Becoming Human – Chasing Shadows Part I

Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, this chapter took FOREVER to work out, and real life has kept me super busy (especially that bit where my computer broke down and stopped connecting to the internet or doing anything useful). At any rate, we now return to our regularly scheduled beat-down of Sam Winchesters morale.

AHEM I mean… the next chapter of Becoming Human. Which is actually in two parts, because it's super long. The second half should be coming sometime in the next few days. Enjoy!

Love, InK

…

Sam was dreaming.

Or at least, he was reasonably sure he was dreaming. The world around him that that surreal quality characteristic of really lucid dreams, but he couldn't be quite sure.

He was in a giant library. Bigger than any he had ever seen before. He had been looking for… something. He couldn't remember. But now he was lost, and the signs on each row were written in no language that he could identify.

Still, he wasn't scared. He wandered among the shelves, running a hand over leather and paper bound books, a thin film of dust developing on his fingers as he touched covers that probably hadn't been handled in years, by the looks of the place. What a shame that these books should be left here, their stories and knowledge locked away, unseen and untouched by human hands or eyes.

The dust did tell him something though.

This library was very old. Old enough to have been well used, and then fallen into disuse. At once point, each of these books had been carefully and lovingly handled, treated with the care and reverence they deserved for the knowledge contained within their pages.

Sam breathed in the musky smell of books and smiled.

And then, suddenly, he was standing near a wall. Which was strange, because just a second ago, he hadn't seen any walls, and he was sure that just a moment ago ceiling had been much higher than it was now. The shelves still stretched out behind him, and so he figured this was some kind of alcove for reading. There were two large, comfortable looking armchairs, and a crackling fireplace.

A mahogany table sat between the two chairs, bearing the weight of an immense stack of books. Sam caught some familiar titles – fantasy classics like Lord of the Rings, and books on the occult, interspaced between textbooks and dime store paperbacks and the kind of book that Sam's third grade English teacher used to refer to as "high literature" like Dickens, Hemmingway, and Shakespeare.

Actually, he was pretty sure one of those old scrolls was the missing components of Homer's epics, and that the rack of unshaved books a few feet away included some Greek plays that had supposedly been lost in the library fire at Alexandria.

"Hello Sam."

Just like that, there was someone sitting in the armchair to the right. He looked cozy, as if he had been sitting there all night. Maybe he had, and Sam had only just noticed him.

"What is this place?"

In any other place or situation, Sam would have been on his guard. But he wasn't frightened, and he wasn't tense. He was perfectly content. Some part of his mind insisted that perhaps this was something he should be worried about, but he pushed that away.

"Welcome to my library," the man said. He smiled; it was a nice, pleasant kind of smile, and Sam found himself moving forward without thinking about it.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he asked with a frown. "This is a dream."

"If you say so."

The man just smirked at him as Sam sat down, examining their surroundings with interest.

"So are we in your head or mine?"

The man grinned back at him.

"See, Sammy, this is why you're my favorite," he said. "You're as sharp as a tack. A thousand questions you could have asked, and you go straight for the juicy, existential ones. Your talents were wasted doing side research for a half-baked hunter."

Sam rolled his eyes, and snuggled closer into the chair. He was utterly comfortable, and for some reason, it didn't bother him that this man had neatly evaded all of his questions thus far.

Because if this was a dream, it was a very good dream, and Sam didn't want to wake up from it just yet. It was perfect.

Actually, he thought he could use a –

A cup of cocoa appeared on the table in front of him, replacing a collection of Jane Austen's completed works. Sam picked it up, examining it from every angle.

"Whoa," he said, a wide smile spreading across his face. "This has got to be dream."

"It doesn't have to be."

Sam examined the man over the rim of his cocoa. It was delicious. Sam couldn't even remember the last time he'd had hot cocoa… Even in the before, John hadn't been much of a fan of frivolities like chocolate.

"What does that mean, it doesn't have to be?" Sam asked.

"Oh, Sammy, I've got big plans," the man said, and his eyes seem to glow with intensity and excitement at the very thought. "I could give you anything and everything you ever wanted."

