The Road so Far: Sam and Dean arrived in Kuttok, Alaska following a hunt for an ancient Inuit witch with their dad (John Winchester) that quickly became a dead end. They came for a second time, to make peace with a local named Yuka Sutcliffe, and explain to her that they were actually monster hunters and not "looking for a friend of their dad" after she was dragged into the mess by the mischievous entities known as Ro and Sue. Yuka initially denied such claims but was eventually shown the truth through the Celestial Castiel and the irrefutable proof of watching a werewolf shift. She could no longer deny the existence of the supernatural. The Winchester brothers now had to deal with the fact that she was a part of it too. They have also recently learned (with the help of psychic Andrew Rockwell) that Terrenials (Blackbloods)are out hunting psychics because of a confusing vision regarding a burning or choking infant girl. This means Sam is in danger; they promised each other that they'd stick together and watch their backs. No separation.
Yokal Valley, Kuttok Alaska. Late February.
Sam rolled over, eyes searching for a slant of light from the cracked blinds and finding nothing but the pitch of early morning. It was 4:00AM. The world was silent save for the gentle hum of electricity in the walls. It was almost unnoticeable. Almost. His head throbbed. He hadn't slept well, but he couldn't remember what he'd dreamt about. His eyes were still heavy, his vision fuzzy, but his heart was racing. Time to start the day.
Sam returned to the motel a half hour later. Dean was awake and wearily putting on his boots. The sun still hadn't risen. It stayed sleeping somewhere behind grey clouds.
"Snowed again last night," Sam started, shutting the door before more cold air could intrude on their meager room that consisted of just two twin beds, a nightstand separating them with an old yellow lamp, and a puny fireplace. It really was more like a pot of coals than anything else.
Dean said nothing in response, accepting the coffee offered to him and a breakfast burrito from the only diner in town. They were low on funds anyway. He inwardly sighed, remembering the road home through Yukon Territory and the recent snow. The longer they waited, the worse the weather got. It'd be hell just to get out of the valley. They should leave soon. He finished his burrito, looking over to Sam who hid behind his coffee, lost somewhere in thought.
"Whatcha thinkin'?"
Sam blinked, returning to the present, "just trying to remember my dream last night."
"If you don't remember, it wasn't important, right?"
Sam smiled, "yeah," and rubbed his temples.
"Headache?"
"Yeah," he took a sip, finding he didn't want to finish the cup.
Dean tossed over a bottle of aspirin, "well get rid of it, we got a long drive."
5:30AM. A Motel in Washington State. Early March.
Sam tapped away on his laptop, looking for something to occupy their time. The overcast sky sent rain pelting the roof; the air was just above freezing. It seemed bad weather had followed them from Alaska. Sam's search had resulted in nothing unusual in the area so far. Which was good, except he really wanted a distraction from his thoughts. There was a heavy pit in his stomach that he couldn't explain. He tried to brush it off as leftover nerves from all the nightmares he'd been having, but that felt wrong somehow. He wanted to ignore it for now. The lack of odd happenings worthy of an investigation made that difficult.
"I'm gonna take a walk," Sam said, closing his laptop.
Dean raised his eyebrows, "a walk?"
"Yeah, real quick-"
"Dude it's pouring outside. Where are you going?"
Sam sighed, grabbing his jacket, "I think I'll be fine." He left the motel room and crossed the short parking lot before his older brother could say anything else. Dean watched from the window for a moment just long enough to see Sam walk across the highway without looking in either direction. A truck honked as it flew past at 60mph, barely missing Sam, who seemed completely unfazed. Dean bolted after him, fired a shot into the air and began spewing curses at the driver.
"Dean, what are you doing?"
Without answering his younger brother, Dean grabbed Sam by his jacket and pulled him back to the safety of the motel parking lot, "what the hell are you thinkin', Sam?"
Just then, a police squad car flashed it's lights and rolled up next to the boys, "what's goin' on here? You shoot at that truck, kid?" The officer's deeply lined eyes narrowed.
Dean hesitated, then patted Sam's shoulder firmly, "oh uh- my brother here- he's a little...slow. That truck almost hit him, I just fired a shot in the air, ye know. Didn't hurt anybody."
