Chapter 2: Hope Is Your Survival
The next several minutes were spent listening to Bobby chew me out for ditching him at the hospital and not responding to his numerous calls—and the tirade increased exponentially when he learned of the condition in which I'd arrived at the Roadhouse. It took quite a bit of groveling to calm him down and convince him not to come here and drag me back to Sioux Falls by the ear.
"I suppose that if you ain't here, the Roadhouse is the next safest place to hole up, and Ellen and her crew can probably do a better job of keeping you in line," he eventually grumbled. "But if you ever pull another fool stunt like this again, boy, I'll shoot your damn ass so full of rock salt that you'll be crapping margaritas for months!"
I winced. "I hear you, man, and I promise it won't happen again. So what's next?"
"If the Harvelles don't mind, you should stay there until you've recovered properly. While you're at it, you might as well figure out what to do with yourself now—do you wanna keep hunting, go back to Stanford, or what?" he pointed out. "That'll gimme time to head down to Blue Earth. Jim Murphy named me as the executor of his estate, which means I gotta go through everything there to see what's safe to leave for his family and congregation and what has to come back with me. Once I'm done there, I can check in with you at the Roadhouse to see how you're doing."
"Sam's welcome to stay here as long as he likes—we certainly won't turn him out in the shape he's still in," Ellen confirmed. "Besides, Dean and Jo would enjoy the company of someone less grizzled and jaded than our usual clientele, and I expect Sam will get along famously with Ash too. That sound good to you, Sam?"
I nodded. "It does, and I really appreciate this. Bobby, I'll let you know if anything comes up, and you call me if it turns out you need help with Pastor Jim's stuff."
After Bobby hung up, Bill poured everyone glasses of soda and then asked, "So Sam, you mind explaining in more detail what brought you to our doorstep in such sorry shape?"
I sighed and put my drink down. "Sure, you deserve to hear the whole story. Um, it started the night that I turned six months old, when something broke into my nursery and killed my mom when she tried to stop it. My dad came in and found her pinned to the ceiling, her gut sliced open, before flames engulfed her and the room. He carried me outside and then tried to go back in for her, but it was too late.
"The authorities insisted that it was an accident, that the fire was caused by faulty wiring and Mom's injuries by falling debris—and that what Dad saw was the result of smoke inhalation and too much beer. But he didn't buy that story—he knew what he'd seen was real. He spent the next twenty-two years trying to track down whatever had killed her, and along the way he learned to hunt and spent whatever time he wasn't obsessing over his search for revenge on taking down as many other monsters as he could.
"I meanwhile got dragged along all across the country, never spending more than a few months in the same place, bouncing between half a dozen schools per year on average, and spending more time learning about lore and fighting than I did playing with other kids. I finally got fed up and left—went to Stanford on a full-ride scholarship and swore to leave hunting behind for good. And I stuck to that until the night of the twenty-second anniversary of Mom's death, when I came home to find my girlfriend Jess dead on the ceiling just like her.
"Dad showed up that night in the nick of time to pull me out of the fire, and after Jess' funeral I joined him in his search. We hunted together for nearly a year, and I discovered Dad had figured out that the killer was a powerful demon—and that it had targeted other families besides ours over the years. We also found a way to kill it instead of just banishing it, namely that the legend of Samuel Colt making a gun which could kill anything was real.
"Once we had the gun, we tracked down the demon's next target and prepared to set a trap for it, but then it sent one of its minions to kill our friends—first Pastor Jim and then Caleb—to make us give up the Colt. Dad took a fake antique revolver and went to confront the underling, leaving the Colt with me to go through with our original plan. But the demon got away while I was saving the family it was after, and its goons captured Dad. Bobby and I were able to take out its two main flunkies and rescue Dad, and we brought him to a cabin outside of Jefferson City to hole up . . . not knowing that the demon was possessing him.
"The demon tried to trick me into giving it the Colt, but fortunately I realized what was going on before it was too late. It then attacked me and started clawing me up, and I begged Dad to stop the demon. I don't know how, but he managed to wrest control back from it, and then he demanded that I shoot him with the Colt." I laughed grimly. "I'd spent most of my adolescence and adulthood fighting against his orders, but somehow this became the one goddamn time that I obeyed. I . . . I shot him in the heart, killing the demon and my own father at the same time."