"Yeah?" Sam asked. Caution overcame his contentment and enjoyment then, and he put the cup down. Because nobody – nobody – gave shit away for free, and if this guy was promising him the world, he wanted to know what he'd be promising in return. "What's the catch?"

"No catch Sammy-boy," the man said, waving away Sam's concerns. The teenager settled somewhat, looking less wary. "I'll just come by now and again and have a few… suggestions."

"Suggestions."

The caution was back, full force. Part of Sam understood that there was something playing catch with his emotions – because while he was certainly more in tune with his feelings than say, Dean, Sam wasn't bipolar, and these were mood swings were bugging the crap out of him.

"Think of me like a life coach," the man offered. "I'm going to help you make the best of your potential."

He stood then, turning to walk towards the darkness between the stacks. Sam didn't notice before, but whatever light he'd been reading the book's titles by earlier had vanished, leaving their alcove the only circle of light in the cavernous room.

"Why?" Sam called after him. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Just because," the man said, and his back was already to Sam. He was almost gone. "As for who I am… Well, don't worry. I'm practically family."

Sam woke silently, staring up at the ceiling in his and Gary's room.

What. The. Fuck.

It took a long time for him to get back to sleep.

…

The next morning dawned cloudless and sunny, waking Sam before everyone else in the apartment. Having had two days to recover from being beaten half to death by a demon, Sam's body was starting to mend. His bruises were all a spectacular purple, but he looked worse than he felt. The real problem was being kept from walking the streets while his face mended.

So instead, after his morning run, he used his time to check the hidden salt lines he'd set up when he first moved in. He and Janelle had duct-taped lines of salt to the windows and underneath the carpets by the doors. With that done, he decided to spend the rest of his day at the library. Maybe he could find something more powerful than salt to hold down a demon while he was exorcising it.

Actually, better scenario – while he was questioning it. Sam was feeling antsy and he wanted answers. If he had to beat them out of some demonic hellspawn… well, that was just a bonus.

Because Sam was resolved. He was going to go after the demon that had killed Mary Winchester and ruined his life. He would hunt it down, find out for sure whether or not it had actually done something to him, and then – regardless of what the answer was – he would kill it. He didn't care that nobody had ever killed a demon before, and that he didn't even know anyone who'd ever heard of a viable way to do so.

He would do it.

That decision burned inside of him like fuel, pushing him onwards, spurred on by a little luck Sam had later that day.

It was late in the afternoon when Sam found a rare book on occult sigils. It described a few different signs traditionally used to ward off evil in several cultures.

What caught Sam's attention was a drawing that was called a Key of Solomon said to be able to contain messengers of Hell.

Messengers of Hell, which sounded a hell of a lot like demons, straight up. Sam decided to give the thing a shot, see if it had any merit. He tried to never take suggestions from a single source without an extra ten cans of salt or so as backup, but if the symbol was legit, then he'd hit gold.

So, with chalk – easily removable if the symbol turned out to be a miss - Sam drew one up underneath their welcome mat, and on the bottom of several of the extra carpets that furnished the floor. If any hellspawn came calling, that would hold them long enough for Sam to send them back to where they came from – though he really hoped it wouldn't ever come to that.

While he was working on the Devil's Traps, Sam also made a note to try and find out if there was any way to avoid demonic possession, short of being spectacularly well adjusted (which Sam figured he was not nor could ever be considered as). Most of his leads were inconclusive or shady, which left Sam hesitant to rely on any of them. So he kept the project in mind, but decided to focus on trying to find some answers about why John had thought he had demon blood.

It wasn't until Sam was walking home, surrounded by all the shops that were just beginning to open and light up for the night, welcoming into their depths the counterculture that thrived here in San Francisco, that he remembered his whacked out dream the night before. He remembered vague impressions – feeling safe and warm and secure for the first time in a long time, for starters – and shivered in the warm afternoon. Good as the dream had been, Sam hoped he wouldn't have it again. Something about it set his teeth on edge, and though he couldn't put a finger on what it was just yet, the sense of something being utterly wrong and out of place followed him all the way home.

…

It seemed that his good luck in finding the Devil's Trap was a bit of a one-off.

A few days later, Sam was back in the local library. He'd scoured every book on the occult that the place owned, and gotten them to order some rarer tomes from sister libraries for him. He passed off his interest by telling the staff that he was compiling a book, and they seemed to accept the excuse and leave him alone.

