Way of the Hero

Chapter 5

Sam looked up at the slender girl standing in front of him, cat-like eyes watching him, never letting her gaze wander anywhere else. That glaring look of hers was unnerving. He wished she would quit staring.

He was seated in a chair in a small motel room across town where Meg had taken him. He wasn't bound. Though he considered himself a prisoner in every sense of the word. The ropes binding him here were invisible, however. They were the promise that if he didn't cooperate, didn't keep still and shut up, Dean would be the one to pay for his actions. But were he to behave, not put up a fight, supposedly his brother would be left alone...Completely alone. A memory suddenly flashed through Sam's mind, unbidden.

"Don't ever do that again."

"Do what?"

"...Go missing like that."

"You were worried about me." He couldn't help poking a bit of fun.

"All I'm saying is you vanish like that again, I'm not looking for you."

A slight laugh. "Sure you won't..."

Sam suddenly felt a tugging weight at his heart. Dean. I'm sorry... Sorry you're going to blame yourself for this. Sorry you think I'm your responsibility. Sorry all I do is cause you a whole shitload of worry...And sorry I can't actually tell any of this to you.

Sam's attention was drawn to door when he suddenly heard the sound of a key fishing around in the lock. Someone was coming in.

The door swung open and a tall figure entered the room. Dressed in a long black trench coat, it had an immediate ominous air about it. It was a man. And Sam wasn't surprised when he recognized the face as he stepped into the dimly-lit room. "David Fielding." Only he looked nothing like the man Sam had made the acquaintance of earlier. Where "friendly" had once been written on his countenance, now all Sam could see was "malicious," "dangerous," and perhaps a bit of "psychotic." He couldn't believe this guy had fooled them earlier. He must be one hell of an actor.

A spark lit up in the man's eyes when he met Sam's gaze.

"Sam," It didn't sound like a greeting one would give a stranger. It was said as if he had known Sam for a long time. As if he'd long awaited his arrival. Sam's unease doubled.

"The brother?" Meg asked, drawing his attention to herself.

"I took care of him," was the response.

Sam's blood ran cold. "What!" he demanded, rising from his chair. She said...She had promised...

"Relax," the man said smoothly, a crooked grin of amusement appearing on his face. "We said we wouldn't hurt your brother, didn't we? And we always keep our promises, Sam."

"What did you mean by 'took care of him,' then?" Sam demanded, willing himself to try and stay calm, no matter how desperately his nerves were screaming at him to go ballistic and get the hell out of there.

"Let's just say he won't be bothering us tonight."

Sam's mouth tightened. That explanation did very little to reassure him.

"Oh, and when he wakes up, no doubt he'll be a tad worried when he finds something dear to him has gone missing," he paused, and the smirk widened a bit. "So I did him a favor and returned the car."

Sam scowled. Was that supposed to be funny?

"He won't miss you, Sam," the man went on. "Sure, the first few days might be a bit rough for him. But in the long run, we're doing him a favor ridding him of you."

Sam grimaced. What was this? Some kind of crappy attempt at brainwash?

"You hold him back, you know. Always have. He's never been able to do anything in his life without first having to think of how it will affect you." He paused. "Did you know that?"

Sam rose to his feet. "Who the hell are you!" he shouted. This guy didn't know shit about him and his brother. "What do you want? Why are you doing this to my family?" He wanted answers like he'd never wanted anything before.

"You belong to us now, Sam. We're your family," the man replied slowly.

What? These people were completely psycho. And Sam had had enough. Screw this. He could make it back to Dean before they could carry out any of their empty threats of hurting him. And together, he and Dean could easily take these freaks.

Sam threw a glance at the man as he strode past him, heading for the door.

"Where are you going, Sam?" The man asked, a hint of amusement evident in his voice.

"I think you two are a couple of psycho shit heads. And me and my brother are going to enjoy kicking both your asses," he said over his shoulder, reaching for the door.

Suddenly, he felt something grab him. Invisible hands. They jerked him back roughly just as he was about to grasp the knob and threw him across the room, where he slammed into the wall. Hard.

