III.
Over the years, Sam learns.
He learns the truth about his life. He learns that their mother burned in his nursery, sending their father into a revenge-fueled spiral that led to a bloody quest. He learns that, even though his father may save people's lives and destroy evil creatures, he if definitely not the superhero Dean once claimed him to be, for his travels may have a tint of nobility, but his journey has the final goal of finding and killing what took Sam's mother.
He learns how to fly under the radar, how to hide himself when necessary. Maybe a year after he confronted Dean about the truth of their father's possession, Dad sits him down and tells him how monsters and ghosts are real and that he fights him. Sam is able to maintain a mask of calm, a mask that makes him appear strong while in reality, he had spent the past year worrying every time his father left for a hunt, scared out of his mind that his dad wouldn't return. At school, he tries not to draw too much attention to himself from the students or teachers. He still excels, but he tries not to interact as much as possible, spending his days as an outsider that will eventually skip town for no apparent reason. He learns how to stew in his frustration, how to bury his hopes of living like a normal kid in exchange for a life of secrecy.
He learns how to hunt. The day after Sam officially learns the truth from his dad, he is taken out to the woods and instructed on how to shoot at stationary cans. He starts joining Dean on intense runs in the morning after being woken up at the crack of dawn. He gets introduced to a new training regime and he begins to learn the different aspects of researching and tracking down some sort of creature. He learns to live with the overwhelming sense of dread he gets while sitting in the Impala, all alone while he waits for his dad and Dean to return from a hunt he is not yet allowed to go on. He learns to wait and listen and possibly accept the fact that one day, Dean and Dad may come back with more than treatable wounds.
But no matter how much he learns, no matter how much his big brother teases him about his big brains to match his pissy attitude, Sam doesn't think he's learned enough to actually be prepared for his first hunt.
The news gets broken to him while they're driving between towns in the Impala. Dad is in the driver's seat, face stern and concentrated on the road as they quickly speed along, the only sign of his currently casual mood being the fact that his thumb is tapping along with the steady rock music that pours out of the radio. He hasn't spoken since he'd dragged them from their motel room long before the sun had even considered rising in the east. Even when Sam had started grumbling under his breath as they packed up the car and Dean had tried to shush him, their father hadn't commented on the disobedience, only herded them to the car so they could be halfway across the state by the time the rest of the town had begun to rise. If Sam didn't know any better, he would say that his dad had actually started out his day in a good mood. Whether or not he would remain in one would depend on the number of arguments Sam got him involved with.
Dean is sitting in the passenger seat, face peaceful and sporting the slight smirk that always seems to be resting on his face. His right elbow is propped against the window of the Impala, in a position that suggests he wishes the window was rolled down, but he knows it's too cold outside to even consider it. His hair is still a little damp from his ridiculously fast shower, but he still manages to display his dripping hair with a certain level of grace and charm that is often only typical with movie stars. Though Sam is only starting to get to the age where girls will start making him blush, he has known for a long time that Dean has always been a master at attracting the opposite sex. Sometimes, it amazes him how is occasionally goofy and annoying brother can be so suave when at school.
Sam has learned how to hide as a social outcast known for his intelligence and creativity. He wonders if his brother has learned how to hide behind the façade of a smooth teenager. He wonders if his brother has ever considered something other than the transient interactions he maintains at the schools they go to.
Sam is sitting in the backseat, observant of his family's body language while still aware of his stewing frustration. He always hates when they have to leave, especially when it's on short notice. To a certain degree, Sam understands the responsibility that his dad feels to save lives and to hunt down what took their mom, but Sam doesn't have to like it. Sam wonders how his dad has managed to uphold his anger and need for revenge for nearly twelve years. He just wishes they would settle down somewhere. Then, Sam could finish school in the same town, and eventually graduate so he could move on to college with his family's pride uplifting him. He wishes his dad would stop ordering Dean into dangerous situations and just let him live like a normal high school student for once. Sam wishes these things, but he knows they are impossible in his dad's mind.
