A/N all usual disclaimers apply
Hi all. Thanks for our patience waiting for this one. It's a long chapter, and I think answers a few questions, so I hope it's worth the wait!
I've added some end notes for references that my international (or younger US followers, for that matter) may not get.
Enjoy!
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Singer's Salvage
Sioux Falls, SD
April 26, 2000
8:30 pm
Something's coming. NOW.
Sam kept looking at the sky, at the stars slowly disappearing behind a line of something that didn't quite look like clouds on a night forecast to be perfectly clear.
"Sammy?" Dean pressed.
"I don't know, but…," he pointed at the line of — fog? Smoke? SOMETHING.
"Well, that ain't right," Bobby observed. "We better get back to the house, boys."
"Which way?" Sam wondered.
"You don't know?" Bobby asked, amazed.
"It got me here," Sam defended. "It's not used to getting me back. Don't you know? It's your salvage yard!"
"It's dark, and you got me so turned around the last four turns," Bobby muttered.
"Didn't we leave a light on?"
Bobby shrugged. "Even if we did, we couldn't see it from this deep in the yard, 'less it was in the attic, and I ain't in the habit…"
"Well, I can fix that…" Sam said and closed his eyes for a moment, bringing to mind the top of the stairs to the attic where he and Dean used to play as kids. He took three steps forward in his mind — and in the pathway — and reached out to pull the chain on the light bulb hanging from the ceiling.
A soft glow appeared to their east, as Sam opened his eyes.
"Well, that's both handy and slightly creepy," Dean observed and chuckled when Sam smacked him in the arm.
"And not all that helpful," Bobby added, "since there ain't a path leading that way."
"Oh for…seriously?" Dean scoffed, amazed as always that his companions weren't, as Sammy liked to say, walking TripTiks like Dean. "This way," he huffed and started walking back the way they'd come.
Five minutes later, Bobby figured out where they were, and took them off the route Sam had led them down to what he termed a short cut.
A flicker of something that was nearly lightning, but slightly too blue and a little too green and way the hell too organized to be mistaken for something natural, pulled their attention back to the sky and the darkness that was nearly over the house.
"Come on!" Dean urged and the three broke into a run.
A shaft of light, blue and green and too much like a solid column of power to even pretend it was a fork of actual lightning, brushed over the top of a pile of cars less than 200 yards behind them, then disappeared. A second skimmed another pile, 100 yards closer, but off to their left as well as behind them, then gone. A third, still a little left of them, but now 200 yards in front.
"That feel like a search pattern to anybody else?" Dean wondered, and cut down a path to the right, where the car piles on either side leaned a little towards each other, forming a near canopy above them.
"Yup," Bobby agreed, following close behind.
Dean was almost at the next junction when some inner sense made him turn around, because he felt like…
"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean yelled, turned back to the open path, and grabbed Sam's arm, dragging his brother after them. "Keep up, Sam!" he urged, then stopped dead when Sam pulled away.
"No," Sam shook his head and started backing away from them. "It's me they're looking for, I'm putting you in danger."
Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed Sam's arm again, hanging on tightly enough to bruise when Sam tried to pull away. "Oh, no you don't, little brother," Dean snarled. "There will not be any Rudolph Skywalker I'm endangering the mission bullshit here!"
"What is it with you and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?" Sam wondered and tried again to pull away.
"Love that little misfit, and not the point! If you don't come willing, Sammy, I swear to god, I'm gonna knock you out and carry your bitch ass home, and that will put me in danger, you moron, so COME ON!"
"Okay, okay," Sam rolled his eyes and gave in, knowing better than to disbelieve the threat, and the pair started running again.
The brothers quickly caught up to Bobby — who hadn't stopped because he knew Dean would get Sam moving again, and anyway, at his age, he needed a head start just to wind up even — and the trio wound their way through the forest of cars, keeping to the narrowest pathways, but moving ever east towards the house and safety, all of them keeping an eye on the weird column of light that kept flashing down from the not-clouds, clearly searching for them.
They'd made it to the edge of the salvage yard, before Bobby raised a fist in a stop signal and the trio gathered together at the edge of the car piles, 100 yards from the house.
100 yards with no cover.
And the light column getting steadily closer.
"All right," Bobby said softly, panting. "You two get going, and get into the house, don't wait for me."
"Bobby," Sam began, but Bobby cut him off.
"We all know I'm not going to keep up with you two idjits, not with these old knees, but I'll be right behind ya," he promised.
"We're not leaving you behind," Dean frowned.
Bobby shot him a disgusted look. "It's my own damn yard, not some battlefield in 'Nam. And what are you going to do, carry me?"
Dean gave a half shrug and looked at Sam who looked like he was seriously considering it.
"Screw that," Bobby said firmly. "Dean, you get yer brother into the house, and if I get in trouble, arm yourself with everything you can think of and give me cover."
"Bobby…" Sam tried again,
"Look," Bobby said firmly, and cast a glance over his shoulder to where the light column seemed to be scanning the cars 100 yards to their left, but nearly at the fence separating salvage from home, "I don't know what this is, and I sure as hell don't know how to stop it, but I do know that all I've got is my .45," he said, pulling it out of his jacket pocket for a moment before putting it back, "and somethin' tells me that ain't gonna do squat to a column of light and a bunch o' clouds, so unless you idjits got something better…."
Sam and Dean both pulled their guns from the back of their waistbands and shrugged, before putting them back.
"Fine," Bobby nodded decisively. "Then git! I'm right behind ya!"
Dean started to move, but Sam grabbed his arm, shaking his head slightly. "Wait."
"What?" Dean frowned, and followed Sam's gaze as he looked up at the not-clouds above.
"The light," Sam whispered.
"It stopped," Bobby noticed.
"There's something…" Sam breathed, and nearly lost his balance when a sudden wind hit the trio full force from the open yard before them.
"Son of a bitch!" Dean raised his arm in front of his eyes, blocking the sudden gale force wind. "The hell?"
"I don't know!" Bobby shook his head, raising his voice to a yell to be heard above the wind. "Just run, dammit!" he added and pushed both boys forward before running after them.
Dean kept his head down and his right hand clamped to Sammy's wrist, as he raised his left arm to shield his eyes from the leaves and pieces of grass and twig that blew into his face.
Sam shifted his hand and gripped the underside of Dean's wrist, and together the brothers fought their way through debris, pushing steadily against wind strong enough to slide them back one step for every three they moved forward.
The wind whined and howled like an angry predator deprived its meal, and an eerie groan seemed to come from behind them as the wind, against all probability, grew stronger still.
Dean kept pushing forward, slowly moving closer to the house and (he hoped) safety.
And suddenly, Sammy wasn't holding his wrist any longer.
Dean spun around, over-balanced with the wind now at his back and fell to his knees. His eyes still streamed with tears from the force of the wind, as he yelled his brother's name into a wind too loud for anything else to be heard.
