The response regarding skirting canon or writing it in was almost unanimous. Canon fans and new readers both said 'carry on as is' so that's what I'll do. I will however take the suggestion of a couple of people and add the episode each chapter is related to.
This chapter is set in the handy section of empty space (about a month's worth) between 1.19 (Provenance) and 1.20 (Dead Man's Blood). The timeline allows some leeway and I've stretched it to the max.
Repercussions
Sarah stared at the teen lying peacefully unconscious in a bed in pediatrics. The same sight which had been cute in the car was chilling now.
The gash in his arm had been obscene, flesh and muscle split wide and gaping to reveal a bone half cut through. It reminded her of poor Evelyn's throat, just sliced open to the bone. But that had been an elderly lady not expecting any danger. This? This was a Winchester, young maybe and new to the job like her but still… Still not someone she'd expected to even be capable of being hurt like this. When you were a hunter or travelled with hunters… you knew things, right? Things normal people didn't know, making you safer than normal.
Or maybe it just made you think you were.
She'd paid for everything - the emergency surgery and accommodation and drugs barely a dent in her savings - but the surprised and awkward gratitude she'd received for it kind of revealed that the brothers wouldn't have been able to pay for it themselves which brought home another realisation:
Hunting wasn't a paying job.
It had been lost in the thrill of the moment but in hindsight, almost every action the brothers had taken to save lives yesterday had not only been unpaid but also very illegal. The penalty for getting caught hunting was high while the personal reward - besides the warm moral glow of saving lives - was low.
She didn't particularly like to think of herself as some sort of shallow woman who couldn't take a little hardship in her life but… being honest with herself… could she really live like they did? All the time? The motel they'd been staying at had been tacky and smelled funky but they'd been at home there. Like it was normal. She didn't know if they had a home base elsewhere - maybe if they did then it wouldn't be so bad - but they still spent time in places that she just knew she wouldn't be able to stand for long.
She liked showers that didn't give you athlete's foot. She liked sheets that didn't smell of smoke and comforters that had nobody's DNA on them but hers. Come to that, she also liked good quality clothing and makeup and going to the movies. She liked being able to treat herself to something beautiful and have a place to display it. She liked being able to show off her beauty and her brains, and get paid for it.
She didn't know that she had what it took to be a hunter long term and the more she thought about it, the more the giddy excitement of before wore off and the nagging anxiety of making a mistake grew.
Sam didn't want her to join them, she'd gotten that vibe loud and clear. Dean did, but only for his brother's sake. What would that be like? Would she and Sam get a room together, Dean and Harry sharing another? Would they have to arrange time to be alone, assuming they even worked out at all? Would she want to do this if it didn't involve two very attractive men?
The answer made her sigh, partly in annoyance but mostly in relief.
"You're staying." The quiet voice made her jump but she turned to smile at Sam anyway, taking the coffee he offered her.
"Yeah." She agreed, both of them knowing without saying why. "I still want to learn about all this stuff for the next time something like this happens, but… I've thought about it and I don't think I'm really cut out for this as a… career."
Sam smiled a little, keeping his gaze locked on his little brother.
"Yeah." He just murmured, understanding and accepting and a little bitter.
She looked away, glad that Dean was out re-parking the car and took a sip herself. They waited in silence until a doctor came in to brief them.
Thankfully, nobody had really questioned the injury beyond a sort of 'Oh my God, really?' way. The force it would have taken for a knife wound to do so much damage was unusual but everyone had been too busy fixing it to question them much and her presence and corroboration had gone a long way to soothing any suspicions people may have had before they even thought of them.
Sadly, the kid's arm was even more useless than before. He'd torn his shoulder when he'd raised his arm to defend himself and only a fluke of the angle with which the knife hit had prevented his nerves from being severed and his hand rendered entirely unusable. As it was, the kid would be healing for months and would have to wait on a proper cast till the flesh wound closed completely. All that and the kid would be bouncing from one fleapit motel to another.
Yeah. She'd made the right choice.
Repercussions
Harry stared down at his arm as Sam said goodbye to Sarah and Dean turned the backseat of his car into a nest of blankets and pillows. Cushions, stolen from somewhere, filled half the footwell already so that when Harry lay down his ruined arm would be supported.
No-one had asked him to. Dean was just doing it. For him.