He was thumbing through the pages of Malleus Maleficarum, a headache throbbing in the back of his skull.

Some book (he couldn't even remember which anymore, though the title was probably dutifully underlined in his notes) had listed a bunch of references that had seemed promising, and seemed to suggest that the manual might have some useful revelations.

So far however, Sam was finding bupkis.

Sam tossed the book aside with an impatient sigh that earned him a glare from a nearby librarian (who relented when Sam sent an apologetic smile her way), and crossed out Malleus Maleficarum on his list of possibly helpful texts. He was on page three of that one, and still getting nowhere, chasing down barely-there leads.

He was sick of reading about the different ways people would hurt each other because they were scared of what was waiting for them in the dark. Forget demon killing: most of the measures prescribed in these books wouldn't do shit against a real witch.

The only thing they were good for was hurting people.

Sam rubbed his eyes. These days, he didn't often spare much thought for what John and Dean had done to him. He accepted as a fact of his life that he was unwanted, alone, and unloved, refusing to dwell too deeply on the memories that had brought him here.

But right now, reading these texts, he was remembering. Some of the things John and Dean had done to him could have come straight out of these pages.

Maybe they had.

Maybe John and Dean had spent weeks – months, even – looking for the right punishment to inflict on the boy with the demon blood, the most appropriate way to spill the blood of the man responsible for the death of their wife and mother.

The thought made his fists clench in hopeless, impotent despair. He leaned back in the armchair, closing his eyes so as to better hold in the tears that pricked at his eyes.

Damn them.

Damn them to the darkest reaches of hell for being able to hurt him, even now.

He was stronger than this.

Sam left the books on the re-shelving cart, and grabbed his coat, heading out into the brisk cold.

…

"Why are you in my dreams?"

For the second time that week, Sam found himself in the alcove in the library while he was dreaming.

"Do I need a reason?"

"Nobody does anything without a reason."

"Maybe I'm different."

Sam snorted.

"Well, you are right," the yellow-eyed man said. "I'm not doing this solely out of the goodness of my heart."

"Then what do you want?" Sam demanded.

"I told you, I have plans," the man replied. "And you have just the kind of powers that could help me."

"Powers?" Sam asked. "Like hunting? Because that's about the only thing I can do."

"Oh no, much better than that," the demon answered. A wave of annoyance rose up inside of Sam, but it was instantly quelled by sheer contentment. "Sam, you are more powerful that you could believe, powerful enough that you would never have to suffer being hurt ever again."

Sam was listening with keen interest.

"I know about what the Winchesters did to you Sammy," the man said, with those intense yellow eyes, and reached out to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. He didn't flinch away. "And if you let me help you, that will never happen again. If you let me help you unlock all that potential-" the man tapped Sam on the forehead with a smile – "you'll find yourself able to do all kinds of things."

"Like what?"

"The possibilities are endless," the man said, sitting back with a satisfied smile. "Strength, telekinesis, mind reading… Pick a power, and we'll see just how far you can go."

"You'll teach me how to do that, in exchange for what?" Sam asked cautiously.

"This and that," the man waved a hand evasively. "I'm really not all that important by myself, but I like my odds with you on my team."

"So you want me to fight for you, is that it?"

Sam should be angry. He should be afraid, he should be curious and outraged and disbelieving. His mind was analytical to understand what his response in a situation like this might ordinarily be. The fact that he felt none of those things…

It left him unsettled, even as the dream unraveled around him.

"We'll talk again soon, Sammy."

…

Sam woke to a sky full of ominous dark clouds. He pulled himself out of bed, shaking off the last traces of sleep as he stretched, careful not to wake Gary.

His dreams were seriously beginning to concern him. Once was a freaky coincidence, too much time spent dwelling on the past in the dark hours.

Once he could ignore. But two dreams, starring the same man, and the same library?

Either Sam's psyche was seriously messed up, or something supernatural was screwing with him.

You'll find yourself able to do all kinds of things…

The man's words bounced around in Sam's skull as he pulled on a sweatshirt and headed out into the chilly early morning. He hit the pavement running, as though if he were fast enough, he could outrun his own thoughts.