Dean caught sight of his brother's hunched form, 6 feet behind, grabbing Bobby by the arm, as the source of the groaning became clear.
Dean's eyes widened as Sam bodily propelled the older Hunter forward, towards Dean, shoving Bobby away from the towering pile of scrap metal that began to tilt towards them.
Bobby grabbed hold of Dean and dragged him backwards, away from the falling wrecks, even as Dean reached for his brother, dwarfed by the stack of metal about to cover him.
"SAAAAAAAAM!" Dean screamed, his cry stolen by the wind and he tried and failed to wrench himself from Bobby's tenacious grasp as the pile of cars finally overbalanced and came hurtling down to…
Stop.
In midair.
Less than 10 feet above Sammy's kneeling form and upraised hands.
Slowly, Sam opened his eyes and looked up at the cars above him, following the stack, suspended, mid fall, above him. His eyes traveled up the stack, his brain calculating angles and lengths and his gaze shifted to where Bobby and Dean stood, frozen, watching the impossible.
Dean stared at Sam, saw his mouth move, but the wind carried the noise away. Again, the short word, but he could only shake his head, unable to make out…
Sam looked up at the cars again, then back at Dean, then up at the cars….
Dean counted himself as no good at math, had pulled a bare C- in Physics before he quit school for a GED, and he might not be able to explain how he knew where the cars would land…but he knew as soon as Sam did that the falling pile would crush them all.
Dean shoved Bobby, pushing him clear of catastrophe and took a step forward, further under the falling cars.
Towards Sammy.
Because if Sammy wouldn't survive this, Dean didn't want to.
Sam shook his head, and now Dean could make out the words his brother was yelling, even if he couldn't hear them: go, you jerk.
Sam's arms started to shake, and the cars began to vibrate. Sam looked sharply up at the falling pile — had to be 30, maybe 35 tons above his head, and he really could've lived without his overachieving brain filling in that little piece of information — and the cars went still again.
He couldn't hold them forever.
He couldn't let them go, not with Dean moving towards him, like that was going to help.
He took his eyes off the cars, keeping their positions a fixed point in his mind, and glared at his brother.
"Go, Dean!" he yelled, knowing it was doubly futile — the wind was blowing his words away and his brother clearly wasn't planning to listen, even if the Jerk could hear them.
Sam felt the weight above him try to shift and closed his eyes, concentrating on keeping the cars up.
He reached his mind out, up, above, and could see the whole scene as if he were riding in the not-clouds hovering over them.
The cars, forming an almost graceful arch from the ground through the air, covering him and Dean.
Bobby standing clear, yelling at Dean to come away, not be a fool, there was nothing he could do.
Dean staring at him, eyes streaming with tears caused by more than wind, now, and for the first time ever, Sam could hear his brother's voice inside his head.
I'm not leaving you, Sammy. Live or die, we do it together.
Sam frowned, disgusted, took a breath and pushed his words into Dean's mind.
I don't plan to die today, Dean, he thought, and felt and saw Dean give a little jerk as the words landed without sound.
S-Sammy?
I'm NOT going to be crushed, Sam continued, not having time to confirm identities when his arms — and the stack of cars — were beginning to shake again. I can get out. I KNOW I can get out from under before they fall, but not if you're in the way, dumbass. So MOVE.
Promise me.
Yes, I promise. I'll be fine! Now get you and Bobby the fuck to the house, so I can get out of here! I can't hold this shit much longer, Jerk.
Dean hesitated a moment more, nodded, then turned around to run towards Bobby, grabbing the Hunter by the arm and dragging them, still fighting against the wind, towards the house.
We're clear, Dean thought — and yelled, just in case — as they reached the porch, and the pair turned to watch the arch of cars that was now leaning a little further over the fence between wrecks and grass. Now get out of there, Bitch.
Going!
For a moment, the arch of cars seemed to move away from them, as if trying to shift back to the tall, stable stack they once were, then it all gave way in a cloud of dirt and dust borne aloft by the scream of metal on metal.
The wind, unabated, whipped the debris into a whirlwind of flying dirt and grass and shards of glass, and Dean and Bobby clutched on to each other's shoulders, both of them staring into the darkened yard, praying to see some movement that wasn't the wind.
"Sammy!" Dean shouted, then closed his eyes and shouted again, silently. Sam?!
A figure stumbled forward, limping, clutching its right shoulder, the whole thin body covered in a thousand little cuts.
But alive and (reasonably) whole.
I'm here, Dean heard in his head, and saw Sam's lips move as he staggered towards the steps.
Dean rushed down the stairs, while Bobby fought to drag the outward swinging screen door open against the infernal wind.
Dean pulled Sam's left arm across his own shoulders, and started to put an arm around Sam's back, then stopped when Sam jerked and gave a gasp that Dean could feel. Dean slid his right hand, suddenly gone slick and sticky, down his brother's back and grabbed the belt loop at the back of Sam's jeans.
"It's all right, Sammy," Dean said quietly, not caring if Sam could make out the words. Sammy would know what he was saying, even if he couldn't hear with his ears or in his head. "I got you, little brother. I got you."
Sam nodded weakly and the pair staggered into the house, Bobby right behind them, slamming both the screen door and the heavy steel core door behind them, reflexively locking all six locks before turning to face the boys.
"Aw, shit," he breathed, taking in Sam's back in a glance. "Dean, get him face down on the table," Bobby ordered, and rushed to his desk to pull out the heavy duty first aid kit he kept in the bottom drawer.
When he returned, Sam was stretched out on the table, long legs hanging off one end, arms limp by his side, his right cheek resting pillowed on his brother's left arm as Dean sat in the chair at his brother's head, stroking the boy's hair and gently dislodging the myriad pieces of glass tangled there, pausing occasionally to pull out a piece embedded in the scalp.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "You did it, you're safe now. We're all safe. Just relax, now. It's okay. It's all okay."
Sam sighed and closed his eyes for just a moment, with a little hmmmm of relief at Dean's touch.
"Sam," Bobby said quietly.
"Mmm?"
"Son, we got a problem, here," Bobby continued, keeping his voice calm and conversational, as he pulled out a pair of scissors and began cutting Sam's shirts off the boy's back.
"Uh huh."
"You got a big ol' piece of what I'm guessing is windshield back here," Bobby said and glanced up, meeting Dean's eyes. "Goes in kind of deep."
Dean's eyes grew wide and his breathing hitched for a moment before he forced himself to calm down, knowing his agitation would transfer itself to his brother.
"I'm seein' a lot of blood back here," Bobby continued, matter of factly, "more'n I'm comfortable with, 'f I'm bein' honest. I think we need…"
"Bobby," Sam said evenly. "I know."
"You…."
"It's hit an artery," Sam confirmed. "Don't ask me which one, biology was not my best subject. I'll bleed out before you can get me to the nearest hospital."
"Sam…" Dean's voice cracked and he rested his forehead against his brother's.
