Shadows From the Dim Hereafter

By: CoffeeManiac

Not Slash. Rated T for some mature content.

Warnings: Violence. Hints at sensitive subject matter. Lots of HurtSam. Some HurtDean. This story is not labeled as horror, however, towards the end, there are a couple of short, but fairly gruesome descriptions so, please be prepared.

Part 2

Sam watched his family leave feeling angry and betrayed by his father and sad to be separated from his brother. Sure, the fight in the morning had been bad and Sam had used poor judgment, maybe no judgment, in attacking his father's decision. But, Dad was the one who overreacted so why was Sam the one to get punished?

He returned to the kitchen to find Derek sitting at the table, polishing off his bottle of water. Derek nodded towards the duffle that Sam had set down when they arrived.

"Why don't you grab that and I'll show you your room," he said.

"Thanks," Sam said as he picked up the bag.

"The rules are simple, Sam. Do the chores you're given, clean up after yourself and be available when you're needed. Does any of that sound like a problem?"

"No, sir," Sam answered. He'd been living with the same rules his whole life.

"How old are you now?" Derek asked.

"Fifteen. I'll be sixteen next month."

"You got a girl friend?"

"Uh, no, we're not really in one place long enough."

"I bet your brother's had girlfriends."

Sam laughed, feeling a little uncomfortable.

Derek walked them through the house to a small bedroom set off from the living room. It had a single bed, a dresser and a lamp with a shade decorated by pink ballerinas. The bed wasn't made. No sheet, no blankets and just a bare pillow.

"The bedding is kept in the laundry room which is that little room right off the kitchen. There's a closet in there so you can get whatever you need. The cellar is through the wood door on the right. And you've been on the patio, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam said.

"You go ahead and get your things put away, make your bed and then come on outside. We need to cover the trees back there because the temperature is supposed to drop tonight."

"Sure. I can help with that first if you want."

"Nope. I want you to do what I said."

Sam studied the man in front of him. He didn't remember Derek being so serious. In the few times they'd stopped there, he'd always seemed easy going.

"Okay, Derek. I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Good boy. Your dad said you might be head strong, difficult, but, uh, if you keep up with this attitude then we'll have a nice few days together."

Sam stared after Derek as he left. He couldn't believe his father had said something like that. Was his Dad still so angry that he warned Derek about him? Was Sam really so out of control that his Dad thought a warning was necessary?

He shook his head, anger washing over him, and headed for the laundry room. He didn't see either of his hosts as he made his way through the house. When he passed through the kitchen he caught sight of them standing on the back patio beneath a large umbrella. He couldn't hear them and wondered if they were discussing the discipline problem that they'd agreed to watch over.

He shook that off and slid open the closet door. He found the sheets stacked neatly and folded precisely on two different shelves. He took the top set which, thankfully, did not have ballerinas on them. They were plain and green and suited his purposes. On another shelf, he found pillow cases. The matching color for his bed sat someplace in the middle so he just grabbed the top one, which was dark blue. Blankets filled one half of the other side so he grabbed two then took the whole mess back to his room.

As directed, he made his bed like any good soldier. His dad had taught him how to properly tuck in corners and make everything straight from the bottom up. He shoved his duffle into a corner figuring he wouldn't be there long enough to unpack then set out to find Derek.

The afternoon had waned into early evening. The temperature had dropped significantly. Sam wished he had dug a jacket or hoodie out of his bag before braving the outside.

Derek waved at him from where he stood near a line of young trees, barely four feet tall. June stood under the umbrella on the patio and wished Sam luck before she went inside.

"These are maple trees. Very sturdy, normally, but these are young so we need to cover them. There are some hedges on the opposite side there and they need to be covered as well. The covers are just inside the back door on a shelf that I built last year. Just cover them up, not too tight at the bottom but make sure they're protected. Do you understand?"

"Sure," Sam said. "Is the cellar door unlocked?"

"Wouldn't do you much good if it wasn't," Derek responded then laughed at his sardonic reply.

Derek patted Sam's shoulder and left him to do the job.

When this project had been presented to him, Sam assumed that they'd be doing it together. Instead he was standing out in the rain, getting drenched while June and Derek took turns checking on him from inside the house. He walked across the lawn and opened the back door. There were shelves on either side of the cement stairwell that led to the cellar. He grabbed the stack of plastic covers and returned to the row of new trees.

His teeth were chattering by the time he finished covering them up but he still had the hedges. Sam considered going inside to get warm for a few minutes before tackling the rest but decided against it. Hopefully, he'd be able to get something hot to drink after he was done.

