A/N: I had planned on posting something as a celebration when I finished my semester...clearly that did not happen. But we got here in the end. :)
I am working on another story, a multi-chapter one. I am so close to being done with it! But I was needed a break and thus this little creation came about. On that note, I am so sorry for any and all mistakes. This was put together somewhat quickly. But I will be posting the multi-chapter one soon, probably before January is over.
Thank you for reading and, if you feel so inclined, please review! :)
Disclaimer: not mine.
This is set shortly after Just My Imagination so Sam would be nine and Dean would be twelve.
A Question of Strength
"I don't want to stay in the car, Dad!" Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the front seat as he gazed beseechingly at his father.
"Sam…" John's tone bordered on frustration, but Sam had never known when to quit.
"I can help! I've been working hard, training with Dean, and I can even hit all the cans when we go out shooting," he wheedled, a slight whine entering his voice.
Dean swung around, shoving Sam's arms off the seat as he snapped, "Dude! Give it a break. Dad already said that this one was too dangerous. You can go another time."
"But—"
"Sam!" John barked irritably and Sam sank back into his seat. Folding his arms across his chest, he glared hard at the back of Dean's head.
It was not fair.
Dean got to go on hunts. Dean got to help out Dad. Dad and Dean were always talking and hanging out and…hunting. Sam was ready—well, he knew that he was not as good as Dean, but he was getting better. He was working hard, and he knew that he could do this. He could be just as good of a hunter as Dean was if they would only give him a chance.
"Stop pouting, man!" Dean looked over at him. "Just be glad that you aren't sitting in the motel room."
Get Smart was supposed to be on tonight, at least I could be watching that if I was at the motel…Sam thought dismally, but just as quickly as the thought came, he shoved it away. He wanted to be here, he wanted to be hunting with Dean and Dad.
It was the family business.
He just had to prove that he was worthy to be part of the family.
Scrunching down further in the backseat, he resisted the urge to make Dean mad by kicking at the back of his seat… but that would be childish, and he wasn't childish anymore. He had decided that all that had to go away with Sully so that he could be a hunter.
John pulled the Impala around to park on the edge of the road. Trees lined the rough dirt road, creating a dense forest. Dean swiveled around, eyeing Sam critically. "You know the drill, Sammy. Keep the doors—"
"—locked, I know, alright? I'm not a baby," Sam growled, shoving Dean's hand back when he tried to ruffle his hair. "I do this all the time because it's all that you will let me do."
Dean's smile grew thin. "Dude."
Sam looked away, glowering through the window and at the trees. John got out of the car, and Dean followed, swinging the duffle full of supplies over his shoulder. Tapping once on the back window, John gave Sam a pointed look. Sam nodded once and John retreated, his hand resting on Dean's back as he ushered him into the trees.
It was early afternoon, but Sam knew only too well that it could be midnight, or even later before they returned. They were hunting some sort of descendent of a Fodien and they were not sure where its lair was, just that it was somewhere in the woods. During the night, it had been sneaking off to torment the people of the nearby town, Sunbury, and John had carefully explained to Sam just that morning about how they were going to end the Fodien. They had to find its cave and do a ritual.
Easy-peasy according to Dean.
It was just finding it that was proving to be the issue. That and the fact that to perform the ritual, they had to have some of the furs of the Fodien.
Rocking his head back against the seat, Sam blinked back tears.
He had even memorized both the incantation and the symbols that went along with it because he had thought that he could impress his father…but it felt like he hadn't listened to a word that Sam had said.
#
"C'mon, Dean, hurry up. We are getting close," John ordered briskly, his face set in concentration as he hurried through the trees, following some sort of trail that Dean couldn't see. They were tracking the Fodien—had been for the better part of five hours— and Dean was more than ready to be done, but one did not say that to John Winchester.
He was going to find that cave, come rain, snow, shine, or hell.
Dean hurried to pick up his pace, trying to keep up with his father. They rounded a dense pocket of trees and found themselves staring at a jumbled mass of rocks and boulders. John brought his arm back, catching Dean in the chest and Dean instantly stilled, waiting for his father's command.
Face tight with excitement, John began to creep forward until he was kneeling next to two boulders that were leaning awkwardly against each other, creating an opening. Dean dug the flashlight out of the duffle, offering it to his father when he held out his hand.
Together, they peered into the darkness within. The opening stretched back further than Dean had imagined possible, and the light did not penetrate the full distance, leaving them staring at nothing but rock and dirt.
Dean's stomach did a funny flip flop as he stared into the small cave.
John was never going to fit through the opening.
"Remember, stay as small and quiet as you can. You just need to put up the symbols, get some of the fur, and say the incantation. That will do all the work for you. Don't try and get fancy. This is simple," John began, kneeling upright so that he could look Dean in the eye. They had gone over this several times at the motel and Dean nodded, jutting his chin out.