"It's okay, guys, really," Sam told them. "I'm going to be fine."
"Son…"
"I'm not just saying it," Sam assured them both. "Honestly. I can heal m'self, remember?"
"Sam, this is…" Bobby began.
"Look," Sam interrupted. "We don't have time to argue. If I can't get the bleeding stopped back there, I'll pass out and l won't be able to control where the healing goes. Bobby, I need you to listen to me, very carefully. Before you do anything else, okay?"
"I'm listening, son," Bobby assured him, his voice nearly steady. "What do you need."
"When I tell you to," Sam said, "I'm going to need you to pull on that shard of glass, okay? Not until I tell you," he repeated.
"Okay."
"You're not going to pull it out," Sam continued. "You're just gonna kinda…shift it. You're just going to pull it straight up, reeaal slow, until I tell you to stop, okay?"
"I got it."
"Okay. You may want to get a tweezer or forceps or something, because if you slip with it, I'm fucked."
"Got it," Bobby assured him, reached into the kit to grab a pair of locking forceps.
"Dean?"
"What do you need?" Dean asked, his voice as calm and strong as he could make it, in service to his baby brother.
Sam shifted, gasping slightly, and pulled his left hand up next to Dean's arm. "Just…stay with me," he asked, and for the first time, there was fear in his voice.
"Always," he vowed and took his brother's left hand in his.
"Not like that," Sam corrected and shifted his grip. "If I'm holding that tight to your thumb, I'll probably break it," he chuckled. "This is gonna hurt like a mother."
"You break anything you need to," Dean smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the top of Sam's head. "You can always fix it later."
Sam laughed and inhaled sharply. "Ow. Jerk."
"Bitch."
"You idjits ready?" Bobby wondered.
Sam took a deep, if shaky, breath, and winced a little.
"Ribs?" Dean asked softly.
"Not thinking about that now," Sam decided. "I'm ready, Bobby. Get a hold of it, with whatever you've got, but don't move it yet if you can help it."
"Okay," Bobby agreed.
Dean squeezed Sam's hand as his brother's eyes closed. "I'm…"
"I know you're here," Sam assured him. "But I need you to be quiet right now, okay, Dean?"
Dean gave the hand he held a gentle squeeze in response.
"I've got it," Bobby said quietly.
Sam took another breath, not quite as deep as the last. "Okay, on three, start lifting it, straight out. When I say stop, stop. I'm going to have to close this a little at a time. If we pull it clear of the artery all at once, I won't have time before I bleed out. So you're going to have to pull it out a little bit at a time. I'll guide you. You understand?"
"Understood."
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Put your hand on my right shoulder."
"Sam?" Dean frowned, looking at the joint in question, noticing (not for the first time) that the shoulder was both badly lacerated and dislocated.
"I know," Sam assured him. "Do it."
Dean moved his arm out from under Sam's head.
"Give me a sec," he said and pulled his hand away from Sam's, to quickly strip off his flannel and the t-shirt beneath it, balling them up and sliding them as a pillow under Sam's head, before grabbing Sam's hand (being careful of the grip). "Okay," he said and took a deep breath of his own, biting his lower lip and wincing himself as he set his hand, as lightly as possible, on Sam's damaged shoulder.
Sam inhaled sharply, then blew it slowly out. "Okay. That's good," he assured his worried brother. "If you think I'm starting to pass out…"
"Sammy, no…" Dean protested.
"Dean," Sam said firmly. "If I pass out before Bobby and I have the glass removed, I'm dead, okay? So if you think I'm passing out, I want…I need you to squeeze my shoulder, okay. Hard enough to keep me conscious, but not hard enough to make me actually pass out. I know that's kind of a fine line."
"Sam…" Dean whispered, brokenly, every piece of his soul aching at the very thought of causing his baby brother even a moment of pain.
"You have to," Sam insisted. "Or I'll die."
"Okay," Dean nodded and didn't try to stop the tears pooling in his eyes. "Okay."
"Thank you," Sam whispered and squeezed Dean's hand, knowing full well how much what he was asking would cost his brother. "You still with me, Bobby?"
"Right here, son."
"Okay. On three. One."
Sam took a steadying breath. "Two."
Dean leaned his forehead against Sam's again, and gave the trembling hand in his a reassuring squeeze.
"Three."
Bobby held his right hand steady with his left and started to pull the ten inch shard of glass straight up from the blood covered back in front of him.
"STOP."
Bobby froze and kept his breathing even, concentrating on not moving his hand the smallest fraction of an inch.
A minute passed with silence in the kitchen, broken only by the moan and howl of the wind outside. Two minutes. Three. Four…
"Ready, Bobby?" Sam asked, his voice a little less steady than when they'd started.
"Yeah."
"On three. One."
Breathe.
"Two."
Squeeze.
"Three."
Another microscopic move before…
"STOP."
Sam grunted softly, in pain or effort, and Dean squeezed his hand, receiving a tiny twitch of a smile in return.
"On three, Bobby," Sam said again, sooner this time.
"Ready."
"One."
Breath.
"Two."
Hands.
"Thr…"
"Sam!" Dean squeezed his brother's hand, hard.
"Yeah. Three."
Bobby pulled, a little further than he was expecting, this time, and looked up at Sam's gasp to see Dean gritting his teeth and squeezing the mess of a joint on his brother's arm.
"S—stop." Sam stuttered.
Dean pulled his left hand away from Sam's shoulder to stroke his hair, making no sound, but unable to stop himself from mouthing the words: "It's okay. You're okay. I'm here. I got you."
Sam's breath shuddered out and Dean winced, and slammed his hand back to the dislocated shoulder, causing Sam to inhale deeply and squeeze Dean's hand hard enough that they both knew he'd bruised it.
"Thank you," Sam breathed.
Dean only nodded and shifted to kiss Sam's forehead.
"Sam," Bobby said quietly, "it looks to be bleeding less. I think."
Sam nodded. "Almost done," he reassured them all. "One or two more should do it, then we can get it all the way out."
"Understood," Bobby agreed.
"On three…"
"Ready."
"One."
Breath.
"Two."
Hands.
"Th…thr…"
Hard squeeze, hand slick with blood, a gasp and grunt of pain…
"Three." Strong, solid and another tiny movement.
"Stop."
Just the wind outside. A distant crash, barely noticed by anyone inside the trauma filled kitchen.
"Sam?" Dean squeezed the shoulder as gently as he could, and got no response. "Sammy?!" Another squeeze.
No answering gasp, no movement of the hand in his.
"SAM!" Dean grit his teeth, hating himself, the wind outside, whatever the fuck was after his brother, and the Universe in general, and dug his thumb, hard, into the open wound just below the joint.
"Ahhhh!"
"Okay," Dean reassured, running his blood covered hand over the already sticky, matted hair, " 'S okay."
"I—-ugh." Sam forced himself to take a steadying breath. "Okay," he gasped. "We're gonna have to finish this now."
