AN: Just a short transition chapter. It occurs to me that this story is turning out to be a lot of inner dialogue and such. I hope that doesn't make it boring or too macabre.
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Sam stood atop a small rocky bluff overlooking Lake Charles. Now that he was actually here, his hands shook from a heady combination of adrenaline, excitement, and fear. He had to work hard to keep from hyperventilating. The lake was beautiful in the day time, surprisingly dark blue water sparkling in the sunlight. On most sides, the trees came nearly to its edge, but there was a narrow band of scrubby grass between the rocky promontory Sam stood on and the closest shore, below him to the west. The scene looked deceptively serene, giving no hint to the monster beneath the surface. Here is where I'll die, Sam thought.
"Sam, get down here and report!" called Dad, making Sam jump and realize that he'd been staring at the water blankly. He scrambled down the south side of the embankment, which was fairly steep, though not a dropoff like the lake side. And there were plenty of dips and protrusions to give him traction.
"The trees come right to the edge of the water on most sides," Sam started a little breathlessly. He wasn't even quite down to the other two yet. "I don't think we'll have room to maneuver anywhere else, not if we want to be able to watch each other's backs." He was finally standing in front of them now, and pointed to the north. "On that end, there's the most space, and we'll have the rocks at our backs." He quickly dropped the pointing hand to his side when he realized it was shaking.
Dad and Dean were both giving him hard looks now. Well, that sucked. For the day and a half that they'd traveled and gotten ready, he'd been dodging those looks from Dean. Having Dad on board the watch Sam like he's about to explode train was fantastically awful. Sam tried to unclench his jaw, and forced himself to not fold his arms, but to let them hang at his sides, hands open and relaxed.
Dad's expression told Sam he wasn't going to like what came next. "Singer only sent us two of those special daggers," he reported. Well, yeah. Sam had been there when they'd picked up the daggers from the post office box Bobby had directed them to. "So I want you to stay on the top of the bluff with range weapons while Dean and I draw the okami out and attack at close quarters."
Normally, this would have pissed Sam off, especially since his singular focus of late had proved that he actually was an effective hunter. But he knew a few things Dad and Dean did not. First of all, he knew that the weapons and ammo that had spent the night soaking in a literal bathtub full of holy water would be far more important that the blessed daggers. Second, he knew where the creature – tarasque, not okami – liked to emerge from the water. And third, he'd discovered a peculiar geographical feature that they weren't aware of. But he couldn't accept the ruling too quickly or easily or they get suspicious. More suspicious.
"Dad, we don't know how many there are," Sam argued. He felt a small pang of sadness that he'd become so adept at hiding the truth, but it was necessary. They were the only ones who could stop him, after all. "You need me down below to help."
"We need someone up there," Dad jabbed a finger toward the small cliff. "Someone who can call out where they're coming from so we don't get flanked, and give us cover fire. Being down here without a dagger would only make you a liability, and Dean and I have fought together longer."
It was a good, sound plan. Or it would have been if they actually were facing multiple, human-sized monsters. Another frisson, this one of fear, shivered through Sam. What if lying about what they were facing put Dean and Dad in danger? "All of our weapons should be able to hurt them," he contended. "Since we soaked them all in holy water."
"And we'll carry more than just the daggers." Dad was being really reasonable. Too reasonable. Sam's palms began to sweat. Had he figured out what was going on? Had Dean? But no, if they had an inkling that Sam was a danger to himself, he'd spend the hunt in handcuffs in the motel room. He made a mental note to hide the handcuffs.
Dad wasn't done. "I still want you up above." His tone brooked no argument.
"Where you'll be safe," Dean added, narrowing his eyes.
Yup, Dean suspected something. Yup, Dad was worried. And Sam was possibly screwed. He had to play this right. He stared back and forth between the older Winchesters for a moment, feeling their eyes bore into him. But those eyes weren't certain; they were searching, trying to figure him out. "Fine," he spat, spun, and stalked away.
"Sam!" called Dad, voice hard enough that Sam's feet froze without his permission. "I want you to rest when we get back to the room. We're doing this tonight." Sam nodded without turning and walked back toward the toward the car.
Tonight.