Covering the hedges took longer than the trees. Sam's fingers were numb and he was soaked all the way through. His hair was dripping into his eyes as he climbed the wood stairs up to the patio deck.

June met him at the door with towels. She gave him one for his hair and laid a couple on the floor for his feet and to drip on. She put another one on top of the dryer.

"Don't track through the house. When you're done drying, throw the towels into the washer. After you get changed, we'll have some dinner. Can you do that, Sam?"

Cold and cranky, Sam scowled at her. He wasn't stupid. He could follow simple directions.

"I think I can manage," he answered.

"Then let me ask you something. Why is your bag still out in the guest room?"

"My duffle bag? It's in the corner."

"That's not what I asked."

"You mean why didn't I unpack?"

June just stared at him, expectantly.

"I'm only going to be here a couple of days. I didn't want to empty it just to repack it."

"So, it was better to have my home look like a flophouse rather than inconvenience yourself."

"Um, no…"

She nodded, pointedly. "Yes, well, consideration is just as important as cleanliness. Get dry, put the towels in the washer, put your clothes in the hamper, put on something dry and then unpack. Your duffle can hang on the hook in the closet."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry."

"And Sam, I remade your bed so that everything matches. It's not good enough just to make it. Anything worth doing is worth doing right, surely your father has told you that."

Sam bit back his instinct to tell her not to call him "Shirley". Instead he just nodded and she walked back into the kitchen.

June squeezed his bicep as if to ease out of the argument, but Sam scowled as she left him. He had known June for about three years and had never seen her like that. While everyone who stayed at the house knew she liked a tidy home, Sam hadn't realized she was so obsessive. Of course, he didn't have a lot to compare to. Maybe people who owned homes, where they actually lived, were militant about it.

He rubbed the towels over his clothes and took off his sneakers. He tossed the damp towels in the washer then headed towards his room to change. He saw Derek in the living room and the other man stopped him.

"Did you get those trees covered?"

"Everything is covered," Sam answered.

"All right, good man. Keep doing what we tell you and we'll give your dad a good report when he picks you up."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he's worried about it but, thanks."

"You didn't hear him when we went outside. I don't know what you did, Sam, but John is plenty mad at you."

Sam shrugged. Hearing that made him angry but, sad too, or maybe frustrated would be a better word. He knew that he and his father argued a lot and the fight that morning had been particularly brutal. But, they always managed to find a way past all the anger even if it took a few days. To have his father confiding in others about him just felt wrong.

Sam walked into the bedroom and closed the door. He stripped out of his clothes, thinking about the disagreement over Bobby Singer. He probably shouldn't have accused his father of being selfish. And he probably shouldn't have told him that he was single-minded and obsessive. He definitely shouldn't have thrown the hunt for mom's killer back at him as proof. Remembering it now, he could kind of understand why his father lashed out.

He slipped on a pair of black sweats and a white t-shirt and put on some dry socks. He scooped up all the wet clothes and took them back to the laundry room.

June sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open. Derek stood over her shoulder. Sam wondered if they were researching a hunt so he threw his clothes in the washer, put in soap and fabric softener and turned it on.

Coming back into the kitchen, he pulled a chair out at the table. June and Derek stopped talking to look at him.

"Is there a hunt around here?" Sam asked.

"Why do you ask?" June frowned as she spoke.

"Maybe I can help. I'm good at research. I do most of it when Dad and Dean are getting ready for something."

The adults exchanged amused looks but didn't say anything.

Slightly offended, Sam said, "Look, if you don't want help, that's fine, I just thought…"

"Interrupting isn't really helping," Derek said.

"Have you finished doing what you're supposed to be doing?" June asked.

"I'm dry," Sam announced then laughed, trying to ease the tension between him and them.

Neither of them changed their expressions.

"I put the clothes and towels in the wash and I changed."

"Did you unpack?" she asked.

Sam shook his head, feeling the red creep up his cheeks. "No, ma'am."

"And did you mix the towels with your clothes in the wash?"

"Yeah, you said to…"

"What I said was to put the towels in the wash and your clothes in the hamper. That way, the towels stay soft and smell better for longer. It's a simple way to keep things nice. Now, will you go to the guest room and unpack?"

"I told you to unpack hours ago," Derek added. "Where's your head, kid?"

Sam didn't know what to say. He stood up slowly, pushed in the chair with excessive caution and walked out of the kitchen.

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After unpacking his bag and hanging everything on hangers in the closet, Sam sat down on the bed. He rubbed his hands through his hair. Hungry and thinking his father must have been really pissed to leave him with the OCD couple from hell Sam threw himself on to his back. He closed his eyes for a moment then sat up again. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open and picked Dean's name out of the scroll list of contacts. It rang four times before his brother picked up.

