Chapter Four: Back to Normal?
(This scene takes place right after "Phantom Traveler")
"We had no idea what we were dealing with!" Sam's exclamation was the fifth he had made since they left the airport and he had convinced Dean to head directly to Blue Earth.
"We got rid of it," Dean said. Even though he was taking Sam exactly where he wanted to go. "You found the exorcism and it worked and everyone was fine."
Sam just shook his head and stared out the window. It wasn't enough. Whatever they did, it was never enough. Sometimes, it felt like the old days. Sometimes, it felt like they had never been separated. They were focused on the hunt, they go the job done, they saved lives.
Other times, like today, it's like Sam wasn't here at all. Part of him was still back in sunny California. Part of him was still surprised that life was unfair, that some monsters couldn't be stopped.
Dean had long ago accepted that some questions could not be answered. He had accepted that life wasn't fair, and never would be. Sure, he wanted better for his brother, but he couldn't make it happen. All he could do was keep him safe.
Which wasn't easy, when Sam insisted in running headlong at any danger that came their way.
"We need to know more, Dean," Sam insisted.
Dean couldn't argue, and neither did Pastor Jim when they showed up on his doorstep long after the parish had closed for the night. Jim welcomed them in and sat them down with a stack of books all yellowed with age and worn from frequent use.
Sam ran his hands over the tomes, an eager fire burning in his eyes. "Is this everything?"
"Yes." The lie fell so smoothly from Jim's tongue, Dean wouldn't have recognized it if he didn't know better.
He had been five the first time they had come here. His head barely reached John's belt, and he staggered under Sam's weight. But he held his brother tight and followed his father down into the must basement where the Pastor kept the other books. The books even hunters didn't think belonged out in the open on display.
Dean remembered how his father had hunched over the yellowing pages. He fed Sam his bottle and craned his neck to see a picture of a man, face contorted in horror, entrails spilling out of his guts. Little Dean didn't close his eyes, didn't turn away. He stared at the dark images and strange symbols, and then looked up at his father.
John's eyes shone with the light of victory. "No way to kill a demon? It's all right here. This is a way to turn the tables on them, harness their power."
"That's witchcraft, John. There are ways to kill a demon, and then there are ways to become just like one. Witches harness demon power, might even claim they can make a kill. But don't believe for a second that it's revenge. Don't believe for a moment that the demons aren't dancing with glee every time witch casts a spell. They love pain and chaos, and that is all that book can show you. They'll happily sacrifice one of their own to make a human carry out their dark purposes."
"I'd never serve them. I'd use this to-"
"The only way to use what you find in that book is to serve them, John. I don't keep that as a how-to manual. It's so I know what I'm up against when I go after a witch. Nothing more." Jim stepped between
Dean turned away from Sam, bent over the books, and stared at the door toward the basement. He hadn't thought about that night for years. It was lost in the shuffle, one of a string of places and people they had visited while they hunted. Strange, what the right time and the right trigger could bring back.
Dad knew. Dad knew it was a demon all along. All these years, he hadn't been looking for the thing that killed their mother. He had been looking for a way to kill it.
Jim followed Dean's gaze to the door and raised his eyebrows questioningly. Do you want to show him the rest?
Dean looked away. No. Even in the middle of the desperate quest, even in those first few dark years after they lost Mom, John had the sense to stay off of that path. But Dean wasn't so sure Sam would make the same choice.
He leaned over the stack of books and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "There's a lot here, Sam."
"Yeah." Sam's fingers drummed against the pages. He stared at the words, but he wasn't reading anymore. "Yeah, all of this has been here this whole time. Do you think its odd, Dean? I mean, Dad insisted that we learn everything he knew. Everything about ghosts, about werewolves. We came to visit Pastor Jim all the time, but we never once learned about demons." Sam looked up, his eyes narrowed on Pastor Jim. "Why is that?"
"Your father taught you about the most common dangers. The things you would run into most often." Jim's answer was smooth, no hesitation. "Demons are rare. There are only one or two known cases of possession in a year."
"We've had two in just a few months," Sam said.
Jim nodded. "Yes. Very unusual. Has anything else unusual happened, Sam?"
Sam head snapped down to stare at the books again. Yes. There was something else. Something Sam still didn't want to talk about.
That was what worried Dean the most. Sam talked about everything. What would make him keep silent?
