A/N Finally wrapping this case up! There's not a lot of action here, but a TON of angst.
As always it is un-beta'd but if I don't get this off my drive and out there to you, I'll probably trash it (for the 4th time) and start over again!
Next up will be finishing up Season 1 with s1e20, 21 & 22. Not rewriting it all, but there will be some very significant changes from what was aired. After that, we'll see where we go, and how much changes in subsequent seasons.
At this point, I may stop this story at the end of Season 3, but worry not, I'm not finished with powers!witch!Sam, nor with Dean. I'd just pick up in sequel.
Thanks to everyone who is still following this and please, please comment,, it keeps me going.
========SPN========SPN=========SPN=========SPN=======
Berkshire-Tarnowski Forest
Carroll County, IN
Wednesday
6:52 pm
Dean sprinted to Sammy's side, sliding to his knees in time to grab his brother's shoulder before the kid face planted on the forest floor.
"Hey, hey," Dean shook him, grabbing Sammy's chin in his hand and turning his head from side to side, frantically checking him.
He expected to feel blood pulsing out over his hands and chest; expected to see the throat ripped out, hanging open and grotesque in front of him.
The steady, slow drip of blood onto his hand flowed from Sammy's nose, not his throat, a side effect of his kid's weird abilities.
"Oh, thank god," he sighed and pulled Sammy close, pressing his kid's face into the crook of his neck so he could feel Sammy's breath on his skin.
Proof of life.
Slowly, Sammy started to stir, lifting his head and looking around. He watched as Sam licked his lip and grimaced, then wiped the blood off on his sleave.
"Did it work?"
Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah. I think it did. He flew off," he grinned at him, cupping the side of Sammy's face in one hand, and guiding his head so their eyes met. "Nice job, little brother. You did good," he assured, patting the side of Sammy's face as his own breathing and heart slowed down, relief filling him as he accepted that his brother was basically unharmed.
The fact that the Witch Eyes were replaced with a familiar, normal blue-green only calmed him further.
And then Sam pushed away and stumbled to his feet, brushing off his knees. "Then we're done here," Sam decided, his voice devoid of emotion or even inflection, and stuffed the stone and string still held in his left hand into his pocket before heading back to the car.
"Ummm…." Dean scrambled to follow him. "Sammy?"
Sam stooped to pick up the sawed off Dean had left on the ground in his rush to check on his brother, and headed to the back of the Impala.
"Sammy."
"Keys," was all he said, holding out his hand until Dean tossed them over. He locked the shotgun in the trunk and tossed the keys back before walking around Dean — by a wide berth — and getting into the passenger seat.
Dean sighed and looked at the darkening sky as if the clouds could give him strength before sliding into the driver's seat.
"Look, Sammy," he began, only to be cut off.
"We'll have to stay a few more days," Sam told him, in the same non-tone, turning his gaze out the window, "to be sure he won't come back, but I think he really left for good. I think we're okay here."
"Sam…."
Sam turned to face him a second. "Can we go? To the apartment, you know?" He turned back to the window. "It's a little cold out there, I'd like to get a hot shower."
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean sighed and started the car. "Sure."
The eight minute drive back to the apartment felt like an hour, with Sam studiously ignoring anything Dean tried to say.
Dean pulled the Impala into his preferred parking spot, right under his bedroom window. He reached out to grab Sammy's arm and pulled back an empty, frustrated fist when the kid got out almost before the car stopped moving.
For a moment, Dean just leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed in frustration, before turning off the car and following his brother upstairs.
The apartment door was open, and the door to Sammy's bedroom was firmly closed, by the time he made it up the stairs.
Damn Sammy's long legs, anyway.
"Sam," Dean began and reached for the knob. After a lifetime of sharing space, a little thing like a closed door wasn't about to keep him from talking to Sam about whatever had pissed him off so bad.
Dean stared down at the unmoving knob in his hand.
Maybe it would.
The door was locked.
The little fucker had actually locked the door. On him.
"Son of a…Sammy, open the door!" Dean knocked loudly.
No sound from inside, not even any angry voice telling him to go away.
"Sam? Sammy!" He was frankly pounding now, and suddenly pathetically grateful that there were no neighbors beside or directly below him — the only other tenants were the two apartments on the first floor, and one on the second below the empty apartment next to them. Not that having neighbors would've stopped him, not with his mind spiraling around images of his baby brother unconscious on the other side of a locked door. "SAM!"
He was seriously thinking of kicking the door in when he heard the sound of a door closing, then the shower turning on.
His emotions swung dizzyingly from worried to ticked off, and he stalked over to grab a beer from the fridge and then sat at the kitchen table to wait.
Not even Sammy could stay in the shower forever.
What the hell was his problem, anyway?
Wasn't like he was a teenager, anymore, prone to pissy moods for little reason. And thank god for that - that'd been four or so years of absolute hell, with a continually taller, stronger, more broody pain in the ass roaming around first various crappy motels, then Bobby's, driving Dean nuts trying to keep the little shit happy.
Of course, he had a right to be a little moody, now, though, didn't he? It wasn't even three months since he'd watched his girl burn to death, mostly because Dean was too fucking weak to stay away, even knowing the danger he'd bring down on his little brother.
He'd never admit it to Sammy, but Dad going missing was just the first, best excuse he'd found for going back to Sammy.
Not that Dean believed for a fucking second that Sammy didn't already know that.
Two years away from his kid — never calling him, never seeing him, never even driving by to make sure he was okay…that had been Dean's idea of hell on earth.