Dean stepped closer and put a hand on my arm, his green eyes soft. "Damn, sorry you had to do that! No wonder you got so fucked up!"
"I—I still don't even know why I pulled the trigger, if I panicked or if it was something else." I leaned into his touch and took a deep breath. "Anyway, Bobby came back in time to keep me from bleeding out and took me to the nearest hospital. He also took care of Dad's . . . body, since I wasn't in any condition to do so. Once I was strong enough to get out of bed, I checked myself out AMA, went to the nearest liquor store, and started driving. I think I wandered around shit-faced for a couple of days before winding up here."
"Hunters rarely have it easy, but you shouldn't have had to go through all that," Ellen commented sympathetically. Her gaze then sharpened. "It's understandable that you fell apart after losing your daddy like that, but we can't have that kinda behavior while you're staying here, son. Take as much time as you need to grieve, but no more getting drunk or ignoring your health and safety. Will that be a problem?"
"No, ma'am! My head's a lot clearer since waking up, and so far there's no urge to uh, drown my sorrows like before." I unconsciously glanced over at Dean as I spoke, and he smiled back sympathetically.
"That's good to hear. I'm sure Dean won't mind continuing to look after you until you're back on your feet, since he's done such a fine job so far," Bill replied with an amused glint in his eyes. "You're also welcome to come to any of the rest of us for help."
"Do you need anything else right now?" Ellen asked. "I don't know if Dean told you already, but we moved your truck around to the back of the building, where we park our cars. We also brought your bags in and took the liberty of washing your things. Everything should be put away in your room."
"If my laptop, clothes, and other stuff are there, then I can't think of anything else at the moment, since replacing my phone can wait for a bit. Again, I can't thank all of you enough for everything!" I said.
"Then we'll leave you in our son's capable hands and go back to getting the bar ready for tonight." Bill gave me a nod before heading back to the office, while Ellen gave my hand a squeeze and then went into the kitchen.
Dean topped off our sodas and then led me back through the employee entrance to the door marked "Dean Cave." He waved a hand at the one labeled "Dr. Badass is IN" and mentioned, "I'll introduce you to Ash later, since God knows if he's even awake right now. He's pretty cool, but he keeps 'bout the same schedule as a fucking bat!"
"Where's your sister?" I inquired as he opened the door to the Dean Cave.
"She's taking classes at the community college—working on getting her nurse's degree. She'll be by in the evening once she's done with her homework and shit," he replied, gesturing for me to go in first.
Inside, one wall was taken up by a workbench, which was currently set up with equipment to work on electronics on one side and to cast and machine metal parts on the other. Another wall was filled with shelves stacked with tools, parts and components, and completed projects. A computer desk with a somewhat dated desktop set-up, small plotter printer, bookcase of textbooks, instruction manuals, and other reference materials, and a couple filing cabinets lay along the third wall. The back of the room held a worn couch, battered end table, entertainment unit with a large TV and high-end sound system, and small dorm fridge.
Dean closed the door behind him, turned toward me with a grin, and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Now that we got some privacy, what will we do with ourselves?"
I found myself blushing and was surprised I didn't stammer as I replied, "Is this where you have your wicked way with me then?"
He snickered while stepping closer to me. "Dude, you obviously read too many cheesy romance novels! Besides, isn't the cliché with those things that it's always the big, powerful alpha taking advantage of the pretty little omega?"
"I wouldn't know, having never read one. And while you're far beyond pretty, I wouldn't make the mistake of calling you little or thinking that you're helpless." I took a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just that I . . . I haven't really been into anyone since Jess died before now, and I guess it's taking me a bit to get back into the groove."
His expression immediately sobered. "Shit, I'm the one who should be sorry! I shoulda known better, since you said it's been less than a year since you lost your girl. If this is too soon, just—"
"No, no, it's not that," I interrupted, reaching out to put a hand on his hip. "I've never had such an immediate connection with anyone before, not even Jess—and it's not just because you're the most gorgeous guy I've ever met!"
"I—I think I know what you mean. Of course you're smoking hot, even in the shape you're in, but it also feels like . . . like we already know each other or something," he admitted, a blush staining his cheeks as well.
"So . . . what happens now?" I licked my lips nervously.