"I'll be fine, Dad, like you said, it's not that hard," he said cockily and John gave him a small smile, the praise silent in his eyes. Dean swelled importantly, and he handed his father the duffle and his jacket in exchange for the flashlight and the bag containing herbs and a small knife.
Tucking it into his pocket, he gave his father a brisk nod before dropping down onto his hands and knees. Crawling forward into the mouth of the cave, he ducked a jagged section of rock and continued forward.
It didn't take him long to move away from the weak natural light and to be plunged into what would have been complete blackness, had it not been for the flashlight. The beam illuminated the rock roof over his head and guided him forward until…Dean swallowed thickly; his hands suddenly slick around the flashlight.
There was a massive rock wall blocking his path, but that hadn't stopped the Fodien. It appeared to have gone under the rock by digging a hole into the ground. One that Dean was now going to have to go into. Closing his eyes, Dean took a moment to offer up every curse word that he knew and then dropped down onto his stomach.
A rotten stench emanated up from the tunnel and Dean hesitated, his stomach doing somersaults before he gritted his teeth and pulled himself forward and into the tunnel of dirt.
It was a steep drop and Dean's heart plummeted as he slipped downward, landing awkwardly at the bottom. He lifted his head, cursing softly when he hit the roof of dirt, sending a fine spray of dust into his face. Coughing, he waved it away as best as he could as he struggled forward.
The walls were slumping in towards him, and the roof was pressing against the top of his head, forcing Dean to crouch down so that he was flat on his stomach. Even that did not give him the clearance that he had been hoping for and he shimmied forward, hoping for greater relief from the claustrophobic feeling further in the tunnel.
Only, that did not appear to be the case, and Dean felt his stomach pitch uncomfortably, the flashlight slick with the sweat from his hands.
He did not like this, he did not like this…
Digging his nails into the earth, Dean pulled himself forward, worming his shoulders through the tight space and coughing through the spray of dirt that accompanied the movement.
The dim beam of the flashlight briefly illuminated an upcoming bend where the tunnel widened a little and Dean shoved himself forward, desperate to have a little bit more room to breathe. He was pressed in so tightly that he could feel his heart pounding against the dirt.
Reaching the bend, Dean paused, trying to control the tremors that were coursing through him.
He did not want to go forward.
Shining the light into the upcoming section of the tunnel, Dean blinked back sudden tears.
There was no way that he was going to fit through there.
The tunnel decreased dramatically in size and he had barely managed to get here, and if he kept going… he was going to get stuck. And that wouldn't be good.
The only chance he had of getting out if he got stuck was if the Fodien ate him down to size. It was not a pleasant thought and Dean gripped the flashlight tighter, his other hand going down to the bag of herbs in his pocket. He was okay, he was okay…
Taking a deep breath, Dean did the only thing that he could. He began to manipulate his body, trying to turn himself around so that he could worm his way back through the tunnel. It was slow going, and the effort left Dean panting and with his left shoulder twinging occasionally, but he was facing the right direction again.
His celebration of the feat was marred by the bitterness of failure. Dad was going to be so mad…or worse, he was going to be disappointed. Dean had been entrusted with this job, and he had failed.
Ducking his head, Dean began to wriggle his way back into the tight confines of the tunnel and tried not to dwell on what was waiting for him at the end.
The incline that led up into the cave proved almost impossible to get out of, and it left Dean shaking and air seemingly hard to come by. The T-shirt that he had been wearing was ripped badly and was hanging half off his shoulder.
That had been close if Dean was just a little bit bigger, or the hole that much smaller…
All the same, it was a relief to be able to move his body more freely and not be blocked in on all sides by the dirt. His heart was beating at a less dangerous rate now as he forced himself to move.
The natural light had the end of the tunnel began to grow and Dean paused, taking a moment to collect himself before he had to face his father. Using the ragged remains of his shirt, he wiped half-heartedly at his face, noticing disinterestedly the amount of dirt now staining the material.
He could see John's legs, pacing back and forth in front of the entrance.
John was going to be livid….
But, there was nothing for it. Dean had to face his father.
Exiting the small opening on his hands and knees, Dean darted a glance up towards John, who looked over in surprise.
"That was quick. Did you get it?" he asked hurriedly, grabbing Dean's bicep and pulling him up to his feet.
"No, I—There wasn't enough room, I couldn't keep going," Dean said softly, ducking his head in embarrassment and shame. He could feel the pride and excitement draining from John, the disappointment there a stark difference.
"What do you mean you couldn't keep going?" John asked, his eyebrows arching, and Dean shrugged, fighting the urge to curl in on himself.
"I mean that I wasn't going to be able to fit. If I kept going, I was going to get stuck and nothing short of a backhoe was going to get me out. I had trouble getting free as it was."
