"You know I wanted to take out the rest of the tribe as bad as you did," Dean offered, twisting open his second bottle of beer. Sam sat on the picnic table beside him, staring straight ahead into the darkness, seething. Dean took a long drink, then tried again.
"Now we know about the Amazons, and when they surface again, we'll be ready. Well, if any of us are still alive in two years," he added wryly. At that, Sam had had enough. He slammed his own bottle down on the weathered boards of the table and launched himself to his feet.
"That's just it, Dean! Bobby was right. You're head's not in it, not since Cas died, and the stunt you pulled tonight?" He gestured to the Buick, where Emma slept, curled up in the back seat. "It's like you want to get yourself killed!"
"What else was I supposed to do?" Dean was on his feet now too. "That's my kid. My responsibility."
"That's not even human, Dean." Abruptly, Sam strode over to the Buick. Dean followed, his expression bemused as Sam opened the trunk and pulled out Emma's suitcase. He threw the pink overnight bag hard at Dean's chest. It was suspiciously light. Empty.
"You get it now? Emma wasn't running away from the Amazons. She never intended to leave. If she was going to use that suitcase for anything, it was for bringing back your hands and feet." Sam folded his arms, satisfied that he'd made his case. But Dean was shaking his head.
"Maybe she did plan to kill me, Sam, but she didn't. And it wasn't like I didn't give her the opportunity-"
"Really?" Sam interrupted, incredulous. "Dean, listen to yourself! You gave her the opportunity? Seriously? You did worse than choke. You deliberately turned your back on a monster. What gives you the right to take a stupid risk like that?"
"I just knew she didn't have it in her," Dean began, but Sam broke in again, outraged.
"You just knew. Right." His voice was thick with sarcasm. "Emma is not some innocent girl. She's not your daughter. Not in the way you seem to want her to be. Dean, she's a mistake. It was a stupid one-night stand, not- Not the birth of two souls in one."
"Hey! Enough with the romance novel crap! That's not what I meant," Dean protested, offended at the implication that he might be a romantic at heart. "She is my kid, Sammy, even if she was a mistake. So her mother is a crazy man-killing monster. Her father's a Winchester. That's got to count for something." Dean scowled hard, as if daring Sam to contradict this claim.
Sam raised his hands in a gesture of reconciliation. This wasn't his brother's usual braggadocio. For all his apparent arrogance, Dean was full of self-doubt. Now more than ever, since Castiel had died. But here he was asserting his belief in Emma, that she had something in her worth saving. Something good, that could only have come from him.
Sam couldn't argue with that. Hell, he could see why Dean wanted to believe. He found himself wanting to believe it, too.
"Okay," he sighed. "We'll give her a chance. But, Dean, if you're wrong, I will end this. I'll take her out, you understand that, right?"
"No. If I'm wrong about her, don't worry, Sam, I'll gank her," Dean said firmly. "My mistake, my responsibility."
Mid-morning found the Buick parked outside a department store in a small town southeast of Seattle. Fortunately for Dean, Emma proved to be a typical teenage consumer, perfectly capable of filling a shopping cart with clothing and toiletries, no parental assistance required until the check-out line. Dean waited to swipe the credit card that would pay for the purchases while the clerk rang up stacks of t-shirts and jeans, socks and sweaters. He began to fidget as piles of bras and panties made their way along the check-out conveyor.
"Kids these days, huh? Sure need a lot of, uh...stuff." He smiled nervously. "She's my daughter," Dean rambled on, jerking his head at Emma, who was avidly browsing the candy display.
"Uh-huh." The middle-aged female clerk grunted noncommittally. Sam observed the exchange from the next check-out line.
"Airline lost her luggage," Dean improvised. Sam suppressed a chuckle at his brother's growing discomfort. The sudden need to share was a dead give-away.
"She's out here visiting, you know, for the holidays. Perfectly normal, legal, joint custody agreement," he hastened to assure the now skeptical clerk, who had slowed her scanning and stuffing clothing into plastic bags to look at him.
"It's not a holiday," she pointed out.
"It's not? I mean, it's not! Not for you, maybe. But we're Jewish," he announced, his smile tinged with desperation.
"Happy Hanukkah," Emma deadpanned, placing two king-size Snickers bars on the conveyor.
Later, at a diner some forty miles up the road, Dean recuperated from the minor ordeal with a burger and fries. Sam and Emma munched on Caesar salads, the teenager augmenting her healthy choice with a large chocolate milkshake. She'd also devoured two candy bars in the past hour, Sam noted. Apparently the Amazons hadn't indulged their initiates with sweets. Interesting, too, that she'd pushed aside the slices of grilled chicken that had topped the salad.
"Hey, Emma, you going to eat those?" he queried innocently. Intent on wolfing down the remaining ingredients, she silently waved a hand, indicating he could help himself. Dean was oblivious to the exchange, eyes closed in bliss as he chewed. Sam tried again, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing his brother as he reached for the extra helping of chicken.
"So, you're a vegetarian?"
"Vegetarian?" The word roused Dean from his feeding frenzy. He scoffed. "'Course she's not a vegetarian. Give the kid back her chicken, you moocher," he ordered Sam.
"No, it's okay. He can have it." Sam watched as Emma's jaw tightened.
"Look, Candy Crush, you can't live on chocolate and rabbit food-"
"No!" she insisted, voice rising, showing the first hint of emotion Sam had seen since their initial confrontation the night before. Puzzled by the unexpected outburst, Dean lowered his burger and turned to his brother for clarification.
"What is this? An Amazon thing, or a teenage girl thing?"
"Oh, that's right, you missed Professor Morrison's lecture. As part of their initiation, the Amazons feed on human flesh," Sam informed him. "That's why they take the hands and feet from the men they murder. Ritual cannibalism."