"Hey, Sammy, how are they treating you?"

"Hi, just wanted to check in. I just finished covering a bunch of shrubs and stuff so the cold won't kill them."

"Well, that sounds like fun…not."

"So, um, where are you?"

"We're in Watertown. Just got into a room, actually. We checked out the house a little bit but Dad wants to make a few calls before we go in. Plus it's some kind of historic site so there's security we didn't expect."

"Did you talk to the owner?"

"She's hot, Sammy. You should see her. Maybe 25, tall, thin, likes wearing her clothes a size too small."

"Isn't she married?"

"She's still hot."

"So you're having a good time, I guess."

"Well, you know, I like to hunt and I like women so…"

Sam chuckled, feeling better just hearing his brother's voice.

"Dad's starting to settle down," Dean said. "He didn't talk the whole way here but he seems like he's getting back to normal."

"However good that is."

"Better than the alternative, you know what I'm saying? So, how are you? Is June treating like you the baby boy she never had?"

"I hope not," Sam answered without thinking and then regretted it.

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Nothing. I shouldn't have said that. Everything's okay here."

"What aren't you saying?" Dean's protective streak spoke louder than his question.

Sam chose his next words carefully. He didn't want to worry Dean or make it seem like he was whining. "No, really, it's fine. June is a little more of a neat freak than I realized, that's all."

"Yeah, I thought maybe that would come up. You're in their house, though. You can't be a slob like you are around me."

"I guess not." Sam laughed again.

"Oh, hey, gotta go. Dad's got a pizza craving so we're heading out. Call you tomorrow."

"Sounds good. Night, Dean."

"Night, Sammy."

The call cut off from Dean's end and Sam flipped his phone closed. He stuck it back in his pocket.

He crab-walked to the top of the bed and pulled his tattered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird from the nightstand drawer. Pushing back to lean against the metal headboard, he opened to a dog-eared page and started reading.

Atticus Finch fascinated Sam. Steadfast and confident in his beliefs, he used his intelligence and compassion to raise his children while refusing to compromise his principals. If Sam managed to become a lawyer, he hoped to be as honorable and brave. Not that it was likely that he'd become a lawyer but Sam preferred to think that someday he'd get out from under his father's rule. He had to believe that or he'd lose himself.

His stomach rumbled and he wondered if they were going to eat dinner soon. Pizza sounded good so if June wasn't cooking, he thought he'd go out on his own and find some. He wanted a shower too. The cold from earlier hadn't really left him.

Sam yawned after getting another chapter in and looked at his watch. It was nearly eight o'clock and his stomach refused to be ignored any longer. He marked his page in the book and dropped it back in the drawer. Then he walked towards the kitchen.

June stood alone at the sink with her back to Sam. She rinsed off a plate and slid it into the dishwasher.

"Hi June," Sam said. She flinched and spun towards him, her ponytail swinging wildly. He held up his hands with a chuckle. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

She exhaled and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "I was lost in my thoughts," she said.

Sam shrugged. "Sorry."

"It's all right, Sam. Um, are you hungry? You didn't come for dinner."

"I'm starved. I was reading. I guess I lost track of time."

"I called but you didn't show up. Derek said you were probably sulking. No matter. Just have a seat and I'll warm your plate."

Sam chose to ignore the "sulking" comment. Both Dean and his father accused him of it often enough that he guessed it had been a fair assumption.

"I can do it if you want," he offered. "I'll rinse the plate and put it in the dishwasher."

June nodded. "Thank you. That would help. Your food is in the refrigerator with foil over it. Don't forget to take off the foil before you put it into the microwave."

"I know about metal and microwaves," Sam said, wondering why she spoke to him as if he was deficient.

"Good. And Sam…I know Derek and I must seem awfully particular about things. It's just important to us to keep everything as normal as possible when we're not hunting."

"I can understand that." Sam wished on a frequent basis that his family lived a more normal life.

"All right then," She scuffed a hand through his hair as she said, "I'm going to watch some TV in my room for a while. Just knock on the door if you need anything. Derek went out with some friends so he probably won't be back until late."

"Okay, thanks," Sam said.

He breathed a little in relief when she left. She resonated with so much intensity that he found it exhausting just being in the same room with her.

He opened the gold colored refrigerator and withdrew a glass, foil-covered plate. He pulled off the cover and looked at a baked chicken thigh with a scoop of white rice and some green beans around it. The skin on the chicken was wrinkled and the rice had crusty edges. It looked like it had been in there for a few days, not a couple of hours.