John made a face that Dean could not decipher and straightened to his full height as he resumed pacing in a tight line. "We need to get into that cave, that is the only way…"
"I know, but unless you plan to make me Flat Stanley, that ain't happening." Dean picked his coat up and shrugged it on with a grimace before thrusting his hands into the pockets. The material was lying painfully on several scrapes and cuts, but he ignored them as he watched his father think.
John's face was pulled down into a frown, a hand rubbing at his beard.
"How much smaller would you say that tunnel went?"
"I don't know, I couldn't exactly see that far ahead, but there was no way in hell that I was going to fit," Dean alliterated.
"No, no, I know that you won't, but Sam might."
And just like that, Dean's heart began to pound like it had been back in the tunnel. "What, no!" he declared without thinking and John gave him a disapproving look.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" he asked and Dean shook his head, his hands clenching inside his pockets.
"Dad, Sam's—you can't just send him in there! He's never done anything like that before! We haven't trained him for this."
"Well, not for this exact situation, no," John conceded, but he was already moving, gathering up their meager supplies and turning to head back towards the car. "But we have trained him to be a hunter. C'mon, we can still do this today if we hustle."
He was taking large strides and Dean had to run to catch up with him.
"But Dad, Sam's not ready. He's never been alone on a hunt before, not really, and he's never been without backup. Down there, we aren't going to be watching his back."
"At some point, he is going to have to learn. Now is as good of a time as ever. Besides, it will be good for him to take on some real responsibility. You heard him in the car—hell, he's been begging for this for a while now—he wants this. And weren't you telling me just the other day how hard he has been working, how much he has improved? That he was ready?"
Dean made a face as he ducked a low-hanging branch. "Yeah, I know that I said that, but—"
"You are going to have to cut him free and let him fly. You've babied him too much as it is, so just…let him go, Dean." John paused, giving Dean a somewhat exasperated—if not unkind—look, but Dean couldn't meet his father's eyes.
Sam was only nine for crying out loud. You weren't supposed to cut kids free at nine and make them do stuff like this.
His stomach churned, nausea welling up at the thought of Sam being down there.
But John was dead set on finishing the job today and what other alternatives did they have?
The thought did not make Dean feel any better about it and his guts were still tying themselves into knots when they reached the Impala. He hung back, watching as John strode purposefully forward and unlocked the back door. He took a step back as Sam appeared, looking slightly confused and clutching the book that he had been reading close to his chest.
"Did you get it? Did you get the Fodien?" he asked, looking between Dean and John.
"Not exactly, but today is your lucky day, kiddo," John said, smiling thinly as he began to dig through the back seat and pulled out Sam's jacket, tossing it in his direction. "We need your help."
Sam paused with only one arm through the sleeve, and Dean watched the progression of emotions that flashed across his face as confusion morphed into a mixture of fear and excitement.
"Really?"
"Yeah, really, Sam. C'mon, we've got about a mile walk back to the cave and we'll fill you in on the way." John nodded towards the forest.
Sam grinned, his eyes brightening as he looked over at Dean, who could muster no more than a weak smile. Tilting his head to the side, Sam's eyes narrowed as he analyzed Dean carefully, some of the excitement fading into concern.
Rolling his eyes, Dean reached out, shoving his shoulder roughly.
"Don't get used to it, it's just 'cause you're a squirt," he said, his voice coming out oddly flat and the softness in Sam's eyes faded. He glared at Dean, pushing his hand away and Dean dug his hands back into his pockets, clenching them tight to keep them from trembling.
Wasn't his fault the kid was so damn sensitive.
Sam hurried to catch up with John, who began to talk briskly about the Fodien and what Sam could expect. He hung onto every word, nodding seriously at the end of every sentence. Dean stayed several paces back, listening silently. As soon as John stopped talking, Sam picked up where he had left off, proudly repeating facts that he had apparently learned about the Fodien.
Dean's gut curled again. He did not want to send Sam down there.
It didn't take them long to retrace their steps back to the cave, and once they stopped Sam began to fidget with a nervous sort of energy. He glanced back at Dean, his wide eyes boring into his and seeking…something. Comfort? Help? Pride?
Dean wasn't sure, but he straightened all the same and gave Sam a more real smile this time. Sam's thin shoulders relaxed, and he grinned brightly back, before turning to face the entrance. He dropped down, peering into the darkness.
John meanwhile held out a hand and Dean passed over the bag of supplies, which John preceded to go through for a second time, double-checking that everything was in order. Dean let him, going to stand next to his brother.
"Hey pipsqueak," he called, tapping his brother's boot with his own. Sam turned to look at him and Dean jerked his head to the side. Nodding, Sam stood and brushed the dirt off the knees of his pants as he came to stand beside him.
Dean licked his lips, rolling his shoulders nervously.
"Don't be stupid, okay? I'm not…Dad and I aren't going to be there so just keep your head on and you'll be okay," he said softly, looking directly into Sam's eyes. Sam looked solemnly back up at him, nodding once.
