We're going to learn some things about Sam and Dean in this chapter. Things may or may not will come in handy and/or will be important later on.
Other than that … the two of them are going to have A TALK ?
I dearly hope you enjoy the story so far. – I know it's still slow going, but things will speed up as soon as we've settled the basics and you know close to everything you have to …
I'll push the pause-button when "Chapter 10 ~ Runnin' With The Devil" is uploaded, because I'm about to wrap up "Darkness Surrounds You" right now, and it takes me longer than I've thought it will (because I got sick, and I sleep a lot) … (idk. – give 1-3 weeks after the chapter is up, to get going again.)
BUT, I can assure you, I will not dump this one.
Chapter 7 ~ No Rest For The WickedIt was around noon when Sam awoke to absolute silence. The small light on the table was on.
The heaviness he had felt bearing down on his entire body earlier was barely there anymore. He rose both his hands to his face and rubbed over it, freeing himself from the last tendrils of sleep.
He looked over at the nightstand and hummed as he saw the refilled water-bottle.
Sam wiggled his toes and tested his muscles by flexing them, assessing which parts of his body would hurt the most when he was going to get up.
Because there was no way in hell, he'd drink from the bottle without him having seen how it got refilled and without being able to know if it truly was only water without any other ingredients added, which may or may not were meant to drug him or even kill him.
First Rule: Hunters aren't friends. – He's learned that in the very beginning, and he would hold onto that. If it wasn't for them knowing Bobby in some way, he might would not find himself in a cozy bed, but in a dungeon, tortured and left to rot.
Other than that, he knew the hunter who's been sleeping in the chair by the table when he's woken up. Well, he didn't exactly KNOW him, but he sure as hell knew what he was capable of. Of course, Sam had been only a kid back then, and the demons had done a lot worse to him, but he'd never forget that look in the man's eyes.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Hate.
Fury.
Back then, John had put a bullet to his head. High on demon-blood as he was, he didn't die. Instead, when he came back from unconsciousness, his survival-instincts kicked in and had him force the consecrated metal back out of his brain, leaving him drained and with a murderous headache.
The man had left him for dead back in the day.
If it hadn't been for Bobby showing up there to clean up and to burn the bodies John and the other hunters had left behind, he would've probably died nonetheless. Not because of the bullet, but because it had been a consecrated item – poisoning him slowly.
He had given up already and death had seemed like the ultimate salvation, after his short – though intense – life.
Sam had to count on, that when John would figure out who he was and most of all WHAT he was, they'd be screwed. He and Bobby. As far as he was concerned, and after the stories Bobby had told him, and which the old man had been told from other hunters, the Winchester was no one who'd let you from the hook at all.
He needed to come up with a plan. Where to go, when he was healed enough, and what would happen after he's left. Would Bobby come with, or was it better for the old man to stay with the others?
Would he take the tablet with him or leave it with Bobby? Would he try and go back to the salvage, or would he need to find some other place?
Too many questions to be answered just now, so Sam would have to take it step by step and see how it went.
His first goal was to get well enough to blow this joint. – Hopefully before John would become suspicious and smell the rat.
One of his vials filled with demon-blood may had helped with the healing. It'd speed up the -process and get him closer to reach his goal.
On the other hand … the demon-blood may would cause Visions if he'd use it regularly, or too much of it at once, which would bust him up right away too.
He knew, that those people already knew, that he had black eyes, and that he wasn't completely human. They would've also shared the information about him being able to smoke out demons. Though, they didn't have to know what it took for him to do so. The lesser those hunters knew, the better it was.
Which was actually Rule number 2: The lesser people know about you, the better you're covered.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
Meanwhile in Room 11.
Dean Winchester lay sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His back and ribs still ached, the bruises from his fight with Sam already fading. No later than tonight or tomorrow morning they would be vanished completely.
The kid had gotten him good, despite the fact, that Dean Winchester was trained as a soldier by a soldier. Under normal circumstances – which meant, without juice – it'd take at least three weeks for his ribs to be healed fully.
Sometimes he was grateful to be who and what he was. Except when he wasn't.