"No. Nothing else." Sam gathered up the books, scooping them into a bag which he slung over his shoulder. He shook Jim's hand and thanked him for the help, and then he was out the door, head bowed, his secret still festering inside.
Which left Dean and Jim alone for one brief moment. Dean fixed the Pastor with his best imitation of his father's glare. There were too many secrets here, and Dean didn't like it, not one bit. "Dad knew it was a demon all along."
Jim nodded. "Yes."
"What else did he know? What else do I need to know?"
Jim rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes sad. "I'm sorry, Dean. John always demanded information, but he never traded in kind. He never told me if he learned anything else."
Dean nodded, accepting the answer. There was nothing more he could learn here. If he wanted answers, Dean would have to find his father.
Jim squeezed his shoulder tight. "Be careful, Dean. Messing with demons-" Jim shook his head. "No one ever wins."
o0o
Five months. Jessica swiped a red marker across another day on the calendar. She had filled four pages with her little countdown.
Recover was a long process. Leaving the hospital had been but the first step. There followed regular doctor visits and therapy. She had had two surgeries, and more therapy. Jenna had thrown her a small party when the last of her bandages finally came off, complete with confetti and fizzy drinks. Mom had taken her to the wig store to find something nice to cover up the scarred patches of skin where her hair would never grow again. Jessica worked every day with her weights and resistance bands, rebuilding muscle that had been damaged by the fire.
A black circle marked the date two weeks from now. The date they had all been aiming for. The date she could enroll in Fall classes at Stanford.
Jessica turned back to the task in front of her. Pancakes bubbled on the griddle, and she dropped fresh blueberries into each before sliding the spatula underneath to flip them in one smooth move. Her shoulder twinged. The therapist said she would likely always have pain there. But her range of motion was back. Or at least as good as it would ever be.
It was time.
Jessica set the giant stack of pancakes on the table. Plates were already laid out, accompanied by butter, syrup and orange juice. One yellow lily sat in a crystal vase at the center of the spread. It was her last gift, the only thing she could leave them with. They had helped her so much, thinking they were getting her ready to go back to school. Jessica had never stopped feeling guilty for withholding her true intentions. When she stopped calling Sam, they assumed she had let him go.
Blueberry pancakes had been Sam's favorite. Jessica had not eaten them since he left.
Her bag already sat by the door, packed with the few essentials she would need for her journey. She didn't know where he had gone or where he was now, but she knew where she had to start.
But first, breakfast. First, she had to break her parents' hearts.
o0o
(This bit takes place at the end of the Season One episode "Skin")
"So this is what you do, you and your brother, you hunt down these kinds of things?" Becky was so calm as she said the words, more curious than concerned. She had been kidnapped, seen a creature take her face, and she was ok. She wasn't hiding under the bed or trying to run away screaming. She had taken it all in stride, and although she looked at Sam with new eyes, she didn't push him away.
Becky had been furious when they first arrived, unannounced, to try to help solve Zach's case. It had taken some convincing to stop her from calling Jess.
She's still waiting to hear from you, Sam.
Her words at the time had been tipped with venom, but now Becky's tone held no blame. "That's why you won't talk to Jessica. She doesn't know."
Sam shook his head. "Do you think she'd believe me if I tried to tell her?" He knew from experience that physical proof was necessary. It was as good an excuse as any.
Becky nodded, accepting this line of reasoning. But she didn't stop there. "This all has something to do with that fire, doesn't it?"
"Yeah." Sam looked down at his toes. Seeing Becky made him ache for Jessica, and suddenly the urge to be back with her was too strong. He wanted nothing more than to jump in the car and tell Dean to drive them back to California.
Except that Jessica was still alive because he was here, far from her, hunting.
"I know what caused the fire, but I don't know how to catch it yet." He had scoured every book he could find on demons, but none held the answers he wanted. He couldn't summon the demon responsible without its name. He couldn't kill it, only send it back to hell. That would stop it for a little while, but it could always crawl back out to try again.
Not one book mentioned burning women on the ceiling.
It made no sense, and the unsolved puzzle tore at Sam's thoughts day and night, shredding his confidence and his hope until he had little left but his anger.
Was that what they wanted?
Sam bit his tongue to stop the frustrations from spilling into Becky's waiting ears. She didn't need to know all of this. She was safe, and she would stay that way, tucked away in her nice home with her rich parents and a Stanford education to take her anywhere she wanted to go.