And the roundabout communication they'd set up through KnightMed had worked well enough. He knew Sammy was okay, hadn't run into anything from the hunting life. And Sammy had known that Dean — and Bobby and John — had been okay.
But it wasn't the same as hearing that so familiar voice, or looking into the changeable hazel eyes that reflected everything the kid thought or felt.
Except when they were fucking Witch Eyes. He couldn't tell a damn thing about how Sammy felt when he was witching out.
And that was the problem right there, wasn't it? Dean ran a hand down his face with a sigh. Sammy had been witching out, and as much as Dean liked to pretend everything his brother could do was cool with him…it wasn't.
And Sammy knew it.
Fuck.
Dean was fine with the telekinesis shit, he really was. Better than fine, really, it was seriously cool and damn useful. Kid had always been a dead shot — almost as accurate as Dean — but with his telekinesis online to guide it, he was even better throwing a knife than Dean was, now.
And his clever little brother was just full of tricks. While they'd been separated, Sammy had taken his knowledge of lock picking (he'd been pretty good at it by the time Dean left, nearly as fast as Dean, sometimes faster, depending on the type and model of the lock in question) and that almost encyclopedic brain of his, and combined it with his TK power so that any lock type he'd picked three, four times before he could now open just by touching the fucking thing. Sometimes he didn't even need to touch it, could just think it open from a distance.
Since they'd gotten back on the road together — heh. Made them sound like a band. That'd be badass, if either of them could sing worth a damn — Sam had taken some time to hone that craft further, and now, using The Force to guide his TK, the kid could open 80, 90 percent of the locks they hit whether he'd seen 'em before or not.
Unless he had a concussion, because they'd found out the hard way that even a mild concussion shorted out Sammy's TK powers and disconnected him from The Force. A mid grade concussion would take down his telepathy, too. A bad one would shut off his healing powers (which were, weirdly, incapable of fixing a concussion of any grade).
And of course, Dean had always been on board with his brother's Jedi Powers, connecting to The Force to find or learn things. That was so awesome!
Or so Dean had thought, anyway, until the night they'd moved into the apartment. And there'd be a conversation about that in the near future, too. Why the hell hadn't Sammy ever told him that using The Force was so overwhelming to him? What, did he think Dean would think less of him for not being able to deal with constant whispering in his head? That'd drive anybody up a wall, he'd never think Sammy was weak or broken for that.
And they'd figure this new thing out, with the drywall and shit, too. They always did.
But the witch side of him?
Dean sighed again, and downed half the beer in a go. He remembered when Sammy had called him out, rightly, on his attitude towards witches generally, when they'd first figured out what Sammy was. And Dean had told Sammy he was cool with it, he'd be cool with Sammy no matter what. He loved his kid, always would, and nothing would make him change his mind. He'd meant that. 100 percent. Still did. But…
On the other side of the locked bedroom door, the shower turned off.
Dean stared at the door separating him from his brother, and sighed.
Since he'd said that, a lot had changed. When they were kids, Dean had helped their Dad hunt a few of witches — small covens, mostly, with powers stolen from Demons. Kill the demon, you could sometimes free the witch, stop her power, then leave enough evidence to get her put in jail where she wouldn't be able to summon a demon again. Sometimes, you couldn't get to the demon, and you had to kill the witch (or the witch was just such a fucking bitch you couldn't trust her even in a cell), and had to take her out even if you did gank the demon. Either way, Dean was okay with it. You killed people, even with magic, you were a monster, simple as that, and it was his job to stop you from killing again.
And Sammy never had — never would — just start using his magic to fry people's brains or whatever. Dean knew that like he knew the sun would rise. Not his Sammy, not as long as they were together. How many times had he had that conversation with Dad? Or with Sammy, for that matter. (Never with Bobby, though. Bobby knew Sammy was good, just like Dean did.)
But…
While he'd been away from Sam, hunting with (and often without) their Dad, he'd run into a dozen or so more witches. And a few of those had been solitary witches. A couple had even been — or claimed to be — White Witches or Wiccans, the kind that only used their power to help people, never to harm.
There'd been this one witch, what was her name? Soledad? Salome? Solitaire, that was it! She'd been a Wiccan and a central figure in the lives of five people who'd died in particularly witchy ways. Turned out, it wasn't actually her, but a former member of the coven she'd once been part of who was just jealous of her, and tried to take all the good things — all the good people — out of Solitaire's life.
Solitaire herself had been completely innocent and good, even offering to provide Dean a protection charm when he'd left…the morning after. (Wavy, waist-length brown hair, mismatched eyes, heart-shaped face, a curvy body — of course he'd hit that, once he knew she wasn't a killer.) He hadn't accepted the charm. He didn't need anything like that in his life. But before he'd gone, she'd tried to explain what good Magick (with a 'k', she'd insisted) was, the principle it was ruled by.
How did it go again? Oh, yeah: "An it harm none, do what thou wilt." According to Solitaire, that tenet would keep any true good witch from ever going bad.
But Dean had seen otherwise. He'd had to personally put down three so-called "white witches" who had turned bad, killing for revenge or spite or just petty anger at some slight, real or perceived.
And every time he'd killed one, his thoughts had turned to Sammy, out there on his own. His little brother had bound all his powers, but if Bobby was right, and Sammy was just a born witch…well how the hell did you bind what you were?
One of the women — one of the witches — he'd had to kill had been described by pretty much everyone he talked to as sweet and basically innocent. She'd been the nicest person anyone had ever met, so intelligent, and always so helpful, kind, and gentle.
So, basically, Sammy in drag.