He swallowed back something that felt like tears, or maybe anger. It was… hard to separate them sometimes. His emotions were out of whack. Absolutely absent one day, hypersensitive or irrational or improper another. It was like ever since that day, everything was just so muddled. Warped. Inside and out.
He hated that no-one from the Wizarding World had come to see if he was okay, let alone stop it from happening in the first place. He hadn't even gotten a letter. He just burned sometimes, wanted to shout and curse every adult supposedly looking out for him, every Professor at Hogwarts, his own Godfather - everyone. When he'd found out about his biological father he'd swung between hatred and hope. Hating that his mother had had an affair, that this Muggle had been complicit in it. He'd hated him for sullying the memory of his mother but yet hadn't been able to smother the old dream of someone finding him and claiming him as family. Of being there for him in a way the Dursleys never had.
But his father had come. Had promised to look out for him.
Had then dumped him the first chance he could, on half-brothers much older than him and who had no interest in a weedy little tagalong. Sam tried to be polite about it but Dean…
Dean had resented him, he thought, and Harry had resented him right back. Resented them both. He hadn't asked to be here! He didn't want to be here, any more than they did. He was baggage, needs taken care of dutifully but unwanted and otherwise unattended to.
Except… maybe that wasn't quite fair. He hadn't been with them for very long yet and Dean… he'd thawed a bit, hadn't he? He'd been… nice lately. Or at least less dismissive. He'd shown him things, weapons and talismans and exotic tools of a trade that he, Harry, was finally starting to believe really might exist.
A flash of memory, of a razor blade slicing through his arm as easy as it sliced through the air, caught him cold. He shuddered and refocused his attention as his arm ached in memory. He had a partial cast on, jury-rigged to run along the undamaged part of his arm that curled around his wrist and thumb to keep the bones in position. In the open section, his arm was swollen under stick-on bandages covering dark stitches. Something yellow-brown stained the skin around it, part of the rigorous Muggle procedure of preventing infection.
He wanted a potion. He wanted a wave of a wand to fix it. Failing that, the ability to hold his own wand would be nice right now but he couldn't even clench his hand anymore. He couldn't grip a pen even if he had somewhere to send a letter. He didn't have a phone number to call. He was helpless, dependant on his Muggle family, at least until Wizards found him. Assuming they were even looking.
"There you go Kiddo. Wrap it up, Sammy! I wanna get out of here before all the soccer moms start clogging the roads." So saying, the eldest Winchester climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door, the engine starting a second later. Sam rolled his eyes and, after an awkward hesitation, hugged Sarah.
Harry looked at the nest waiting for him in the car.
It was a chilly day, rain threatening and wind as wet as it was strong.
Dean turned the heater on and cranked it.
He gave in, crawling gingerly into the car through the open back door and toeing off his shoes into the half-empty footwell. Without even looking, Dean reached back and closed the door behind him.
A curl of warm air brushed his cheek. The blankets under his hands were soft and the pillow surprisingly fresh-smelling. Between them, they settled his medicated nausea and supported the exhaustion tugging at his body.
Sam opened the passenger door and swung into the car as Harry rolled himself into a comfortable position, damaged arm extended and weight off his shoulder. Dimly, he heard/felt the door shut and the car crawl out of the lot, gravel crackling under its tyres.
Then he was gone, asleep so deeply no pain could find him.
Sam glanced back at the first soft snuffle then slid a teasing, fond look at his elder brother who steadfastly ignored him.
"I think I found something in Nebraska." He let it go. "A rail tunnel, decommissioned 1982, no tracks left but a recent death with blunt force trauma consistent with impact at speed and dismemberment and no forensic evidence to explain the splatter."
Dean checked his blind spot and changed lanes, heading for the interstate.
"Nebraska. Oh, yeah." He grinned.
Repercussions
They were on a narrow road in Penyslvania, bordered by farms and forests and lots of really large houses when he woke up. His arm hurt, but not too bad. For the most part he was just comfortable and… relaxed. It felt like forever since he'd been so content.
The car rumbled under his body like a purring giant cat and dappled sun played over his face as outside trees broke it up over and over. In the front seat, Sam and Dean were talking but in low voices that made it plain they hadn't forgotten him - because they were being considerate of him sleeping.
It was nice.
He took the time and probably-temporary peace of mind to think over the last few days. He kind of cringed at his own behaviour, he'd been as bad as Dudley in a sulk. Well, maybe not that bad, but still. He was kind of ashamed of himself.