"Is it out enough?" Bobby frowned.
"You said you'd bleed out," Dean reminded.
"No choice," Sam told them. "I can't do any more. I can't. I can't."
"Shhhh," Dean soothed, his voice a bare whisper that somehow Sam still heard over the screeching wind. "You can do this. You can do anything. My baby brother is so fuckin' amazing," he marveled, glad for the first time of the ridiculously high pain tolerance Dad had left Sam with. "You got this, Sammy. I know you do. You got this."
Sam squeezed the hand he still held on to like a lifeline.
"Last time," he panted. "Ready, Bobby? On three, and this time, just pull it out, all the way out."
"Hang on," Bobby said.
"Bob—by?"
"Just hang on a second, son. I wanna have a bandage standing by." Bobby stopped as he let go of his right hand with his left, and reached into the first aid kit, a sudden, terrifying thought freezing his heart. "Are you… your spine, boy. Can I…?"
"Yeah," Sam grunted. "No issues there. Put all the pressure on it you need."
"Okay," Bobby nodded and grabbed a large antibiotic coated bandage, opening the package with his teeth, and setting it carefully on its wrapping, before steadying his right hand again. "I'm ready."
"Dean."
"Yeah, Sammy."
"I still need you to keep me awake, a'right? Until I say it's done," Sam gasped out the words, "you can't…"
"I won't. Promise."
"Bobby?"
"Go."
A single breath, a squeeze of the hand, then…
"One, two, THREE!"
Bobby pulled the glass out with a sickening squelch and dropped it, with forceps still attached, onto the table, then grabbed the bandage and pressed it hard against the three inch long wound.
Sam's breathing stuttered and his hand started to go slack in Dean's.
"Stay with me," Dean urged and dug his thumb into the shoulder wound again, causing a pained cry that stabbed Dean directly in his heart — again.
"I'm here," Sam panted. "I'm here."
Through the bandage, beneath his stacked hands pressing down on the wound, Bobby felt something shift and stretch.
Cautiously, he lifted the edge of the bandage, then removed it completely, as he watched in open mouthed amazement as the muscle, connective tissue and skin stretched and grew and knitted together as though nothing had happened, leaving not even a scar behind.
"Damn," he breathed.
Sam chuckled. "Right?"
"Are you all right, son?"
"Getting there," Sam said tiredly.
"Son, there's still a lot of glass," Bobby said gently. "While you…"
"Pass out?" Sam supplied.
"Rest," Bobby corrected dryly, "do you want me to…"
"No," Sam shook his head, slightly. "No need."
"Sam, the risk of infection…"
"Not a problem," Sam promised. "Just…keep everything off me. Anywhere the glass isn't held in, I'll just…" Sam trailed off with a sigh. "Like this," he said and exhaled slowly.
As the air left his lungs, dozens of tiny shards of glass exited his right side, pushing clear of the skin to fall to the table with an almost musical sound.
"You see?" Sam said softly. "I got it. My body's got this, now. Thank you," he added. "I can't…that piece was too big, I couldn't…"
"It's okay, Sam," Dean assured him. "Let go, now, little brother. Rest."
"The wind…" Sam protested.
"Will be here or not when you wake up again," Bobby said and walked around the table to stand by Dean, leaning over to look in his boy's eyes. "Either way, I don't reckon there's much any of us can do about it. Your brother's right, boy. Rest. You've earned it."
"Sure?" he wondered in a voice so soft and small, it was like having a certain sleepy five year old back again, always checking to make sure Dean and Daddy were safe before sleeping.
"We're sure, Sammy," Dean promised.
" 'kay," Sam breathed and let go of the conscious world.
Dean stayed where he was, and Bobby pulled a chair over to sit next to him, and the pair sat, watching as Sam — now quite obviously profoundly unconscious — just lay there, taking short, shallow breaths. With each exhale, another dozen pieces of glass were expelled from somewhere on his back or sides.
After a few minutes, Bobby frowned and stood, walking to the other end of the table, at Sam's feet.
"What?" Dean watched him with interest.
Bobby reached out and lightly shook Sam's left leg, shaking his head at the slight tinkling sound from the glass fragments that were trapped in the leg of Sam's tattered jeans.
"He's gonna hate that," Dean chuckled as Bobby grabbed the scissors again and cut the pants off the unconscious boy.
"He'll hate it more if his own pant legs push the glass back into him," Bobby observed, and spread the cut sides of the jeans out away from Sam's body.
He returned to sit with Dean, and they waited five minutes, ten, until the gentle tinkle of falling bits of glass stopped.
Together, the pair watched in amazement as the thousand little cuts closed.
"We should put his shoulder back in," Dean suggested. "You know, while he's not awake to feel it."
"Yup," Bobby agreed, and the pair worked in silence, Dean slightly tipping Sam up on his left side, laying his own arm under his brother's right shoulder, while Bobby grabbed the injured arm.
"Two," Bobby said. "Three!" and with a surprisingly loud click, the shoulder moved back into place, while Sam remained blissfully unaware.
Almost as soon as the shoulder was reseated in its socket, the deep cut on the back of the shoulder and down the arm began to close.
"Now what?" Dean said quietly. "I mean — do we leave him here?"
"I hope not," Bobby chuckled. "I'm starting to get hungry, and before we eat on this table, I'm going to have to bleach it. Again."
Dean smiled. "Ever think of just getting stainless steel?"
"I prefer not to have my kitchen look like an operating room. Or a morgue."
Dean nodded. "So. Couch?" He glanced up at the ceiling. "I'd rather not have him closer to the roof at this exact second."
"Yeah," Bobby nodded. "You get his head, I'll get his feet."
"Nah," Dean shook his head. "I got him." He moved to the side of the table and gently rolled Sammy so the boy's back was facing him, almost at the edge of the table, then slid him towards the center of the table, and shifted him onto his back.
"You sure, Dean?" Bobby wondered. "He ain't ten anymore, or small for his age."
Dean nodded, and smiled a little dreamily. "I know. I got him," he assured the older hunter as he worked his left arm under Sam's shoulders, and his right beneath his knees. "Never going to be a time I can't carry this kid," he said and lifted Sam into a bridal carry, shifting the limp form slightly so Sam's head rested against Dean's shoulder.
"That sounds like a vow," Bobby observed, and moved around the boys and into the living room. He grabbed a blanket resting on the back of an armchair, and opened it on the couch, so half covered the cushions, and the other half draped against the back.
"More a promise," Dean admitted quietly, and knelt to gently settle his little brother on the couch, pulling the blanket down over him and efficiently tucking Sam in, like he'd done tens of thousands of times in the last 16 1/2 years.
Bobby left the living room to go clean the kitchen, while Dean settled himself on the floor by his brother's head, reaching out to take Sammy's hand in his.
It was a good thirty minutes before Bobby returned, and handed Dean a glass of whiskey, and his slightly blood covered shirts. "How is he?"