And, so far as Dean had been able to find out, she was a natural born witch, too, just doing basic, helpful spells until…
The first bastard she'd killed had had it coming. It'd been the witch's mom's new boyfriend and the things he'd done to her little sister…Dean couldn't even blame her really, not for that one. Hell, if he'd been around he'd've probably helped. But she'd killed one of her sister's teachers, too, and Dean had never found the slightest hint he'd done anything wrong to any child — or any adult, for that matter — ever. And Dean had looked.
And what she'd done to them…He didn't even want to know the kind of malevolent power it took to force someone to claw open their own chest, then pull out and eat their own heart.
And yeah, it made him think. If someone that sweet and seemingly gentle could turn so badly…
Dammit, Dean had liked the witch. She really had been nice, and helpful, and when he'd finally figured out it was her, and ran her down in a clearing in a woods about a mile from her house…she hadn't even fought back. She'd run, sure, but she said that was so her mom or sister didn't find her body or any trace of violence in her home.
He'd asked her, what about the whole do no harm thing? She'd just shrugged. "You do enough magick and I guess the do as you will bit becomes second nature. After a while, do no harm, it's more like a suggestion." She'd sounded so embarrassed, so damn ashamed when she'd told him that.
When he'd said he had to kill her, that he couldn't just trust that she'd stop killing, she'd just nodded, and asked that he get rid of her body, help make it look like she'd run away or something. She'd even pulled out a note for him to take back and leave at her house, so her family would have some kind of closure. And then, she'd looked him in the eye, and fucking forgave him.
He almost hadn't been able to go through with it, but she admitted there were a few other people in town she wasn't sure she could let live, if he didn't kill her. He hadn't been sure he believed a fucking word of it, but he'd been able to kill her. He'd burned her body, and put the note in her house and drove out of town…
It had taken every fucking bit of stubborn willpower he'd had — and a bottle and a half of rot gut whiskey — to not turn his car straight back to California.
Because that sweet kid had turned into a cold blooded murderer and his Sammy was just like her.
Except, of course, that Sammy already knew how to kill. Because Dean — and Dad, and Bobby — had taught him how.
So, yeah. Sammy, coming to him last night and saying "Hey, I wrote a spell to stop Pazuzu" had scared the crap out of him. Every time Sammy said he had written a spell, it scared Dean spitless. Because what if it became second nature to Sammy, too? And he didn't even know if Sammy knew — or cared — about an it harm none.
Sammy'd always been a bit too good at the do what thou wilt bit.
The door to Sammy's room opened and Dean looked up, surprised to see his brother not only dressed, but with his coat on.
"I'm going out," Sam told him and started for the door.
"What?"
"What, you're the only one allowed to hit a bar, pick someone up, blow off a little steam, is that it?" Sam challenged and took another step towards the door. "I'm a big boy, now, Dean, I get to go out when I want."
"Of course you do, but Sam," Dean stepped in front of him. "We need to talk."
Sam stopped and met his gaze, his eyes — a deep green that matched Dean's own, rimmed at the pupil with gold, at the edge of the iris with dark blue — reflecting his anger as clearly as the clenched jaw, the flexing fists at his sides. "Not now."
"Sam…"
"Dean." Sam took a step forward, so far into Dean's personal space their noses almost touched. "I don't want to talk to you, now."
"Tough. We need…"
Sam shoved him back, hard. "I. CAN'T. Talk to you now, Dean!"
"Why not?!"
"BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'LL DO!" Sam yelled and Dean blanched at the words — so much like that dead witch — as much as the volume and tone. "And I don't know that we'll come back from it," he admitted, his voice a sudden hoarse whisper. "Just…get out of the way, Dean."
For a moment, he seriously considered trying to stop him, forcing his baby brother to have an unpleasant conversation neither of them wanted to have — ever, pretty much — but some small part of his brain whispered How? How can you stop a telekinetic witch from walking out the door?
He stepped aside and let Sam walk by. "Be careful," he couldn't stop himself from saying, and tried to save it by shouting after him as he started down the stairs across front their door. "Wear a condom!"
And when the front door to the apartment building slammed, Dean wasn't at all sure if he'd ever see his Sammy again.
====SPN====SPN=====SPN=====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN
a489 East 3rd Street
Flora, IN
Thursday
4:20 am
Sam opened the door to their temporary home as quietly as possible and slipped inside, making less noise than a ghost (and he would know), before closing the door behind him just as quietly.
He glanced towards Dean's closed bedroom door. For a second he contemplated going inside, waking his brother and having the talk they should've had last night, but decided he was too tired.
Besides, waking Dean up? Not on his list of favorite things to do. He absently rubbed his jaw, the victim of way too many waking-Dean-up encounters. Yeah, just let big brother sleep.
He turned towards his room and nearly jumped when the shadow at one end of the couch moved and turned on the light on the end table. It took everything he had not to shriek like a little girl at a Backstreet Boys concert.
"Jesus, Dean! Tryna give me my own heart attack, man?" Sam breathed deeply, trying to get his pounding heart to slow down. "Fuck me."
Dean looked his brother up and down, frowning. "You okay?"
Sam nodded and sank slowly down into the overstuffed arm chair sitting kitty corner across from the couch. "Yeah. Or at least, I will be, once my heart stops thumping like a disco."
Dean smirked for a second, then made his expression harden. "Where were you?" he wondered. "When you weren't back by midnight, I went looking. You weren't at the bar, or the diner, or at the forest. Where'd you go?"
Sam forced himself not to bristle at the innocent (for Dean) question. Wondering where his brother was at all times was practically Dean's hobby.