Sam said nothing in confirmation, not bothering to play along, his face turned sour at the comment. The officer looked at them both, leaning back comfortably in his seat. It was obvious he didn't want to really deal with the situation if there was one to begin with. "Alright," he said, "I'll let you off this time with a warning. Get your brother inside- it's rainin' cats and dogs out here."
As the officer's car crawled out of view, Dean dragged Sam back to the motel room, closing the door behind him and standing in front of it. His green eyes sharpened by his furrowed brows. "Since when do you not look both ways before crossing the street, Sammy?"
Sam shrugged, matching Dean's expression, "I was totally fine! It's not like the car hit me-"
"No, you've been acting weird today. What is it?"
"Nothing, I'm fine. I just- I don't know, I didn't see the car."
Dean pushed Sam down on the couch and took a seat next to him, "whatever. You're not leaving this motel tonight." Sam relented, secluding himself to the other side of the couch with a frown stuck on his face. A goofy game show started up on the TV, but neither of them heard much of it as they quickly fell asleep.
Half past midnight, Sam opened his eyes. The TV was still playing but it was some late night talk show now. That heavy feeling resurfaced, tinged with a prickling anxiety. He looked over to see Dean fast asleep. It wouldn't take much to wake him though. They both slept lightly. It was something instilled in them from childhood. Always having to be ready for any situation.
Sam grabbed the remote and shut off the TV. The screen went black and left a hum of static for a moment before it began to sink into the cold of the room. There was a crack under the door that let in the freezing wind from the storm. With the blanket Creedy gave them, it wasn't as bad as other times but when his bare feet touched the hardwood floor, the chill sprang up Sam's spine. His thoughts circled Dean for a moment, then to his handgun. He couldn't shake the urge to use it. Part of him wanted to hurt Dean. Then another part of him screamed something else: hurt yourself.
Sam took the gun in his hand, but he didn't want to do either of those things. He found himself flicking the safety on and off for several seconds before he cocked it with force. That woke Dean up, who whipped his head around and snatched the gun from him, "give me that!"
Sam was stunned at first but quickly got angry, "give it back!"
"No, tell me what you were doing-"
Sam went for the knife Dean was carrying but Dean dodged the clumsy lunge, putting some distance between them, "Sam- what the hell?" He found he'd been saying that too much lately. Sam's eyes were dark and angry, they looked at Dean with seemingly nothing behind them.
"Are you- are you sleepwalking? Is that what this is?"
Sam was quiet. He blinked a few times, then his expression softened. Dean relaxed.
"Sorry, man- I don't know. I'm tired." The reply wasn't really an answer.
Dean's suspicions were raised but he didn't know for what exactly. Sam shrugged a few more times in response to the same questions he'd been asked earlier. Dean took the gun from Sam and dropped it on top of his own duffle bag (just in case). Realizing no answer was coming, both of them retired once more. This time to their separate beds. Dean slept quickly but his guard was up. Not an hour later, Dean woke to the sound of the motel door opening with a painful creak. He saw just the shadow of Sam's lumbering form pass through it and saw that the gun was no longer on the bag. He shot out of bed and ran after him.
"Sam? Sam!"
Sam was several yards ahead on the walkway, briskly passing the other motel rooms. When he heard his brother's voice, he cocked the gun and put it to his head. Dean caught up and slammed into him, pushing the gun away just in time. It fired once and flew across the pavement, skidding to a stop at the front tire of the Impala. Sam fought back, lunging for it. Dean blocked him once more as Sam's hand shot past his waist and grasped the handgun Dean had sitting at the top of his jeans. With a swift knee to the groin, Sam was incapacitated long enough for Dean to land a punch strong enough to knock him unconscious. Luckily, everyone opted to stay in their rooms instead of coming to investigate the gun shot. Dean didn't doubt that someone would be calling the police though, or that the officer patrolling the area earlier wasn't just made aware. He dragged his brother back into the room and dropped him on the springy twin bed.
A gust of air washed over Dean's back in the cramped room. Castiel took two steps toward the bed but not getting much closer. He tilted his head, "why would Sam do that?" His gruff voice was less sympathetic and more angry and confused. Sam seemed alright the other day. What had changed? Why give up now, after everything? There was no immediate answer. Castiel couldn't find one in Sam's mind either. He was just as confused as they were.