Dean shrugged. "Seems mostly healed, at least on the surface of it. I don't know," he sighed, and pulled his tee shirt on, shrugging his flannel on over it. "I didn't notice it until we got him settled out here, but he had a nose bleed. I…don't know if something hit him in the face, or…" he shrugged.
Bobby frowned. "He often get nosebleeds when he does…whatever?"
Dean sighed. "I haven't seen it," he admitted. "But I haven't seen him use his powers very much, and certainly not doing anything that big, so…Oh, and about that..." he added a little sheepishly.
"Yeeees?" Bobby said cautiously.
"While Sammy was holding up the cars," Dean said and shook his head in amazement that that could even be a sentence in his life, "we kind of…communicated."
"Oh, you mean when you were walking further under the falling pile of metal that was going to turn you into a pancake, ya idjit?" Bobby snapped, and Dean had the grace to at least flinch, even though both men knew he'd do the same again. "And since when is that news? You and Sam 'communicate' without words all the damn time. I swear, it's almost like y'all are telepathic."
"Yeaaaah," Dean drawled. "Almost like."
"Wait. You mean…actual TELEPATHY?"
Dean nodded. "I was just…thinking to myself, and suddenly…I could hear him. Like, right in my head."
"What was that like?"
"Not as weird as it should've been," Dean laughed. "Honestly, Bobby, I didn't…I wasn't all that surprised. I mean, like you said, me and Sam…." His voice trailed off as he looked at his brother, still apparently sleeping peacefully. Absently, he brushed the hair off Sam's forehead, and smiled slightly.
Bobby sighed and took another sip of his whiskey. "When you were still going to school, and yer daddy dropped you off here for a couple months…must've been five, maybe six years ago. Don't know that I ever told you, but the school psychologist called me. Real worried about the two of you."
"Why?" Dean wondered, genuinely troubled. "I mean, not that there weren't good reasons, with Dad and hunting, but I always thought, Sam and I, we kept it, well, at least mostly hidden."
"Nah, wasn't anything about that stuff," Bobby reassured him. "She just thought you two were…what was her phrase? Oh, yeah: unnaturally attached to one another."
Dean snorted. "Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before," he admitted. "Had a guidance counselor tell me we were dangerously co-dependent, once. Whatever the hell that means."
Bobby raised one eyebrow. "What'd you say to that?"
"Don't recall exactly, but I'm pretty sure it was something obscene," Dean admitted with a shrug. "And probably anatomically impossible. Got detention for it, but Dad was out of town, so…whatever. I quit school a little while later, actually. Decided I don't need that kind of bullshit judgment in my life. Well, that and I knew it was only a matter of time before I'd have to take Sammy and run, and I needed to round out my resume, such as it is."
Bobby sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "I'm so glad you boys are here," he admitted quietly.
"And away from Dad," Dean supplied.
Bobby snorted. "Apparently not, if the last couple weeks are anything to go by. But, at least he gave us a warning about," he raised his glass towards the ceiling, indicating the wind still pounding the house, "that. Whatever the hell it is."
"Have you ever seen anything like it before, on a hunt ever?" Dean wondered.
"Never even heard of anything like this, much less seen it m'self," Bobby admitted. "Can't recall anything like it from the lore, come to that."
"Do you think…" Dean stopped, and bit his lip, then looked at his still unconscious brother. "Do you think it can get in? I mean, if it figures out where he is?"
"Honestly? I don't know," Bobby admitted, and pushed himself up to go grab the bottle of whiskey from the library. "What I DO know is that this house is warded up the wahzoo, with symbols and sigils, some of which I don't even know what they're for, t'be honest."
"You have wards on the house and you don't know what they ward against?!"
Bobby shrugged. "Rufus had some old books, and he had the wards at his house already. Nothin' burned the place down, or conjured anything, so it seemed safe enough."
Dean shook his head. "Someday, I gotta meet this Rufus."
"Boy, the day you meet Rufus, is the day you know the shit has really hit the fan. That cantankerous old bastard…"
"That cantankerous old bastard?" a soft voice questioned from the couch.
"I'll have you know, Rufus makes me look like little Mary Freakin' Sunshine," Bobby assured them, and crossed to stand over Dean's shoulder as the older brother turned his attention to his smiling sibling. "How you feelin', boy?"
"Better, Bobby," Sam assured him, and pushed Dean's probing hands away as he sat up. "Dean, stop! I'm fine."
"All fixed then, Wolverine?" Dean said dryly.
"Nearly," Sam admitted and rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest. "Getting there." He rotated his right shoulder experimentally. "You guys put that back?"
Bobby nodded.
"Thanks," Sam smiled at them both. "That's one thing my healing abilities can't automatically do, put a dislocated joint back in. Once it is back in, I'll heal up the tendons and muscles pretty good, but it has to be back in first."
"I'm just glad you're still with us, boy," Bobby said quietly and put a hand on Sam's formerly injured shoulder.
"Me, too," Sam admitted. "So. What'd I miss?"
Dean shrugged, and shifted to sit next to Sam on the battered couch, unsubtly looking Sammy over. "Not a lot. You were only out about an hour, hour and a half maybe. Wind's still…windy. Not much more going on."
Sam nodded, and sighed. "Don't suppose you were able to figure out what we're dealing with?"
Bobby shook his head. "Off the top o' my head, the only time I've ever seen lights like those in the yard was when I was watchin' Close Encounters. Other than that…well, honestly, I didn't get a whole lot of time to research, actually, what with having to clean all the blood and glass out of the kitchen, an' all. And are you sure you got all the glass outa ya? If any wounds closed up with glass still in there…"
Sam nodded again. "Yeah. I figured out a while ago, if there's anything in the wound, it won't close on its own."
"Good to know," Bobby decided. "You boys hungry?"
"Starved, actually," Sam admitted, sounding a little surprised.
"Right. I'll see what I can rustle up for dinner," Bobby said, and gave Sam a light pat on the shoulder before heading back to the kitchen, giving Dean a significant look along the way.
"What?" Sam wondered.
"What what?" Dean frowned.
"That look between you and Bobby. What happened?"
"Oh," Dean shrugged. "That. That's…that's nothin'."
"Then you should be able to tell me what it was."
Dean shook his head and made a little think nothing of it face, wrinkling his nose a little, which made his freckles momentarily more obvious. "Not even worth talking about."
"Dean."
Dean closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, knowing he wasn't going to get out of it. "I…Look, you can't be mad. Not that you should be," he added hastily. "Because there's no reason to be. But if you were. You. Can't."
Sam just looked at him, and raised one eyebrow.
"Well, it's your fault, anyway!" Dean defended. "You're the one who told…you've got no right to be mad."
"Ugh," Sam screwed his eyes closed and tipped his head back. "You told Bobby about the telepathy," he surmised, and lowered his head again, opening his eyes to look at his brother. "Didn't you."
Dean looked at him sideways. "Are you doin' it now?"