"I went for a walk," he said causally. "Ended up just following that little creek for a while."
"I looked there," Dean told him. "Didn't see you."
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well. Didn't want to be seen."
Dean frowned. "Didn't want to be seen?" he repeated, drily. "So, what, you can be invisible, too, now? Just vanish at will, like that?" he wondered, snapping his fingers.
Sam glared at him (bitchface #30 God you can be such an asshole). "No, Dean, I can't vanish at will."
"Some kind of a spell?" Dean countered. "Because I looked, Sammy, and I couldn't find you!"
"Because I hid, Dean!" Sam snapped back. "I don't have to use magic to keep from being found, asshole. I'm a hunter. If I can't hide well enough to not be found — even by you — I'd end up real dead, real fast."
Dean rubbed the back of his neck, the closest to admitting his brother was right he was going to get.
Sam just looked at him, his face devoid of emotion or any bitchiness. "Why'd you go looking, anyway?" Sam wondered softly, after a minute or so of silence.
Dean just watched him for a moment, before he dropped his gaze to the knee of his jeans, and began to pick at an invisible loose thread. "I wasn't sure you'd come back," he admitted, his voice a bare ripple of sound, dripping in hurt. He was so intent on pulling out that non-existent thread, he missed the look of pain and guilt on his brother's face.
"Of course, I came back," Sam assured, his voice equally soft and dripping in apologies. "I won't leave you, Dean."
"Then why'd you walk out, Sammy? Why'd you run?"
The unspoken again hung in the air.
"I told you," Sam sighed. "I didn't know what I'd do."
"What the hell does that even mean, Sam?" Dean demanded, finally raising his eyes to look at Sam, only to see that Sam had been playing with his own perfectly smooth denim knee. "What, were you gonna slug me? Stab me? Call me names? What could you possibly do that you thought we couldn't come back from, Sammy? Turn me into a frog?"
Sammy looked up, his blue-green eyes giving just that tiny bit of a twinkle. "I'd never turn you into frog, Dean," he assured. His lips twitched. "A newt maybe," he conceded.
Dean gave a little snort. "Well, at least I'd get better," he grinned and his entire being, body and soul, relaxed a little when Sammy rolled his eyes and grinned back.
"You're ridiculous."
"You started it."
Sam shrugged. "Whatever."
"Look, Sammy…"
"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam sighed and leaned his head back on ot the top of the chair, closing his eyes. "You didn't deserve all that. The anger, the accusations."
"Yeah, I did," Dean interrupted. "'Cause you were right, Sammy. I do have a problem with it, with you being a witch."
Sam whipped his head forward so fast Dean was afraid the kid'd give himself whiplash. The stricken look on his little brother's face dug straight into Dean's soul, cutting him deeper than any blade or claw ever had or ever could.
"Dean…"
The word was a broken breath on the suddenly stifling air between them.
"It ain't that I don't trust you," Dean hastened to add, "it really isn't. I know you do good, Sammy, you've always done good with it, with everything you can do." He stared steadily over Sammy's shoulder, not quite able to make himself look into what he knew would be pain-filled hazel eyes. "I just…It's just…" he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, not even sure what he was starting to say.
"You don't have to be afraid of me, Dean," Sam said softly, a little desperately, and that made Dean meet his eyes.
"I'm not afraid of you!" Dean scoffed, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Which it was. "I could never be afraid of you, Dude. I used to change your fuckin' diapers, for cryin' out loud. How could I be…I'm not afraid of you, Sam."
"Well, then what?" Sam demanded, the anger in his voice putting lie to the moisture reflected in wide blue-green eyes. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, of me?"
"What?"
"You said you weren't afraid of me. So what then?"
"I…" Dean paused, and closed his eyes, blocking out the ages-old (and still extremely effective) bitchface #5 (don't lie to protect me). Dean sighed and forced himself to open his eyes and meet the bitchface head on. "I'm not afraid of you, Sammy," he repeated. "But I'm a little afraid…for you," he admitted reluctantly.
"For me? What the…"
"Look," Dean interrupted. "While we were apart, while I was hunting with and without Dad, I ran into a few witches. Some of them…I mean most of them were just power hungry bitches, calling on demons for power without really knowing what the fuck they were getting into," he admitted. "But some of 'em…Sammy, they started like you, man. Natural born or self-taught, but with really good intentions."
"Wiccans," Sam shrugged.
"Or White Witches, yeah. But they didn't all stay that way."
"What do ya mean?"
"They killed people, Sammy," Dean said bluntly. "These really good, well-intentioned people ended up killers. And I had to put 'em down."
"Dean…"
"They knew what was happening," Dean continued. "The power was getting to them, becoming more important than their humanity, and…"
"And since I'm barely human anyway," Sam interjected, bitterly, "you figure it'll happen to me, too, only faster."
"You're human, Sammy," Dean glared at him with a bitchface of his own (#33 Oh, for fuck's sake). "One hundred percent, don't go talking crazy. But…well…" he sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Yeah, okay? I worry. Bobby says you're crazy powerful, off the charts. And how many times have we seen the way power changes people? Not just with witches, a lot of monsters aren't inherently bad, their powers aren't immediately evil. Like…like shapeshifters and skinwalkers. They don't have to kill to survive, not like werewolves and wendigoes and shit. Bobby figures there could be hundreds of shifters and skinwalkers out there, just…living their lives. Holding down normal jobs, with normal families, not bothering anybody. And maybe some of 'em are running the occasional scam, or making their living grifting with a new face every time, but… they're not killing anybody. But then there's others…the power they have, it… what's that saying? Power causes corruption?"