It has to be a new record. Nearly two hours since they left town, and Sam still hasn't asked where their headed. Sam knows that Dad is probably praying for the peace and quiet to last, that Dean is likely enjoying his break from refereeing their countless arguments. Though curiosity practically burns his throat with anticipation, Sam decides to give his family these few hours of rest. Instead, he chooses to watch the countryside fly by with his palm cradling his chin, the trees and houses blurring together from the speed of the lonely highway.
About another thirty minutes pass before the steady pattern of rock music is broken, this time, surprisingly, by Dean popping the question.
"So," He starts. Dad tilts his chin a little in his direction, not removing his eyes from the road but still acknowledging the rising conversation. Sam lifts his head from his hand, leaning toward the center of the backseat so he can get a glimpse at what's happening. "Where're we headed?"
"A hunt," Their dad replies. He raises his right hand from the wheel and gestures to the side. Sam tries to lean more to get a peek at what he's pointing at. "Open the glove box, Dean, there are some papers in it."
Dean moves forward in his seat, popping open the compartment at his dad's direction and ruffling amongst the various papers and fake IDs until he finds a wrinkled page of a newspaper that he immediately starts looking over.
"Hand that to your brother." Their dad orders. Dean's face scrunches up in confusion, likely matching the confusion Sam is feeling, but he obeys and passes the paper back to Sam. He takes it and tries to ignore the fact that his hands are suddenly trembling.
He straightens out the paper against his knee in an attempt to get rid of the worst of the wrinkles. Some of the folds are so bad that some of the words are smudged, but Sam is still able to piece together what it says. In the past three months, there had been three campers found dead in the woods. After finishing the article, Sam passes the paper back up to Dean, who gratefully flashes him a smile and scans over the paper fairly quickly. He raises an eyebrow at his dad.
"Seems pretty straight forward," His brother comments. "What's the fuss about?"
For once, Sam can see and grin trying to makes its way across his dad's face. "Sam's gonna work with us on this one. I think it's time that he went on his first hunt."
Sam's heart skips a beat, swirling in his chest with a mixture of all kinds of emotions. He feels afraid and nervous and anxious because who knows what could happen. But, at the same time, he's excited and eager because he's spent years feeling inferior while his family left to hunt, and now his dad finally thinks he's ready to go to the next level. Sure, he had often helped research and sometimes, he'd even been allowed to sit on the sidelines of an easy hunt where he could watch from afar, but an entirely different thing from actually participating in the hunt.
Dean's eyebrows raise in disbelief and Sam can't help but feel a little disappointed at his brother's reaction. "You want him to go on a hunt? He's not ready."
His heart falls. While he knows that Dean is always thinking about what's best for him, he can't help but feel a little betrayed that Dean still thinks he can't hunt. Sam's more than proved himself in his training, so why shouldn't he get a chance to work in the field?
"C'mon Dean!" Sam protests. "That's not fair! I work just as hard as you and you were allowed to hunt younger than I am!"
"That's not the point, Sammy!" Dean practically growls, rolling his eyes. "That's totally different."
"It's Sam," He snaps. "And how, Dean?"
"Boys, that's enough," Their dad intercedes. He looks sharply to Dean. "Sam's coming with us and that's final."
Sam can see Dean's jaw tense firmly as he obviously fights between his loyalty to Dad and his loyalty to protecting Sam. "Yes, sir."
"Good," Dad says and that's the end of their debate. He returns his focus to the road, Dean returns forlornly to watching out the window, and Sam leans back in his seat, not sure if his excitement will let him settle down again.
They drive almost the entire day, rolling over empty highways and passing through some bright cities and dirty towns. They no longer speak, the music taking the place of any conversation. Dad taps patiently at the wheel and Dean has actually slumped against the window and fallen asleep, his earlier protests currently buried. Sam is constantly shifting in the backseat, moving his legs and switching the arm he leans on when the other starts to tingle. He doesn't pester his dad about the hunt. He knows that as soon as they get a night of sleep at their next stop, Dad will have him drowning in lore books until they find the correct creature.