Especially since maybe - just maybe - his brothers might actually be right. About violent ghosts, at least. And the painting being haunted, although their assumption-heavy approach had led to them getting the fine details wrong and Harry himself a fresh trip to the hospital.
Maybe… maybe things were just different in America. Hadn't Seamus once said something about the Fae back home being more dangerous than in Scotland? And maybe… maybe Hogwarts or the Professors didn't allow ghosts to stay if they were dangerous. He'd only ever met them at school before, not out in the world. Dean and Sam and John… they talked about this stuff like it was everyday, everywhere and always out to get you.
The ghost who'd tried to kill him hadn't looked like any at Hogwarts, that was for sure. Solid, corpse-pale and malicious, the only thing she'd had in common was a radiating bone-deep coldness.
"Dude, I'm telling you: Witches are nothing but trouble!" Dean's voice rose as he argued and Harry froze, turning his attention to them but keeping his eyes shut. Sam shushed his brother but replied only a little more quietly.
"Dean, I'm telling you: Stacey was a perfectly nice girl. She was all new-age crystals and rooms of power and burning sage - for years. She showed me some stuff and it's all just herbs and positive energy. She swears by it, but it's harmless - and she's a big believer in bad things coming back on you, so."
"She make hex bags?"
"Not hex bags, but-"
"Oh, but."
"Dean. They were more like… charm bags. Placebos. Something to draw specific types of energy, you know; good luck, healing, peaceful sleep… that sort of thing."
"Yeah, but draw it from where, Sammy? Some poor shmuck was probably being a little less lucky, a little less healthy- wait, you didn't ever..?"
"No, Dean, of course not. But not just because… I mean. Honestly? She kinda weirded me out."
Laughter.
"Dude, shut up." Sam sounded amused. "I'm not saying that witches can't be evil. I'm just saying: They're not all evil."
"No, you're right, some are hacks."
"Dean."
"Nuh-uh, I'm tellin' you Sammy. If any shit actually happens? That takes power and power doesn't come for free. Someone somewhere is gettin' paid and they take payment in blood, not naked dances around an oak tree or whatever. Although…"
"Please stop thinking about naked dancing Dean. Please."
"Killjoy. Anyway, my point stands. If it's a witch? A real one? It's evil. And if it's evil? We kill it."
Contentment fled and all he felt was cold. He must have made some sound or something because the next thing he heard was a shuffle and Sam saying "Harry? You awake? Y'hungry? There's a roadhouse coming up. Dean, pull over."
"Pushy bitch. We need gas anyway."
Harry kept his head down as he shuffled over and sat up, legs in the empty side of the car. His hand shook as he rubbed it over his face and when he dared lift his eyes, Sam was eyeing him in concern.
"Your arm hurt? You're about due for some painkillers. Or - are you cold?"
Harry swallowed and shook his head. Cleared his throat.
"F-fine." He managed, throat tightening again almost instantly. He wished he had his wand. He hadn't dared carry it around with him since Sam had picked it up back in… wherever it had been. The thought of Sam - or worse, Dean - seeing it again and thinking further on it made his guts clench. He'd seen first hand - multiple times - how quickly his Muggle brothers tended to leap to conclusions. He'd seen how ruthless they could be when acting on them.
He felt like a cat in a kennel with two rottweilers. A crippled cat.
Sam studied him with a light frown that turned into a glare as Dean aimed a jab at his ribs. The piercing attention turned away from him, Harry took a moment to breathe.
Maybe he should go. Seriously, just - leave. It didn't matter that he had nowhere to go, that he could barely even function let alone defend himself. Anything had to be safer than living with two men who spoke so casually of killing people like him simply for existing. He could get his wand and just cast something - anything -until someone official noticed. The American ministry (or whatever they had) probably didn't have a grudge against him the way the British one did, so even if he got in trouble… it wouldn't be too bad. Right?
The car came to a halt and his brothers exited, bickering over the nutritional value of MnMs and how buying them was a waste of money. Sam pulled his door open for him absently, still scowling at Dean who was backing towards a door with a restroom sign on it and smirking.
Gingerly, he clambered out. His mind - made up just half a second ago - swung right back again. He was being stupid, reacting to fear and nothing else. Unless he dug out his wand and started shouting spells, how could they ever really know what he was? They might find out and come after him some day. That was a whole lot better than the rest of his life right now and until then they could not only protect themselves but-
He stumbled, Sam's massive hand snapping out to gently steady him, as his mind made a new connection.