"Power tends to corruptˆ,'" Sam sighed, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. "And absolute power corrupts absolutely. Lord Acton, 1887."
"Such a nerd," Dean shook his head fondly. "But yeah. Exactly. And I trust you, Sammy, I do, but…man, you are only human. And have a hell of a lot of power."
"And you think it'll corrupt me."
"No! Well, maybe? Not as long as I'm around," Dean vowed. "But…man, this life…I mean, we both know how this ends for me, man. It ends bad and bloody, with a bite or a claw. Or impaled on another fuckin' tree." He rubbed the back of his neck again, his nerves showing in the gesture and the bright grass-green of his expressive eyes. "I just…what happens when I'm gone, Sammy? LIke Bobby says, you ain't exactly Mr. Anger Management. Combine that with the power you got, and…Man, I don't know."
"Well, I got a solution," Sam said quietly and stood, walking over to kneel at his brother's feet, resting a hand on Dean's knee as he looked (slightly) up into his brother's eyes. "Don't die."
Dean chuckled and shook his head. "Ah, kid, that's…man, you know this life," he shrugged.
"I know what it's been," Sam admitted and stood, only to sit beside his big brother on the couch. "But we'll find Dad — and soon — and, and the three of us will find that bastard that killed Mom and Jess, and then…" He shrugged. "Then it's over. Right? We head back to California — together! — I'll finish my senior year, and then go to law school. You can go back to the garage — or go to school yourself, if you want!"
"Me? In college? What are you, mental?"
"No, I'm serious, Dean. You could do it." Dean scoffed, but Sam persisted. "You could!"
"First off, I'm the brawn of the team. And the looks, obviously, " he shrugged, suppressing a smile when Sammy rolled his eyes. "You're the brains, dumbass. Second, what the hell would I even go to school for, assuming any college would be stupid enough to let me in!"
Sam pushed his shoulder into Dean's, knocking him slightly sideways. "Man, you're every bit as smart as I am, dude. You just never applied yourself."
"Applied my…" Dean laughed. "Geez, Sammy, you sound like every guidance counselor I ever had!"
"Yeah, well, all the same, it's true. As for what you could study — I don't know man," he looked sideways at him, his lips tipped up in the slightest grin, just the barest hint of dimples showing, "but I got the feeling the guy who took a trashed WalkMan and turned it into a fully functional EMF meter; or the guy who figured out how to super-amp a taser; or build a flamethrower out of junkyard scraps, would probably make one hell of an engineer."
Dean turned to stare at him, mouth open and eyes wide with shock, before bursting out laughing. "Sammy, man, I don't know what you've been smokin', but I want some. That's gotta be some seriously good shit! Me, an engineer!" he laughed.
"Hey!" Sam snapped and Dean's laughter quickly faded. "Don't do that."
"Do…what?" Dean shrugged. "Laugh at the ridiculous? Have you met me, dude? That's what I do."
"What you do," Sam corrected, "is find a way to make it work. Whatever it may be, if you need to do it, you find a way. Or build one." Sam paused and looked at the floor, suddenly unable to meet Dean's gaze as he continued, his voice suddenly softened. "What you do, Dean, is make everything better. Including me. Which is how I know my power won't corrupt me," he added. "Because you taught me better."
"Sammy…"
"You did," he insisted, turning to meet Dean's gaze again, his blue-green eyes filled with such awe and trust, Dean's breath caught in his throat. "You made me everything I am, Dean. Everything important. I won't betray that. I won't betray you," he vowed.
Dean looked at him, reading everything he needed in the depths of the bi-colored puppy eyes, in the earnest wrinkle of the forehead, in the way Sammy leaned toward him like the kid was a flower and Dean was his sun.
Slowly, Dean nodded. "Okay. Okay, Sammy," he agreed. "I'm gonna hold you to that!"
Sam nodded, once, "I know you will."
"I gotta ask you something, okay?"
"Open book," Sam promised.
"While I was hunting with Dad, did you…witch out at all?"
Sam held his gaze and straightened his shoulders a little. "Only twice. First time, you know about."
"That spell about hiding your name," Dean nodded.
"Yeah. And once, Spring break, the year you called to…to say goodbye," Sam said, his voice breaking just a little, as if just talking about that phone call was still painful, even now that they were back together.
Dean figured it probably was. God knew it still dug at him, some nights, popping up in his dreams.
"One of my professors had a nephew go missing," Sam continued. "Kid had wandered off from a campsite. It was in the middle of a cold snap and the kid has asthma…no way he'd make it through the night alone. I did a tracking spell," he admitted, a little sheepishly. "I know I shouldn't have, that it could've brought attention to me, but…I had to. It was like a ten square mile search grid, and we only had a few hours before sunset, and I…I had to do something!"
"I get it," Dean nodded, understanding. Saving people. It was what Winchesters did, no matter the danger or cost to themselves.
"And other than that, I…well, I didn't actually do any more magic," Sam admitted sheepishly. "But I did…study it some?"
Dean snorted. "Of course you did," he shook his head, smiling. "Such a dork, Sammy. Already in one of the hardest programs at one of the toughest colleges in the country, and you still found a way to do more studying!"
"I didn't mean to," Sam shrugged, blushing slightly. "But…well, I needed some pretty arcane ingredients for the protection spell on my name. My contact at KnightMed — the doc that Carla relayed info to? He directed me to this…curio shop in 'Frisco…."
"Curio shop," Dean deadpanned. "Curios like little glass tchotskes, or curios, like magic shit normal people should stay the fuck away from so they don't get cursed?"