They finally stop at a small motel on the edge of their town that their Dad pays for in unquestionable cash. Sam wakes Dean up and they load their stuff into the room, placing their bags in a neat pile by the door. Dean is still groggy from the car ride but he wakes up enough to make sure Sam gets ready for bed while their dad salts the windows and door. There are only two beds, so their dad claims one and Sam and Dean are too tired to even bother with fighting for the other one, they just agree to share the bed and if one happens to kick the other or steal the covers in the night, there will be hell to pay in the morning.
When Dean and his dad have both quieted down and fallen into the deep throes of sleep, Sam lies awake, practically shaking from fear and excitement as he waits for his exhaustion to finally lull him to sleep.
Over the next few days, Sam is determined to impress both members of his family.
Dean is still hesitant to let Sam hunt, caught halfway between understanding Sam's desire to participate and succumbing to his brotherly instinct that won't let Sam near hunting with a ten foot pole. Sam gets that Dean wants Sam to stay safe, he really does, but Dean's overprotectiveness has long since passed irritating and gone straight into infuriating. Sam's fed up with Dean's hypocrisy and is just determined to prove his brother wrong.
Their dad is hanging back, interfering enough to give Sam some direction, but also letting them loose enough so Sam has the freedom to learn the process and still make decisions. Sam would appreciate this action more if he didn't feel as if his father is constantly breathing down his neck, ready to pounce on any error.
As their father had declared that they wouldn't be in this town long enough for education, they aren't enrolled in school and are therefore free to walk to the library every day and research. Dean flirts with the high school volunteers as he retrieves the newspapers they need, leaving Sam to collect all of the books they could possibly desire on abstract lore and stack them all in a quiet corner of the library. They sit together at that table when Dean takes a break, brainstorming and occasionally arguing as they flip through pages and write down notes. Every few hours, they call Dad from the phone booth outside and he listens to them report their findings, shooting down some of their ideas and instructing them on where to look next. He ends their cheery phone call with a reminder that people's lives depend on their accuracy, always leaving Sam and Dean feeling a bit rushed, Sam more so than the experienced Dean.
After two days, they finally come to the conclusion that what they are hunting is a werewolf. Every kill had been on the night of a full moon and, with a fake ID in hand, their dad had learned that all three of the victims were missing their hearts along with most of their innards. The next full moon is scheduled to occur that night, so the Winchesters spend the day planning for the big hunt.
John probably goes over every detail with Sam at least a thousand times, having him recite the weaknesses of werewolves over and over again until Sam is sure that he'll go to sleep with dreams of silver bullets dancing in his head. He shows his dad how he unloads and reloads his gun until he can practically do it with his eyes closed. He tells him the plan again and again, how they'll go through the woods and catch the creature before it can even consider harming another person. He recites how he'll go back to the car and wait for them if he gets separated from Dean. He does everything his dad asks him too, ending up exhausted when John finally looks satisfied and leaves to make sure their supplies are in the Impala. When Sam turns around, he finds Dean sitting casually at the table, legs crossed and a broad grin on his face.
Sam scowls. "What's so funny?"
Dean sighs wistfully. "Ah, I don't miss the days when he used to do that with me." He rises, stretching his arms above his head before he ruffles Sam's hair playfully. "Don't worry, you'll be just fine, so long as you follow your big brother!"
Sam frowns. "Yeah, sure, Dean." He makes his way out to the car and sits grumpily in the backseat, his arms crossed as he tries to ignore the nervous jitters making their way to his fingers. Dad and Dean soon join him in the car and they're off, driving away to confront Sam's first monster.
They park at the edge of the forest, their dad pulling into a spot that's out of sight from the road. They quietly prepare their things from the trunk, checking their guns and packing their pockets with extra ammo. Their dad slams the back closed, gun in hand as he leads them silently into the night, the moon beaming ominously down on them. Sam's palms feel sweaty and slick on the handle of his gun, the anxiety and excitement all manifesting itself in this rotten feeling ball that's stuck in his chest. Dean looks more serious now that they're actually starting the hunt, but he must notice Sam's mood for he shoots him a reassuring smile before falling in line behind Sam and their dad, the two older Winchesters sandwiching the youngest between them. At his brother's glance, Sam feels a bit better but the uneasiness remains.