But… apparently they thought they could protect him too and more to the point… they wanted to.
It was a new thought, a new paradigm. He tilted his head, eyeing his brother as discreetly as he could. Sam was looking around, expression absent but eyes sharp. Watchful. The hand on his elbow was gentle but strong - protective in intent, lethal in capability. For the first time, he took the concept of 'guard' and turned it around to examine it from a new angle. He'd always known them as ineffectual intruders, strangers who restricted his movements and spied on his life. But… Dean had given him a knife. Taught him, or tried to, how to protect himself with any of the many weapons they had in the car. Had been sour and stand-offish but still made him a comfortable nest in the car and played his music quieter and all seemingly of his own accord. Sam had been awkward but attentive, visibly trying even as he was just as visibly discomfited by Harry's very existence let alone presence. His attention could be stifling one second and completely absent the next, caught up in his brother or his laptop or a book but… he always, always, checked if he was hungry or asked after his medicine (even waking him for antibiotics) and made sure his various wounds were taken care of before and after a shower - even if Dean was the one who sometimes actually did it.
If it weren't for the whole 'Hey, aren't witches totally evil, we should kill them' thing, they'd be family he'd be glad to have - despite the awkwardness of being an unknown bastard half-brother and the fear of bringing down on them the same fate as his last family.
He sighed as he sat at the table Sam directed him to, shrugged his shoulders (ow) and nodded to the offer of a hot dog. Sam left to get food - detouring to grab a bag of MnMs - but never letting Harry out of his peripheral vision. For half a second he suddenly really wanted to leave again, imagined himself just slipping outside pretending to get something from the car and just taking off - before he caught himself and scowled fiercely at the tabletop.
Indecision and a seeming inability to just made a decision and stick with it had been plaguing him ever since that day - and it was driving him mad! It had happened in the hospital too, leaving him staring blankly at four different cereals the nurse had offered him, utterly unable to make even such a simple choice. They all felt… important now. Vital. Terrifying in their potential to be chosen wrong and… and nothing. It was all emotion, no reason, a blood-and-bone reaction he struggled to control. His doctor had just said it was to be expected on account of his trauma.
He'd been so angry when the doctor had called it that, like it was just a bad experience he was too weak to shake off. And even if he was right - cereal?! What kind of sense did that make? NONE! But he hadn't been able to make his words work enough to ask about it and anxiety had clutched at his throat when he'd tried so… he'd just let it go and hoped it'd go away.
It seemed to, sometimes. It helped when he didn't really have a choice, like using the shampoo and soap the motel provided, or dressing himself in the morning, but choosing food was always hard and once he'd spent almost twenty minutes after a shower, shivering in the cooling air, trying and failing to decide which towel to use.
It was the same with big decisions. Stay, or go? Both had reasons for them and both seemed starkly obvious choices at different times but then half a second later he'd be second-guessing himself or convincing himself he didn't need to make the decision quite yet…
It was exhausting. And kinda frightening.
He was worried there was something really wrong with him, maybe permanently wrong. Something broken in his brain, snapped under the stress-
"Budge up kiddo, Sam's wingspan makes sharing a side with him downright dangerous." He blinked, automatically moving over a chair as Dean clattered into his space and sat down. The older man radiated heat and the smell of warmed leather and… guns, or something like it. It was increasingly familiar.
A bright yellow bag flew towards them and Dean snatched it out of the air with a victorious crow, tearing it open and digging in immediately. With cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk's, he proffered it to Harry.
"Mmmu munt mum?"
Wordless, Harry shook his head. Dean shrugged and ate some more. Not long later, Sam sat himself down with a sarcastic "no, don't get up" and handed out paper-wrapped food. Harry got a hot dog that had strange yellow stuff on it as well as tomato sauce, Dean got something involving a lot of beef and gravy that he got stuck into with just as much enthusiasm as he had the chocolate and Sam munched sedately into the first of a couple of sandwiches.
Harry tried the hot dog. It wasn't bad.
The three of them ate in relative silence for the next little while, Harry's mind jumping from reminding him that these two men were his brothers, to the notion that that they just might be able to protect themselves as well as him, to their proven track record of bungling things up and going in guns first.