The room was slightly spinning when Sam looked up, and small flecks of light were dancing at the edge his vision.

"No one calls me a 'shit head,'" the man said, though the amused tone in his voice clearly suggested he was making fun of the childish attempt at insulting him.

"I don't understand the ingratitude, Sam," he went on, making his way over to where Sam lay in a heap on the floor. "You should be thanking us. Thanking us for letting your brother live. It was a decision that wasn't easy to make. But we think it's best if we leave you at least one emotional attachment in your life. In case we ever need to use it to our advantage. Because it's quite clear we're going to have to expect some rebellion from you. At least for a little while... But it will eventually fade."

"What...are you...talking about?" Sam said, struggling to regain his bearings as he pushed himself to a sitting position.

"Sam," the man began, deciding it was time to finally start explaining a few things. "You were born with gifts. Special abilities. Which you've only recently become aware of, am I right?"

Sam was so sick of hearing of his damn abilities. He didn't want them. He'd never asked for them.

"And, you've also recently become aware that you're not the only one with such gifts, correct?"

He must be referring to the incident with Max.

"Well, what I'm sure you're not aware of," the man continued, "is the extent of your abilities. And how many other people actually have the same gifts. Because there are more, Sam. Not many. But there are more. Me and 'Meg' here," he said, throwing her a slight knowing smile, "being a couple of prime examples."

Sam looked between them, easing his aching body against the wall. Had he been knocked unconscious when he hit the wall and was having some sort of bizarre dream? Because this was crazy.

"We keep track of the few people who are born with The Gift, Sam. And when the time is right, we induct them into our group. We originally planned on taking you as a baby. But, well, your mother got in the way, didn't she?"

Sam stiffened.

"So, we were patient. We let you grow up—under the watchful care of your nutjob of a father. Rather funny how he never did get over the nursery incident, isn't it?"

Sam's breathing sharpened in fury. Who the hell did this man think he was? If he hadn't felt like he'd just been hit by a bus, he'd be all over this guy right now.

The man took no notice of Sam's anger however, and continued with his monologue. "Finally, the time came when you realized it was time to break away from that dysfunctional family of yours. It was time to go off on your own. Live your own life. Become your own man. And we gave you that time at school. Two years. Two years to sever any lingering emotional ties to your father and brother. And then when the time finally came to take you, who should show up? Why, the idiotic older brother! Ironic, isn't it? He got to you just before we did. So, we left a little present for you when you returned home, didn't we?"

Sam's breath hitched. Jessica. The savage hatred and fury that suddenly coursed through Sam's blood could have given Dr. Ellicot's rage therapy a run for its money. He had never even known what hate was until now. Until this man before him, with those, hard, unfeeling, almost inhuman-looking eyes, had said those words to him.

"I'll kill you," Sam said, his voice shaking. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you."

The man's smile widened ever so slightly, as he, completely unabashed, continued. "You don't know how lucky you are, Sam. Do you realize what we're offering you? Do you know just what you're capable of learning? We are a superior people, Sam. We can do things other people only dream about. Imagine having the means to achieve whatever you want, Sam. Imaging living above the law—never worrying about anyone getting in your way. Imagine living for as long as you so please. These are things your abilities can offer you, Sam."

It may have been his pounding, muddled head, or it may have been how ridiculous the man's words sounded, but Sam suddenly found a weak laugh escaping him. "Sounds like you've got the whole 'Brotherhood of Mutants' thing going," he said weakly, thinking Dean would have probably awarded him a few points for that one.

The man's grin disappeared. "Taking into account your ignorance, I'll excuse your disrespect," his voice was a low warning. "This time."

Sam was still looking at him as if this was ludicrous. "I don't see how weird dreams and...random instances of telekinesis suddenly set me apart as a god."

"There's so much more to it than that, Sam. You're capable of higher brain power," he emphasized, letting that point sink in. "Of course," he went on, "in order to optimize your abilities, there's certain procedures you have to do," he explained. "Certain...higher sources you have to pledge yourself too."