The three of them trek quietly through the woods, only interrupted by the rustling of moving birds and the snap of twigs beneath their feet. Sam almost expects to hear a cliché howl like the ones he's heard in old monster movies as a kid, but none come. Their father leads the way, confident shoulders broad and proud against the light of the full moon. Sam wonders if he can one day be as good of a hunter as his father and brother are.
Suddenly, their father holds up a hand, halting the two brothers in their tracks. He looks around slowly, eyes visibly narrowing. Sam wants to ask what the big fuss is about when he hears it, a low growl piercing through the brush, the leaves of the forest cracking and rustling. Sam's heart starts beating rapidly in his chest, reminding him grimly of the victims whose hearts had been torn violently from their chests.
Just as soon as Sam finishes his thought, the leaves shake from a great movement and the creature leaps from its position in the bushes. John turns quickly and shoots but the werewolf has already moved, rushing through the brush and running toward them from further ahead. Though John is in front of him, Sam can still see the werewolf sprinting at them, eyes narrowed, sharp teeth glinting, and long claws illuminated by the moonlight. Sam does the worst thing possible, but he can't help himself.
He freezes.
The ultimate fear, the rush of adrenaline and emotions that flood him at that very moment are not things he could have possibly prepared for. No matter how much his brain tells him to run, screams at him to leap to the side, he can't. His body is paralyzed, but his damn hands still shake around his gun.
John aims and fires again, catching the shrieking beast in the shoulder, a wounding but non-lethal shot that only angers the creature. He yells over the growling of the werewolf. "Dean, spread out!"
As soon as the words have left his lips, Sam can feel Dean's strong hand grasping his shoulder tightly and pulling him to the side, almost dragging him behind if Sam hadn't finally regained control of his legs. They run off to the right, Dean swinging around the trees and trying to get a better angle in which to shoot at the werewolf. Suddenly, Sam doesn't mind being a tagalong anymore, even if it means missing out on the action. He can't possibly imagine how Dean had managed to handle this at this age.
Their dad starts running off in the opposite direction, leading the creature away from the boys and through the trees, As they move further and further away, Sam knows that Dean is about to chase after them until another little disaster strikes. A second one.
This one leaps out from the side, blocking their path to their dad and forcing them in the opposite direction. Dean tries to fire at it as he is turning, but his priorities clearly remain elsewhere as he looks over Sam, eyes serious as he grabs his brother's arm once more. "Run!"
They take off together, sprinting heavily over tree stumps and roots in a way that makes Sam grateful for the hellish training they frequently suffer through. Dean never lets go of Sam's arm, even if that means dodging precariously around trees. Sam can almost pretend that they aren't running for their lives and that they're just going through another training exercise that will have no more punishment than a multitude of push-ups. Sam wonders if Dean had been right, if maybe he was too young for this horror.
Before Sam can continue to question his life choices, the werewolf slams into his back, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him sailing into the air. Dean screams his name, even louder than the werewolf's growling but Sam is gone with the breeze, flying miraculously between trees as the wind rushes around his ears. Even if, just for those brief few seconds, Sam doesn't feel scared, his landing ignite a whole new level of feeling.
As he falls to the ground, his right leg gets caught awkwardly beneath his body and as his full weight collapses, he hears the awful snap of bone in his leg and feels the pain a second later. It floods his being, turning his vision red and convincing him that liquid fire has been injected into his veins. He can't move, he can't breathe, he can only scream at the forest and pray that it takes the pain away. Distantly, he registers Dean calling his name but at the moment, all he knows is his leg wants to be removed from his body.
The red starts to fade from his vision, his leg throbbing horribly but now permitting him to see. He doesn't look down at his leg for fear of throwing up, but he does try and focus in the direction of his brother, leaning carefully on his elbow, his gun still amazingly clutched in his hand.