"No!" Sam scoffed. "Jeez, Dean, paranoid much?"
"Under the circumstances, I'd say reasonably cautious. And anyway, it was you who said we weren't going to hide your…your…abilities, anymore," Dean reminded. "I was just doing what you said."
"I never actually said that," Sam corrected, then sighed. "But given how badly keeping the rest of it from him went, I suppose you were right to tell him."
"Of course I was," Dean agreed, with a little more vehemence than strictly required. "I always know best."
"Really? And how do…." Sam began and trailed off, his eyes slowly moving up the walls to the floor above them.
"Sam?" Dean frowned, and scrambled to his feet as Sam started to stand. "Sam!"
"The wind," Sam said softly and Dean paused, listening.
"It stopped," Dean frowned and looked at Sam. "That's good. Right?"
"Maybe," Sam allowed. "Depends on what happens next."
Dean shrugged. "Maybe nothing," he suggested. "I mean…how many things do we know of that really have more than two big tricks up their sleeves? I mean, really. It's probably blown it's whole wad. And it's probably tired, after all that…blowing…for a couple hours."
"Yeah, maybe," Sam conceded, cautiously. "You're right about the limited number of things most monsters can do. Especially something as strong as that wind, but…I just…I don't think it's going to give up that easy," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Dean sighed. "Yeah. Me neither. We should maybe arm ourselves with somethin'. Although, I don't know what," he frowned and started walking to the TV stand he and Sam had taken to hiding their weapons duffle behind.
Sam shrugged. "Salt, iron, silver and holy water," he suggested. "That's a good place to start, anyway. Between them, that takes care of…"
"Care of what?" Dean pressed and glanced back at his brother. "SAM!"
Sam had fallen to his knees, clutching his head.
"Sam," Dean slid across the few feet separating him from his brother, and grabbed hold of Sam's arms. "SAM! Talk to me! What's going on?"
"Can't you hear it?" Sam gasped and fell backwards into the coffee table squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, and pressing the heels of his hands against his temples. "Ugh."
"Sam!" Dean shook him. "I don't hear…BOBBY! Sam, stay with me, dammit."
"I'm here," Sam gasped. "I'm here. I can't…"
"Dean!" Bobby sprinted in from the kitchen. "What the…"
"I don't know!" Dean yelled, "he just started…I don't know!"
"Tell me you can hear it," Sam begged, between teeth clenched tight with pain, and reached out blindly to grab Dean's arm. "Tell me…"
"I don't hear anything," Dean admitted, brokenly.
"…I'm not losing my mind." Sam finished, and tears of pain rolled slowly from his tightly closed eyes. "I'm not…Ah, god. Dean! Hurts!"
"I know, I know," Dean pulled Sam into his arms, rubbing the hunched back. His eyes quickly scanned the room for anything that could be causing his brother this kind of pain, and found nothing more than Bobby kneeling down with the pair, gently petting Sam's bowed head.
"What does it sound like, boy?" Bobby demanded and Dean glared at him. Bobby shrugged. "It may help us figure out what's doing this."
"It's just…" Sam panted, "it's just this…ringing. It's so…high. And so…god! It's so loud, I can't…," he pushed himself away from Dean, stumbled to his feet, and knocked Bobby onto his ass as Sam started running towards the door as if trying to physically escape the sound no one else in the house could hear.
"Sammy!" Dean scrambled to his feet, and hurdled over Bobby, grabbing his brother in a mid-leg tackle that brought them both crashing to the wood floor just shy of the front door.
"No," Sam struggled to get away, "let me go! Make it…I have to…LET ME GO!," he yelled, as if trying to make himself heard over some great noise, and kicked out, hitting Dean in the stomach and pushing away.
"Sam!" Dean gasped and reached for his brother again.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it," Sam groaned, and nearly made it to the door before the pain made him stumble, staggering into the wall.
"Sam!" Dean yelled and ran towards his brother, stopping a foot away when Sam started raking his fingers down his own face, drawing blood.
"Get it out, get it out, get out, get out!" Sam gasped.
Dean rushed to his brother and grabbed Sammy's hands in his own, fighting to pull them away from the gouges on his brother's face.
"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it," Sam repeated, and stopped trying to pull his hands away, opting instead to start hitting his head again and again against the plaster wall, sliding down the wall to curl against it, slamming his head now into the wooden floor.
"No, no," Dean whispered, panicked, and knelt to grab Sam's shoulders, trying to pull the boy off the floor, but unable to get a purchase when Sam started to fight back, punching and kicking at him, even as he kept repeating stop it stop it stop it and pounding his head against the floor. As soon as Dean grabbed Sam's head, the blood-slicked hands were clawing at Sam's face again.
Dean grabbed the hands again, and nearly cried when the head slammed again into the floor. "Sammy, no!" Dean begged, and tried again to grab him, this time aiming for Sam's head with one hand, while trying to immobilize both his brother's hands in just one of his own. He grabbed Sam's head, hoping to at least get his hand between Sam's head and the floor, nearly freezing in horror when Sam pushed his hand away, and it came back covered in blood.
"Sammy, stop, stop," Dean tried again, and looked up when a shadow fell across the both.
"Hold him!" Bobby commanded, and used his teeth to pull the plastic cap off a syringe.
"Don't you think I'm trying?!" Dean yelled, and, in an act of pure desperation, flung himself bodily across his little brother, pinning the clawing hands between them, and grabbing Sam's head in his own hands, trying to keep his fingers between the boy and the blood-slicked floor.
"That's good, that's good!" Bobby assured him, and knelt down beside the pair.
"HURRY!" Dean urged, feeling a strange pulling sensation in his stomach that let him know that Sammy's telekinesis was about to take hold and…
Bobby watched in shock as Dean flew across the room, knocking over the wood coffee table, a floor lamp and his recliner before crashing into the archway between the living room and library.
"Balls!" Bobby growled and knelt beside Sam himself, trying to hold an arm still for the injection, only to find himself sliding backwards across the floor and into the bottom of the stairs.
He glanced over at Dean, and found the boy trying to stand, shaking his head a little, and leaning heavily against the archway. So, not too badly hurt, then.
Bobby used the stair rail to try to pull himself up, ignoring the pain in his back, and looked around desperately as he did, trying to find the syringe.
"Dean!" he yelled and pointed at the syringe lying in the middle of the living room. "Get the shot!"
Dean nodded and stumbled slightly, before straightening up and walking with only the slightest hint of unsteadiness towards the syringe, only to find himself suddenly frozen as he was bending to retrieve what he could only surmise was a sedative.
He was barely able to move his eyes over to Bobby, who seemed to be similarly frozen in the act of standing.
Dean shifted his gaze to Sammy, who suddenly stopped banging his head against the floor — thank god — and was amazed when Sam stood, slowly, panting and turned to face the front door.
A bright, pulsing light beat into their eyes from the front windows and the door slammed open.