Maybe these dreams were all in his head, and this man… he was offering Sam a chance for the revenge that he only sometimes allowed himself to admit he kind of wanted.

Sam grit his teeth against the mostly unwelcome image of John Winchester bleeding under his own knife. The desire to hurt – to prove that he could cut them as deeply as they had cut him – was strong, far stronger than Sam wanted to admit.

Then again, if this were something supernatural, it could well be feeding off that desire, inflaming it in order to get what the man –monster? - wanted. After all, what had he said? He wanted Sam to work for him. Or something. It all seemed very sketchy.

Sam wondered how long the list of supernatural creatures that could induce lucid dreams and walk around in people's head was. After all, the fact that this dream occurred in the same place both times told Sam that the creature wasn't just appearing in his head – it was influencing his dreams, shaping the world to it's convenience.

Obviously, Sam needed a skilled hunter, or a damn good psychiatrist.

A rumble of thunder overhead was the only warning Sam got before the skies opened up, and a torrential downpour began. He didn't break stride as he crossed the street, ignoring the relentless fall of rain pounded on the ground around him.

Part of him wondered, if this were real, whether or not he shouldn't listen to what this creature had to say. After all, Sam didn't just have a small army of violent hunters on his ass, courtesy of John and Dean; he had his sights set on killing a fucking demon. Any advantage at all would help him.

If I'm going to do this, I should do it, Sam told himself. If I have it in me to lock some kind of powers, or whatever, then I need to know how to use them, because it may just save my life, and give me the peace I've been looking for. Not have to spend my whole life looking over my shoulder wondering when that demon's going to get ready to finish his plans.

And maybe this is exactly what John was worried about, the thing that makes me just like the demon that killed his wife, Sam thought, irritated with himself. The thing in my dreams wants me to help it, to fight for him. What if I have to go darkside in order to kill the thing that destroyed my life?

Sam's heart twisted painfully. Was he really ready to do anything to watch the bastard burn?

And that was the rub, wasn't it?

Sam's thoughts continued to swirl around each other, disjointed and unfocused, as he finished his run and climbed up the stairwell to the apartment.

"Hey there sunshine!" Kylie called from beside the couch. She was putting on eyeliner, using the reflection in the lamp to get the shape right (and god, Sam was glad he wasn't a woman sometimes, because some of the things they did in the name of beauty were just plain weird - not that he was a great judge of feminine beauty standards or anything, given his preferences). Sam could hear the shower running, which kind of explained why his roommate was using a lamp to do her make up, but he chuckled as he pulled his sodden sweatshirt over his heat and wrung it out into the sink.

"You're dedicated," Kylie observed. "This is like, the one day of the year when the weather here isn't fantastic. Nobody would blame you for skipping on a run in this weather!"

"Perfection this good takes work," Sam shot back with a wink, and a gesture to his sodden t-shirt hanging onto his wiry frame. "My body is a temple, and all that."

"A temple closed to certain worshipers," Kylie shot back without any heat, pulling her curly hair into a scrunchie. "Not really fair, isn't it?"

Sam stuck out his tongue and grinned at her.

"By the way, I finished reading that book, Harry Potter," Sam said, leaning against the sink.

"Yeah?" Kylie asked with a sly smile. "What did you think?"

"I want more. This instant."

"YES!" Kylie punched the air with her fist as she yelled in triumph. A faded moan and an angry sounding banging noise came from the other side of the wall above the sink, and Kylie flinched, grinning sheepishly.

"Sorry!" She hissed in a loud whisper, before turning back to Sam. "Listen, I'm off to work, but you and I will talk about these books later. I need more fangirls."

"Not a girl," Sam said patiently, but Kylie waved him off and sauntered out the door.

"Was that Kylie I heard messing about?" Gary asked, sticking his head out the bathroom door. Sam nodded in assent. "She just went off to work."

Gary frowned.

"But… She doesn't work Tuesday mornings," he said, sounding confused.

"Maybe someone swapped shifts at the last minute," Sam offered, shrugging. It wasn't a big deal in the long run, and it was hardly like a girl like Kylie was going to find herself in trouble of her own making. She was a waitress by day, and a stripper or a prostitute by night, depending on the day of the week. She worked hard to keep herself going, and besides, if she were in trouble, she'd tell them. Kylie was a big girl.