He put his hot dog down and wished he'd asked for a glass of water. A second later, a fresh bottle plonked down in front of him. He glanced up but Dean wasn't looking at him. Sam was giving their mutual brother the evil eye.
"Dude, it's bottled water." Dean eventually muttered. "Untwist your panties already."
Sam just glared some more, then shook his head and reached for the bottle, breaking the seal with a quick twist before returning it.
Harry uncapped it with his one good hand and took a slow sip. The cool water felt good but his shoulder was rapidly shaking off his painkillers and starting to burn.
"Where's your sling?" Sam asked suddenly, face twisting a little in consternation. "Damn, I meant to grab it when we stopped, hang on."
Harry tried to tell him not to bother but his brother was gone before he'd even drawn breath. Dean just shook his head and inspected the sandwiches Sam left behind, eventually taking a huge bite out of one before hiding it under the other.
He grinned at him, brilliant and conspiratorial and Harry smiled back before he could help it. He ducked his head to hide it, especially as Sam got back discovered his violated lunch. His exclamations of disgust made Dean giggle like a little girl and Harry had to fight not to join him.
And yeah. Moments like these, like Dean making him comfortable in the car and Sam fussing over his injury… they made him want to stay despite the risk. Sometimes he felt like it was only a matter of time before he was killed, chased down by the same thing that had murdered the Dursleys, a loose end to be tied up. Until that time, he wanted as many of these moments as he could have.
Repercussions
"Okay," Sam said once they were back on the road and Harry was freshly medicated. The kid's pupils were blown. If the painkillers didn't mean he'd be heading off to sleepy-ville again soon, he'd have bought him a pair of sunglasses at the roadhouse.
"So from what I've found so far, a lot of people have died in this particular tunnel. Way back in the day, local bandits used to tie people to the tracks inside. Between the small dark space and black smoke, train drivers had no chance of seein' em."
"So you're thinkin' this recent dude is connected somehow? Or one of the old vics has just picked now to revisit their death on some random?" Dean asked.
"Could be either." Sam shrugged. "The tunnel's been decommissioned for a long while - it's not impossible that some part of it has just been damaged or fallen to ruin and that's stirred up old ghosts."
"So, could be anything." Dean summarised. "Great."
"We'll know more once we check it out." Sam offered, trying not to get offended. "Right now there's just too many possibilities."
"Yeah, makes sense." Dean offered right back, a lightning-fast look all the apology he'd offer - and all the apology Sam needed. "So, what're we gonna do with gimpy back there?"
Sam glanced in the rearview. Harry was looking forward but his blinks were slower each time and it wouldn't be long before he just passed out where he sat. He twisted around and coaxed the teen to lie down, then pulled his legs up when it seemed the kid would just leave them in the footwell. A careful balancing act later and he had the sling off and the kid's damaged arm carefully extended to minimise stress on both injuries.
He sat back.
"Take him with us?" He asked. "We can't just leave him and he's gonna have to learn the basics sooner or later."
"Yeah." Dean said shortly, not disagreeing but not happy either. When they were kids, he would never have let Sam go on a hunt as injured as Harry was. But, when they were kids, Sam didn't have something actively after him.
"Maybe we should stop hunting." The eldest said after a short silence. Sam stared at him. Feeling it, Dean glared defensively at the road.
"Not forever, but-. Look, Dad's on the trail of the demon, right? And he wants us out of it and safe. Hunting is fine for us, but so long as we keep moving, we're safe. As we can be. With Harry and whatever's after him… maybe hunting on top of that is a stupid idea. Maybe we oughtta hole up somewhere instead, I dunno."
Sam sat back. It… wasn't a bad idea, actually. Like most of Dean's, it wasn't something he immediately wanted to do but… it was actually pretty smart.
"You're probably right." He allowed. "Although holing up somewhere without knowing what might be coming…"
Dean shrugged. Unspoken went the statement that they would know if the kid would actually talk to them.
"This is probably just a salt'n'burn." Sam continued. "We can put him in a circle of salt - outside the tunnel - if we need to. It could be…" His lips pursed. "a learning experience."
Dean slid him a look.
"You've changed your tune."
Sam slid his own right back, with interest.
"No. I haven't. If we could, I'd get Harry out of this life in a heartbeat. He should be in school, Dean. Hell, he should have a regular counsellor and proper medical checkups and not have his injuries made worse by ghosts!" Hearing himself winding up, he sat back and relaxed his shoulders. A glance showed Harry undisturbed. "But, I know we can't right now." He allowed. "And I do want him to be safe, which means learning this stuff. It's just… there's a difference between learning to protect yourself and learning to hunt. You know?"