Dean could barely see through the incandescent light suddenly filling the front of the house, could barely make out a shadowed shape stepping through the doorway
The air itself seemed to quiver and ripple with pure power, and the shadow reached for Sammy, while Dean stood, half bent over and helpless to intervene.
"Sammy!" he tried to yell, but it came out as a bare whisper, unheard by any but himself.
Dean tried to straighten, to move at all, but could only stand there, panting with frustration.
In desperation, he closed his eyes, and concentrated on his brother,
Sammy! he forced the thought towards his brother, praying for some kind of response, but the shadow pointed at him, and he found himself suddenly pinned to the bookshelf, still unable to move, and somehow knowing without a doubt that Sam could not hear him.
Leave him alone, you fuckers! he thought angrily, and felt something strike his face, like an open-handed slap from a giant.
As he watched, unable to even think anymore, Sammy stood, bent forward, just slightly, looking as if he were still fighting the wind that had stopped blowing, facing the Shadow.
Dean saw Bobby's mouth move, watched the hunter rise in the air and slam, back first, into the top tread of the stairs. Dean winced in sympathy, knowing the older Hunter would be in a world of hurt from that, even as he saw Bobby's jaw set, trying, like Dean, to get loose from whatever power held him still. And, like Dean, failing to move an inch.
Dean stared, torn between pride and abject terror, as his baby brother just stood more or less calmly before the Shadow.
The Shadow reached out towards Sammy, somehow managing to beckon Sam forward without seeming to gesture at all.
Sam remained where he was, even shifting one foot slightly behind him in a fighting stance Dean knew so well.
Slowly, Sam raised his left hand, palm forward, fingers outstretched to stop the Shadow from coming any closer, and for a bare moment, the light in the room dimmed enough for Dean to make out the shape a little more clearly.
It was definitely man-shaped, but there were no features, no defined outline, nothing to indicate anything really solid at all. Just the shadow of something vaguely humanoid that had become, in some weird way, physical.
After a second or two, no more than three, the light was strong again, and the Shadow thing moved one step forward, before Sam raised his right hand as well, and the Shadow thing stopped cold.
A shrieking cry filled the room, and Dean found himself desperately trying — and failing — to move his arms just enough to cover his ears, feeling that, if he couldn't stop the sound, his head might literally explode with the pain.
He was just barely feeling a warm wetness running down the sides of his face towards his chin, when Sam began to speak.
"Non sum tuus. Meus sum solus."
The whine in Dean's ears blocked out every sound, even his own thoughts, his breathing, his heart beat. Nothing could possibly be heard over that whine.
But Dean could hear Sam's voice, clear and familiar. Not in his head, like it had been in the salvage yard, but physically, cutting over, under, through the whine. Dean knew Sam wasn't yelling, wasn't raising his voice in any way, but it could be clearly heard, even as the whine grew louder, more painful, still.
"Non sum tuus. Meus sum solus." Sammy's voice seemed weak, shook with each word, but he continued on as a wind began to rise again, whipping his hair away from his face, blowing his boxers hard against his legs.
It would have been funny, if it hadn't been so fucking terrifying: Dean's baby brother facing down some thing, some powerful, probably deadly thing, in just his underwear.
"Hi mei sunt et mei soli. Non habes potestatem in me. Nullas hic opes. Non habes potestatem in me. Potestatem habes hominibus istis qui mei sunt."
And what the hell was Sammy even saying? Latin, sure, Dean knew that, he could even pick up a couple words here and there - no and me and mine. But it was no exorcism, Dean was sure. He'd bet good money he'd never heard, or even read, what Sammy was saying.
"Virtus hic mea est, et mea sola in hic loco. Ibis hinc et ad me non reverteris. Ibis hinc, nec redeas ad hos qui mei sunt. Non hic es gratissimus."
Whatever Sam was saying, with each second, he stood a little straighter, his voice got a little steadier, a little stronger. And the light started to dim.
"Ibis. Ibis nunc. Ite et nolite redire. Vade et non ad me revertere. Vade, et noli redire his qui sunt mei. Hoc loco relinquendum est. Non consentio tibi hoc loco esse. Non consentio tibi ut mecum sit. Non consentio te cum istis meis esse."
The wind stopped, the whining was softer now, and Dean was suddenly able to move his arms, just a bit.
And still, Sammy kept speaking, his voice confident, now, as strong and certain as Dean had ever heard his kid.
"Ite et nolite redire. Vade, et noli redire ad hunc locum. Vade et non ad me revertere. Vade, et noli reddere, quod meum est. Vade et nunquam redi. Hoc dico. Id facias. Vade et nunquam redi. Vade et nunquam redi. Vade et nunquam redi!"
A flash of light, brighter than any they'd seen so far, forced Dean to close his eyes.
He heard a sound, like a thunderclap from a storm directly over them, but from inside the house.
For a moment, the house shook, and the light became so bright that Dean had to raise his arm in front of his tightly closed eyes or go blind.
A rushing sound, receding from them quickly and ending in a tiny pop.
The light was gone, and Dean fell from where he'd been held against the bookshelf, landing heavily on his knees.
When he raised his head, he found Sam lying in a heap in front of the closed front door, his chin and neck covered in blood, his eyes closed, and his hands still held out protectively in front of him.
"Sammy!" Dean scrambled over to him, and lifted Sam's head gently into his lap, brushing the bangs out of the closed eyes, and shrugged out of his flannel, so he could use the sleeve to first wipe the blood from his brother's face, then press against the bridge of Sammy's nose to try to stop the bleeding.
"Dean?" A rough voice came from the top of the stairs, and he didn't bother looking up as Bobby made his way very slowly down the stairs, to kneel beside the pair.
"He okay?" Bobby wondered.
Dean shook his head. "I got no idea. Apparently, the nosebleeds are a thing, though."
"Apparently," Bobby agreed, and gently rested two fingers against Sam's neck. "Pulse is good," he decided. "Strong, maybe a little fast, but after that, whose isn't?"
Dean huffed a half laugh, and nodded. "Mine may never slow down after… what the fuck was that, Bobby?!"
"Beats th' hell outa me, boy," Bobby admitted, and stood, moving slowly to retrieve the blanket from the couch, returning to lay it gently over their kid. "I never seen anything like it."
Dean nodded. "So we don't know what it was," he said, thoughtfully. "Are we sure it's gone?"
"I'm reasonably sure, yeah," Bobby admitted.
"How?!"
Bobby sighed. "How much of what Sam was saying did you get, boy?"
Dean shook his head. "A word, here and there. No, Mine, and Me, and I thought there was something about…strength maybe?"
"Power," Bobby corrected. "He was talking about power. About the power here being his. And when he said that, that's when the…the thing…started to weaken."
"Okaaay."
"And then he told it…he told it he did not 'consent'," Bobby continued. "Did not. Consent. To it being here. With us. With him."
"Can't've been a demon then," Dean frowned. "Demons don't need consent for anything, do they? I mean even if it's possessing somebody, a demon doesn't need consent. Right?"
