Chapter 6 – Last section
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has followed this story. I'd love to know what you think.
When Sam opened his eyes, it was morning. There was light streaming through a window and birds were whooping it up outside, and he was so glad to be alive that he started to cry.
"Hey, hey," Dad said. "It's all right, Sammy. You're all right now."
Sam realized with a start that he was practically bandaged everywhere, and Dad was holding one of his swaddled hands.
"Careful – you've got stitches. Don't cry, Sammy. You'll wake up Dean."
Sam carefully turned his head – everything hurt—and he saw his brother. He and Dean were lying on Dad's bed, shoulder to shoulder, and Dean's eyes were closed, but his chest was rising and falling.
"Is he okay?" Sam whispered.
"He's all worn out." John Winchester ran his free hand over his face, looking rougher than Sam had ever seen him. "Maybe a concussion, a couple cracked ribs. There's no sign of internal bleeding. He'll be all right. He just needs to sleep for a while."
"The monster?"
"You killed it. Don't ask me how, but somehow you did it. It's gone, nothing left behind. But, Sam, there was something with you. It followed you in, and then there was so much light, I couldn't see what happened next."
Sam nodded. He felt loopy, his thinking all confused and open-ended. But Dad let go of his hand and took hold of his chin so that Sam couldn't look away.
"You slashed your hands with a knife. You opened yourself up to it. Why, Sam? Why would you do a thing like that?"
Sam didn't want to think about it ever again, but the grip on his chin was bruising and convincing.
"Tell me, Sam. That's an order."
"It was going to kill Dean. My blood was the only thing that would stop it."
"How did you know that?"
His head felt so fuzzy. Dad must have given him something for the pain. Sam was having trouble coming up with the right answer.
"She told me."
"Who told you?"
"She wanted me to be a boy."
"Sammy, I don't understand. Who was she?"
"She taught me things."
"What kind of things? Who was she? What the hell did you get yourself into? Damnit Sammy, you need to tell me."
"Naming stars. We skipped stones on the lake."
"You're not making sense, son. I need you to focus."
"Skipping stones, altar stones," Sam chanted, like it was a nursery rhyme. He started to laugh, even as tears were running down his face. He couldn't remember why he was sad. "It's all the same."
Dad looked scared. Sam couldn't remember seeing Dad scared before.
"Sammy, I think you need to get some sleep. We can talk about this when you're better."
Sam nodded and rolled toward Dean, closing his eyes.
But Dad wasn't done. "You can't keep secrets from us, Sammy. It's not safe. This family won't survive if we don't stick together. None of us can afford to be selfish."
Sam wished he could shove down the anger that was coming up again. He'd always been good at disappointing his dad.
It wasn't fair. He wasn't going to think about Emily. Whoever, whatever she was, she wasn't coming back. It shouldn't have been like this. His life should have been different. There were things nobody had thought to teach him, things he hadn't known to miss – how to ride a skateboard, pitch a fastball, how to whistle through a blade of glass.
Then Sam heard his father sigh and there were footsteps, and Sam knew Dad was walking away.
That was fine by Sam. Dad never stayed. Sam opened his eyes to look at his brother. Dean's face was black and blue and swollen, but Sam had seen it worse. Sam tucked his bandaged hand under Dean's side, careful of any cracked ribs. Dean mumbled in his sleep turning toward him, his features relaxed and still dreaming.
The thing was dead, and they would be moving on as soon as Dean was better. It would be a while before they went back to the woods. Dad only worked forest gigs in the summer. But there would always be another hunter's cabin… another pissed-off monster in the woods. Sam couldn't do anything to change that, but he wasn't going to live this life any longer than he had to. Dad raised them for this and maybe he was born for it, but she wanted more for them – for him and Dean. Dad couldn't control his life forever.
As Sam's eyes started to close, he wondered if Dean had ever learned how to skip stones. The secret was in the wrist, in keeping the stone level with the water, and then releasing it gracefully. It was all in letting go. Dean would think he was nuts, but Sam would teach him…
If they were still alive next year.
~The end~
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