Dean looks like he's in trouble. With a vicious swipe, the werewolf catches him across the stomach and sends him lurching backwards. Sam's heart almost stops when he watches his brother slam against the trunk of a nearby tree, clearly dazed as the menacing monster approaches. Sam feels that horrible panic again, making his blood pump and his leg throb with agonizing fire. He doesn't know what to do. His brother is about to die a bloody death and Sam can't even get up to help him. Instead, he grasps wildly for a nearby rock and chucks it at the werewolf. The little stone hits its mark dead on, bouncing off of its head and successfully pulling its attention away from his dizzy brother.
Now, the creature has turned to him, howling angrily and bounding toward him with no mercy in its dark eyes. Sam wonders how something can look so human yet be so monstrous. If not for the fangs and claws and vacant eyes, this person would be normal and have a life that might not even include viciously mauling campers and eating their hearts. Sam tries to put the idea of its humanity away, because right now, he has to act quickly to save himself.
As the beast gets closer and closer, Sam gulps down his fear and pain and raises his arm. With an aim steadier than he has been all week, Sam fires the gun and hits the werewolf straight through the heart.
The creature falls immediately, letting out one last painful whine before it slides to a stop on the forest floor. The woods are silent, filled with no more howls and screams. Briefly, Sam hopes that his dad was able to subdue his own werewolf, because Sam is spent just handling this one. His crooked leg throbs in time with his pulsing heart, sending waves of fire throughout his body with every beat. He lays back against the dirt, energy now focused sleeping through the pain. For a minute, or two minutes, or maybe even thirty minutes, Sam stays on the ground, hovering in a semi-conscious state that leaves him exhausted and not relieved of any agony. He stares at the starry sky from between the branches above him, admiring the sliver of the shining moon that he can see through the trees. He fades in and out, his visions moving in and out with the throbbing of his leg.
Somehow, Dean slides his way into Sam's line of sight without him noticing, his brother's pale face displaying a shade similar to the moon. His mouth is moving, but for the life of him Sam can't focus on what he's saying. He manages to catch something about his leg, but Sam already knows about his leg so he lets the comment slide from his mind, leaving him back in that slippery state.
Sam is snapped back to reality when his leg is snapped back in place.
He screams bloody murder, his torso rising from the ground in protest as the world slides into place painfully. He watches in horror as Dean finishes adjusting his right leg, bracing it with two long pieces of wood and the shoelaces from Sam's boots. Dean's face is pulled into a grimace as he ties the laces off snuggly, almost as if he is sensing Sam's level of pain. He looks up at Sam, pale face showing a few scratches and his jacket zipped up against the cold but his form otherwise appearing to be alright.
Dean moves closer to Sam, shifting away from his messed-up leg and closer to Sam's head. The pain is making him dizzy, but Sam still manages to grin up at Dean. "I killed it."
"Yes, you did," Dean says, his face tight with frustration. "You shouldn't have had to, but you did. Good job."
The small bit of pride that escapes from Dean's words floods Sam's chest with happiness. "Thanks, it broke ma leg, though."
Dean frowns. "Yeah, it did. But don't worry, I'll get us back to Dad and you'll get fixed up all good and new."
Sam nods his agreement and soon Dean is moving his arms around Sam's torso and under his knees, lifting him as gently as possible, even though that still means jarring Sam's bones and making him whimper. Dean mutters his sincere thanks before slowly starting to march them back to the car. Sam lets his head slump against Dean, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to ignore his leg. It's cold outside, but Dean feels warm and comforting in contrast to the icy fire that swarms his broken bone. Sam wonders how long it's been since Dean has carried him like this. It makes him feel like a little kid again, but not in that annoying way when he was looked down upon as a lesser being. No, it's the feeling of love and care and attention that Sam sometimes longs for. It's the feeling he would get when he would get to watch cartoons all day if he gave Dean the puppy dog eyes. It's the feeling of childhood that threatens to melt his heart and bring tears to his eyes because even if he's stubborn and refuses to admit it, he misses the constant reassurance of love he would always get when Dean carried him.