When his abilities first showed he was about fourteen. – And man, had he scared the living shit out of John back then, despite the fact, that his father already knew what he was – thanks to Azazel and his plans on using the fallen ones as sacrifices to shut down the gates of heaven.
Then Azazel was dead, his father changed slowly but surely into the guy he was now, and they may could've lived a nice life after all. Maybe still hunting, maybe still helping out on hunts or research. But they would've had a garage somewhere in nowhere.
Then the fucking apocalypse happened out of the blue. No signs that something like that would truly ever happen. Over night, Angels had been falling. The gates of hell had been ripped wide open and a rift had been torn between this world and Purgatory to let its worst inhabitants loose.
At first no one had realized what had happened. What was going on.
After a month, it was crystal clear that humanity stood before its extinction.
Their lives weren't that bad after all – Dean figured.
They had a home – the ultimate save place. They had each other. Sure, they weren't a lot, they weren't an army, but he'd be damned if they weren't a better tag-team than any army could ever be.
And maybe, they'd get an extension to their family.
Bobby was a wise man. He knew stuff. The real stuff. He was one of their last fortresses of knowledge they had against all those sons of bitches out there.
And Sam? They'd see about the kid. – Being able to smoke out demons was something that may would come in handy. Who knew, what else the man was capable of?
Other than that, he was easy on the eye. A bit sassy. A little stubborn. And this bitch-thing he did with his face, when he was pissed … it looked actually ridiculous, but hey, that ass was definitely making up for it.
The guy's been kind of cute too, when he was all doped up on – what they formerly would've called – morphine. He couldn't quite believe that a guy that big couldn't handle the – what was supposed to be an – appropriate dose of it.
But hey, who did not have any flaws?
A content sigh fell from Dean's lips and he blinked and listened to the absolute silence which ruled the bunker most of the time, except for when he listened to one of his old cassette-tapes.
Or when Charlie decided to counter with her most favorite song, letting it play in an infinite loop.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
Dean patted down the corridor with bare feet, once again carrying a tray with a bowl of oatmeal, pills and a spoon. He stopped at Sam's room, shifted the tray so he was balancing it on one hand, and knocked with the other one.
"Sam!", he hollered, "Lunch!" He's been heard at least in this section of the bunker.
There was no response.
"Sam!", he called again. And waited. "Hope you're dressed, I'm comin' in."
Dean did. He turned the knob and nudged the door open with his elbow. No one home – the bed was empty, the covers messed up. One of the blankets was missing though. So did the water-bottle which he had placed on the nightstand before he had left.
He walked over to the table and placed the tray there. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom now that he was close enough to hear.
Dean listened some more.
The water was still going. Hitting tiles. He pursed his lips and strained his ears. No movements detected.
"Sam?!", he asked and made a step towards the door. He listened again. Nothing. "You in there?"
His jaw set and he waited some more.
Maybe that idiot had passed out under the shower. – Stubborn as the man seemed to be, he had to consider that.
"Dude!" Dean cleared his throat. "I'm coming in!" And then he pushed the unlocked door open.
His look landed on a motionless form, curled up on its side, water raining down on it mercilessly.
"Sam!", he called out. Of course he had to take a damn shower and pass out in the process, because that was what sassy bitches were doing, right?
Two long strides, and he reached the man. Dean fumbled for the handle and turned the water off, before he kneeled down beside him.
"Dude.", he muttered worriedly.
He was breathing. His body twitching. A small stream of blood mingled with water trailing over the tiles and vanished in the drain.
"Sam. Come on." Dean turned him over a bit so he could have a look at the cut. As he thought, he's pulled stitches from the wound on his stomach. Carefully, he eased him further on his back. The kid's arms slipping to the side and landed on the tiles with a wet sound.
"Hey, you with me?", He patted his cheeks and gripped his jaw, despite the bruise there. "Hey, Sam. C'mon buddy. Open your eyes.", he said matter-of-factly.
First signs of awakening crossed the younger man's face and his eyes opened to small slits. "You.", he croaked out.