This was ridiculous. Dean's heart was about to beat right out of his chest.
"And look, it's gonna get dark in there. And tight. It might be scary—"
"—I won't be scared—" Sam broke in, jutting his chin out in determination.
"Nah, I know." Dean's smile felt stretched and painful. He very much doubted that, but even Sam knew that Winchesters lived in denial and if saying that he wasn't scared was going to help…well, Dean wasn't going to take that away. "If you think that you are going to get stuck, then you turn around, and come back, okay?" He paused again, waiting for Sam to nod. "Seriously, dude, if you get stuck it's going to be a pain in my ass to get you out, so don't get stuck."
"I won't!" Sam said peevishly.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, well, don't be a bitch about it," he said, his eyes lingering significantly on Sam's.
"Dean, don't call your brother that," John said distractedly looking over at him with a quick frown, but Dean was focused on Sam, whose face had lit up, sharing in the silent joke.
"Jerk," he replied, grinning just a little.
Dean rolled his eyes for good measure, but his smile fell as Sam turned to accept the bag of supplies that John was holding out for him. Sam's eyes were determined as he tucked them into his pocket and moved back to the entrance.
"Sam, be careful. Remember what I've taught you," John called, and Dean could see sudden apprehension crossing his father's face, but it was gone as quick as it had come.
Sam nodded as he dropped down onto his knees. He turned, seeking out Dean who nodded, unable to speak around the lump that had formed in his throat.
And then Sam was gone.
And damn if Dean didn't feel like he had the day that he had dropped a tearful Sam off for the first day of kindergarten.
#
Sam refused to look back behind him as the natural light rapidly decreased as he moved further inside the cave. Soon, the beam of the flashlight was the only thing that illuminated the pale rocks and Sam fought the urge to glance back.
He reached down to make sure that he still had everything that he needed to do the ritual. It was still there, a comfortable lump in his pocket.
It didn't take Sam long to reach the wall of rock and the tunnel of dirt that Dean had briefly described to him, and he clutched the flashlight tighter. Taking a deep breath, he allowed himself to slide headfirst down the tunnel.
Coughing through the dust, Sam blinked through it, moving gingerly so that he could shine the flashlight through it.
No wonder Dean had been forced to turn back.
The ceiling was close to Sam's head, and he didn't have much room to maneuver on either side. He couldn't crawl either and was forced to pull himself along by his elbows as he continued to worm his way forward. Dean was bigger than Sam—something he liked to remind him of frequently—and he would not have fit.
Sam continued to edge forward, keeping his head down and away from the roof until he reached the bend where he assumed Dean had turned around. The roof of the ceiling sloped dramatically inwards, but Sam could still fit if he lay flat on his belly, so he continued to pull himself forward.
The stench of the Fodien was quickly filling the small, confined, space, and Sam wrinkled up his nose, coughing a little into his shoulder. The dirt walls were pressing in on him, but Sam had told Dean that he wasn't scared, and he wasn't—not as long as he didn't think about how far underground he was going as he moved at an increasingly downwards angle. He had to be twenty feet? Thirty? He didn't know but if he thought about how much earth was above him right now, and what would happen in the advent of a cave-in…
Pushing that thought away, Sam moved forward and determinedly ignored the way that the walls were gradually shrinking inwards. He was not scared—he was strong like Dean and Dad.
His shoulders caught and Sam froze, his heart picking up its pace. Twisting a little, Sam found himself still stuck and he gritted his teeth. Digging his fingernails into the dirt, he began to pry himself forward.
Slowly, the earth gave way, allowing him to pass.
Breathing raggedly, Sam found himself wishing not for the first time that Dad and Dean were there. Or that he was back in the Impala, listening to them talk about hunting and only occasionally including him. That was fine, but this…
Sam forced himself to take several deep breaths. He would not cry, that was not happening. He was a hunter. More importantly, he was a Winchester.
He was so focused on that, that he didn't see that the tunnel abruptly opened up, dropping down into a hole and Sam found himself tumbling down it.
He landed hard, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He lay there for a moment, wheezing softly until he could take a full breath. It was only then that the overwhelming stench of the Fodien hit and his stomach revolted, forcing its way up into his throat.
Gagging and trembling, Sam threw himself backward and flicked off the flashlight. Bringing his dirt and sweat-stained shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, he crowded back into the corner.
He wasn't alone. He could hear something breathing.
Sam could not move even if he had wanted for the sudden terror that had paralyzed him to the spot. Not even daring to breathe, he waited for something to happen, for something to attack him and sink its teeth into his flesh…
Only, nothing happened.
Swallowing thickly, Sam closed his eyes, trying to force himself to move. Dean could do it. Dean would have already been in and out by this point. Dragging his arm down towards the packet of supplies, Sam tugged it free inch by inch while holding his breath, just waiting for the monster to move. To attack.