This small incident wouldn't change her life a bit.
The realization set Sam back a step, and he raised his eyes to Becky's face again. She had seen the supernatural, and she was fine. She would carry on with her life just as before.
Sam had always been so afraid to tell anyone, to let anyone know his secret. As if it would taint them, change them in some way. Certainly it would change how they say him.
They would push him away, try to hide from this darkness in his life.
But Becky's eyes held only admiration and thanks. She was still his friend. She didn't shrink away.
Would Jessica do the same?
I should have told her.
In the end, he hadn't trusted her. Hadn't trusted that the bond between them was stronger than this secret. Hadn't trusted that she could handle this knowledge. He had wanted to protect her, or so he had told himself. But no, that wasn't true. It was himself he had been protecting.
He didn't want to face the stares, the awkwardness that settled in when people knew how different he truly was. It had become such a habit, he hadn't thought to break it. Hadn't thought that now, with good friends who had known him for a few years, things might be different.
That he could trust his friends. Trust Jessica to see him as a person first, and a hunter second.
Was it too late to find out?
"You should call her, Sam. Jessica is so mad you left the way you did, but she still cares about you. She deserves to know you're ok. And-she deserves to know what you do."
Sam looked away again. "I miss her so much. I miss all of you guys."
Becky squeezed his hand. "We're still here if you need us, Sam. Stay in touch, ok?"
Sam shook his head. "No. This thing that set the fire, I have to deal with it before I can do anything else. It's more dangerous than anything I know, way more dangerous than the shapeshifter we killed here. You don't want to be anywhere near that."
Becky considered him for a moment, then nodded. "Ok. Before you ask, the answer is no. I won't call Jess. This needs to come from you. But Sam, don't wait too long."
Too long. It had been nearly four months already. An entire semester had passed. How long until Jess moved on? Found someone else? Had he already lost her?
She was a live, that was all that mattered. She would be alive as long as she stayed far away from Sam. He let Becky wrap him in a final hug and settled in the car next to his brother. He pulled a book on demons from the back seat and began to read.
When they met up with this thing again, Sam was going to be ready.
o0o
Jessica stood in front of the hotel room door. The number matched the one on the small slip of paper Pastor Jim had given her. She was in the right place, but her feet were frozen to the pavement.
Memories rushed over Jessica in a wave. The shock of seeing her friend's eyes turn black. The invisible force that dragged her up the wall and pinned her to the ceiling. The sharp pain in her abdomen. The heat.
She drew in a deep breath, as the counselor had taught her, and let it out with a long, slow count to ten. The world came back into focus. She was in a parking lot, not her old bedroom. It was mid-afternoon, no late evening. Jessica placed her hand on her belly, then touched the scar on her scalp.
Please don't go.
The words had come from her mother first. Far from being angry that Jessica had not spoken of her plans before, there was only fear in Sandy's eyes. Fear that her daughter would be hurt again.
You don't have to do this alone.
This had come from her father, and Jessica had no doubt he meant it. He would retire on the spot and drive her wherever she wanted to go. If only she would let him come with her.
I have to do this, and I have to do it alone.
She had been so sure of herself when she said those words. It had felt so right at the time. Now, all she wanted has her parents standing shoulder-to-shoulder behind her.
Why?
Mom had asked, but Dad seconded the question with his eyes. Even though they both knew the answer.
Because I love him.
She didn't have to be here. She could turn around, get back in her car, and go back home. Her parents would welcome her with open arms. It wasn't too late to enroll in school again. Her friends would be happy to see her, several had even offered to share an apartment. There was nothing keeping her here. Nothing except her own stupid heart, which quaked as it thudded in her chest.
Jessica swallowed hard and reached out to knock on the door.
She heard footsteps on the other side, felt the soft vibration as someone pressed their eye to the spy hole. Jessica kept her breath slow and made her face stay motionless, expressionless. She couldn't manage a smile. Not for him.
After a moment of silence, Jessica knocked again. There was a muffled moan on the other side. "No, not you. No, not now."
Jessica leaned closer. "Brady? I know you're there. Please answer me. I know what happened. I understand that it wasn't you."
Pastor Jim had assured her that Brady understood that, too. He hadn't at first, had been convinced that he had committed the actions he remembered his hands taking. That was why Brady was still here. He hadn't been injured physically, but his recovery was going to be a longer, harder road than the one Jessica had traversed.
