He'd called.
Stanford still had his application and scholarship, they were just deferred until next semester. Sam put down the phone with trembling hands, unable to cope with being handed his dreams back so suddenly.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. Sam tried to act normal, be engaged in the banshee hunt they were on, but he could barely get himself to respond when John asked him a question.
"What's up with you, dude?" Dean asked. Just last week, he'd asked if he could drop out of school. If Sam left, Dean would probably follow through on that threat. Unless he came with Sam.
"I, uh, just had a long day."
"Get over it, Sam. You're leading on this hunt." John didn't look up from the laptop.
Sam winced. "I, uh, I'm not sure I should lead."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"I—" Sam hesitated, unsure whether he should admit he'd been slacking off.
"I'll take the lead on this hunt," Dean piped up.
That was even worse. Sam stood, standing over Dean. "No, Dean. That's ridiculous, you're only 17, you can't—"
"Sam." John crossed his arms. "Dean's been hiding behind us long enough. He's ready."
Sam felt sick to his stomach. "No, Dad, this—"
"Sam, c'mon, I can totally handle it." Dean stood, confidence oozing from every pore. "You know I'm ready."
Fear was making everything shaky and nauseating. Sam swallowed, lowering his voice. "Dean, you could get hurt. Taking lead on a hunt isn't . . . we haven't planned for this. I can do it, I was just trying to get out of it."
"I want to," Dean said. "You can't make me hide behind you forever."
Sam swore under his breath, turning for the door.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"Out," Sam snapped. "Before I do something I regret."
His father and brother didn't notice as he snagged his gun, loaded with consecrated iron rounds.
He felt reckless like he never had before. The Stanford logo was burned into his brain. What if he went for it? Could he leave Dean? Dean could come with him, but would he? He'd . . . he'd always loved Dad more than Sam ever had and Dad had loved him more than Sam. What if that love was stronger than his love for Sam?
The banshee was on him without warning. Sam instantly went deaf from her screech, forced to rely on sight alone to track her. He squeezed off a couple shots, but none of them were effective. Sharp fingernails dug into his arm, forcing him to drop his gun. A voice spoke in his head.
"Man child, did you hope to kill me? You know not what you do." There was a scream that seemed to be inside his brain, and Sam lost consciousness.
Sam woke up chained to a radiator, in a somewhat normal looking apartment.
"I am sorry for this. The curse of the banshee is just that—a curse."
Sam frowned. "What are you going to do to me?"
The banshee combed her long hair, humming to herself. "If I do not feed on the voices of others, I die. I do not kill."
Sam narrowed his eyes. He hadn't been paying attention, so he didn't know why they'd be on this hunt if that were the case.
Without warning, the banshee leaned over him, sealing her lips onto his. It was like a pull on his soul, and everything felt empty. It was more than a voice she was taking.
He wasn't sure how long he was chained up. Dean was the one to come busting through the door, gun ready and eyes wild.
"Sammy! Man, you scared the crap out of me! C'mon, Dad's finishing off burning the banshee."
Sam noticed the earplugs in Dean's ears. He pried one of them out with shaking fingers.
"How?" he mouthed.
"Just like the research said, Sammy. Keep your ears plugged, cut out her tongue and then burn her."
He tried to say something, but his voice was gone. Research. His one skill, and he hadn't even done that right. He was a burden on his family. But how could he leave them?
Dean pulled one of Sam's arms over his shoulders. "Celebratory pie?"
Sam tried to smile, but he couldn't.
It took three weeks for his voice to come back.
It took four before he spoke to anyone.
"I don't like it."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, Sam, we need to find Dad, but we can't just ignore this."
"That's not why I don't like it."
Dean turned, making a face at the deep indentation between Sam's eyebrows and his wrinkled forehead. "Your face is going to be stuck like that someday."
"At least it doesn't look like your face." Sam grinned, obviously pleased at getting one-up on Dean for once.
Dean scowled. "Whatever, dude, I'm not the one propositioned by a fifty-year old waitress the other day."
Sam amicably punched Dean on the shoulder. "Fine, you win. We do this hunt, and then we follow Bobby's lead."
Dean looked down at the research in his lap. "So we have pretty much everything. Sixteen year-old, possessed by some kind of demon, confirmed by the local priest using holy water on him. Parents have him locked in the basement."
Sam frowned. "We've never taken on a demon possession before. Why can't the priest exorcize?"
"Jim said that this priest is new to the game. Doesn't know anything about exorcisms. Why are you so twitchy about it?"