Gary shook his head in defeat and retreated back into the bathroom, emerging a minute later, fully dressed.

"I'm assuming you've got next," he said, looking at Sam's drenched and bedraggled form. "Go get clean and dry, you'll be sick."

"Yes mum."

Gary flipped Sam off as they passed, and Sam claimed the gloriously warm shower for his own.

Ten minutes later, Gary was off to class, and Janelle was wide-awake and baking… because what the hell, why not bake at eight o clock in the morning, right?

"Hey hon!" Janelle smiled and waved at him as he toweled his hair dry. "I'm baking cheesecake pie. Want to put in for the ingredients?"

"Hell yes!" Sam grinned as he smelled the unbaked crust that Janelle was rolling. She must have been working on it last night for the dough to be ready to from the pie. "Cheesecake pie? No way I'm passing that down. Can I lend you a hand?"

"Sure, just wash up, and you can knead and roll the crust, while I work out the directions for the filling" Janelle said, moving aside from where she was cleaning out a mixing bowl so that Sam could use the sink.

They worked in companionable silence, Janelle breaking it to give Merlin directions on how to prepare the crust.

"So, Sammy," Janelle said after about a half an hour. "The other night, you told me about your father…"

Sam flinched, and Janelle frowned, but she pressed on.

"How come you don't hunt together any more?"
Sam hesitated.

"It's… well, it's kind of a long story," was the response he settled on, his hands turning into white knuckled fists over the pin he was using to smooth out the crust. When it was clear that Janelle was waiting for him to continue, he sighed. "It's a long, painful, sob story, and it's not worth hearing. Just… please? Leave it?"

Janelle nodded, and took the circle of dough from him. She smoothed it against the greased sides of her baking pan, trimming the edges. Satisfied, with the shape, she picked up the bowl of cheesecake filling.

"Now comes the fun part," she said with a grin, pouring the sweet filling into the pie.

Before the bowl was empty, however, there came a knock at the door.

"Sam, can you finish here?" Janelle asked. "My hands are cleaner, I'll get the door."

Sam took the bowl from Janelle and slowly finished pouring the rest of the filling in as she pulled open the door.

"Sorry to bother you ma'am, but I'm looking for a friend of mine," a familiar voice said from beyond the door. Bobby. The blood drained from Sam's face. "He'd be about sixteen, dark hair, name's Sam?"

Sam's heart raced. He wiped his hands on the towel Janelle had used and grabbed the gun he'd taped to the underside of the cupboard under the sink, along with the gallon of holy water that he kept in the same space. Gary and Kylie thought it was emergency supplies in case of an earthquake, but Janelle and Sam had prepared it for an emergency of another sort.

"Why are you looking for him?" Janelle demanded, crossing her arms.

"I just want to make sure he's okay," Bobby replied, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

"It's okay Janelle, let him in," Sam called.

Janelle stepped back, letting the older hunter in, straight into the line of fire of Sam's gun.

"What are you doing here Bobby?"

"I traced your cell phone, ya idjit."

"How did you even… nevermind," Sam muttered. "I really don't want to know. Drink."

He shoved the holy water at Bobby. The guy had walked right over the salt line Sam had taped to the underside of the welcome mat, as well as the devil's trap, but he wanted to be sure.

"Sure thing," Bobby said, taking a large swig, and gagging. "How long you had that water under the sink, boy?"

Janelle just glared from her position behind the hunter, and Sam took back the holy water wordlessly.

"Janelle, meet Bobby," Sam said. "He's a hunter. Bobby, this is Janelle. Could you give us a second?"

Bobby glanced at Janelle, sizing her up. Janelle glared back but she nodded eventually, grabbing her coat and an umbrella. "I'm going to go pick up some more cream cheese," she replied, clearly reluctant to leave Sam alone with somebody that she didn't trust, but understanding that there was something going on that she wasn't fully clued into. "Call if you need me."

Sam nodded, and he and Bobby glared at each other in silence until the door closed behind her.

