Note: This chapter has been edited and now ends in a slightly different place. Enjoy.
Sam had returned to Amelia's room as quietly as he could, taking care to close the door with no more than a quiet snick, but she stirred as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, dipping it down. He felt somewhere between exhausted and wired, and he still couldn't believe it. Dean was back. Dad was alive.
"Tell me more about him," Amelia said a few minutes later, after he'd told her they were all staying at the motel a while. She was sitting up with her back to the wall, knees pulled up to her chest. Sunlight was already streaming past the closed curtains. "What was he like? Your childhood? He's obviously an intense guy, Sam. I just want to know what I'm getting into here."
Sam took a deep breath, not sure how much to say or exactly how to say it.
"My dad kind of lost it when my mom was killed," Sam said after a few seconds, and watched Amelia's face soften in sympathy. He went on hurriedly, not liking the expression. "He thought the world was out to get us. Moved us around for years, trying to keep us away from monsters. He was insanely overprotective...and somehow at the same time, probably criminally neglectful." He paused a moment to let the absurdity of the statement sink in. "He'd do stuff like drill us for hours on how to fight a guy with a knife then leave us in a creepy motel for three days alone. Insisted that we follow every order, call him sir, like we were little soldiers. I thought I hated him." Amelia was still looking far too sympathetic, and Sam shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to be honest with her, as much as he could, but he had long since passed the point of wanting or needing sympathy for his upbringing. "My brother showed up one day and told me Dad had gone missing. Took us a year to find him, and it was the same old stuff when we did. Couple days later a tractor trailer plowed into our car. Dean nearly died and my dad... realized some stuff, I guess. He…uh, he checked himself into the institution after that. But time passed and, I don't know. I forgave him."
"Did you ever tell him that?" Amelia asked.
"Actually, yeah," Sam realized, recalling the young version of his father who'd been so adamant that no child should be raised a hunter. "But he doesn't remember it. "
"I see," Amelia said. Dog panted a few times and stuck his head on Sam's lap, and he ruffled his ears absentmindedly.
Sam was glad Cas had given them all the chance to cool down. After all this time, the last thing he'd wanted was a fight, and he was a little embarrassed that as soon as John and Dean had shown up he'd given it to them. Of course, he'd been surprised and hurt that Dean had charged in accusing him of betrayal and it had rankled that John had so easily taken Dean's side. In years past he'd probably still have been fuming, replaying the injustices in his head and getting ready for the next round, at least with Dad. But now…what he'd told Amelia was at least, mostly, true. Dad had screwed up their childhoods about as much as one man could, but somewhere along the line he'd stopping being angry.
Still, as Dog jumped up next to him on the bed and settled there with his head on Sam's knee, he couldn't help but feel a tendril of worry working its way through his gut. For the first time in a long time, he'd been happy. But between Dad and an angry Dean and a demon in the mix, he couldn't help but feel that it was all about to slip away.
But today was a new day, he supposed, and after a few hours' sleep he'd be able to figure it all out. He relaxed back into bed with Amelia and awoke two hours later to someone frantically banging on their door.
He was out of bed in an instant, grabbing at the demon knife and flask of holy water he'd stowed under Amelia's bed, just in case. Amelia blinked at him, surprised but seeming to make some connection, then looked curiously at the door.
"Sam!" It was Dean's voice, sharp and apparently no less sanguine than before, and it sounded out once more before the banging started again. "Open up!"
His heart still trying to beat out of his rib cage, Sam sighed heavily and went to unlock the door, checking the peephole to see that there was in fact nothing more than an impatient Dean standing outside, arms folded.
"Took you long enough," Dean grumbled at him as he swung the door open, glancing around the room and giving Dog an undeservedly disgusted look before raising his hand and giving Amelia a sarcastic little wave.
"What is it?" Sam asked, still blinking sleep from his eyes and not at all in the mood for Dean's inexplicably pissy attitude.
"It's Kevin," Dean said flatly.
Sam squinted at him, not following. "It's Kevin."
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's parroting, then pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and slapped it into Sam's hand. Sam looked it over, recognizing one of the hunting phones he'd packed away months ago. "I went through your stuff," Dean said, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. Sam took a patient breath, aware that Amelia's eyebrows were rising higher with every word Dean said. "Plugged in a few of these puppies and guess who calls? One very scared kid who says he just got away from Crowley no thanks to you." He glanced at Amelia, whose face was starting to scrunch with confusion, before taking Sam's arm and pulling him out of the room in his socks and shutting the door behind him.
"Just got away?" Sam asked. "As in, right now?"
Dean nodded. "Said he'd been working on this 'badass'"—he made air quotes—"demon bomb but before he could use it, everything went nuts. Demons fighting demons, didn't notice him getting away. Cas just zapped over to grab him."
"Well that's…great," Sam said, blinking, not sure why Dean still seemed so upset.