Even his heart seemed to have stopped beating in an attempt to conceal his presence.
Pulling out the bag, Sam winced at the unnerving and horrifically loud sound it made when he opened it.
The Fodien snorted, shifting in its sleep.
It was another minute before Sam moved to pull the small pocketknife out.
Crouching down near the entrance, Sam began to carve the symbols that he had memorized into the dirt. His hands were shaking and Sam bit down on his lower lip in an attempt to control his body. Finishing with the four symbols, Sam pulled out the bag of herbs and began to pack them down into the symbols. Once that was done, he raised the knife to his own wrist.
He pressed the blade down, but he couldn't quite force himself to break skin. He just needed a little bit of blood, that was all—
The Fodien rolled over and Sam jumped, the knife slicing skin easily. Warm blood began to trickle down his wrist, and Sam hurried to dip a finger into it, painting his own blood across the symbols.
Now, for the hardest part.
He needed some fur off the Fodien to complete the ritual, otherwise, nothing would happen.
He stood there, staring at the lump of the Fodien.
All he needed was a little bit of fur. Then he could get out of here…he could go home.
It only took three steps to reach the Fodein and, once again not daring to breathe, Sam slowly reached out threading a hand into the matted fur of the giant rat-like creature. The knife caught once, before sliding through the strands.
The Fodien snuffed in a breath, its body freezing.
A pair of red eyes flashed open, staring directly at him and Sam's heart stopped beating as he stopped dead, his hand halfway back to his body.
They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, but couldn't have been longer than a couple of seconds, and then the Fodien's eyes slid closed again, a long sigh catching Sam's sweaty hair and blowing it back.
Sam waited, afraid to even blink, before he finally allowed himself to ease back. He dropped the tufts of hair into the symbols. Fumbling the lighter out of his pocket, he glanced once again at the Fodien before attempting to flick the lighter on.
The only warning he had was a slight rustle and then the Fodien was bowling him over. He hit the ground hard and found himself blinking up into malice red eyes. Its breath was hot on his face as it stared down at him and then it opened its mouth to reveal a row of sharp teeth. Letting out a bellow that made Sam's ears ring, it dug one sharp claw painfully into his arm, forcing him to cry out as he attempted to jerk violently away.
He still had the knife in one hand, and he swung it up, sinking in into flesh and fur.
Sam's stomach turned over as he met resistance and he let out a short yell of his own as he shoved the knife in deeper. The Fodien struggled back, screeching. Wrenching his other arm free, Sam scrambled towards the entrance of the cave.
The Fodien continued to wail, and Sam blinked sweat out of his eyes as he focused on the lighter that had been laying in the dirt. Clenching it in his trembling hands, he felt a sob rise up when it refused to light the first time.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, please…" he pleaded, trying again as he glanced over his shoulder. Those red eyes were locking on him, and there was nothing he could do but try the lighter for the third time.
Sam let out a weak sort of sound when the flame finally spluttered to life.
Bringing the lighter down to light the herbs and fur, Sam began to recite the verse of incantation as he backed up, feeling behind him for the exit.
In the light of the flames, he could finally see the Fodien, could see the evil in its horrible, bulbous, and distorted face could see the tiny bones that were scattered across the entrance, and the horrible streaks of dark blood.
Turning around, Sam scrambled desperately towards the exit and struggled to get a handhold so that he could pull himself up the steep incline.
The Fodien began to shriek and Sam swiveled to look.
Its face was beginning to twitch, its skin bubbling and ballooning.
Sam's eyes widened, watching with horror and disgust. It was howling appalling sounds of terror and pain.
He did not want to see any more.
Digging his fingers into the dirt, he began to climb, trying not to slip back down. The stench of the herbs and the Fodien invaded his nostrils and Sam dug his toes into the dirt to hold himself in place as he stretched, looking for the lip of the hole.
He found it and began to pull himself up and along.
The tunnel was smaller than he remembered, but Sam did not let that stop him. He shoved himself through with little regard to the pain that resulted in his hands and his arm.
The cave behind him suddenly went eerily and stunningly quiet.
Sam kept shoving himself forward, desperate to be out of the tunnel. He just wanted out, he wanted to be done, he wanted to be watching TV or reading his book, or even being teased mercilessly by Dean.
Anything else.
He did not remember how he got from the belly of the cave to somewhere—he wasn't quite sure where—further along in the tunnel. One moment he was fleeing for his life and the next he was laying in the dirt and unable to stop shivering.
It was pitch black and he reached down for the flashlight, but it wasn't there. He must have dropped it back in with the Fodien.
He couldn't see a damn thing.
Gasping in what felt like his first breath, Sam dropped his head down onto his arms and buried his face in them. The darkness was almost palpable and weighed as heavily upon him as the dirt did. The light had been a comfort, and he had not realized just how much so until it was gone.
He exhaled sharply, blinking back the tears that were threatening.
