In Guiltless Crimes, I wrote that Sam hunted alone when the pressures of college and life without his family became too much to bear...so this story is about one such hunt...let me know what you think...
He Hunted Alone...
Sam slipped quietly out into the stillness of the night, glancing back only once, thinking of Jess. She lay sleeping peacefully, unaffected by the unnatural chill filling the night air. A sharp twinge of guilt bore into Sam's soul. He hated lying to Jess, hated having to keep his past a secret from her. But what could he tell her? She wouldn't understand. She'd probably think she was dating some sort of lunatic. He couldn't tell her everything he and his brother had shared. How close it had brought them to have to face death together time after time . . . since they were children. Without know that, how could he hope she would understand the depth of his regret at having to leave Dean to make a new life for himself? And how could he tell her that when the pain of missing Dean became too much to bear, he reverted to hunting to ease the constant ache in his heart?
She doesn't have to find out. I'll be home before dawn.
Hitching his duffel full of weapons higher over his shoulder, Sam fumbled with the keys to Jess's car. He opened the door and slid into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirror and the seat to fit his tall, lanky frame.
For a long time he sat, wondering where his brother was, what Dean was hunting at this very moment. Another stab of guilt ate at his heart. Sam flipped open his cell, finger on the button to call Dean, then resisted the urge.
Why can't I call you, Dean? Why the hell is it so damn hard?
Returning the cell to the pocket of his hoodie, his hand brushed against a letter he'd written to Dean. What the hell was I thinking? It's not like I can send it to him. Sam laughed, picturing what he'd write on the envelope. Dean Winchester, black Impala, KAZ 2Y5, somewhere in the United States. Oh, yeah, the people at the post office would just love seeing this one.
He glanced up the apartment Jess and he shared, a wry smile on his face and then drove away from the present and into a past where only hunting existed. Funny, he hadn't wanted a life consumed with only hunting to sustain him, but it was all he'd ever known and now he seriously doubted he would ever truly escape it. Odd, how a life full of pain and killing ungodly things could bring comfort where nothing else could. It helped fill the void created by his own careless hand. He won't forgive me . . . I saw the look in his eyes when I left. I might as well have shot him in the heart, cause I killed him nonetheless.
Sam grimaced, trying to brush aside the painful memories so he could concentrate on the hunt and the vengeful spirit who awaited him, but he couldn't keep his mind off of Dean. His mind kept twisting around dark images and visions of his brother hunting by himself . . . dying alone. If he dies out there alone, it will be my fault. He's always been there for me and I just left him. What makes me think I'm so special? That I'm the one who deserves to be free of this? Why the hell did I have to be so damn selfish?
The tires grumbled softly as Sam pulled the car over just down the road from the Alta Mesa Memorial Park. Grabbing his flashlight, he hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder and headed toward the cemetery. The black wrought iron gate was closed, but with his long legs it was an easy enough climb over the low, curved wall.
He stopped, sitting on the palisade, listening intently, he heard a twig snapping somewhere behind him. Sam aimed his flashlight at the sound, but saw nothing more ominous than a stealthy black cat chasing a rat. Turning, he leapt down and headed south.
The moon provided little light, and deep shadows beneath the heavy trees made the darkness all but impenetrable. Good thing I scouted this place out yesterday. There it is. The beam from his flashlight flicked across Old Man Tucker's grave, nestled beneath a magnolia tree, not far from the groundskeeper's building. The intoxicatingly sweet aroma of the white blossoms lingered on the breeze, lulling Sam into a false sense of security.
Old Man Tucker's ghost, or so he was called by the locals, was usually considered more of a prankster than a harmful spirit. Lately, however, this had changed. In two separate incidents girls had been brutally attacked by what they could only describe as a shadow man with dark crimson eyes. One girl had remained in a coma for a week after the vicious assault, sustaining three broken ribs, internal and head injuries along with deep gashes marring her once pretty face.
Sweat streamed down his face and back as Sam unearthed Tucker's bones. Damn, this was a lot easier when Dean was helping. After a several minutes, he shrugged out of his hoodie, dropped it down beside his duffel, then resumed digging.
The wind kicked up, howling through the trees, bending branches, and sending dust and dead leaves whirling through the air, moonlight casting long eerie shadows across the ground. An abrupt gust of chilled wind slammed into Sam's side, sending him sprawling to the ground. Son of a bitch! Instinctively, Sam grabbed for his sawed-off shotgun, but it was ripped from his hands, and flung forcefully into a gravestone, bits of marble breaking and crumbling to the ground.
"Oh, not very nice," came a deep, rasping voice from behind him. "And here I thought they said you were the pleasant one too. Not cocky and arrogant like your brother."