Since Sam started his growth spurt, he had been overwhelmed by constant hunger. Because he wanted to live passed thirty, Sam generally chose healthy over junk but he still ate loads of granola, fruit and salad. His proteins consisted of egg whites, baked chicken and broiled fish and large portions of all.

He had grown several inches since last summer and while he hadn't added much bulk, his father told him to expect to fill out and probably dwarf both Dad and Dean before he was done.

As Sam looked at his dinner he was reminded of a movie that he watched with Bobby Singer. When some rich people were served a tiny piece of steak that appeared to be the meal, Bobby said, "that wouldn't fill a cavity for me."

Sam remembered laughing but looking at the small portion on his plate, he wasn't as amused. Still, sometimes money was tight with the Winchester family and meals were skimpy. He was somewhat used to making do when it came to managing his own appetite. So, Sam put the plate in the microwave, double-checked that the foil was no place near the machine and set it for two minutes to warm.

He figured he could always strike out on his own the next day and buy some snacks and things to fill in the gap. His father had given him a little money to get by so maybe he could see if June or Derek needed anything. He had thought the siblings were well off financially but maybe something had changed.

When the timer dinged, Sam took his plate to the table, retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and ate his dinner. The food tasted old, but his growling stomach was glad for the attention. Not really satisfied after he finished, at least the edge to his hunger had been sated. He took his plate to the sink, rinsed it thoroughly then put it in the dishwasher. His fork and knife followed. Taking a look inside the machine he thought it looked full so he opened drawers until he found the soap packets. He dropped one in the cup, closed the machine and set the cycle.

Satisfied he had done everything he could, Sam retreated back to the guest room. He grabbed a jacket out of the closet then headed out back to the patio. As soon as he opened the sliding glass door, a cold wind swept over him. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter.

Stepping out on to the wood planks, he closed the door behind him. He walked to the edge to lean over the railing and look across the large backyard. Wind ruffled the covers he had placed over the foliage.

Sam fisted his hands in his pockets and turned his face into the pelting rain. The drops felt like ice against his skin. He found himself holding his breath against the chill but he didn't want to go in. Being outside lessened the sensation of being trapped in that house. Living in a strange place, with virtual strangers who acted like they had authority, gave him a claustrophobic feeling and he wished he could join his family on their hunt.

He touched fingers to his cold cheek, wincing at the bruise there. He still couldn't believe his father had slugged him…twice. He couldn't believe his father had ditched him either. He supposed that Dad had wanted to do both for a while. Sam was surprised when that thought brought tears. He wiped at them angrily. He refused to be hurt by either action. He knew he was pushing too hard and he knew that his father had limits. Sam had shoved Dad over the edge of good sense so there was no point in resenting the results of what he had caused.

He put his hands around the railing and leaned forward. The slight sensation of falling felt right. He leaned a little bit further and closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like if the wood gave way and he tumbled over. It was probably a ten foot drop. He'd probably break a limb, maybe even his neck. He pushed back and stood up straight.

Car lights caught Sam's attention and he watched as Derek parked by the curb in his F-150. The lights dimmed and then the driver's side door opened. Sam was surprised when the passenger side opened next. A woman slid out, planting her feet on the sidewalk. Tall and willowy, Sam noticed the way her long, blond hair swept over her breasts. She wore a tight-fitting coat that was probably leather or something like it and hugged her hips. She pushed her hair behind her back and grabbed something out of the truck. It looked like a piece of luggage.

Derek joined her on the sidewalk and took her hand. Together they headed towards the back door and Sam suddenly felt conspicuous standing on the patio watching them. He started to back away from the railing hoping they wouldn't see him and think he was spying when Derek yanked the girl violently into shadow of the house. In one quick motion he raised his arm, Sam gasped at the knife in his hand. Derek drove it down quickly into the girl's chest.

She screamed out once before collapsing to the pavement.

Sam leaped over the gate of the patio and pounded down the wood steps.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded as he shoved Derek back from the girl.

Sam glanced at her to see if she was still alive. Derek recovered his balance and bounded back towards him. Sam ducked when Derek swung at his face but didn't get enough distance. Derek followed up with a second swing that landed a hard blow into his abdomen and sent Sam to one knee, gasping for breath.

The girl started scrabbling backward to escape but Derek landed on her hard and drove the knife into her chest again.

Sam struggled off the ground. Just as he turned towards the horrific murder something slammed into his head and he went down again. Groaning he put his hands down and pushed up. Fighting the urge to vomit, he sputtered, trying to get Derek's attention when another blow to the head stopped him.

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