"They made us," Emma admitted, with a shudder at the chicken strip poised on the tines of Sam's fork. Dean gave his brother a long, level look.
"Well, clearly she hasn't gone full-on Hannibal Lecter on us, not unless I missed the part where the guy was a vegan, so… Let bygones be bygones. It's okay," he told Emma.
"Not sure I like this," Dean said still later as Sam picked the lock on a drab metal door, painted an undistinguished shade of tan to match the rest of the low, one story building. They were at the back of a strip mall on the outskirts of Boise. It was well after midnight, the place deserted.
"It's no big deal," Sam assured him as he slipped inside. Dean ushered Emma in, then quietly closed the door behind them as Sam turned on the lights. They moved on past storage and locker rooms, into a main area filled with weight machines and other exercise equipment.
"It just makes sense to know what she's capable of, that's all." Sam smiled at Emma.
"Yeah, well, make it snappy," Dean groused. "Then you can drive while I get some shut-eye."
Sam's first round of tests didn't take long. Using the free weights, Emma demonstrated her superhuman strength with squats, deadlifts, and bench presses.
"Three-fifty!" Dean whistled, impressed. Sam noted that Emma didn't react to the praise. She was as unemotional as ever. He led her across the gym to a boxing ring. Dean followed, catching hold of Sam's shoulder roughly.
"I don't like this. What are you trying to prove?"
"Look, Dean, you saw how she reacted last night. We know she's had some training."
"We all did," Emma said frankly. "Unarmed combat, and how to use the knives they gave us-"
"There you go, Sammy, she's had training." Dean folded his arms. "Amazons, go figure. Can we get back on the road, now?"
"I just want to see what she can do," Sam overrode his brother's objections. Directing Emma to climb into the ring, Sam joined her in the center and began running through a series of basic practice drills. Simple punches, kicks, and blocks, the rudiments of combat. Dean watched from a corner of the ring.
Quickly, Sam moved the impromptu session on to sparring.
"Don't hold back," he told Emma. She shot a quick look toward Dean, who nodded. It was clear that someone had taught her to fight during her brief childhood. Plain, no-frills, brutally effective moves, much like their father had taught his boys. But for all her strength, Emma was still a novice.
Sam stayed on the defensive at first, avoiding Emma's attacks. Though her punches and kicks had the force to shatter a grown man's bones, they were easy to deflect, dispersing the devastating force behind them. And no wonder. By the time he'd reached Emma's apparent age of sixteen, Sam Winchester had been a seasoned veteran of fights with monsters and schoolyard bullies alike. Her strength and rudimentary combat skills would destroy the average playground bully, Sam thought as he blocked a kick, knocking Emma off balance, but this was no contest. All her moves were clumsy, hopelessly telegraphed to his trained eye. Amateur.
He began to go on the offensive, pushing the girl off balance again, landing a punch here, a kick there. Emma's reactions were minimal. An indrawn breath, a rapid blink. She was stoic, Sam thought. His and Dean's own childhood had taught them to be the same. Sam didn't like the comparison. He kicked her legs out from under her, dropping her to the floor.
"Again," he commanded. She scrambled up and took her stance, balanced lightly on the balls of her feet as she'd been taught. Sam advanced, fast, and in a moment she was back on the floor.
"Again." Her cheeks were flushed pink, her breath coming hard. Her brief training hadn't built up her stamina. She was already tiring, but she jumped up again, an obedient little soldier. Sam felt a flash of annoyance at her compliance. He let her stay on her feet this time, let her aim her punches and kicks that he never let land full force, if he let them land at all. Meanwhile, his attacks found their mark.
"Sammy! That's enough!" Dean barked, advancing.
"Just one more thing," Sam soothed, backing off. "It's just a little sparring. We're both fine. You're doing fine, right, Emma?"
"I'm okay," she panted.
Good little soldier, Sam thought. He'd just landed a kick to the outside of her thigh, a vicious strike that would leave a bruise. She hid her reactions well, but the body could only take so much. Her eyes were bright with moisture. Tears were a reflex reaction to pain that could only be held back for so long. And once those tears fell, Dean's patience with the exercise would end.
Sam didn't want to make her cry. He didn't want to hurt her, not really. A part of him felt terrible about the whole demonstration, a grown man, a hunter, beating up on an inexperienced girl. He had nearly a foot of height and a good one hundred pounds on her. He felt a rush of shame, quickly suppressed. He was a bully. Or would be, Sam reminded himself, if Emma was a normal, human girl, but she wasn't. She was a monster. The thought allowed him to maintain the necessary detachment.
Without warning, before Dean could respond, Sam stepped in, fists cocked, batting aside Emma's sluggish attempt to block them. They landed, one-two, hard blows to the ribs that knocked the wind out of her on a sharp, half-stifled cry of pain. Dean's wordless bellow echoed and amplified the small sound, but Sam had already stopped, arms at his sides, leaving himself open.
Emma's eyes flared with inhuman intensity. The skin around them flushed red, veins outlined like flashes of lightning, pupils dilated. Dragging in a breath, she erupted into violence, pushing Sam with all her strength, lifting him off his feet. He flew back, hitting the ropes, which bowed outward at the force. His body hung limp, nearly horizontal, suspended over the edge of the ring. Then the ropes sprang back, tossing Sam onto his hands and knees. He raised his head, panting, half-stunned and unable to get his feet under him just yet.
"There. You see?"
Emma stood, swaying slightly, shoulders hunched, eyes wild with bloodlust. The monstrous coloring faded swiftly, leaving her looking frightened and small as she turned toward her father, tears spilling down her cheeks, but it was too late.
Sam's plan had worked. Dean had seen the transformation.