Sam scrambled to his feet and swung around, mouth agape to find he was facing a demon instead of a ghost. Gleaming crimson eyes glowed in sharp contrast to unearthly pale skin. Long clawing nails biting into its folded arms. And a sardonic look of triumph twisted on the elongated face.
Should've realized it wasn't a vengeful spirit doing this!
Sam took a back step, his steely gaze leveled on the monster. "How do you know about Dean and me?"
"We demons talk, and you Sam . . . you are utmost on our minds."
"What do you mean?" Sam retreated further, hand reaching for the .45 concealed in his waistband.
"Oh, can't give away the punchline." The demon chuckled. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."
In an instant, the creature was at Sam's side, lifting him off the ground, razor-sharp claws digging into his neck, warm blood seeping down its fingers. "You weren't by chance, trying to shoot me?" It shook its head, making a hissing sound with its serpents tongue. "Not very nice . . . not nice indeed."
His attacker tightened its hold around Sam's throat, choking off his breath. Sam grabbed hold of the demon's arm, trying to wrest himself free, to no avail.
"Tell me, Sam, have you had any nightmares lately?" the creature taunted. "It must really suck that your brother isn't here to hunt down all the dark things lurking in the night."
"I manage just fine, thanks," Sam choked out, his upper lip quivering.
"Not doing such a bang up job tonight, however, are you?"
Sam gripped both sides of the demon's neck, and kneed him squarely in the stomach. The creature doubled over, releasing its hold on Sam. Rolling as he struck the ground, Sam swept his foot across the demon's calves, knocking it to the ground. Back on his feet, Sam lunged on top of his attacker and slammed his fists into the demon's face repeatedly, black blood oozing from its lips.
The demon thrashed wildly, wresting free from Sam. Sam scrambled to his feet, swung to face his attacker, a determined glint in his eyes.
"My turn." A sadistic smile twisted on the demon's hideous features.
Before Sam had a chance to reply, the demon smashed his fist into Sam's face. White hot sparks of light danced in front of Sam's eyes, momentarily blinding him."Is that the best ya got?" Sam knew it was something Dean would say and despite the pain it caused, he laughed, earning him a brutal jab to the ribcage. He tried desperately to suck in a breath, but couldn't.
A right hook, sent Sam sprawling to the ground. The demon leapt on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground. Catching a shaky breath, Sam struggled to break free as the creature's long claws dug deep into the earth.
"Was that any better? I do aim to please."
"Much," Sam hissed through clenched teeth, garnering him another solid punch to his left cheek. Tasting salty blood in the back of his throat, Sam glared at the demon.
Sam stifled a cry of pain as the demon trailed a clawing nail across his cheek, slicing through his flesh. "This is too easy . . . I should've gone after your brother first. I hear he's much more of a challenge."
"Don't you touch him! I swear to God, I'll make you sorry you ever crawled out of Hell!"
"You?" The demon laughed. "Forgive me if I don't shudder."
Bucking the evil creature off his chest, Sam struggled to his feet, grabbed for his .45, leveled the gun and shot several iron rounds into its chest.
The demon staggered briefly, putrid black blood seeping from his wounds. "You really shouldn't have done that!" it snarled.
Straightening to its full height, the creature raised its arm and with a flick of its wrist sent Sam crashing into a magnolia tree, his head slamming into the unforgiving trunk, vision blurring as he rapidly lost consciousness. He struggled vainly against the darkness enveloping him.
Dean, help me . . . .
Dean followed behind Sam at a considerable distance, not wanting his brother to realize he'd been keeping an eye on him. What the hell's he thinkin' hunting alone? Freakin' pig-headed pain in the ass!
Of course, Dean wouldn't let Sam find out he'd watched over him . . . or let him know how much it hurt that Sam only left him behind, not hunting. Why would you do that to me, Sammy? Did you hate me that much?
Dean parked the Impala, got out, went around and opened the trunk, grabbed his hunting gear, and trailed Sam. Great care was required to keep out of view after he'd accidentally stepped on a tree branch, the snapping sound echoing in the stillness, garnering his brother's attention. Luckily, Dean quickly ducked behind a large oak tree, scaring a black cat who scurried in pursuit of a rat.
Once Dean was certain Sam had passed out of sight and he wouldn't be spotted, he climbed the cemetery wall and leapt down, searching for any signs of the direction Sam had taken. Man, that boy is fast. Not seeing Sam anywhere, he headed north, quickening his stealthy pace.
He rapidly searched the northern section of the cemetery, passing by grave marker after grave marker, unseeing, his keen sight fixed on the gathering darkness. Dean shivered as the wind turned bitterly cold. He turned south, a blast of chilled air biting into his skin. Damn it, Sammy! Where the hell are you?