Dean reached up to tug my head down and slotted his plush lips into mine. Without even needing to think about it, my lips parted under his, letting his tongue slide into my mouth. I was hardly inexperienced—nearly three years with Jess plus a handful of short-term relationships and flings before that ensured that I wasn't a novice when it came to romance or sex. But nothing had prepared me for this. The sensation of his mouth against mine was completely new, yet it filled a gap inside me I never even knew was there. He somehow knew exactly how I liked best to be kissed, and judging from his reactions I was instinctively pushing all the right buttons as well.
He broke the kiss off after a few minutes, and I was gratified to see he was breathing as heavily as I was. "Damn, that's fucking awesome! Don't wanna push you too far though—you shouldn't be on your feet too long yet. So follow me!"
He took my hand and led me over to the couch, where he pushed me down and then proceeded to straddle my lap. I barely had a chance to notice how surprisingly comfortable the sofa was before his arms were around my shoulders and his lips were on mine again. This time though the kisses were more light and tender, and several more enjoyable moments passed before he pulled away once more.
He sat back on my lap and caught his breath, then smiled up at me ruefully. "As much as I would love to keep going, it ain't fair to either of us to get ourselves wanting more than it's safe to put you through, at least not until you've healed up some. I figure that despite the chick-flick moment we shared before starting to swap spit, there's still plenty that we don't really know 'bout each other. You already told us the basics of your life story, and I don't wanna push for details 'til you're ready, given what you've just been through. So how 'bout you take a turn asking me whatever you feel like?"
"Um, sure . . . just let me, uh . . ." It took a bit of effort to pull my thoughts back together. "Okay, let's start with this—both of your parents are betas, and your sister too, so how does that work with you being an om?"
"Simple enough answer, man—I'm adopted. I was literally left asleep on the front porch of the Roadhouse one evening when I was about six years old, with a bag of clothes and toys and a note to my folks asking 'em to take me in and keep me safe," Dean explained. "From what Mom and Dad have told me, I was in sorry shape—clear case of omega wasting sickness. They figured my birth parent was another hunter who was constantly moving around 'til it made me too sick, so he or she dropped me off here figuring the Harvelles could give me the proper home I needed. This wasn't long after Jo had been born, but they didn't hesitate to add me to their family."
"Wow, that's fascinating!" I exclaimed. "That would also explain why you don't really look like them. Do you remember anything about your original family?"
He shook his head. "Nope, my birth parent apparently did a spell on me to wipe away those memories before leaving me here—I remembered my name, what stuff was, and how to do everything I musta learned before, but my past was a total blank. We were able to figure some stuff out, like confirming that whoever gave me up was a hunter 'cause I knew shit like how to lay salt lines and shoot a pistol. We also suspected that I had a younger sibling, since I knew how to help take care of Jo without being shown. Probably my kid brother or sister and my mom or dad getting killed is what pushed my other parent into hunting."
"Did you ever try to track them down?" I asked.
"We coulda—it probably wouldn't have been too hard to ask around about a hunter who'd had a kid around my age and lost a younger one. But Mom and Dad initially were afraid that if they did find him, the guy mighta changed his mind and taken me back, and they didn't wanna risk losing me. When I was older, they gave me the choice to have them look into it if I wanted to. I thought about it for a while before deciding not to." He shrugged. "The poor bastard probably had a hard enough time having to let me go in the first place, so why dig into old wounds? Besides, the fact that they never showed up after all these years, despite knowing where I've been this whole goddamn time, says to me that they didn't make it."
"That's a far more magnanimous response than I would've expected under the circumstances. I don't know if I could've been so calm about it if I'd been in your shoes," I said.
"Trust me, I wasn't either at first—I was plenty goddamn pissed and hurt when my folks explained the truth to me! Don't get me wrong, I love my family and my life here, and I didn't blame 'em for what happened. But it's hard to not feel abandoned and unwanted in a situation like this, especially for a kid," he admitted. "It took me a while to realize that my birth parent probably felt he or she had no other choice and was trying to do the best they could for me. Now I just feel sorry for whatever shit they must've gone through."