Sam lay sleeping for just a few minutes while Dean and Castiel awaited in stunned silence at the events that had come so far out of left field, neither of them knew what to say to each other. Sam's eyes opened wearily and he sat up with a groan, facing his disappointed brother and friend. Sam studied Dean's muted expression of shock and horror, turned his head to see Castiel's blue eyes boring into him, then returned his gaze to Dean. Before anyone could comment on the situation, Sam leaned forward with a groan and let out a series of coughs. As he pulled his hand away from his mouth a thin dark trail of smoke left his mouth and disappeared.
"What was that?" Dean looked to the Celestial.
"I don't know."
That answer was unsatisfactory. Castiel called to Gabriel; who had recently agreed to join their ranks, but who did not enjoy being called upon like a carrier pigeon. Nevertheless, he arrived in seconds. He looked at Sam for just a moment and realized too, that Sam had no idea what happened. Sam was, however, definitely possessed by something. He explained this, gesturing vaguely to the possibilities. There weren't many things that could hide from a Celestial like that. Much less a Zenithian Celestial.
"Dean?" Sam looked to his older brother as if he knew something the two Celestials didn't. The fact that he could be possessed even with that protective tattoo scared him. Dean fumed.
A week had slipped past since the incident with the mysterious possession. Neither Sam or Dean really wanted to talk about it. It seemed to be over with. Whatever it was. They had a new problem to focus on; their latest addition to the mess, Yuka, seemed a little too trusting of a certain man that the brothers both agreed to be at least a creep. His appearance had been less than highly suspicious, his mannerisms were outdated, and if they didn't know any better they'd say he was definitely a vampyre. Although, that boot didn't fit quite right.
Furthermore, the man had (just this morning) tried to bring the sharp side of the shovel down on Dean's head during a heated argument. It would have cleaved his skull right in half if Sam hadn't caught the handle of it just in time. He still had splinters in his skin from where it broke in his palm. That was the last straw. Sam was now certain that, whoever or whatever he was, he had to die. Dean saw a bit more bloodlust in Sam's eyes about it than he preferred. Nevertheless, he agreed that the guy had to go for Yuka's sake. He was clearly dangerous.
Sam leaned back in his chair, cracking his knuckles after what felt like an eternity of research that revealed absolutely nothing. There were too many possibilities of what the creep (whose name was Mr. Thorne) could be.
"Well?" Dean knew what Sam would say but asked anyway.
"I got nothin'. Best bet: he's a vampyre or a witch. We can't exactly just go gank him when we don't even know what we're up against. If we get it wrong, we're screwed."
Dean was quiet for a moment so Sam filled the silence again, "I think we should go back to Alaska. At least so we're close by if anything happens."
"Right. Good idea, Sammy. That way we can watch him."
The conversation ended there as Dean turned on the TV. Disappointed with the lack of information about Mr. Thorne, Sam closed his laptop but his thoughts lingered on it. He hadn't forgotten about the possession either, he was just hoping Dean wasn't as worried about it as he was. They both had a few beers and went to bed. They'd start the drive in the morning.
Oregon, Northwest on I-35.
The moon had risen somewhere behind the stormy clouds. It was dark on the interstate. A thin veil of rain came intermittently every hour or so and lasted no more than a few minutes. Dean turned on the windshield wipers again as another veil of rain passed over them.
"I didn't see this shit in the forecast last night," Dean grumbled.
Sam looked up from the road atlas, "that's because we were in another state, Dean."
Lightning flashed across the sky, briefly illuminating the encroaching pine trees that towered on either side of them, followed by a crack of thunder that seemed to split earth. The boys jumped out of their skin.
"Shit!" They shouted in unison.
Dean straightened his wheels and looked over to Sam, who looked like he'd been shot.
"Christ," Sam started, "we should start looking for a motel."
"There's nothing but trees out here, Sam."
Sam examined the road atlas another time. Dean was right. There wouldn't be another town for an hour or so. He sighed, putting it away. The storm grew stronger as they drove into it over the next hour. They arrived at the outskirts of Washington State, the lights of a small American town glittered in the heavy downpour.