A faint voice whispered on the wind. Sammy. Dean quickened his pace trying to follow the familiar sound. Another voice. Deeper, sinister sent prickles racing up Dean's spine. Their voices combined, echoing off the tombs, the sound coming from everywhere and nowhere. Making it virtually impossible to pinpoint where his brother was. Damn. I coming Sam.
Dean rushed through the cemetery, dodging around graves and trees, tripping once over a root snaking out of the ground. The voices grew louder, clearer. The demonic voice challenged, words hovering ominously in the air."This is too easy . . . I should've gone after your brother first. I hear he's much more of a challenge." Sam's words were faint, wary, filled with intensity. Dean could sense the danger inherent in his brother's tone.
As Dean rounded a thicket of trees, he saw Sam lying, unmoving against a tree. A dark figure towered above Sam, arms outstretched.
Damn it, Sammy!
Dean yanked out his knife and the flask of holy water. Dousing the knife, as he strode forward, he softly chanted, "Exorcizo te creature acquae in nomine Deo, patris omnipotentis et in virtute Spiritu Sancti." He returned the flask to his pocket, and grabbed the .45 from his waistband, palming the knife to hide it from view.
"Now for your brother," the demon said, shaking its head and slammed a heavy foot into Sam's stomach. "Hopefully Dean will be more of a challenge."
"Oh, you can count on that, you sonuvabitch!" Dean snarled as he aimed the gun and fired repeatedly at the demon.
The demon lurched forward slightly. Straightening, it snapped around to face Dean.
"Didn't you ever hear it's a sign of cowardice to shoot a man in the back?"
"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "But seein' as you're a demon, I figured what the hell."
"Ah, you're Dean . . . the arrogant one."
"That's me."Dean smirked, cocking a brow. "I'd ask who you are, but I don't really give a damn."
The demon glanced down at Sam and then at Dean. "Why risk your life for him? He wouldn't do the same for you . . . he left you."
Dean's gaze strayed to Sam and then fixed on the demon."He's my brother — 'nough said." Dean leveled his gun and shot, the bullet not affecting the demon in the slightest. Come on you sonuvabitch, just a little closer. He fired again, baiting the creature.
The demon laughed, crimson eyes glistening with hatred. "You definitely aren't the smart one, are you?" In a blink of an eye, the demon was standing in front of Dean. It grabbed Dean by the shirt, leaned closer and whispered, "Who will protect poor Sammy once I've killed you?"
Dean jerked free from his attacker, raised his knife and plunged it into the creature's heart, twisting the blade maliciously, black blood and fiery steam surging from the wound. "Oh, I don't think that's gonna be a problem."
Wrenching the knife from the demon's chest, Dean stared at it for a moment and then glanced up at the demon. He grinned. "Blessed blade. I learned from the best . . . I learned from my father." Dean kicked the creature in the stomach and sent it sprawling to the ground. He strode to the demonic creature and squatted, resting his elbows on his knees. "It must so suck to be you right now, realizing the dumb one outsmarted you."
"You can't beat us all," the demon gasped. "There are too many of us and only three of you. We'll kill you all eventually."
"Maybe . . . but not tonight." Dean drove the knife into the demon's heart again. With an anguished cry, the demon burst into flames, turning quickly to smoldering ash.
"Sammy." Dean leapt to his feet and rushed to his brother. He knelt and checked at the side of Sam's neck for a pulse, silently praying as he did. A deep sigh of relief escaped his lips as he felt a strong surge of life beneath his fingertips. "You're gonna be okay, dude. Let's get you to the hospital."
Dean rose to stand, walked over and snatched Sam's hoodie from the ground. A crumpled envelope fell from the pocket, drifting to his feet. Dean bent and picked it up, noticing his name written on the rumpled paper. He glanced at the letter and then at Sam, undecided. If he really wanted me to have it, he would've found a way to get it to me . . . Ah, to hell with it. He pocketed the letter and hurried to his brother.
"Dean!" Sam awoke not certain where he was, his brother's name on his lips. He tried to open his eyes, wincing with the realization his left eye was swollen shut. Squinting, Sam searched desperately for any sign of his brother, frowning when he realized Dean wasn't there. I was so sure I heard his voice.
The scent of antiseptic cleaner assailed his senses. He glanced down at the bed he was lying in, metal guardrails locked in place. I'm in a hospital? How did I get here?
The door swung open and a nurse with graying hair tied neatly in a bun, entered. She smiled at Sam, blue eyes sparkling, deep-set wrinkles forming above her brow. "Oh, you're awake, Mr. Winchester. My name is Rebecca and I'll be your nurse."