He was fine, he was fine, he had made it out, the Fodien was dead, he was fine—Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam tried to keep his breathing even. It wasn't working and his lungs bellowed like there wasn't enough air, and maybe there wasn't. What did Sam know about being stuck underground? He did know about the stories of miners who had suffocated after cave-ins. Was that going to happen to him? What if he was about to die on his first real hunt? Dean and Dad wouldn't even be able to reclaim his body.
Maybe this was a sign that he just wasn't cut out to be a hunter…or to be a Winchester.
A few tears squeezed out and Sam balled up his hands desperately. But once the tears started, he was having trouble getting them to stop. Dad would be so disappointed in him, seeing him crying like a baby when there was nothing to be afraid of, but there was nothing that he could do about it.
Sam cried until he had nothing left, emotionally, physically, and mentally.
He lay in an exhausted heap for a long time.
Pulling in a shuddering breath, Sam dragged a hand back to wipe at his eyes. Part of him wanted to lay there and never move again but…Sam wasn't about to do that. Not to Dean.
Inhaling the smell of dirt and rot, Sam began to carefully work his way forward. His arm was stinging from the cut he had made earlier, but he ignored it as he pulled himself through the dirt.
He was going to get out.
The stubbornness carried him up to the front of the tunnel. The increasingly uphill climb had left Sam panting and out of breath. When he found himself faced with the last steep incline that led up into the rocks, he almost gave up. His arms felt like Jell-O, his legs rubbery, and his stomach was churning slowly. Lifting himself up on his elbows, Sam braced himself and stared at the opening.
Wearily squirming over onto his back, Sam dug his hands into the dirt, searching for a good hold so that he could pull himself up.
Cold hands wrapped around his wrists and Sam started violently. Crying out softly, he tried to jerk away, but the hands only tightened their grip.
"It's just me, dude, calm down."
Craning his head back, Sam searched the darkness above him. He couldn't see Dean in the dark, but it sounded like him and even if it wasn't… he was so tired.
He let Dean pull him up and out of the hole, and collapsed on his knees next to his brother. Dean didn't say another word as he gathered Sam up in his arms and gave him a hard—if brief—hug. Sam returned it, taking the moment to pull up his t-shirt and wipe at his face so that it was free of tears.
Sam had told Dean that he wasn't scared and if his brother saw his tears, then he would know the truth.
Dean didn't say another word as he began to pull Sam towards the front of the cave. The darkness began to fade the closer he got to the entrance, and a fresh breeze gently kissed his skin, washing away the stench of the Fodien.
He was so close to being free…yet it seemed like so far away and Sam faltered as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Dean tightened his hold, almost carrying him the last few feet. And then John was reaching into the opening, yanking him upright, and Sam blinked into the blinding dusk.
"Dude—" Dean's eyes were wide, his face pale. He mouthed wordlessly for a moment before the words began to tumble out of his lips so fast that Sam was having a hard time keeping up. "Dude, you took so long, I was—are you okay? What happened? You're absolutely filthy, man…" Dean was swatting a hand down the front of his shirt, trying to brush free the dust and dirt there.
Sam blinked, feeling a little dizzy from the motion and then Dean froze. "You're bleeding. Did you not take care of your arm after you cut it? Dad—" Dean spun around and visibly started as he came face to face with a slightly bemused-looking John.
"I'm still bleeding?" Sam asked faintly, glancing down with surprise at the limb that Dean was gently extending for John to see. Sure enough, thick, red, blood was mixing in with the dirt. It streaked his arm and stained his already ruined t-shirt.
John crouched down next to Sam and took his arm from Dean.
"You get the Fodien, kiddo?" he asked as he bent over, examining the deep cut which Sam was still staring at in surprise. He knew that it had bled, but that looked like a lot of blood…
"I think I cut too deep," he said dully, and John nodded once.
"Yeah, we'll work on it next time, but it looks worse than it actually is." He accepted the first-aid kit from Dean. "But you got it? It's gone?"
"Yeah, it's—I did the spell." Sam expected the words to feel better than they did, but instead, they left him feeling vaguely ill.
"Here." Dean was shoving an already opened water bottle at him and Sam reached across with his right hand to take it. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until he tasted the first drop, then he began to chug it. Dean was making a face, his expression tight as he circled Sam. He continued to swat at him gently in an attempt to rid his hair and clothing of dirt, not that it was making that much of a difference.
"It's a good thing for you that we don't have a hose out here, otherwise I would spray you down before I even let you look at the Impala. Seriously, I think we are going to be finding dirt in her for the rest of your life." Dean groaned theatrically, but all Sam could muster was a tired smile.
"You're covered in dirt too," he pointed out. Dean shrugged.
"You bleeding from anywhere else?" he asked and Sam shook his head. He knew that he was pretty scraped and bruised up, but those probably weren't worth any bandages. Dean had a scrape running across his cheek, but it wasn't bandaged either.