Sam shook his head, eyes on the road. "Everything I've ever heard about demons . . . they're bad news."
"You have the exorcism memorized, don't you?"
Sam scowled. "You don't?"
"Welllll, mostly. Ish. Look, I'll draw its attention away and you can focus on the exorcism, right?"
His older brother's scowl grew even deeper. "That's going to guarantee that I won't be able to focus. We'll go in like we usually do. And you are going to spend the next three hours working on that exorcism."
Dean groaned. "It's like being in frickin' school."
He could've sworn he saw a gleam in Sam's eye at that. "Okay, go."
Sighing, Dean started. It was going to be a long drive.
When they entered the basement, Dean stopped. It simply . . . felt evil. Dean didn't have another word for it. Sam seemed to feel it too, a slight shiver betraying his feelings.
" You ready?" Sam murmured.
"Sure thing." Bravado had never failed him. "We've got this."
Sam rubbed a hand over Dean's back. "Don't let the demon get to you. Stay behind me."
Dean knew better than to joke when hunts were getting underway. "You've got it, Sammy."
The demon looked up as they walked down the stairs. The boy was tied up to a chair in the center of the room, straining against his bonds.
"Oh look, they've brought in the professionals." The smirk was unusually cruel on the boy's face. "Can't imagine you'll be much better than the priest."
Dean followed his brother's lead and kept his face blank. Sam began to chant the exorcism while Dean kept ready with the holy water.
"I . . . I imagine you're still looking for your father," the demon panted.
"What?" Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.
The demon's eyes flickered black. "Word on the street—well, not exactly the street, no streets in hell—word is that he's in deep with some big powers. Gonna play out soon."
"Ignore him, Dean," Sam murmured. He continued to chant.
"You two are still new at this, though." The demon grinned. "You don't even have a devil's trap."
Sam exchanged a worried glance with Dean. Without warning, the boy began vomiting black smoke that curled down and along the floor.
"Uh, Sam, is this supposed to happen?"
"I don't know, I don't . . ."
The black smoke rolled over Dean, forcing its way down his throat. He coughed, struggling against the sensation but could do nothing.
The next thing Dean knew, he was lying on the ground, staring blankly at Sam's prone body across from him.
"Sam?"
Sam shifted and coughed. "Sorry Dean. One . . . one second."
"What happened?"
"I exorcised the demon. Just got a little . . . beaten up."
Dean swallowed, stomach feeling sick. "I, uh, I beat you up?"
"Wasn't you." Sam's hand slowly crept along the floor until it curled around Dean's wrist. "Wasn't you."
"Look, I don't know what's going on here, but can one of you please untie me!?"
Dean slowly rolled over to stare at the teenager.
"Get him upstairs," Sam muttered. "I need a few minutes to recuperate."
"Looks like you'll need more than a few minutes," Dean returned, but he obeyed, freeing the once-possessed kid and watching him dart up the stairs.
"Your turn," he said to Sam.
Sam sat up slowly, groaning.
"You okay?"
"I'll be fine."
"Winchester motto." Dean slipped a careful arm around Sam's back, careful not to put too much pressure on any one point for fear of hurting his brother even more than he apparently already had.
Sam let out a pained hiss as they rose.
"How come it's always you getting hurt?" Dean asked under his breath.
"Maybe I—I'm just . . . I'm just clumsier than you," Sam panted.
"Well, that's true," Dean conceded. "Still. I swear, it's like you're a target or something."
Sam shrugged. "Better me than you."
Dean frowned, but focused on getting Sam out of the basement. The kid's mom was crying over her son, but she paused to get up and press cash into Dean's hand.
"Thank you, thank you."
"Uh, no problem." They exited as quickly as they could. Dean eased Sam down into the passenger side of the Impala.
"Internal injuries?" he queried, hands ghosting over Sam's torso.
Sam shook his head. Dean frowned, rucking up Sam's shirt and blanching at the damage. "Geez, Sam. It's like you let me beat you up."
Sam flinched. "I wasn't about to . . . about to hurt you."
Dean felt like his heart was going to break. "Sammy. I was possessed. One of the things we hunt. Would you have let me kill you?"
Sam didn't answer.
A/N: Apologies for the long wait! That seems to be the theme for this fic. But I think I've finally decided how the final chapter will go. What, of course there won't be more Sam whump, what are you crazy . . . . ;)
Please let me know what you think! Always room for improvement!