Rebecca walked to the hospital bed. "I have to check you vitals." Unhooking the stethoscope from around her neck, she wrapped a blood pressure cup around Sam's arm. She took his temperature and then pressed the stethoscope to his chest. "Breath in deeply . . . and another . . . okay, once more." The nurse smiled. "Everything seems good, Mr. Winchester."
"How . . . how did I get here?" Sam's voice sounded hoarse and raspy to his ears.
"Hmm . . . from what I hear, a night watchman found you unconscious in the cemetery."
"A night watchman?"
"Yeah." Rebecca grinned, pearly teeth biting at her lower lip. "I guess he hung around here until he was sure you were okay, then took off before police could question him about the incident."
Sam frowned; he'd been so sure Dean saved him from the demon. "Did you by chance get a good look at him?"
"Naw, I wasn't here, sweety. Why?"
Sam shook his head, wincing at the pain the motion caused. "It's nothin'. I just thought . . . um . . . forget it." He stared hard at the closed door; silently praying Dean would burst into the quiet room, crack a smart-assed comment and make the ache in his heart lessen. Leaning back on the stark white pillow, Sam asked, "When can I leave?"
"You took a pretty nasty crack to the head, so the doctor wants you to stay overnight for observation, but you should be able to leave tomorrow." Rebecca cleared her throat, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Is there anyone I can call for you?"
He glanced up at her, unspent tears glistening in his eyes. "De — " He shook his head, grimacing, lips drawn tight against his teeth. Sam turned away and looked out the window, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "No . . . there's no one."
Dean leaned against the Impala, Sam's letter clutched in his hand. He'd waited until he was sure Sammy was okay to leave the hospital. He paced the corridor relentlessly, fists tightly clenched, green-eyed stare riveted on the door to his brother's room, until the doctor came out and told Dean Sam would be all right. He'd stood outside, peering in from time to time just to check on Sam, desperately wanting to be at his side, but knowing Sam wouldn't be happy to see him. Dean slipped away unnoticed when he'd noticed his brother stir. It's what he wants. I can't just barge into his life and expect things to be the same as they were.
Glancing down at the letter fluttering in the wind, Dean's stomach churned, fearing what Sam might have written. What if he says he's happy and is never coming home? He peered up at the hospital, not really knowing which room was Sam's, but seeing only him, nonetheless. I couldn't take it if he is telling me goodbye again.
"I'm being stupid," Dean muttered.
He ripped open the envelope and stared at his brother's neat penmanship. Damn, even his handwriting is perfect.
Hey Dean,
It's been a long time, too long actually. I'd thought by now you might've called or stopped by the college, but I guess I can't blame you. The way we left things is all my fault, and I don't know how to fix it. Or even if it can be fixed. I just pray you don't hate me for what I did.
It doesn't begin to make up for everything, but I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just so angry at Dad that I forgot I would be hurting you more when I left, and I never meant to do that.
You've always been there when I needed you most, protecting and watching out for me, and I miss that . . . I miss you.
It's selfish to ask, but I need you to forgive me, need you to still be a part of my life. I can't do this on my own. Being alone so cut of from the family is too hard.
Well, anyway, you're probably thinking I'm rambling on like a girl and I know how you hate chick flick moments so I'll end it here. If you can, stop by the college during spring break and maybe we can take a road trip. Nothing too dangerous though, I'd have a helluva time explaining the bruises to my new girlfriend Jess. Dude, you should see her, smart, beautiful and way out of my league. Can't wait for you to meet her.
Till then,
Sam
Dean bit at his lower lip, smiling. Sure thing, Sammy. A road trip sounds great. Walking around to the driver's side, he slid into his seat, flipped open his cell and called Sam.
"Hello."
"Sammy."
"Dean?" There was surprise and relief intermingled in Sam's clear voice.
Dean chuckled. "Yeah, dude, it's me. Just headin' to Colorado to meet up with Dad, and thought I'd give you a call to see how you're doing."
"I'm fine, just studying right now, have a big exam coming up." The line was quiet for a moment and then Sam asked, "Dean, you weren't here last night by any chance were you?"
"Naw, what would I be doin' there. Thought you knew I was in Tennessee."
"Oh . . ."
Sam sounded disappointed. Dean opened his mouth to confess, then shook his head. No, he'll tell me about the hunting when he's ready.
"Well, anyway, just wanted to say, I'm doing okay."
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"I'm glad you called."
"So am I, Sam. I'll talk to you soon."
Dean flipped the cell closed, stared at it for a moment and grinned. "See ya soon, Sam."