Sam winced at the word normal but persevered. "The second one," he admitted. "But the woman who owned the shop, she was really helpful!" he added. "I probably couldn't have done the spell without Cloud's help."
"Claude? You worked with a chick named Claude?"
"Cloud," Sam corrected. "And she was nice. She's a natural witch, too, and I tell ya, Dean, it was so weird walking into that shop! She had a helper — some coed from Berkeley or something. You'd've called her a patchouli chick. But the second I stepped inside the store, even though she was in the back, I could just feel Cloud, and her power! I was the only customer in the place, and she came out of the back room, and sent patchouli chick home, closed up the shop. She said it had been a long time since she'd come across someone like me. Someone like her. She not only helped me with the ingredients for the spell, she helped me refine it, make it stronger. She made me safer, Dean. And we got to talking, and she offered to help me study. I told her I was trying not to use magic, and she was, like, seriously offended by that, but I told her I had a bounty on me…"
"You what? Sam! She could've turned you in!"
"She wouldn't do that," Sam said, disgusted at the very suggestion. "We were…friends."
"Friends?" Dean repeated, raising an eyebrow and laughing when Sammy's cheeks turned pink. "Friends with benefits, you mean," he guessed. "Sammy, you sly dog."
"It wasn't like that," Sam protested. "It was…It was just one time."
"One time." Dean's grin widened as Sammy's blush deepened.
"Well, multiple times," he muttered, "but justonenight! It was — it was Beltane. She asked me to…help her out."
"Beltane," Dean scoffed. "I'm sorry, isn't that an orgy situation? My repressed little brother, a willing participant at an orgy? Man, I wish I'd seen that. Ooh," he caught himself up short. "No," he corrected, "no, I don't."
"It wasn't an orgy," Sam corrected, and even he'd admit he sounded slightly prissy. "It was just me and Cloud and it was…it was nice," he admitted. "It was…it was good, but…I don't know, maybe it could've been something, but she was a little older than me…."
"And Older Woman? Sammy!" Dean practically crowed with pride.
"AND THEN," Sam continued, "I met Jess and…well. Cloud and I stayed friends, and she helped me learn more…"
"I bet she did."
"About Magic," Sam clarified with bitchface #23 (Can you think with your upstairs head, please?). "By senior year, she'd closed up the shop and, I guess, moved on."
"Of course, she did," Dean agreed, his voice dripping with tragedy as his hand covered his heart. "You had your wicked way with her, met a younger girl, and broke her heart. She could only leave. Devastated," he completed the tale, dramatically throwing the back of his hand over his forehead, and burst out laughing.
Sam just leveled bitchface # 9 (Are you done, Jerk?) at him until Dean got himself under control.
"Sorry, Sorry," Dean waved a hand in apology. "I just…you do realize that what you just described actually IS friends-with-benefits, right?"
Sam sighed. "There was a point to this conversation, wasn't there?"
"I think so," Dean shrugged. "Yeah, hang on." His eyes drifted to the ceiling. "Broken heart. Friends with benefits. Orgies that weren't orgies. Beltane. Witch. WITCH!" He pulled his gaze back to meet Sammy's, but Sammy's eyes were closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose. and shaking his head slowly.
Dean's smile, unseen by his brother, turned genuine and gentle, realizing that, witch or no, powers or no, this was still his Sammy.
And it always would be.
He'd make sure of that.
"But…Dean," Sam said quietly, opening his eyes and dropping his hands to his lap, where his fingers proceeded to twist nervously around each other. "About the…I don't know what I'll do…thing."
Dean nodded, encouragingly.
"Well, I just…I was worried…well, see…." he closed his eyes and blurted it out in one quick breath. "IwasafraidI'dthrowyou."
Dean frowned a moment, translating the babble. "Throw me," he repeated. "Like…with your…"
"Telekinesis, yeah," Sam nodded.
"Oh, come on, man," Dean scoffed. "We drilled you on that forever! You've got that under control, Sammy, I know you do."
"I do," Sam agreed, his blue-green eyes pleading for understanding. "If I use it. But Dean…I try not to, you know? I don't want to get…dependent on it, or — or take it for granted, not with anything I can do. But…" he shook his head, biting his lower lip as his hands began running up and down his legs from thigh to knee, knee to thigh and back again, over and over.
"Sammy…"
"It's like…If I don't use it, it just…builds, you know? Just builds up inside me," he whispered and kept rubbing his jeans, as he started rocking, slowly, forward and back, back and forward. "And it…if I get..I was so angry and I was afraid…sometimes, it just…if I don't use it, it just…it comes out of me, when I don't mean it to. Like a punch, you know. And I…"
"Easy, easy, easy," Dean soothed and slid over to pull his brother int his arms. "It's okay, Sammy, it's okay."
"It's not," Sam shook his head, burying his face in Dean's neck. "It really isn't." He pulled slowly away. "You remember the call? When you said I had to get out?"
"Of course I do." It had only been the hardest call of his life, after all.
"Well, I bound my powers, like we said."
Dean nodded.
"But it took a couple months to track down the ingredients and find the right place to do it. And while I was working on that, I, I just…didn't use it. Like, at all. And it started to build up," Sam admitted, "but I didn't use it and…This one time, I was walking home from the library and it was kinda late, and I heard…" He shook his head, frowning, "Someone was being attacked."
"And you went to help."
Sam nodded quickly. "Yeah, I…I had to. I mean, I was hoping it wouldn't be, you know, our kind of thing, but it could've been…and even if it wasn't…" he shrugged.
