Hide & Seek

AN: Starting in Summer 1992, this comes shortly after my story 'In the Shadows' and is one of a number of stories I have (WIP) in that series. You don't have to have read that one to read this one though. The boys are 9 and 13. There are a number of references to those lovely little titbits in canon referencing the boys' childhood which I hope you will enjoy.

For those who like my Brotherhood AU (courtesy of the amazing Ridley) stories, I have several of those I am working on too and have one I should start posting shortly.

As always thank you to my wonderful beta Meilean who patiently puts up with me dumping large amounts of text on her with little warning and always gives me such thoughtful feedback. If you haven't read her stories you should definitely check them out, her Wild West Triad stories are amazing.

Disclaimer - I do not own any supernatural characters, just playing with Kripke's toys.

Chapter 1: Sam and the Closet

Nine-year-old Sam Winchester had a problem. Well, technically he had several problems but the pressing one at the moment was that something was hiding in his closet. He hadn't seen it but he'd been woken by a noise. Now it was midnight and he was sitting upright, hugging his knees, unable to calm his heart or his imagination. Somehow it felt that as long as he watched the door, whatever was inside wouldn't come out.

He knew there were things that hid in the dark and that there were things he could - and should - do. He was just having a little trouble getting his legs to obey the command to get out of bed. Sam wasn't a rookie when it came to hide-and-seek. His brother had taught him how to play. It was only later he'd learnt his brother's twisted version was not how most people played.

In Dean's version, the hider had a nasty surprise waiting for the seeker, which might be anything from a fistful of sloppy mud in summer to a bucket of ice water in winter. Sam had thought this was Dean's revenge after Sam had refused to be the hider ever again because Dean had not bothered to seek him. He had been left curled up in the kitchen cupboard for an hour while Dean watched back-to-back episodes of The Dukes of Hazzard.

Slowly he slid to the edge of his mattress and placed his bare feet on the rough wooden floorboards, all the while maintaining his steady vigilance on the closet.

Of course, at Christmas he'd discovered what his family were hiding from him, and now he understood. Dean's version of hide-and-seek was either preparation or warning regarding the nature of the family business. The family business was another one of his problems. Sam scowled to himself. Seeking was stupid!

He forced himself to his feet and, keeping to the wall furthest from the closet, made his way towards the door that led out of the room.

He had sought the truth behind the family secret and now wished he hadn't. Because the secret was that his father hunted the monsters that were hidden in the shadows of the world. Seeking really was like his brother's version of hide-and-seek, likely to only result in finding something nasty. The world, it turned out, was full of monsters. Not pretend ones, or 'grainy photos of a blob' ones. Real ones, that left long claw scars in flesh, threw boys through windows, and stole mothers in the dead of night.

Sam had made it out of the bedroom without any further sound or movement from his closet. Even so, he walked sideways towards the kitchen, keeping an eye on his six. His fingers absentmindedly poked the lingering painful bruise just above his ear. A yellowing reminder from the week before that seeking was a bad idea. He opened the kitchen cupboard, pushing aside cereal to locate what he'd come for.

Sam was subject to strict rules; going straight home from school, maintaining the salt lines and warding on the apartment, how and when to answer the phone. For the most part he stuck to these, even though there was often no one about to know whether he did or not and the phone never even rang, let alone rang in the right combination of rings to indicate he could answer it.

But Dean had an uncanny ability to get the better of Sam at every turn. Like last week. Dean seemed to know the one time Sam had not come straight home. Sam had sought company in the form of one of the boys in his science class. He'd very much enjoyed an hour in the park followed by ice cream. He'd not enjoyed the rude awakening in the middle of the night when a shoe had collided with his head. Apparently, Dean had tried to call, and totally overreacted when Sam had not answered. The shoe was because, after having hightailed back to check on him, Dean was unimpressed to find Sam was perfectly okay and sound asleep. Having only left their dad a note before taking off, Dean had been in as much trouble with the old man as Sam was with Dean. But the older boy still stayed the rest of the night, getting a few hours sleep before heading back to the hunt.

Box of salt in hand, Sam edged his way back towards the bedroom, pausing to also pick up his brother's baseball bat which had been left leaning against a wall in the corner of the kitchen. Dean wouldn't like him touching it, even though it was more for protection than sport, and the thought of Dean's displeasure had a small smile pulling at Sam's lips.

The morning after the shoe hit his head, they had been woken early by another call from their father, demanding Dean get his butt in gear and back on the case immediately. Sam had then been treated to a rant from his big brother on not wandering off without telling them where he was going. Sam had tried to argue that if they could just let him know when they'd be calling, he'd make sure he was in but this had gone down like a lead balloon.

