Darkness Beckons – Interlude

This interlude takes place between Born Under a Bad Sign and before Tall Tales.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from Kripke's world. He is king of Supernatural.


Dean latched the motel room's door behind them. His eyes still felt glued together even after being awake for over an hour. He was so not an early bird. Yet they had to stay in shape and a compromise was in order. Dean was insistent that Sam not go off for an hour or so to run alone in the mornings any more. Bobby's charms might protect them; they might not. But…fitness was vital and they sure didn't have any gym memberships. Hence the compromise. Every other morning, the two Winchesters would get up early and go running before breakfast. The other days, they would go running around sunset right before dinner. Dean had always preferred roadwork in the evenings that they didn't have a job; it helped loosen him up for pool and any other bar games that came up. It seemed to be working out; they hadn't killed each other yet.

Sam was digging in his duffle for his clothes. His rock had beaten Dean's scissors that morning, and he had the shower first. They had a long day of driving ahead of them, and he couldn't take forever in the shower though he wanted to. They had a new job in another town. Sam had read about a professor's bizarre death at Crawford Hall, and they were going to go check it out.

"Don't use all the hot water, Sammy, or we might have an extra long sparring session at noon." Sparring in motel parking lots was right out. Too many possible observers. Too many unwanted questions. When he'd grabbed Sam from Stanford, they'd started with the lunchtime sessions to help Sam get back into practice. They'd never stopped. Sometime around noon each traveling day, an observer might spot a black Impala on the side of the road. They always tried to find a copse of trees or at least moved far enough away from the roadside so a passing driver couldn't see the two men fighting. It helped ease the cramps in backs and legs from sitting on the car's bench seat. Of course, driving sweaty wasn't enjoyable, but their life was full of sacrifices.

"Sure, Dean. I'll leave you enough so your old bones can soak."

The door shut behind Sam in time to deflect the thrown boot. Dean winced as the throw had pulled his left shoulder a bit. The gunshot wound still hurt but there was no way he was going to admit that to Sam. The kid still gave him guilty looks when he thought Dean wasn't looking. When he got his hands on Meg . . . Dean was still so pissed off he couldn't even decide what he'd do to her first. Every night he listened to Sam toss and turn and fantasized about ways he would destroy that demon. No one messed with his little brother and got away with it.

Bobby checked in with them by phone on a regular basis now. Sam didn't know, but Bobby was keeping Dean updated about the search for Steve Wandell's killer. Told as hunting gossip, Dean knew Bobby wanted no confirmation that it had been a possessed Sam. "What I don't know, I can't say," had always been Bobby's good excuse since the boys were younger, and the three Winchesters had stayed with him.

Dean packed his clothes leaving out only what he needed to change into for the next leg of their journey.

SNSNSNSN

In an ugly motel room in the next town, Sam snapped the laptop closed, a satisfied grin on his face. Another job completed. He'd never really explained much about it to Dean. Sam knew his brother would tease him about his geek quotient being exceeded. But it was a real job; not hustling, not credit card scams. His business.

It had begun while Sam was still a freshman at Stanford. Zack's older sister, Rebecca, had been struggling to find information to support her paper's thesis. After listening to her complain, Sam had gone back to his dorm room and spent the night trying to find what had eluded her. He handed her a list of sources and facts the next morning in the cafeteria. Both siblings had been astonished at what Sam had discovered and the speed with which he had found everything. Sam had smiled when they praised his acumen; he refused to explain how he had become so adept at winnowing out facts from fluff. There was no way he'd tell these friends what his childhood topics of research had been.

With very little urging, Zack and Rebecca had convinced him to start a research business. He'd begged new identification from Pastor Jim Murphy, enough to create a legitimate bank account and establish a credit card. This identification was still untouchable for any other reason. Word of mouth spread around Stanford about how "this guy I know of," for a fee, could find information for almost any kind of paper. Sam refused to write the actual papers; he just took the client's thesis and looked for a variety of supporting sources. He charged by the number of citable items he found. E-mail and kept anyone; the university, the police, the Feds, from connecting the business back to him. He hoped. He would be able to withdraw some cash tomorrow for some of their expenses.

He sighed. At least one thing was going right in his life. He wasn't quite under lock and key, but he knew any prolonged absence of his made Dean twitchy. Meg was still out there. Sam fingered the brand on his arm. It no longer ached but it was a constant reminder of what he'd done; what he'd been through. What they'd both been through.

Sam had caught Dean fingering the healing wound in his left shoulder more than once. Sam cringed inwardly. He had shot his brother twice now while possessed. Once in Rockford and once in Duluth. He had no idea how Dean had known it wasn't Sam in control either time. That was another topic they just didn't discuss. One more in a list growing longer day by day. How could Dean ever trust him completely? Once again nights were sleepless for him. Sam lay for hours looking at the wall. He was afraid if he'd shut his eyes, he'd open them again somewhere else. Somewhere new with no memory about the journey or what he had done while getting there.

Sam caught himself beginning to shake. He gripped the chair arms to still his hands. The cold coursing through his body wasn't caused by the air conditioner. It was the nightmare of looking into Dean's eyes and having no control over his own actions. Through his mouth, Meg had demanded Dean keep his promise to their father and to a drunken Sam. Dean had adamantly refused. Only when they were leaving Bobby's did Sam learn what had driven Dean's decision. "He said I'd have to kill you if I can't save you. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to save you." Dean's complete support and faith of Sam was the only thing keeping him together. "Keep Sammy safe" had stopped being an order long ago and had become Dean's mantra. Sam prayed it wouldn't be the death of Dean. If it was, it would be the death of them both.


A/N: I was curious about how the boys stayed in shape and where might Sam have gotten the money in Tall Tales. After running many scenarios through my head, these were the answers I came up with. This was an interlude rather than a chapter to advance the story further. Any thoughts? I'd love to hear them. Please R & R. Many thanks.