"Hold still, Sam, this might sting," John said gruffly and Sam's breath caught as he saw the small bottle of hydroperoxide that his father was holding. He searched out Dean, who tossed him a light grin as he dropped a hand onto his shoulder.
"All I know is that you ain't touching the bed when we get back until you've showered at least once," Dean said, his hand tightening on Sam's shoulder as John began to pour the hydroperoxide over the wound.
Sam tensed, his whole body going rigid as fire shot up his arm and his senses short-circuited. Dean moved closer, his grip turning almost demanding as Sam grabbed ahold of him in a desperate response to the pain. He allowed it, and Sam blinked hard, determined not to cry again today.
"I don't think you need stitches," John said after a moment and Sam sagged in relief, nodding numbly as John began to bandage it.
"Hey," Dean nudged his arm again. "Might even scar. Chicks dig scars."
Sam huffed a sigh, looking over at Dean in exasperation. "And why would I want that?" he asked and Dean laughed.
"Just you wait, Sammy, one day you are goin' to start to get these—"
"Dean!" Sam snapped and felt his face grow red.
John finished wrapping the bandages, but he held onto Sam's arm for a moment, giving him a rare smile. "Now, you are sure that it's dead?" he asked.
Sam nodded once. "I don't think it could get any deader," he responded truthfully and John patted Sam's shoulder. The praise was silent but palpable and Sam felt his back straighten, the tiredness and fear from earlier drifting to the back of his brain.
John stood, packing away the first-aid kit. "Dean," he called and Dean looked distractedly over at his father. "We should give this area a cleansing blessing just to be safe. Come help. Sam, you can rest. You've earned a break."
Dean hesitated, glancing back at Sam, before nodding and hurrying to assist John. Sam sank to sit against a tree as Dean and his father began to unpack the various supplies for a cleansing ritual. He cradled his arm close to his chest. It was throbbing, and his body ached, but there was a certain sense of euphoria bubbling through him.
He had done it.
#
It was dark when Dean blinked himself awake, and he raised his head from the pillow, gazing blearily at the alarm clock on the bedside table.
11:53 pm.
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Dean looked across the room at the other bed, trying to figure out what had awoken him. John's bed was empty, which meant that he wasn't back from the bar yet so it couldn't have been him.
A soft, aborted sob came from the other side of the bed and Dean's stomach dropped.
Sam.
After they had finished cleaning up, they had returned to the Impala with a clearly exhausted Sam. He had perked up a little after they had gotten him some water and food, enough at least to tell them about what had happened down in the tunnel. He had started out cautious, the remembered fear clear, but as John had continued to show both pride and interest in the story, Sam's voice had slowly edged into something more excited, but the energy had been short-lived.
He had passed out for the second half of the trip and only had the energy for a shower before he curled up in the bed. He had even foregone the pizza that Dean had ordered, which Dean didn't understand at all.
Sam had woken up just before ten o'clock, sweating and shaking. Apparently, crawling underground and facing off with a monster by yourself gave you vivid nightmares. Who would have guessed?
But Dean had managed to get Sam back asleep and figured that was that and had gone to bed himself.
He was rethinking that logic now.
Sam let out another harsh sob and Dean rolled over, rising up on an elbow. Sam had curled up into as small of a ball as he could and had both hands clasped over his mouth to cover up the sounds of his uneven breaths. Tears stained his cheeks, and more continued to fall as he watched.
Dean briefly wondered how long Sam had been lying there, trying to cry silently, and kicked himself. He should have stayed up with Sam, he should have been there for him.
"Hey, you have another nightmare?" he asked gently, clearing his sleep roughed voice. Sam keened a little, curling tighter into his ball and away from him, Dean shifted closer, one hand hovering over his shoulder. "Sammy?"
"I'm good," Sam managed to choke out around his sobs and Dean huffed.
"Right, and I'm Dolly Parton…" Dean was silent a moment, watching as Sam struggled to hold in the tears and failed spectacularly.
"You know," he began slowly, "If you did have another nightmare, I wouldn't…it was pretty scary out there today, wasn't it?" he edged, finally letting his hand rest on Sam's shoulder, but Sam just shook his head doggedly.
"You weren't scared, don't lie," he snapped, wiping aggressively at his face and refusing to look at Dean.
"Of course, I wasn't—" Dean started to say, but stopped, the words frozen on his lips. He sighed, rubbing at his face. This, as much as he hated to admit it, was probably a time for truth rather than cockiness. "Sammy…hunts are—hunts are scary sometimes. Even for Dad."
"Right," Sam snorted.
"No, really, Dad gets scared sometimes. I see it."
Sam was silent for a moment, hiccupping slightly as tears continued to trail down his cheeks. "Do you?"
Dean made a face, pausing as he tried to put the words together but Sam wasn't two anymore. Maybe he didn't need Dean to cover everything up.