"That's right. Matter of fact," Bobby sighed and ran his hand over his face wearily, "I honestly can't think of any damn thing that does need consent. Oh, some of the lore says that vampires can't come into a house without the owner's permission, but there's no clear consensus on that."
"And it was in here," Dean observed. "I mean, at least part of it was. You saw that, that Shadow thing too, right?"
"I did," Bobby nodded. "And I can say with absolute certainty, that damn thing was no vampire. I don't know what the hell that was," Bobby admitted and looked at Sam, frowning. "But it weren't no vampire. I did learn something, though."
"Yeah?" Dean asked, cautiously. Bobby had a look that made him think, whatever it was that he'd learned, Dean wasn't going to like it one bit.
"What Sam was saying," Bobby said slowly, feeling his way into the knowledge he didn't really want to have, "I ain't ever heard before. Never read it before. I'd be willing to bet my best whiskey that what Sam said — he made up as he went along."
"Pretty impressive," Dean admitted, with more than a hint of pride.
"Impressive?" Bobby repeated and finally looked Dean in the eye. "It's a damn sight more'n that. It's…" Bobby stopped and shook his head. "I know why they want him, now," he admitted, his voice a bare whisper.
"He's the Boy King, right? That's why."
"Naw, he's way more valuable than that," Bobby told him and gently took one of Sam's hands almost reverently in his own. "See, that wasn't just some random string of words, Dean. Random strings of words, they don't do what Sam's words just did. They don't…stop things. They don't overpower things. They don't banish things. Damn few words can do that."
"A spell," Dean realized, and stared, confused at his brother. "How did he learn a spell?"
Bobby shook his head. "That's what I'm tryin' to tell you, boy. I don't think he did learn it. And if he had somehow learned it — hunters are just regular people, really. Regular people whose lives went to shit when they learned the truth about stuff people ain't supposed to know, but just people. They can do spells, sure, I've done I'm myself, so's your daddy, so've you!"
"Yeah, so's Sam," Dean added, starting to get a little defensive on his unconscious brother's behalf.
"Yeah, but when you or Sam or your daddy— when any Hunter, or any regular human being for that matter, performs a spell, it ain't just words, is it?" Bobby challenged. "The words are always part of a ritual of some kind, ain't they? Altar cloths, candles, herbs, blood, whatever, there is always some something, something that focuses the words to make the spell work. And Sam didn't have any o' that. He just used words."
Dean frowned. "So, how…how did he do it? If it was just words, then…"
"More than that," Bobby insisted. "A spell isn't just words, it's words in a special order, an order that gives it real power. And like I said, I'm pretty sure nobody has ever put those together in just that way until Sam just did."
"So, Sam just…made up a spell in the front hallway. And it worked."
Bobby nodded.
"How could he…I mean, we're brothers, and I can't do anything like that!" Dean protested. "Hell, on the few hunts we've needed to use one, I can barely get a written spell to work, even with all the stuff that goes with it. I thought…you're saying…you think he's a natural. That he was born with this, this ability?"
"Maybe not born," Bobby shrugged, "since like you say, you and Sam, you share a lot of DNA. But," Bobby added, "not all."
"If you're trying to imply that Sam's only my half brother, that Dad isn't…."
"No," Bobby assured him before Dean could blow up on him, "Not what I'm saying at all. All the DNA you got, Sam's got. But all the DNA Sam's got…maybe you don't."
Dean frowned and looked at the innocent face of his unconscious baby brother. "The Demon Blood," he breathed. "We already know it changed him," Dean admitted.
"Yeah. And now, maybe we've just seen what it's changing him into," Bobby suggested.
"You think…" Dean began and trailed off, brushing the ever-messy hair off his brother's face again. He looked up at Bobby, his eyes wide and maybe just a little fearful. "You think the Demon Blood… it's turning Sam…into a witch."
Bobby shrugged and nodded. "And from what we've just seen, a pretty damned powerful one, if he could just throw a spell together on the fly, and have it work against…that."
"Wow," Dean sighed. "My brother's…my brother a witch. Holy hell."
"Yeah," Bobby said and placed his hand gently on Sam's cheek. "And that puts him even more at risk."
Dean looked at Bobby sharply. "Hunters. If they didn't want him dead already, for something that might or might not happen down the line…"
"They sure as hell are going to want him dead for something he already is."
"My brother, the hunted witch," Dean scoffed. "Son of a bitch!"
============SPN========SPN====== SPN=====
A/N - clarifications
TripTiks were customized road maps that people were able to order from an automobile club in the U.S. before GPS became a thing. It provided directions to a destination and warnings about construction as well as points of interest along the way. In many ways, it was forerunner for GPS turn by turn directions
Again, Dean is referring to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, as Sam rightly points out. He's also referring to Star Wars when he mentions Rudolph Skywalker. Both Rudolph and Luke Skywalker felt they needed to leave their companions behind for the safety of their friends. Rudolph slipped away in the night on a piece of ice. Luke is the one who said "I'm endangering the mission", because he knew Darth Vader could feel him near.
Wolverine is a character from the Marvel comic book universe who has the ability to heal himself from almost anything. I don't own him either, damn I wish I did —. At least as played by Hugh Jackman
Close Encounters refers to the 1977 Steve Spielberg movie Close Encounters of the Third Kind about a visitation from aliens. Truly a classic.
The Latin Sam speaks to get rid of the light and shadow was translated from English to Latin by a translator app. The original English was:
I am not yours. I am my own alone. I am not yours. I am my own alone. These men are mine and mine alone. You have no power over me. You have no power here. You have no power over me. You have no power over these men who are mine. The power here is mine, and mine alone in this place. You will go from here and not return to me. You will go from here and not return to these men who are mine. You are not welcome here. You will go. You will go now. Go and do not return. Go and do not return to me. Go and do not return to these men who are mine. You must leave this place. I do not consent for you to be in this place. I do not consent for you to be with me. I do not consent for you to be with these men who are mine. Go and do not return. Go and do not return to this place. Go and do not return to me. Go and do not return for what is mine. Go and never return. This I say. This you will do. Go and never return. Go and never return. Go and never return..
Please review! I can't WAIT to hear what y'all think that was! I can tell you I've left what I think are some pretty good clues over the last couple of chapters. Time will tell!
Souless666 - don't give up all hope! I don't think the boys will ever go back to John, exactly, but don't think he'll be totally avoided either. Particularly because he was trying to help at the end of Chapter 12!
nightrider67 - so good to hear from you, and I'm glad you are enjoying it! Andy and Ansem never even (consciously) crossed my mind, but...yeah, you're not wrong! Can't WAIT to hear what you think about the visitor(s)
superobes - As I told souless, I don't think John's totally, permanently out of their lives, but how/when/if they reconnect remains to be seen. I tend to do cliffies a lot, so, yeah there will be more as this keeps moving.