Sam's eyes narrowed in confusion. And suddenly, something clicked and he understood. He understood why he got such a wrong vibe from these people. Why they seemed so sinister and ill-boding. They were occultists. They had to be. The unnatural feats the man spoke of them being capable of must have been the results of delving around in the dark arts. Sam suddenly felt a trickle of fear run down his spine. He wanted nothing to do with any of that.

The man turned and nodded to his counterpart. "Let's get a reading of him."

What? Sam perked up. Get a reading? He feebly hoped they were talking about his palms.

The girl he knew as "Meg" turned and started fishing for something in her bag. She made her way over to him a moment later carrying a curious silver bowl in one hand, and in the other—Sam felt another prick of fear—a knife.

She crouched down by him. "Hold him," she said.

Sam felt the invisible hands seize him again. He couldn't move. Couldn't do anything to stop her as she grabbed his hand and made the deep cut straight across his palm. She squeezed firmly, letting the blood drip freely into the bowl.

Feeling violated and more creeped out than he could ever remember being, Sam watched, disturbed, as the girl dipped her finger into the bowl, stirring his blood, and started muttering in a low monotone voice. The words sounded like gibberish to Sam, but the cold that suddenly seemed to surround him made him think they definitely had meaning. Evil meaning.

Without warning, a sharp pain suddenly split across Sam's head. He gave a short yelp, his eyes wincing shut. Some unseen force was assaulting him. Trying to get in. Trying to learn his deepest thoughts, expose his most personal feelings. Trying to unfold the entire mystery that was Sam Winchester. Sam fought it, not even knowing what "it" was, but certain that letting it overpower him would be a mistake. The pain intensified, a thousand sharp stabs to his brain, over and over. He didn't notice he was on the ground. He couldn't hear his own yells.

"Keep at it," the man said, passively watching the young man writhe before him. "We have to break him."

The monotone chanting from the girl continued, as did the slow, constant stirring of the blood.

Sam was in hell. He had never felt pain like this. It was killing him. Surely he was going to die from this. Maybe if he stopped resisting...Maybe if the let the mental barriers he was unaware of even having till now—maybe if he let them down...the pain would stop. And he would live through this. But there was something there. Something at the edge of his reasoning that was urging him to stop fighting. Coaxing him into submissiveness. And we would be damned if was going to give the evil thing the satisfaction of winning. He struggled with all his might to keep it at bay. But that was proving to be more difficult with each passing moment. And Sam felt himself begin to slip away. Something new was taking over...it almost had him. A darkness was closing in. Darker than the deepest recesses of unconsciousness he had ever remembered reaching. And suddenly, he decided to welcome it. The barriers came down. His conscious thought left him. And his mind was left open to whoever or whatever had the desire to possess it.

The man smiled. "He's ours." He reached for the unconscious boy before him.

And suddenly, a crash behind them, and the deep, throaty voice that yelled the name "Sam," caught both the man's and girl's attention—completely off guard.

The library was dark and vacant and had been closed for several hours now. This was the closest one to the motel. This was most likely where Sam had come, had he made it to any library at all. Dean hastily parked the car and climbed out, hoping against hope there might still be an employee in the building. He pressed his face against the glass of the front doors, peering in. There was a dim hallway light on towards the back of the building but Dean assumed it was just routine to leave at least one light running. There wasn't anyone in the building. No one he could ask about Sam.

Pounding the glass in frustration, Dean whipped around and made his way back to the Impala, once again mentally running over the facts.

Sam had left at around 8:30. A man, who, from the brief glimpse Dean had gotten of him, strongly resembled their "buddy" David Fielding, had broken into the motel room sometime between then and about midnight, which was when Dean woke up. The Impala had somehow mysteriously made its way back to the motel between that time, yet Sam had not. And now there was no trace of his brother. No lead to follow. Nothing.

Dean swallowed hard, his mind reeling. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. He had nothing to draw any implications or assumptions from. Nothing.

