffel over his shoulder. He refused to cause his brother any more distress.

He listened for creaks or shuffles every three steps. Once out the front door, he ran. It felt good to run away from everything. As if his problems could not catch him. Two minutes of running down the highway with no warm-up or stretching, had his thighs threatening to cramp.

Content in the knowledge that he had a few more hours before anyone noticed his absence, he slowed down.

Handling his problems on his own was what he should have done to begin with. The only reason he had not was his selfishness. He missed his brother, his father, Bobby and his friends too much to resist the temptation of seeing them. So far, he only succeeded in upsetting and burdening them with trouble that was meant for himself, the boy with the demon blood. Too far gone to be saved, in the words of his father.

A passing car parked in front of him.

Sam's senses went haywire. He fished out his pocket knife and waited for the guy to make the first move.

The driver's door opened. A tall figure came out and hurried towards him.

"Sam!" called Dean.

Sam lost his grip on the knife.

"Dean?"

Dean held him by the shoulders, looking him up and down. When he was satisfied there was no damage, he drew Sam in a tight hug.

"What the hell, Sam?" he said, his voice shaking. "What are you doing?"

Sam returned the hug, just in case it was the last one.

"I'm sorry, but this was a mistake," he said. "It's better for everyone if I do this alone, like I should have in the first place."

Dean pushed him at arm's length.

"Bullshit!" he snapped, looking into his eyes. "This isn't about the greater good, Sam. This is you feeling embarrassed and guilty. And guess what, Dad's reaction's not your fault, the hallucinations are not your fault. And even if I believed for a second that the whole apocalypse business was entirely your fault, you're trying to make it right. And I'm sure that if we work together, we can beat this thing's ass."

Sam shook his head.

"Dad's right," he said as he lowered his eyes. "the demon blood in me is-"

"Screw what Dad said! Screw Dad all together! We don't need him, we never have."

Dean tilted Sam's chin up. When their eyes met, Sam could see how much it pained his brother to admit that and how much he meant it.

"Forget about him and all the other dicks out there. We got the Impala, we got you and me, we're gonna be just fine, little brother."

Sam's smile quivered. Some things never changed.

"You and me against the world?" he said.

"Just you and me against the world," confirmed Dean, giving him a quick hug. "Ready to go back to bed, now?"