"…Yeah. Maybe." Dean slotted a cassette in, conversation over.
Repercussions
"…What's with all the tourists?"
The Winchesters stood in a parking lot near the tunnel and stared. A fence separated railway property from the rest of the world but there were a couple of backpackers meandering down the hill towards them and a family up on the ridge over the tunnel taking photos. The Dad looked like he was seriously considering sliding down the side to check out the tunnel itself.
Sam hitched a shoulder in response. Behind them, Harry tried to stretch without pulling anything.
"…I hate empties." One of the backpackers got close enough to be overheard. "Fuckin' muggles."
Jerking in surprise, he hissed as he pulled the stitches in his shoulder. Still, eyes wide, he ignored the pain in favour of the two frowning people approaching them. In hiking boots, shorts and carrying camping gear on their back, they were pretty Muggle-looking themselves. Surely they couldn't be wizards? It couldn't be that easy, could it?
He froze, hopeful and panicked all at once. Should he ask for help? Mention he was a wizard? Maybe just show his wand? But what if he'd just misheard? They really really looked like Muggles, one of them was even frowning down at a a mobile phone more advanced-looking than Sam's. If he was wrong, he'd be breaking the statute of secrecy. But if he was right…
If he was right, his brothers might just shoot all three of them.
That realisation shot ice through his legs and froze his feet to the ground. He eyed his brothers, wondering if a protego would stop a bullet, wondering if he could cast it fast enough - except, no, his wand was in his bag, crap. He hesitated, long painful seconds that saw the backpackers move past them without so much as a glance, one of them replying "Well at least they didn't fill it with poop like that one in Arkansas. Or, heh, remember the micro rolled up in a used condom?"
"I try every day not to."
Then they were gone. Harry stared after them, half his mind demanding he run after them now, the other half howling back just as furiously that doing so would be stupid beyond belief. They probably hadn't even said-
"Muggles." Sam snapped his fingers, turning to Dean. "They're geocachers."
"Gee-oh-what? Wait," Dean added quickly as Sam opened his mouth to explain "nevermind. I don't care. We just need to wait for the Bradies up there to vamoose and then we can scout the place. It looks like a pretty short tunnel from here."
"Around 700 feet." Sam agreed, pulling out his phone. "It's used as an access road now. Supposedly patrolled for trespassers every now and then too. Maybe we shouldn't do this during the day… although, if there is a cache somewhere nearby-" He glanced over at his brother with raised eyebrows. "Local cops are probably used to geocachers wandering off public property."
Dean sighed.
"You're gonna make me learn something, aren't you?" He turned back to the trunk. "Harry, keep a look out. If you see anyone coming, spontaneously stop being mute and tell us."
Sam back-slapped his arm, hard.
"I mean," The eldest Winchester revised without so much as a flicker in his expression, popping the trunk and wedging it open. "Tap on the car or scuff the dirt or something. Whatever." He slammed the trunk closed and came around the side of the car, two objects in hand - one of which he passed off to Harry. It was a long can of salt, top already open.
"Just in case." Dean commented, fiddling with something. A sharp click sounded followed by a sudden high-pitched whine that made both hunters snatch for concealed weapons.
"The hell?"
Both had a hand on a weapon but neither pulled right there in the carpark as they turned slowly around, looking for something.
"No wires." Sam commented randomly. Dean just nodded, frowning. He turned suddenly, facing Harry, and Harry could see that the thing he was holding had tiny little bulbs along the top, half of which were glowing red. Dean stepped closer and another bulb flickered on, then off, then on again. Hazel eyes lifted to his green with scouring intensity. Harry swallowed.
"Harry, come over here a second." Sam beckoned. Harry did so, hearing the machine in Dean's hand quieten a bit as he got further away, then increase again as his brother followed him.
"What are you carrying?" Dean asked suddenly. "Anything in your pockets?"
Mutely, heart pounding in his chest, he shook his head - then the can of salt, as if to say 'just this'.
"Are these... old clothes?" Sam asked delicately. "From back home? Were you wearing them that day..?"
Frowning now, Harry shook his head. What..?
His two elder brothers shared a long look, then;
"Have you seen anything… weird lately?" Sam tried again. "Heard anything? Felt cold suddenly?"