It was the worst feeling ever. Funny, how the only times he himself felt utterly lost was when it was actually Sam who was lost—only in the literal sense of the word. Actually, "funny" wasn't a good word to describe it. Because it was anything but funny. It was hell.

God, it was as if this was becoming routine with Sam. Disappearing without a trace. See if once again, big brother Dean can magically put the pieces together and make yet another heroic rescue. I can't always pull it off, Sammy. Dean thought desperately. You've got to quit doing this to me. One of these times I'm not going to get lucky. It wouldn't be this time, though. He was going to find his brother tonight.

Where to look next? That was the question to focus on at the moment. He could try another library. Though, he couldn't imagine that that would gain him anything. He could try the power plant. Maybe Sam had made some big discovery and rushed to check it out. But the Impala was back at the motel. And he knows I would kill him for going alone anyway. Ah, what did it all mean? None of it fit together.

He wanted to know how David Fielding fit into the whole equation. He knew he was behind the disappearance of his brother. And he would kill the bastard once he got the chance. But what was he after? Why Sam? Dean immediately recalled his earlier conversation with Sam.

"I'm the freak here." Sam had said. "Why doesn't it come after me?"

Maybe those words had held more irony than either of them realized at the time. Maybe that's what this whole thing had been about. Getting to Sam. But why?

Dean slammed the door shut and revved the engine, pushing all the "why's" from his mind. They didn't matter right now. And they wouldn't until Sam was safely in the passenger's seat next to him where he belonged.

Dean pulled up to the corner of Third and Elm Street once more and put the car in park. The house was dark, its windows gaped at him like empty eye sockets. He climbed out of the car once more, quickly making his way to the front door. He gave it a firm pound.

"Sam?" he called, not bothering to keep his voice down. He didn't care whether he woke the whole neighborhood. He had to know if Sam was inside this house. He pounded again. "Sam? You in there?" The house remained still. Nothing stirred inside. He peered through one of the windows, and was met with a dark, empty living room. It didn't show any signs of anyone having been there. Especially against their will.

The frustration and panic was beginning to mount. He had done a decent job warding them off so far, but even Dean had his breaking point.

He slammed the car door shut behind him and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. He let his head rest there for a moment, eyes shut tight. Don't lose it, Dean. You'll find him. He's bound to be around here somewhere. Just keep it together and keep looking. He took a deep breath and lifted his head. Turning the key in the ignition, he silently prayed he would find his brother at the last site that was on the list.

Nothing had changed in the few hours since he had last been here. The power plant still looked spooky as ever. And this time around Dean actually had a reason to fear it. He had almost burned alive inside that building. He still didn't know what the hell had caused that. But again, that wasn't one of his most pressing concerns right now.

He parked the car once more and let himself out. Making his way down the dirt pathway, he could see, illuminated in the moonlight, the imprints he and his brother had made earlier that night. He could see the marks where Sam had dragged his unconscious body to safety. Where Sam had taken care of him. Only a few hours ago. There was something about seeing those prints in the dirt that made Dean ache.

He continued to the window and hesitated before climbing in. "Sam?" he called into the darkness. All he heard was the brief echo of "am" reverberate off the walls a few times. No answer came. Flipping the flashlight on Dean pulled himself into the building. He couldn't explain why, but he wasn't afraid of anything happening to him in here again. He knew that earlier fire incident had something to do with his brother. Who wasn't here.

"Sam?" he called again, though he knew it was futile. Dean walked through the building anyway. Just to be sure. And by the time he completed the round, he was. Sam wasn't here.

Dean climbed back out through the window. It was hopeless. He leaned back against the outer wall of the building and let himself slide down against it. Something light brushed against his cheek and he looked up to find it was snowing. The flakes were light and tiny, and very uncharacteristic for the season—Winter had practically been over for a few weeks now. Dean hadn't even noticed it was cold tonight.

He continued to stare up at the sky, glad for the brief distraction that occupied his attention. But the distraction was only that—brief. And his thoughts inevitably turned back to his brother without him willing them to. Sitting there, lost, cold, exhausted, and completely without resolve, he found himself remembering...Remembering thoughts and moments and memories that seemed lifetimes ago. Remembering a little brown-haired, brown-eyed kid that idolized him. And that he, in turn, adored.