"Yeah. Me." Dean was decently pissed. Because – no matter what or who you were, you wouldn't take a shower after getting banged up, all on your own. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Sam's eyes dared to roll back in their sockets again.
"No, you don't." A flicker of white flared up in Dean's green eyes. "You hear me?" He jostled the younger man up even though his wet skin was slippery as hell. Dean pulled and tugged at him, until he was in the right position to be hauled up, one arm under Sam's shoulders and one on his waist.
"C'mon. – Move, dammit."
"Just … leave me be.", Sam murmured and hissed when Dean pulled him to his feet.
"Yeah sure. So old-grumpy's gonna kick my ass?" Dean shook his head and hauled him out of the bathroom, "No thanks.", and back towards the bed, where he let the naked man sit down.
"Besides. – As long as you're hurt and inside those walls you're our responsibility.", Dean added, when he lifted Sam's long legs and dumped them on the bed.
"Why?", Sam shook his head and huffed out a breath in disbelieve. "Why would you care? Why would anyone of you care, if there's nothing in it for you?"
Dean bit his lower lip, rolled his eyes and patted the man's damp calf. "Because you know what, Sammy? There're not a lot of people left out there. Even lesser hunters. – If we don't look out for each other, who will?" Dean held the man's gaze. "That's why. – Because I'm sick of seeing people die because no one cares anymore. I'm sick of seeing my friends die because of it." He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You could've cracked your skull. You could've pulled some more stitches and bled to death in there in the shower and no one would've noticed. – And what for? A shower? To wash your girly hair?"
Sam took a deep inhale. "Yeah. Because I felt filthy and I stank, and despite that post-apocalyptic mess out there, I like to keep track of my personal needs and hygiene, because that's pretty much the only thing I have left. Aside from trying and make the world a damn better place to live on.", he told him in one smooth go, his voice soft and steady. "So, If I'd pass out in there and crack my damn skull or bleed to death, it's fate. Then it's damn well fate and I'll take it as a given." He too held the angel's gaze.
Sam reached for the covers and pulled them over him, so not to be fully exposed to the other man. After all he's had some of his dignity left. – Specially since the hunter was staring right at his very private space.
Without a word, Dean turned on his heels, stomped out of Sam's room, down the corridor. The patting noises died away. Minutes later, a smashed-closed door was heard, and the patting of feet came closer again.
Dean didn't look at him, when he reentered with a bundle of clothes in his hands and a small bag. He dumped the clothes beside Sam, rounded it and zipped the bag open. Without a word, he tore the covers off of Sam and kneeled down.
Sam made a disapproving sound, fumbling with the covers to get them back on.
Dean gave him a warning glare.
Sam relented into it and went with only covering his legs and private parts, as he glared back at the other man.
Dean unpacked the utensils of the bag. Needles and threads and scissors.
Sam kept perfectly still, while Dean removed the pulled thread and restitched them. Sam watched the hunter-angel carefully, mesmerized by how focused he stayed on his task despite the anger which was radiating from him.
When he was done, he restored the items in the bag and looked up, giving Sam a stern look. "Out there, you can do whatever you want. – But as long as you're under this roof, you better take fuckin' care of yourself. – Got me?" And that was all he would say before leaving Sam behind dumbfounded and somehow lost.
On his way out, Dan slammed the door shut behind him.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
The upcoming days nothing special happened, except for Sam getting better. Though he refused to leave the room.
He hadn't been among a lot of people besides Bobby ever since back then. Sam had kept to himself mostly. He wasn't the guy to team up with other hunters – or with other people in general.
He knew they wouldn't understand, or they'd be scared shitless of him, once they saw him with black eyes and all spiced up on demon-blood.
Hell, he'd be scared shitless of himself if he was them.
Sam had tried to fraternize with other people multiple times a long time ago. When he still had felt the need to belong. Not only to Bobby, but to the world, to the people he was fighting for.
It didn't end well in the end, so he stopped trying at all. It saved himself from a lot of misery.
After all he's had Bobby.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
No one else but Bobby checked in on him those past days, bringing him breakfast – or whatever.