"You can't let that slide," Dean nodded. "I know."
Sam flashed him a small smile. "Anyway, when I got there, there was this big, linebacker looking dude. I'd seen him before, around campus, always with a fuckin' entourage, and pushing the non-jock peons out of his way."
Dean nodded. He knew the type.
"And he had this poor girl trapped in a corner of a courtyard, you know? She kept telling him to stop, and back off, but…He shoved his hand under her shirt and she started to cry and…I lost it," Sam shrugged. "Next thing I knew, he was on the other side of the courtyard pinned against the wall," he admitted, crossing his arms defensively, and looking down at the carpet. "I was still standing at the entrance to the courtyard. The girl, she just…took off. I'm not sure she knew what happened. But…" Sam sighed, and closed his eyes. "I mean. It was so stupid. I didn't even need to do it! I mean, the bastard was shorter than me — shorter than you," he admitted, and Dean might have pouted, just a little. "And, sure, he had a hundred pounds on me, and it was probably all muscle, but…I mean, I could've taken him, easy. I wouldn't even have broken a sweat, but…" He sighed again and made himself look at Dean once more. "It just happened. Because I was angry that he would do that to somebody, and I hadn't used it in a while and it…just…came out."
Dean nodded, again.
Sam shrugged, and the pained look on his face hurt Dean's heart. "And last night…when you were…it just seemed…and it just made me so mad. And I…" he squeezed his eyes closed tight against either the pain of the memory, or the embarrassment of what he'd almost done — or both. "It was building up again, and I just…I don't want to hurt you," he finished softly as the first tear slipped down his cheek, to be wiped roughly away.
"Hey, hey," Dean put his hands on either side of Sammy's neck, using his thumbs to turn his kid to face him. HIs calloused thumb wiped a second tear away. "Look at me, Sammy," he said softly, and after a moment, worried hazel eyes met his. "It's okay," he assured. "I promise. I get it, okay. I get it, now. You gotta use it, or you lose control. All right," he shrugged. "So we'll make sure you get to use it, practice with it. But, Sammy," he added, dipping his head slightly to be sure Sammy was looking at him, and running one hand gently over the (still too long) mop of hair, "if you're having problems like this, man — or, or like with hearing shit through The Force…"
"It's not The Force," Sam muttered, more out of habit than anything else.
"Then, you gotta tell me, man. Okay? I can't help if I don't know, dude. Okay?"
Slowly, Sammy nodded.
"Anything else I need to know about?" Dean wondered, letting go when Sammy pulled slowly away.
Sam sighed, shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe?"
"Okay," Dean said far more calmly than he actually felt. "Tell me."
"Well…it—it's about Pazuzu."
"All right"
"First, I… That spell."
"What about it?"
"Well, I didn't so much write it as…well, I mean…It's not…I did write it. Kind of. Only…"
"Spit it out, Sammy."
"Well, sometimes — and it's happening more and more — if I need a spell, I don't...I don't really have to think about it, or, or work on it. It's just…it's just there. In my head."
Dean nodded. "That's nothing new, Sammy," he assured him. "I've known you can do that since that first night, back in Bobby's house, with that…shadow…thing."
"Okay," he nodded and took a deep, shaky breath.
"But there's more, isn't there?" Dean asked, gently. "About Pazuzu. Right?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah,there is. You…you saw the way he…investigated me."
Dean blinked. "Investigated," he repeated and nodded slowly. "That's one way to say licked you with his dick."
Sam rolled his eyes, but continued. "And he touched over my heart, and…sniffed me."
"Yeah," Dean nodded and suppressed a shudder at the memory of those wide jaws opening near his brother's neck.
"He was also…talking to me," Sam told him.
"Talking to you."
Sam nodded quickly. "Yeah. Telepathically. And I…I could not just hear him in my head, but I could understand him, Dean. Don't ask me how," he added quickly, "because I don't speak Ancient Babylonian, but I understood him perfectly."
"And, what…did he say?" Dean asked, cautiously, because how could anything imparted by an ancient demon be a good thing.
"He…at first, he wondered what I was," Sam admitted, again not meeting Dean's gaze. "After he…licked me, he said, he said, you're not like the others."
"Of course, you're not," Dan rushed to defend. "You never hurt a mother or child."
"That's not it," Sam whispered, brokenly. "He meant…I'm not like other…people."
"You don't…"
"I do. I do know," Sam said firmly, as the tears began to slowly slide down his cheeks. "He touched me, over my heart, and, and he said you try to be pure, but you are tainted, little one. Tainted, Dean. With the Demon Blood."
"Sammy…."
"And…and when he sniffed me," Sam continued as if his brother had never spoken, "he…he called me 'cousin', Dean. He said will you submit to me, little cousin."
"Jesus fuck," Dean breathed.
"When I did…"
"You mean when you exposed your neck to the jaws of a monster, like a suicidal idiot?" Dean snapped.
"When I did," Sam continued ignoring this interruption, too, "he...he said…he said, he'd do as I asked. For…for his little cousin, he said. For…one like him. For one of his fellows."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"I asked that," Sam breathed. "He said…For you, little one. For…for an agent ..of, of destruction."
Sam folded in on himself, wrapping an arm around his waist, the other reaching up so his hand could grasp his shoulder, balling his sleeve up in his fist. He began to rock slowly as the tears fell.
"Oh, Sammy," Dean breathed and put an arm around his shaking brother, pulling him close to his side. "It's okay. It's okay."
Sam shook his head, and turned to look at him. "How, Dean? An ancient, destructive demon recognized me as being like him. How the fuck is that okay?!"