Sam is so caught up in reminiscing that he barely realizes when their march has slowed down, decreasing to a pace that doesn't betray any of the current urgency of their current situation. He looks up lazily at his brother's face and is surprised to see it so drawn and pale, his eyes looking exhausted and his mouth pulled in a grim line. Sam would have never expected to see this face on his brother, especially when he feels how tight his grip his around his torso yet gently strong near his broken leg.
"Dean?" Sam asks cautiously.
Dean's eyes shift to Sam's face and a slow smile pulls at his lips. "What's up, Sammy?"
"Are you okay?"
His brother scoffs and doesn't answer the question. "Huh, says the guy with the broken leg."
"Dean," Sam narrows his eyes, his leg threatening to pull him away from reality again. "I'm serious."
He laughs a little. "Don't worry, Sammy, it'll all be okay soon."
That doesn't really comfort him, but that's the best he's going to get from his stubborn brother.
They continue in silence, Dean comforting Sam every time the pain gets too bad and he lets out a whimper. Sam tries to ignore the wheeze in his brother's breath and the fact that he can feel him shiver through his zipped jacket, the coat feeling as if it's growing wetter and wetter with each second. Sam wonders if their luck has made a single rain cloud pour down on him, but he doesn't feel rain anywhere else so he writes it off as delusion.
Thankfully, they come to the car soon enough. Dean slowly opens the door to the backseat and helps Sam lay down inside with his torso propped up against the driver side window and his leg laid out before him. The process is excruciating and even closing the door softly does nothing to ease the pain, but they're back and all Sam can think about is how close they are to being safe and sound, if only their dad would hurry up.
"Dean," Sam croaks, rolling his head against the glass to look at his brother sitting in the passenger seat. "When do you think Dad will get back?"
Surprisingly, Dean's voice is very soft when he replies. "I dunno. Soon, hopefully."
Sam furrows his eyebrows at his brother's quiet tone. He cranes his neck as much as he can without jostling his leg, trying to get a glimpse at Dean.
His brother is slouched in the front seat, his jacket unzipped and pulled off to the side. His shirt has been peeled away from his skin, too, revealing a gruesome sight. Three long claws marks are gouged across his stomach, deep enough to let blood leak slowly but steadily from the wounds. Sam's heart pulses again, and his leg pulses with him. The damp sensation from their long walk is starting to make a horrible kind of sense.
"Dean!" Sam calls out in concern. "Those look pretty bad."
Dean considers them for a second before giving Sam a loopy grin. "Nah, you just worry about your leg."
Sam is certain that his expression looks horrified because Dean actually laughs at him before wincing from the movement it causes. He slowly lowers his shirt back over the claw marks, pressing down on them as much as he dares in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Dean looks out the window and he must see their dad approaching because he takes a deep breath, zips his jacket back up while pressing his arm against his waist, and gets out to greet him. They talk outside for a few minutes, for Sam can hear their low voices but can't make out what they're saying, before they both get back inside the car, John checking over Sam with concern as he passes Dean a relatively clean cloth to press against the gashes. Sam drifts off wondering how his brother and father can possibly stand doing this on a regular basis.
Later, Sam sits on the couch in the motel room, his leg covered in a white cast and propped up on a mountain of pillows, painkillers laid out on the short table beside him. John is currently out at the forest burning the bodies of the werewolves they killed, covering up the evidence before they can move on. Sam is watching cartoons with mild interest, his attention caught every now and then by the sleeping form of his brother next to him, his torso bandaged heavily and his head thrown back carelessly against the arm of the couch. He twitches every now and then, face scrunching together every time he shifts against the worn pillows.
Sam watches over his brother as he sleeps, determined to return this one favor. Whenever his brother stirs, his eyes lift blearily to Sam's face, flickering quickly down to his leg and back again.
"You good, Sammy?" He asks, voice thick with exhaustion.
"Yeah, Dean." Sam replies, smiling as the cartoons continue to play and his brother stays just the same. "I'm good."