Weird like a comic book bleeding ink under his touch? Weird like his magic going haywire whenever his emotions did? Weird like the painful chill he suffered every time it shifted under his skin? Oh sure, and now I'm just going to tell you about it so you can shoot me.
No thanks.
He shook his head again, eyes falling from theirs to the ground. There was another long silence broken by Dean switching the machine off and shoving it into his jacket.
"Perfect." He groused, stomping off toward the ridge. Sam shook his head and offered Harry a weak smile.
"C'mon, lets get this done. Stay close, okay?" His tallest brother herded him forward. "Let me know if you need a break. There's plenty of time."
Harry edged to the side, keeping his brother inside his field of vision. He didn't know what the looks were about, what the whining machine meant, whether his brothers might just use the tunnel to quietly get rid of him, but… it wasn't like there was much he could do about it.
Grimly wishing he'd stopped the backpackers, he trudged on.
Repercussions
"He down?"
Sam handed his brother a beer and sat across from him at the motel's tiny table.
"Yeah. The painkillers put him out pretty fast. So, what are you thinking? Poltergeist? Haunting? Parasite?"
"Little early to tell. We haven't even researched the vic yet."
"Dean."
Tired eyes lifted to his own.
"I dunno, Sammy. Could be anything. He's used salt with no trouble, so he's not possessed by any kinda spirit. Doesn't mean one might not be followin' him around, though. A parasite won't be shaken without the right ritual - there's a couple in the journal we can try but if they don't work… If it's a 'geist then maybe a banishing spell will get rid of it, but those only move in when a kid is messed up enough to give them an opening. Harry's not only doin' the puberty waltz but has also survived his whole family gettin' murdered in front of him, come close to death himself and has persistent injury and is on heavy medication. Until all that gets cleared up, anything we chase away might just be replaced by something worse. Right now… we're gettin' an EMF reading off'f him, but that's it."
"That's it?" Sam's eyebrows rose. "'No harm no foul'? When has that ever been our motto?"
Dean shrugged and tipped some more beer back.
After a long swallow and a longer pause - clearly deciding whether or not to even answer him - he sighed.
"Since I 'helped' a kid in Colorado clear out their imaginary, dead best friend and a malevolent spirit took its place. I only found out weeks later, after it killed most of her family - before she killed herself to make it stop."
Sam blinked and looked down, one blunt thumb picking at the label of his beer. A foot kicked his under the table, not unkindly. He looked up as Dean stood, wearily getting ready for bed.
"Sometimes 'wait n see' is a valid tactic." His brother yawned. "'Sides, if it were dangerous, Dad would have sorted it already."
Sam looked away, shaking his head. Dean pretended not to see it.
"Get some sleep, Sammy. Got a big day of research ahead of you tomorrow." He grinned at the exasperated expression aimed his way and closed the bathroom door behind him. Alone in the dark, he breathed carefully out.
Sam, for all his Negative Nancy-ing, still tended to look at the world through rose-tinted glasses.
For example, his little brother hadn't even considered the possibility that Harry had spiked the EMF meter of his own accord. That maybe the reason he'd walked away alive from whatever had slaughtered his family was because he'd been the one to do it. It didn't even have to be on purpose - there'd been groups of devil-worshipping or occult-loving kids at every high school he'd ever been to, growing up. The fantasy of power drew certain types of people in like moths to a flame and Harry - a pale, runty kid with the dorkiest glasses in the world - could be a poster boy for all of them. For the most part? Those kids were harmless. Sometimes, though… sometimes they stumbled onto something real and the only way anyone knew was when the body count started rising.
That kind of thing… it left a mark. It left a scar.
Murder always did.
Repercussions
I'm certain that my description of the approach to Belmont tunnel is incorrect but all the pictures I could find only show the entry and exit points of the tunnel. (The parking lot I'm sure is much further away). I only know that it's apparently recently been fenced off but you can get on top of it through private property, which has a geocache hidden on it (although I think that's in a more wooded part?). Speaking of geocaching, I know there's kind of a paradoxical element of them using the term 'Muggle' but it was too awesome to leave out!
Research for this chapter went something like: Decommissioned train tunnels of America, Belmont tunnel, geocaching, access, private property & fencing, snakes of the area and the difference between EMP and EMF. Mistakes are almost guaranteed so please do correct me when you see 'em!