"He's wrong," Dean said firmly. "You aren't like that."
"Maybe not now," Sam shrugged, "but…"
"Never," Dean interrupted. "You'll never be like that. Never."
"Stop it!" Sam tried to jerk way, and Dean just tighten his hold. "Stop saying what you think I need to hear, and tell me the truth!"
"I am telling you the truth."
No," Sam shook his head and wiped his eyes against the back of the hand still holding his shirt in a death grip. "No, you're just saying what you want to be true. You want the truth? You want the real truth, Dean?"
"Tell me."
"I'm scared," Sam whispered, his voice shaking.
"You don't need to be," Dean promised. "I'll never let anything hurt you, Sammy."
"That's not what I'm scared of."
"Then what?"
"Me, Dean. I'm scared of me."
"Sam…."
Sammy shook his head and looked away. "I'm throwing people around without even trying. I've got…I've got spells just popping into my head. The whole fuckin' world talks to me all the time, and now I have ancient demons calling me cousin. What the fuck am I becoming, Dean?"
"You're not becoming anything." Dean grabbed his kid's chin and forced Sam to look at him. "You hear me? You are what you've always been."
"What's that?" Sam scoffed. "The Boy King? The, the Demon?"
"My little brother. That's all that matters. That's all that's ever mattered."
Sam jerked his head back, freeing himself from his brother's grip, but kept his gaze held fast. "Jesus, Dean. Are you really that naive? You really think that's going to protect…"
"I'll protect you," Dean vowed, each syllable, each letter, engraving itself onto his heart.
Sam shook his head sadly and retreated to the other end of the couch. "I'm not the one who needs protecting, Dean," he said and closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, Dean's breath caught in his throat, held in that too-blue gaze of Sam's powerful Witch Eyes. "I think it's the world who needs protecting," he explained quietly. "From me."
"No. Never."
"Right," Sam nodded. "Not while you're around, right, Dean? But just a few minutes ago, you were worried what would happen to me when you die. And you seem awfully sure you're gonna die, Dean."
"No," Dean denied. "No, I won't. 'Cause we're gonna do it your way, Sammy. We'll find Dad, we'll kill that bastard that got Mom and Jess. And then we'll go back to California. Just live a nice, normal, apple pie life."
"You really think that's possible?" Sam challenged. "After everything I just told you."
"You do, and that's enough."
"I don't though," Sam sighed. "I want to. God, I want to. But, I…I can't go back there. I've already hurt somebody. I can't go back. It's all just…It's a pipe dream. I'm too dangerous."
"You're not."
"I could be," Sam insisted. "I get stronger every day, Dean. I can feel it. What if…what if I do become dangerous?"
"You won't."
Sam shook his head. "That's wishful thinking. What if I do, Dean? Can you stop me? Will you do that? If I become dangerous. Will you stop me? Could you?"
"It won't come to that."
"If it does," Sam said quietly. "If I become evil."
"No."
"You have to stop me, Dean. You can't let me live, not if I become what Dad thinks I am," he half-laughed. "You can't."
"Sammy, no."
"I'd be a monster," he insisted. "Monsters need to be hunted."
Dean shook his head and reached out to pull Sammy to him again.
Sam let himself be drawn into the safety of his big brother's arms, hiding his face against Dean's neck. "Could you do it, Dean? Could you stop me?" his words ghosted against Dean's throat.
Dean's arms tightened and he buried his face in the soft mop of hair that was all he could see of his brother.
Sam pulled in a deep breath.
Two.
Three.
Slowly, he pulled away, nodding to himself. "That's what I thought," he said quietly with a half smile that broke Dean's heart. He rubbed his hands down the legs of his jeans and stood. "I'm going to bed."
"Sammy…"
"I'll see you in the morning," he continued, turning away.
Dean scrambled to his feet.
"We'll head out to Bobby's in a couple days. Figure it all out."
"Sam…"
"Good night, Dean," Sam turned back and smiled at him, dimples on full display through the tears steaming down his face.
"Sam!"
The door closed before he got there.
He didn't bother testing the knob
===SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN====SPN====
In case it isn't clear TK is short for telekinesis.
Sammy asked Dean whether he was okay with Sam being a witch in chapter 14, after he used his magic to help defeat the homicidal ghost of Rev. Zebediah.
Many practitioners of White Magic and Wicca (not necessarily the same thing) often spell magic as either Magik or Magick. Which spell check hates, just so you know.
"An it harm none, do what thou wilt" is an ancient creed of practitioners of White, sometimes known as Good or Earth Magick. The basic meaning is, so long as you don't hurt anybody else, go ahead, you do you, boo.
Virtual slice of pie to anyone who knows we're the inspiration for Solitaire came from ;)
The 'turn him into a newt' and 'get better' thing is a reference to a scene in the 1975 comedy classic Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There's a scene where a woman is accused of being a witch, and one of her (very human) accusers says he knows she's a witch because she turned him into a newt. When everyone looks at his clearly-not-a-newt person, he mutters "I got better". In my head canon, the boys love that film and can probably quote a good three quarters of it.
Yes, I know, Bobby didn't tell Sam he was 'not exactly Mr. Anger Management" until episode 20x05, but I gotta believe Bobby's used that one before. Mostly because he's right.
CorvusVeritatis In another life — and fandom — I was known for my cliffies, so, yeah, there'll be a few more. And I'm fond of Sam!whump myself, so while there isn't much here, rest assured…it's coming LOL. Glad you're still with me. This fic isn't ending until it ends. And when it ends, there will be sequels!