"I don't know if I should be impressed or scared shitless, knowing what you've been up to," Bobby said into the long silence that followed Janelle's departure. Another long uncomfortable silence followed that proclamation as the two hunter's stared each other down. Sam was the one who broke first, looking away with a disgusted snort.

"If you're here to kill me, get on with it," he snapped, crossing his arms and widening his stance, prepared for a fight, should it come to that. "I haven't got all day to die."

Bobby's eyes narrowed in a glare.

"You got a hearing problem, you idjit?" he asked gruffly. "I didn't drive across the damn country to put a bullet in your brain."

"Then why did you come?" Sam demanded.

"Are you really so stupid that you think that there ain't anyone who cares what happens to you?"

Sam stared at the man like he was out of his mind.

"He has reason enough to think I've got demon blood in me," Sam said slowly, like he was talking to a two year old. "I'm dangerous Bobby."

"Bullcrap," Bobby growled menacingly. "I don't know what ideas that idjit has put into your head, but you're no more dangerous to the general population than any other hunter, period."

Sam stared at the hunter, a wave of confusion washing through him.

"So let me get this straight," Sam said quietly. "Even if John was right, and there is demon blood in me, you don't plan on shooting me?"

"Do I need to?" Bobby asked pointedly.

"You should," Sam said through gritted teeth. "If it's true, you should put a silver bullet in my skull and salt and burn my corpse, just to be sure."

"I ain't gonna do that Sam," Bobby told him. "You're like kin to me, and I won't let you get anywhere near going darkside."

Sam thought his heart might actually explode from the faith and love Bobby had put into that statement, and he looked down, the tension and fight drained out of his frame.

"Thanks Bobby," he whispered. "I don't deserve it, but thank you."

There was another awkward pause.

"You really thought I came all this way to murder you, didn't you?"

Sam shrugged.

"What did that damned moron say to you?" Bobby asked, and there was some kind of holy vengeance in his voice when he said that, a tone that told Sam better than any words could that Bobby would put two rounds in John Winchester the next time they met.

Sam wondered if it would be awful of him to hope that was the case.

"So, beer?" Sam asked, heading for the fridge.

"If you've got it," Bobby replied. "So what's with the domestics? That Janelle girl your girlfriend or something?"

Sam snorted.

"It's kind of a long story," Sam replied.

"Give me the highlight reel," Bobby suggested.

And so Sam told him everything. He skipped over the first days of torture as fast as he could, and fast-forwarded through those first months on his own.

"So tell me," Bobby asked. "In Reno, you got picked up for prostitution, right?"
Sam turned bright red. Oh this was so not a conversation he wanted to be having with Bobby. He would really give anything not to have to explain that. "Was that just a cover for a hunt, or…"

Sam's shoulders hunched uncomfortably

"I had to eat eventually," he said quietly. "Get salt, buy ammo, knives, get the things I needed to hunt. Was too young to hustle in most bars, or work a job, and picking pockets couldn't put me up. Eventually, I got desperate enough."

He was examining the tabletop very closely, doing everything he could do to avoid looking at Bobby.

"I'm sorry," Bobby told him. Sam shrugged.

"It's not as terrible as all that," he muttered. "Rather have food, you know? I managed best I could."

And ultimately, he knew that Bobby understood, because Bobby was a hunter, and sometimes hunters had to do things they hated in order to get the job done, and it was just one more thing to add to the list of reasons why nobody should ever become a hunter.

He told Bobby about arriving in San Francisco, and the hunt for the pyromaniac ghost that he had thought was a demon, and the siren he'd saved Janelle from.

"I'm lying low here, for now," Sam said. "Keeping my eye out for any hunts in the area, since it doesn't seem like there are many hunters out here at the moment. At least one of them should have caught on to that demon I exorcised the other day."

"So Janelle knows about what you do," Bobby surmised. Sam nodded.

"She looking to turn hunter?"

Sam looked up at Bobby, his expression vulnerable.

"God I hope not," he said. "She'd be a damn good one, but she's got her whole life ahead of her. You don't leave the hunt once it gets in you, and I don't want that for her. She's in the middle of deciding whether or not she wants it for herself, and if she does, I'll respect that, but I really hope she decides to get on with her life."