"It does sound like you got the better end of the deal. I kind of wish something like that had happened to me, frankly. I used to beg Dad to let me stay with Pastor Jim or Bobby longer instead of constantly dragging me from one podunk town to the next, or at least stick with one place long enough to finish an entire semester in the same school. Every time though, he told me that it wasn't safe, that we had to keep moving to keep the thing that killed Mom from finding us. Or that he had a hot lead halfway across the country that couldn't wait, so there was no time to drop me off at Blue Earth or Sioux Falls. Or my personal favorite, that people's lives depended on us getting there right away, so how could I be so selfish to put my personal needs ahead of their safety. I did love my dad, but for most of my life I didn't really like him," I commented with a grimace.
"Man, that sounds like it sucked balls! I'm sure your old man meant well, but seems like he went down the same rabbit hole too many other hunters did and put his obsession ahead of what was really important—taking care of you," he stated. "Any hunter should know better than to bring their kid on a hunt, or else they gotta worry about the fugly going after the rugrat, not to mention possible pervy neighbors at the shitty motel they're leaving the kid at or some do-gooder calling CPS on 'em. And how is a fleabag motel, even with the most badass hunter there, supposed to be safer than Bobby's house with its wards out the wazoo, the shit-ton of iron around it, his ornery guard dogs, and of course the grumpy old coot himself?"
"Yeah, well, I never had any luck convincing my dad over any of that. And it's too late now to find out if he might've been any different now that the demon is dead. He used to talk about it sometimes, about going back to a normal life once it was gone, about having a home again, him opening up a new auto shop, me going to school, and all that. But between losing his mate, drinking so much, and devoting everything to his quest for revenge, I don't know if there would've been anything left of him even if—if he'd survived. Maybe . . . taking the demon with him re—really was the best ending for D—dad," I responded, tears sliding down my cheeks.
Dean gently pulled me closer and wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck and let myself go for the first time since Dad's death. I sobbed into his shoulder, mourning the loss of the only family I had left, the missed opportunities from the past we'd shared so contentiously, and the lost possibilities of the future he'd never see. Even as I grieved though, the sweetness of the omega's scent enveloping me, the feel of his hands rubbing my back, and the sound of his voice whispering comfortingly served to soothe the worst of the storm of emotions I'd been suppressing for so long.
"The thing I regret the most 'bout my past being such a mystery is not knowing my little brother's or sister's name and what happened to 'em. Considering how I feel 'bout Jo, I think I musta loved 'em a helluva lot," he murmured when my weeping finally quieted, running his fingers through my hair. "With all the shit you had to go through, you coulda used a big brother or sister looking out for you, taking care of you the way you needed. Obviously I ain't your brother, but I hope I can be your friend and help you out now . . . and maybe even be something more."
I sat up and tried to scrub at the mess on my face. "I—I really appreciate that, man. I don't have a lot of people left in my corner with Dad, Jess, and even Pastor Jim gone and my friends at Stanford completely in the dark about what's happened. There's still Bobby, but I hadn't seen him for years before getting his help recently against the demon. The way your family's taken me in means a lot to me. More than that, I . . . I think I need someone like you in my life, to help me keep it together and—and figure out what's still worth fighting for out of the shambles it's become."
He got up and fetched a hand towel from a bin, then sat down beside me and carefully dabbed at my face. "I'm here for you for as long as you want, Sammy. You got a lot left to live for, and if you need someone to remind you of that, then feel free to make me stone number one and build on that. How are you feeling right now?"
"Better than before, honestly—releasing so much pent-up crap was rather therapeutic, I guess," I answered. "I'm kind of wiped though after all that, and my sorry physical state probably isn't helping."
"I hear ya, dude. Let's get you back to your room so you can rest for a while." He pulled me up, slid an arm around my waist, and proceeded to guide me back to my room.
Once there, I pulled my laptop out, set it on the nightstand, and plugged it into a nearby outlet before getting settled on the bed. Dean went back out and returned with a couple bottles of water and another bag of chips, then fussed over me for a bit to make sure I was comfortable. The last time someone had taken such care with me was before Jess died, which left me feeling both warm and nostalgic.
"Okay, I'll check on you later to see how you're doing. If you need me, I'll either be in my room or in the kitchen before the bar opens at five. You good for now?" he asked.
"Yeah, I am. Thanks again for everything, Dean." I caught his hand and clasped it tight.
He leaned down to give me a lingering kiss. "No problem, kiddo. You deserve to have someone watch out for you—remember that."