"Oh, sure Sammy, we'll just ask the monsters not to kill anyone between six and seven because we need to make a call," Dean said sarcastically. "You can't disappear like that."

"Yeah 'coz that makes sense. You're out doing monstery stuff but I'm the one we should be worried about." Sam clamped his mouth shut. He'd nearly said too much. He had no intention of telling Dean the main reason he'd gone out at all was to postpone the moment he got home. That he spent entire evenings trying to figure out what he was going to do if they never came back. His brother seemed to deflate as he sighed and sat next to Sam on the couch.

"Sam, I'm fine, Dad's fine, we know what we're doing."

"And I don't, is that it?" Sam had lashed out, upset he'd given himself away.

"I didn't say that. Look, just work on the stuff Dad told you to and I'm sure you'll be able to come with us soon." Sam could see the concern on his brother's face and smiled for him. For a moment it was like they were as close as they'd always been. But the effect was lost when in the next moment Dean stood and checked his gun, which he now kept in the back of his jeans nearly all the time, with practical efficiency. The pistol apparently came equipped with a cocky strut that Sam mocked and envied.

"Try not to be a complete loser, Geek-Boy," Dean winked at him. "Still plenty of time to blow off school with a cute girl." The teasing smirk did not reach Dean's eyes as he looked at the younger boy. "I've got to get back." He hitched his bag onto his shoulder but didn't move. "Dad said it should only be a few more days." The supposedly 'reassuring' comment was futile when Sam knew perfectly well for their dad 'a few days' could be anything from half a week to half a month. There was another pause, then Dean turned and left, not looking back as he went through the door and closed it behind him. Sam was left with the bruise, mostly hidden under his hair.

They had returned two days later but barely been back for three days before disappearing again. Leaving Sam alone again.

So now here he was. Dad and Dean were on yet another hunt and he was sitting in his bed like he was supposed to be, but eyeing the closet door and wishing he wasn't. The minutes ticked by and although there wasn't another sound, sleep remained evasive. His salt line was in place and the Louisville slugger was tucked in the bed with him, but still he was having trouble relaxing his guard.

He forced himself to lie down, then challenged himself to close his eyes for longer and longer. He'd almost calmed himself enough to fall asleep when he heard a sound. Not an ambiguous 'was that really a noise or just my imagination' sound, but the clear sound of a door opening. He sat bolt upright, bat at the ready, determined to fight to the death.

"Whoa dude, chill, it's just me," Dean said, eyeing the bat. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," Sam said, quickly stowing the bat under his duvet. His eyes involuntarily flicked to check the closet door, which was still closed.

"Well that was convincing," Dean said, watching Sam for a moment. When Sam didn't respond, he narrowed his eyes slightly but dropped it for now. Dean threw his bag on the other bed and Sam watched apprehensively as his brother approached the closet. But nothing happened when he opened the door, nor when he pulled out the duffle bag from inside which held spare weapons and gear.

Just as Sam had convinced himself that there had been nothing there at all and the whole thing had been in his head, he caught a hint of movement from the corner of his eye. It wasn't distinctive enough to identify, but it was distinctive enough that Sam was sure he hadn't imagined it. Wasn't he? Dean hadn't reacted and he could spot if Sam had touched his magazines from 50 paces.

Dean moved the heavy bag to his bed, leaving the closet door open. Sam could have sworn he saw movement in the shadowy corner. He tried to act normal while remaining vigilant. Perhaps it was just a coat hanger swinging or something.

Their dad came into the room throwing Sam a passing smile.

"Hurry up Dean, I don't want the trail on this thing to go cold."

"Two minutes," Dean replied. John didn't say more but hovered in a way that suggested quicker would be better.

As his dad was between Sam and the closet, he was blocking Sam's view. Unable to relax his vigilance, Sam shifted to re-establish line-of-sight. John turned at the movement and appraised his youngest son before looking at the closet then back at Sam. Sam tried desperately to keep his face impassive but either he failed or was too late.

John marched over, pulling a small button-flashlight from his pocket. He gave the interior a cursory search before closing the door. Sam's fear didn't alleviate and this must have shown because when John turned back to him he tutted. Then his father pulled a '45 from the back of his jeans, checked the magazine, and gave the gun to the nine-year-old, ruffling the boy's hair. Clearly feeling the issue had been addressed, John returned his attention to his other son.

"You ready?"

"Yes, Sir." Dean stood upright and threw his bag over his shoulder.

"Good, let's go."

"See you soon, Sammy," Dean called as he was herded out by their father.

Sam bit his lip and frowned at the gun in his hand, then at the closed closet door. It wasn't fair, they might be doing scary monstery stuff, but at least they were together.

π π π