"You know, I'd wanted that for you," Bobby said quietly. "You were so excited about getting out, about going to college and being a normal human being, and I wanted that for you."

Sam snorted.

"I'm a hunter," he said. "It's the best thing John ever did for me, teach me that you don't walk away when you hear people screaming for help. You go straight for the darkest, scariest sons of bitches you can find, and hope to hell you can make the world a better place for it."

Bobby's expression was nearly unreadable, but his eyes were sad. He hadn't wanted this, hadn't wanted to see the bright young Sammy he'd known turn into this cold jaded hunter. And yet at the same time, it made him happy to know that this Sam could protect himself from anything that came after him.

"You ain't wrong," Bobby agreed. He stood slowly, finishing the beer.

"I'll be in town for a bit," Bobby told Sam with an expression that the teenager couldn't decipher. "If Janelle's serious, bring her by, you and I can make sure she's not dead within a week."

Sam nodded as Bobby wrote his address down on a convenient napkin.

The older hunter was nearly out the door before Sam spoke.

"Thanks, Bobby," he said quietly. "For everything."

…

Janelle came back about an hour later. The rain was still pounding angrily against the windows.

"Hey Sam," she said, lugging a plastic bag after her. "You alright?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said. "It's just… its been a tough couple of weeks, and I never thought-"

Damnit, he's not going to cry. He isn't. The words choke back in his throat and Sam looks down at his hands until he can pull himself back together.

"Bobby's a good guy to have on your side," he said finally. "I thought… well, I thought he was coming here to kill me, but he didn't."

The thought is so absurd that Sam wants to laugh. He feels a little high-strung at the moment, though he guesses maybe he has reason to.

"Do you want to talk about it honey?" Janelle asked, slipping onto the couch beside him.
"Long story," Sam murmured for the second time that day, leaning into her. She deserved to know, because his being here put Janelle in danger too. Bobby was a friend, but what would happen if one day, the person knocking down their door looking for Sam was John Winchester? Or another hunter that wanted him dead?

"I'm dangerous," he said finally. "John – my dad-"

The words catch in his throat and he thinks he might lose it all over again.

"He thought – he thought I had demon blood in me, and its possible that it's true. I'm a hunter, and I've been doing whatever I can to save people and hunt down the thing that did this, but there are others out there who're gonna see me as just another thing to kill, and they'll go through anyone in their way, do you understand?"

Janelle nodded, but she didn't let go.

"I don't care," she told him. "If anyone or thing comes after you because you do have demon blood, well then I'll help you kick their butt all the way back to hell, and if you don't, well, then we can still avoid everyone that's trying to kill you. I'm with you hon."

Sam smiled.

"I don't deserve you," he told her sincerely.

"Even Batman needs friends sometimes," Janelle grinned down at him.

Sam snorted.

"So I've been doing some thinking," Janelle told him. "Over the last few days, months. I want you to teach me how to hunt."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked her quietly. "I've told you already, the life sucks, and nobody gets out. It's dangerous and-"

"And at the end of the day, there are dozens of people who live because you do what what you do," Janelle cut in. "Hundreds. Sam, I was helpless when that Siren grabbed me, and if you hadn't happened to be here, I'd be dead. And that's the only thing I can think about – that there's someone right now that's going to die because next to nobody knows the truth about what's out there."

"Alright," Sam said quietly. "Bobby said he'll still be around tomorrow, we can go talk to him and start hunting 101 for you."

And that was really all there was too it, even though Sam didn't like the idea of Janelle knowing how to hunt. She needed to be able to protect herself, and her nature wouldn't allow her to remain a victim or a bystander while predators preyed without mercy on others. There was nothing an argument would win either of them, and so Sam resolved that he would watch out for the girl next to him as best he could.

He wondered if this was how Dean had felt when John started training Sam to hunt. Scared, terrified, proud, happy…

…

Late that night, when all of his roommates had fallen asleep, Sam was looking up at the ceiling, his mind still racing.

"Keep her safe, god," he whispered. "If there was ever anyone that deserved to have an angel watching out for them, it's her. I'll do the best I can, but I won't always be able to protect her. So take care of her? Please?"

The sky was silent, but Sam still harbored some hope that maybe somebody had heard him.

…

~InK