"Hey, Dean! Go long!"

"I am long, Sammy."

"No, go long."

"Heh, I don't know if you can throw that far, kiddo."

"Watch."

"Heey, not a bad spiral! You've been working on that grip I showed you, haven't you?"

"Yep. When I'm a quarterback for the Broncos, you'll come to my games, won't you?"

"The Broncos? Where did I go wrong with you, Sammy?"

----------

"Merry Christmas, Dean!"

"Ughh...What did I tell you, Sammy? Not until the sun's up."

"It's just coming up right now, Dean! Come and see...Aw, come on. Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up!"

---------

"Sammy...come on, don't be sad, kid."

"Dad's mad at me."

"No, he isn't."

"Then why did he yell at me?"

"Because you had him worried, that's all."

"You never yell at me."

"Heh, that's just because I've found beating you up is a much more effective way of keeping you in line."

"Ha, too bad I can take you, Dean."

"Heh, too bad you can't."

"Want me to prove it?"

"Let's see what ya got, kid."

-----------Years flashed by.

"I swear man, you've got to update your cassette tape collection."

"Why?"

"Well for one, they're cassette tapes. And another, Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

"House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts his cakehole."

"You know, 'Sammy' is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam."

------------

"Hey Sam, now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was."

"Look...you're my brother. And I'd die for you. But there's some things I need to keep to myself..."

And I'd die for you...The words echoed through Dean's mind. It had been Sam who said them. It had been Sam who was the one brave enough to voice it. It was all wrong, though.

Dean couldn't help but wonder if Sam was trying to protect him in some way. If that's what the mystery of tonight was all about. Because dammit, Sam, that's not your job. It's mine. I'm the one who does the whole "looking-after" routine. I'm the one who worries. I'm the one who'd die, dammit.

Dean's role was Protector. He knew it. He had always known it. Ever since that little baby brother had been placed in his arms for the very first time at the hospital. And when the object of his protection was gone...When Sam was gone...Dean couldn't play his role. And when Dean couldn't play his role, his world fell apart.

He couldn't stop the steady stream of childhood memories from continuing to flow, each one proving more painful than the last. He had the sick, dreadful feeling that these were all he would have left of his brother now. Something about his disappearance tonight felt so...permanent.

He pressed his hands into his face. What does he do now? What on earth could he possibly be expected to do now? File a police report? Ask around the town? Put up damn "Reward Posters?"

A soft, high-pitched ringing sound suddenly cut through the silence, disrupting Dean's tormenting thoughts.

His cell phone.

But the ring was different. Not the normal tone he had become accustomed to hearing.

He quickly fumbled with his jacket, practically tearing at his pocket to get the phone out.

The ringing had stopped. It had only rang once. A different tone that signaled not a call, but a text message.

Dean flipped the phone open, hoping against hope...

Sender: Unknown

Dean-
You'll find Sam at Silver Pines Park.
I'm leaving him with you.
Don't let him out of your sight again.
This isn't over yet.

Dean's breath hitched in his throat.

He read it again. Twice. Three times, until the words finally sank in.

He was back in the Impala almost before he had even slammed his phone shut. The engine revved and the car peeled out, the squeal sending a ferocious note splitting through the night.

The park was not difficult to find. He remembered passing it at least twice throughout the day's events. However, he could never remember being so anxious to get anywhere in his life before. He tried to keep his head level, to keep his pulse steady, and to stay focused on the road. But that was proving a very difficult thing to do as his thoughts were tumbling over one another, much in the fashion of clothes in a washing machine. He was too jumbled and mixed up to try and make sense of the situation at the moment. All he could think was that maybe, just maybe, there was a bright light at the end of the hellishly dark tunnel this night had turned out to be.

He reached the park. Throwing the gear into park, he flung the door open. He couldn't remember whether he shut it behind him or not.

"Sam!" he called, jogging along the sidewalk of the vacant park.

The hollow cling of a tether-ball chain hitting its pole answered him.