"Yeah, it's awesome," Dean said. "Except, demons fighting demons, right after one took a look at Dad and smoked off? What do you think the chances are this has nothing to do Mr. Ice Machine?" He looked Sam up and down, frowning at his rumpled hair and socked feet. "Come on. Get yourself together. Cas is probably back by now."
The first thing that surprised Sam as he entered was the aroma—freshly brewing coffee and the sweet, crunchy smell of toaster waffles he vaguely remembered stuffing in the mini-fridge a few weeks earlier. Even more shocking was the sight of a sort-of smiling John handing a plate stacked with waffles to one haggard but very much alive young prophet, who was seated at the little kitchen table with a cup of coffee. The sight evoked fuzzy memories from his earliest childhood, and Sam tamped down on the jealousy he knew had no place here.
"Thanks," Kevin said to John, taking the plate, then smiled knowingly at Sam, "Hi Sam."
Sam felt his stomach drop slightly, wondering what Dean and John had told him. Wondering, more, how he could possibly explain his actions to the kid himself. He set the demon knife down on the table and folded his arms. "Hey, Kevin."
"Kevin was just telling us how Crowley held him prisoner in a warehouse for six months," Dean said in a ruthlessly conversational tone, watching for Sam's reaction. Cas was sitting at the table as well, observing them quietly. "Made him translate the demon tablet."
Kevin nodded, then said around a huge bite of waffle. "I tricked him into thinking I translated the spell to open a hell gate, but really I made a bomb for demons. I'd just convinced them to take me out to try it when they started fighting. Crowley's demons started fighting another bunch of demons. They didn't notice me slipping away. I called you as soon as I could."
"The demon tablet?" Cas asked.
"Didn't have a chance to grab it," Kevin said with a shrug, then took another bite of waffle and added around it, "The demons who attacked—they practically swarmed the place. Like I said, I got away fast."
"Shame," Dean said, while Sam tried to cut in, "That's all right, Kevin." Dean's expression clouded as if he didn't like Sam trying to hand out absolution when Dean hadn't quite forgiven him yet.
Sam glanced at John, curious what his father thought about all of this, but John was sitting with his head in his hand, elbow on the table, and barely looking up. He thought it odd.
"So you think this has something to do with Dad," Sam said to Dean.
"Yes," Dean said. "I mean, what are the chances it's a coincidence? Not the kind I'd want to bet on, I'll tell you that."
Sam regarded him, trying to figure out where this was going. "...So?"
"So?" Dean looked incredulous. "So, obviously, there's something bigger going on here than we thought and Dad might be in the middle of it. So, maybe sitting around here diddling ourselves until something worse happens isn't the best idea after all. First sign of trouble, remember, Sam? We're leaving."
Sam stared at him flatly, trying to suppress irritation at the condescending tone. Dad's attitude—which admittedly seemed under wraps this morning—he could understand. Dad had spent a century in Hell and far more time in Purgatory than Dean, and had come home to a world that was far different than the one he had left. Dean, on the other hand, had been gone for a mere six months, and while Sam had no doubt they'd been difficult months, there was a harshness to his brother's tone that he just didn't understand.
"Dean's right," John drawled, dropping his hand.
Sam shook his head, refusing to believe it. Not now. Not after he'd told Amelia they were all staying. "No, he's not," he insisted. "We talked about this. We're staying."
"No, we're not," Dean said.
John gave him a look, then addressed Sam in a gravelly voice. "I was tired last night." His fingers found his temple again and he rubbed it lightly, wincing. "I wasn't thinking clearly. Not about anyone but myself."
"Sure you were," Sam said. "You said it yourself. The demon found you so easily it shouldn't matter if we stay or go."
"Exactly," John said, and Sam tilted his head, not following. "Thing knew where I was. And that means, wherever I am isn't safe for anyone. I stay here, your girlfriend's in as much danger as we are. So stay or come with us, but do it alone. Demons probably don't know about her yet. Keep it that way."
Sam stared into his coffee, still trying to wrap his mind about the decision. He felt an old annoyance stirring up, because here was Dad, trying to drag him away from yet another town, another girl, the second he'd finally begun to feel like he belonged. It didn't matter if he was thirteen or thirty, it was the same old crap. Only...now, with a decade and more of hunting under his belt, he found that he actually kind of understood. It wasn't that John had no regard for what Sam wanted.
"I'm sorry, Sam," John said, and sounded it. "You're happy. I see that. That's why it's your choice - her or us."
Sam took a deep breath, wanting more than anything to tell him where to shove it, for making him choose, for assuming he knew best. But then, Sam also knew, without even a flash of realization, what he was going to do. He wasn't about to make the same mistake he'd made with Jess-trying to have a normal life when demons and angels and Dad and Dean were still out there. He couldn't even keep up the old resentment at being told, once more, that it was time to pack up and leave it all behind.
"I'll have to tell her something," Sam said. "I can't just leave."
John shook his head, expression hardening. "You come with us, you leave her behind. No contact. Better for her that way."