The motel was better than usual. A little more expensive than usual too. The beds were still springy and the rooms still smelled like cigarette smoke. Sam set his backpack down on one of the twin beds and sat down next to it.
"We're runnin' out of cash. I'm gonna dip to the bar across the street," Dean clicked his mouth and started for the door.
"Dean wait- we have to stick together, remember?"
"Ah, dammit- well come on!"
Sam wanted to fight him on it. He was tired. However, they did need the money.
The bar was heavy with smoke, lit like a dingy garage, and packed with lazy-eyed strangers. Something he'd frequently seen throughout his life. Tonight it was getting on his nerves. He didn't feel like drinking. All he wanted to do was sleep.
Dean blended in with the crowd and quickly got to conning some idiot at the pool table. Sam sat at a corner table and ordered a shot of bourbon but only played at drinking it. For some reason, he'd felt sick since they'd gotten into town. The tiredness though, that was normal for him. At least on days he hadn't slept. Nightmares were common and lately, he couldn't tell what was a vision and what was just the PTSD acting up. He couldn't catch any decent rest. He hoped that tonight would be a bit different when they were done here.
Dean noticed Sam had decided to let him do all the work this time. He watched Sam lay his head down on crossed arms. Someone else had noticed too. A man stood up from the table nearest to Sam and tapped him on the shoulder. Sam picked his head up expecting it to be his brother, but was greeted by the leather-clad form of one of the many biker douchebags he'd seen on the way in.
Sam sat back, "can I help you?"
The man shifted, leather boots creaking under his disproportionate weight, "I've seen your face around here before- you owe me money, remember?"
Sam's eyes rolled back and he stood up to look down at the man, "I've never seen you before. Get lost."
Dean didn't recognize the man Sam was talking to, and neither of them had been around this part of Washington in years. It was looking like the biker just wanted to throw his weight around. Dean continued his pool table scam and got his cash from his wasted counterpart.
The biker looked up at Sam, who towered over him by almost an entire foot, but stood his ground.
"Give me a fifty, and we'll let it pass," the biker smirked.
Sam chuckled, "we?" He'd seen only one bike outside and no one wearing patches like his. It was clear he was here alone, or that at least, the rest of his clubhouse wasn't around. Sam quickly got frustrated with the situation.
"Get out of my face."
The man spit in his eye. Sam's closed fist met the man's jaw with an audible crack before he could realize he'd done it. Not a second later, the biker was on the ground grasping his face with both hands. Sam wiped the spit from his eye and turned around to see Dean right behind him.
"Dude. What the hell, man? We've only been here for like 20 minutes."
Sam shrugged, "he was being a dick."
"You couldn't have hit him outside? 'Least then we could have gotten his wallet too," Dean whispered, taking Sam's untouched shot, "assumed you weren't gonna drink that."
The bartender watched with bleary eyes, not really wanting to get involved, hoping that was the end of the fight. The boys left the bar without further incident, walking back to the motel with more money than they came in with. Success.
The door shut behind Dean and he revealed a wad of cash with a cheeky grin, "guy was rollin' in it. We got a nice addition of three hundred. Thanks to yours truly. We could have gotten more if you were out here givin' 'em those puppy eyes of yours."
Sam collapsed on the bed, "well you had it handled."
Dean sat down and went through the list of things they were running out of, "so what is it?"
Sam buried his face in the pillow, "what's what?"
"Your problem. What is it? You sick or somethin'?"
"I'm tired," was the muffled reply.
Dean was suspicious of that. He hadn't forgotten the possession that happened the other week. He hadn't forgotten that his brother almost succeeded in shooting himself. That image of Sam with a gun to his head and the shot that rang after it jumped through his memory every now and then. He'd been so close to losing him and none of it made sense. They were waiting on Castiel or Gabriel to come back with an answer. Until then, there was no mentioning it. Sometime in the five minutes of silence since Sam's reply, he'd fallen asleep. Dean listened to his steady breathing for a minute before he started to get ready for bed too.
Kuttok, Alaska. 8:00AM.
They checked into the same motel they'd been in the last time they were there. The woman at the desk greeted them warmly as the "Winchesters." Sam collapsed onto the twin bed and went right to sleep.
Dean lifted his brows, "Sammy?"
There was no reply.
"Sam," he said a bit stronger. Still no reply.