"Sam!" he called again, loudly.

There were empty swings, swaying slowly. Empty slides standing solitude. No sign of his brother, however.

He increased his pace to a jog. "Sam!" He had to be here somewhere. Maybe on the other side of the park. Maybe just over that hill. He refused to believe he wouldn't find him her—

And suddenly, there it was. The most beautiful sight Dean could ever remember seeing. He was sprawled out on a bench, surrounded in a circular pool of amber light from the street lamp above him. Light flakes of snow were slowly dancing around him, falling soft as feathers and collecting briefly on his closed lashes and tousled hair before dissolving into tiny droplets of water that sparkled golden in the light.

Sam. He wasn't sure if he said it out loud or not.

A sudden delayed wave of relief swept over Dean, knocking his breath out in a slow exhalation.

It was him. What had happened, how he'd come to be here, Dean didn't know or care about at the moment, as he closed the remaining gap between him and his younger brother.

Looking down at his sleeping brother, he was amazed at how young he looked. Sam always looked oddly younger when he was asleep. It was all he could do to keep himself from pulling the kid into one of the crushing hugs he never felt embarrassed about giving him when they were young. But instead, he placed his hand on his forehead, sliding it up under the overgrown bangs.

"Sam?" he asked softly. He didn't feel warm. He didn't look injured. At least from what he could tell.

"Sam?" he tried again. He received no response. But for some reason, Dean wasn't alarmed. He was still too much basking in the relief at having found him to feel alarmed. He was just sleeping. And God knows how much his little brother was always in need of sleep.

Gently, Dean lifted his brother's head and shoulders and slid down on the bench under him, slowly lowering the weight back onto his lap. He was too exhausted to do anything else at the moment. He had been on an emotional roller-coaster the entire night, and finally the ride was drawing to its end.

This isn't over yet.

The words suddenly flashed through Dean's mind. It had been his father. His dad had been here. His dad had been the one to save Sam.

But what had happened? And where had he gone? And how did all of this relate to the thing that killed their mom? Because he knew it did. His father wouldn't have been here otherwise.

There were so many questions chasing each other through Dean's mind. Each one only resulting in several more being raised.

He didn't care at the moment though. He couldn't care. All that mattered was that Sam was with him. His little brother was okay and under his care again. He could once again fall back into his role of Protector. So, whatever had happened tonight, whatever it all meant, and whatever it would bring tomorrow, it didn't matter. Because Dean's world was back in order again. And together, he and Sam would take it all in stride. They would figure it all out, and they would emerge victorious. That was their just way of life.

Dean smiled weakly and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. One more memory came floating back to him, unexpected.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Dean?"

"Rich and famous. With a garage full of cars and a jacuzzi full of girls. What about you?"

"I wanna be just like Superman. Only I know that probably can't happen because he's got whole super-powers thing going for him. He can fly and stuff. So I guess I'll go with Batman."

"Batman? He's your hero, huh?"

"...No."

"But you just said you wanted to be him."

"I said I wanted to be like him. Fight bad guys and stuff. But I never said he was my hero."

"Oh, so it's Superman?"

"No. Like I would choose someone that's not even real for my hero."

"A lot of people's heroes aren't real."

"Not mine. Mine's very real." It was said simply. Not full of hinting. But Dean got it anyway.

Yeah, mine too.

A/N: Well, I think that's going to be it. Weak and very confusing resolution, I know, but I think it's much better to leave a whole ton of open-ended questions than to go even more AU. I just wanted to get this fic finished before tonight, because I was so worried that after more canon revelations are made in "Shadow" I would never get around to finishing this. And I couldn't bear having an unfinished story on my bio page for time and all eternity. So, if anything, there might be a much-needed follow-up chapter with Sam waking up, but I'm not sure yet. We'll see. Anyways, I hope those of you who read it enjoyed it! I'm now going to go back to sticking with canon fics and I'll probably focus more on one-shots after I finish "Infected." So, I hope you'll check back with my profile sometime in the future! Thanks for reading, guys. :)