The door popped open a crack, but Jessica had to nudge it wide enough to see what was happening. Brady was bent double, hands on his knees, taking deep, shaking breaths.
A panic attack. Her presence had triggered a panic attack in him.
"Easy, easy." Jessica kept her voice soft, her tone gentle. "It's ok. You're fine. That nasty demon is gone and he won't be back. You're ok. You're ok."
Slowly, Brady's breathing returned to normal. He straightened, unfolding to look Jess in the eye. His expression was haunted. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Somehow, being the soothing presence for another person had settled Jessica's nerves entirely. She had never felt calmer.
Brady stared at her for a moment, then asked, his voice rasping, "Why are you here?"
"We needed to see each other." The counselor had talked about finding closure. It seemed like a safe place to start. She didn't want to set him off again. "I needed to see that you are you again."
Brady bowed his head, accepting this answer. "I'm me. I would never-I'm so sorry for what happened." He touched his hand to his forehead, mirroring the placement of her worst scars.
"I know. I-" She hadn't come here for him. She hadn't wanted to see him at all, really. But now that she was here, she remembered that they were friends. That she had once cared what happened to him. And, she realized, she still did. "How have you been? Pastor Jim says you've been here for over a month."
Brady's expression narrowed. "I went to the counselor he recommended first. Good thing your dad told me to come here or else I would have been locked up by now…" Brady trailed off. "Part of me wanted to be locked up. It helped for a little while, talking it out with the counselor. But it came to a point I needed more. So here I am." Brady gestured at the motel. "Here as Pastor Jim's PTSD camp. All the lost souls who have seen creep crap and can't handle it wind up here."
"Do you remember it?" Jessica hated to ask, but she needed to know. It was why she had come. "Do you remember what it wanted? Why it did what it did? Do you know anything about its plans?"
Brady looked up and focused on her for the first time. "You're here for him, aren't you?"
Jessica nodded sadly.
Brady's gaze reverted to his knees. "I don't remember everything, and I didn't understand some of it. But I'll tell you what I know." He looked back up at her, and this time there was a hint of a smile in his face. "You look good. I'm glad." Then he took a deep breath, and let his dark story spill into Jessica's waiting ears.
o0o
(This scene takes place immediately before the episode "Home")
Sam's eyes flew open and he drew in a deep, gasping breath. His chest was sore. His entire body was dripping with sweat. His muscles felt rubbery, as if he had over-worked them to the point of exhaustion. Sam clutched the sheets in his hands, his nails biting into the soft fibers.
The motel was dark. A street lamp let a patch of light through the thin curtains that covered the window. It cast an eerie glow across the room. The room shook, as if a pain was passing nearby. The lamp on the stand by the bed wobbled. The chain on the door chimed as it jiggled.
Except there was no train, no subway for miles. They were in a tiny town just off the highway, stopped for the night on their way to who-knew-where.
Dean was already awake and on his feet. He stood between the bed, gun out, ready to shoot. But he shifted from side to side, his aim moving across the room, because there was nothing to shoot at.
"Sam?" Dean's tone was tense. "You ok?"
The rattle stopped. The room was still, silent.
"Yeah." Sam drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Just a bad dream."
Dean's gun dropped to his side. Sam couldn't seen his expression in the darkness, but he knew his brother's gaze was fixed on him. "There's more going on here than just a bad dream, Sam."
Sam stared down at the covers, and unclenched his fists. The sheet fell into his lap, and Sam pulled it smooth. The shaking, had it really happened? The world was still now. Maybe it had been part of the dream.
Sam might have been able to convince himself that was true, if Dean wasn't standing over him with a gun. Something had startled his brother.
Something had made the room shake.
The answer was there, staring him in the face, but Sam didn't want to look at it. He wasn't ready to take that step.
Dean settled back on his own bed and tucked his gun under his pillow. "Was it about Jessica again?"
"No. This was something different. Something new." Sam closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his forehead, where a pounding ache hammered at his temples. "This was someone I have never seen before. It felt different. The same way the dreams about Jessica felt different." It felt real. Somehow, Sam was certain that it was real. It might not have happened yet, but it would.
"Tell me what happened," Dean said, his tone remarkably calm.
"There was a woman standing at the window of a house, and there was a fire…"
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