He's filled Sam in on that he had told them about the tablet, and that he'd take it with him to show it to Charlie and that she might be able to decrypt the stone with her CBIOA-whatever.
To Bobby's surprise, Sam didn't seem to be mad about it at all. He didn't bother to start a discussion on how this might not be a good idea.
Sam had even approved. – After all they hadn't been any further with decoding it ever since he had stolen it from the crypt one and a half years ago. Besides … these guys didn't seem like they were going to sell it to anyone, or try to exchange it for receiving sanctity from whatever fraction.
At least Bobby had told him that, and Bobby rarely was wrong.
They eventually had found someone who could tell what was written on it. – Which would get them closer on getting rid of those black-gooed-bastards. For starters anyway.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
Bobby and Sam where at the bunker since about a month now. And the old man could tell that his son was getting antsy and eager to leave since he was doing remarkably better.
They all sat in the Library. John, Bobby, Dean, Cas and Charlie.
Charlie was hoovering over the piece of stone and her self-made computer.
Cas was currently meditating, sitting cross-legged on a rotten carpet (he did that a lot, when he wasn't in the greenhouse watering his plants and smoking marihuana.)
Dean was rummaging through a box with files. On the box was a tag on which was written "Purgatory I".
John had another box resting on the chair beside of him with a badge that read "Purgatory II."
Bobby was sunken into an old dusty book in a foreign language.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
The only ones left in the Library were Bobby and Dean.
Maybe, if it hadn't been for Dean wanting to get to talk to Robert Singer alone, he might've left to go to his room and head to bed too.
"So, what is it you wanna ask me?", Bobby spoke up and closed the book gingerly, when he looked at the younger man.
Dean looked up from a certain file. "You and Sam. You're here for about a month by now. – But he didn't come out once." He shrugged. "To talk. – Or … to … I don't know. – Get used to us, so we can get used to him?"
The old man leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh. "Sam's not very …" He was looking for the right word on how to put it.
"Social?", Dean asked.
"Social with hunters.", Bobby corrected him. "Besides, you wanted to put a bullet into his head."
Dean chuckled shyly and scratched the back of his head. "Besides that. – If we've wanted to make a move we could've done that by now." He dumped the file on the table. "I'm sure he knows that."
Bobby nodded. "Yes. He does." He quirked an eyebrow at the Winchester. "You could try and talk to him, you know?" There was a sly glint in his eyes. "A little heart to heart."
"Last time we spoke it didn't work out so well, Bobby.", he answered. "I don't think a heart to heart moment would work. – Besides, I don't think I do heart to heart things at all."
The old man shrugged. "Without legit proof, convincing Sam that fraternizing with a bunch of hunters is a good idea, you're standing on lost ground. – Believe me, I've tried. Hard."
Bobby chuckled. "Besides, he's stubborn as hell."
"Stubborn is an underestimation."
"I think, Sam will leave soon." Bobby sighed heartbroken and his shoulders slouched.
"Because he's not like … human?", Dean asked.
"Because you're hunters, Dean. – And even if you weren't hunters, he wouldn't stay either.", he answered. "Sam has his reasons, and it's not my place to tell you about them." … and without knowing them, you can't change a damn thing about it, he left unsaid.
Dean nodded to himself.
It was one thing knowing that Sam was there – in the bunker. With them. Safe and sound. Even when he hadn't seen him in weeks, he knew he was there.
But knowing, that Sam would leave. On his own. Without backup. Even when he wasn't quite human and was well capable of defending himself. – It didn't feel right.
Maybe it felt so wrong, because of what Sam had said. To Dean it had sounded as if the man didn't care if he'd die. There had been something utterly reckless in the kid's words and face, that was still haunting him.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~
Sam had worked on a plan.
A plan, that included having his surrogate-father Robert Singer sound and safe at the bunker with his new found buddies, and having Sam leave, on the hunt for the Angel-Tablet or Demon-Tablet, wherever his Visions and memories would lead him. The plan also foresaw that Sam wouldn't return to the bunker.
At least not anytime soon.
~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~