"Sometimes," he admitted.
"But—on hunts you get scared? I thought that you loved hunting…" Sam's voice wavered, morphing from sadness into confusion and now it was Dean who was avoiding Sam's eyes.
"I do, but sometimes they are scary."
Sam made a small noise in the back of his throat, and Dean felt the bed shift as Sam finally rolled completely over to look at him.
"But you and Dad…that's all you guys ever talk about. Why do you hunt if it's this scary?" And Dean's stomach twisted as Sam's eyes welled with fresh tears. Crap.
"Because people need help, Sam. If you hadn't done what you did today, then people were still going to get hurt. Sometimes we have to do stuff that scares us to help others."
"Why us?" Sam asked, his voice breaking.
And that was the million-dollar question, wasn't it? Dean had been wondering that for almost ten years now.
"Because…because we know the truth. We can't turn our backs, we gotta help other people so that their moms…so that their moms don't die like—" and damnit, now his throat was closing up a little. He didn't like talking about Mom. Never. Not even to Sam.
"The fear goes away. It gets better, and soon hunting won't even be that scary," he promised quickly. Sam frowned in disbelief. "No, really, it does. It's like when we train. At first, it hurts, right, but after that, you get stronger and it doesn't hurt as much anymore."
Sam sniffed loudly and used his t-shirt to wipe at the snot. "But…Dean, I was so scared and I'm not strong like you and Dad are," he blurted out, his eyes wide and terrified.
Dean smiled crookedly.
"You are, dude. You are, okay? It was really, really, brave of you to do what you did today."
Sam was watching him, the look of disbelief still on his face, and Dean reached out, ruffling his hair lightly—a hug seemed a little like overkill, especially because they had already hugged once today—"It doesn't matter if you were sacred, because you did it anyway. That's what counts."
And Dean meant it. He hadn't wanted Sam to have to go into that situation—hell, it had scared the crap out of him—but Sam had. And he was proud of him for it. Sam smiled sheepishly, ducking his head.
Dean hesitated for another moment, before deciding to go for it. Leaning in closer so that the sides of their heads were just touching, he nudged his brother's shoulder. "And I understand that it was…scary. I was scared today too, okay? Down in that tunnel. I didn't want to…and then you were going in and I was…look, if you need to talk about it with me, you can. I won't make fun of you or-or tease you about it."
Sam smiled again, brighter this time and less forced as some of the life came back into his eyes. "Right. You tease me about everything."
"Alright, alright. I won't tease you as much as I could, okay?" Dean snorted a laugh as he rolled over, stretching to reach the box of tissues that was next to the clock. He pulled a couple out, before thrusting them in Sam's direction. "Here, clean yourself up before you get boogers all over the pillows."
Sam rolled his eyes, taking the tissue. They were silent for several moments as Sam blew his nose and wiped at his face, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. And then Sam was pressing in closer to Dean, and Dean lifted his arm, allowing him to burrow into his side.
"I'm…" Sam seemed to work on the words for a moment before jutting out his chin and saying what he was thinking. "I'm proud of you too, you know," he said so softly that Dean almost didn't hear him. He stiffened in surprise. What for? What on earth was Sam proud of him for?
Sam seemed to sense the question and shrugged, his eyes soft as he rolled his head back to look at Dean. "For everything," he simply said.
A rare warmth washed over Dean, settling into his soul.
Sam had a satisfied look on his face and Dean shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense," he chided but Sam just shrugged, and Dean shook his head. He was done with the conversation now that Sam seemed comforted and, if he let it continue, it was only bound to become more touchy-feely. Dean could only handle so much.
"Dad's going to be home sooner rather than later and we're both supposed to be asleep, so shut up and do that so I can."
Sam's eyes darkened again, sudden fear clouding out the lightness from before, and Dean pulled him in closer.
"I'm going to have a nightmare if I go back to sleep," Sam declared ashamedly, but Dean only shrugged.
"I'll be here if you do, okay?"
Sam nodded slowly and Dean closed his own eyes, pretending to be asleep.
It took Sam a long time to actually drift off and Dean stayed awake long after that, listening to his little brother's slow and steady breathing and waiting for any sign of distress.
Today had been scary. But the fear…that had come partly because he wasn't there to watch Sam's back and to take care of him.
Sam had been alone and vulnerable.
But once Sam was ready to hunt—and Dean meant really hunt, not just holding the duffle bags or watching from the sidelines—then all three of them become a team. One that looked out for each other. Dean would watch Sam's back, and John would watch over both of them.
They could kill a lot of evil monsters that way. The really cool ones too, not just ghosts or small stuff like the Fodien.
It could even be exciting?
The thoughts created a weird mixture of feelings inside his chest, but Dean finally drifted off with the thought of the three of them working together as an unstoppable hunting team running through his head.
THE END