A/N
Okay, we're going to try this. I'm not sure how this is going to work, doing various episodes — I certainly don't want to do them all, but at this point, I'll probably be hitting those episodes and scenes where I feel like Sam's abilities and the changes I've made to the world (i.e. Dean saving Sam from John) would have an impact on the story or outcome, as well as episodes and scenes which may have an impact on Sam and his abilities.
Hopefully it isn't too confusing.
IF YOU HATE WHAT I'M DOING PLEASE LET ME KNOW
It may be helpful to re-watch these episodes, but up to you. Any existing dialog from the episode has been taken from the episode transcripts on .com
ALSO: Sorry for how long this update took, but don't look for another before maybe mid- to late-January. Not only are the dreaded holidays coming, by my eldest grandson is getting married the first weekend after New Years! And I'm transitioning to a new client at work, while the client I am leaving isn't quite working properly. So…busy, busy, busy, but never fear, I love these boys and WILL continue their story.
=======SPN======SPN========SPN========SPN=====
Bugs Episode 1x08
Ext. Road Day - [Sam & Dean walking with Matt who has gotten off his bus, and is heading away from his house.]
Dean tried to be casual, but this kid made his skin crawl. Well, no, not the kid. His pets definitely. Man, if this kid turned out to be Willard, he didn't know what he'd do. The kid's hobby was creepy, no doubt, but he kinda liked the little freak, and he knew Sammy felt for the kid.
He tuned back into the conversation.
"That tarantula was a joke," Matt said, a little indignant and a little worried. "And anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy, would it?"
"You know about those?" Sam frowned, glancing at Dean.
"There is something going on here," Matt admitted. "I don't know what…but something's happening with the insects." He picked up his backpack and started walking again. "Let me show you something."
"Matt, if you know there's something weird with all this bug stuff," Sam said gently, "why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out."
Matt huffed a humorless laugh. "Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me."
"Why not?"
"Mostly? Because he's too disappointed in his freak son."
Sam chuckled. "Oh, I hear you."
Dean frowned and nudged Sam's back, which Sam ignored.
Sam gently touched Matt's elbow and turned the boy to face him. "Matt, I gotta ask. Is it just disappointment? Or is it more?"
"What do mean, more?"
Dean sighed. They really didn't have time for Sam to do his fancy gentle dancing around the issue. People were dying. "Does he hit you, kid?" Dean asked.
Sam glared at him, but turned back to Matt who was looking at them as if they had four or five heads between them.
"WHAT? No! Of course not, my dad would never…why would you even…"
"Hey," Sam interrupted. "No offense meant. But we've…seen it before. And I gotta tell you, man. If he'd just disappointed in you…it's not so bad. Just…talk to him, maybe."
"You think I haven't tried?"
"Don't stop trying," Sam urged. "Explain how you feel, why you're fascinated by bugs, what's going on at school. Let him know who you are."
"Not just who," Dean interjected. "But why. Sometimes a father just gets…confused about stuff. Sometimes you gotta set 'em straight. And sometimes the best way is from a distance, so maybe write him a letter, or something." Dean shrugged at the skeptical look from the boy, and the impressed look from his brother. "It's stupid, I know, but sometimes people will take stuff more seriously if it's written down."
"How old are you?" Sam wondered.
"Sixteen."
Sam smiled and patted Matt's shoulder. "Well, worse comes to worst, in two years you've got an automatic out."
"What's that?"
"College."
"Or a trade school," Dean added. "Either way, man, after 18, your future's your own."
"So, what's up with the bugs?…"
=========SPN=======SPN=======SPN=======SPN
Bugs Ext. Department of Anthropology
Dean pulled his baby into a parking space and looked over at his brother, who was slowly turning one of the skulls from the box on his lap over and over in his hands.
"You getting anything from that, Anthony Michael?" Dean wondered and suppressed a grin at the bitchface he received in reply.
"I'm not psychometric," Sam sighed.
"Psycho what now?"
Sam chuckled. "Psychometric. Psychometry is the ability to get impressions when you touch an object. And I haven't got it."
"Bummer," Dean sighed. "Could be useful picking up chicks in bars."
"WHAT? No," Sam stopped any reply Dean might have. "I don't want to know."
"Your loss."
"I doubt that."
Dean smirked. "So if you're not getting any vibes off that thing, or whatever, why are you…fondling it."
"I'm not fondl..." Sam put the skull back in the box with the other bones. "I was just thinking," he admitted, "and I needed something to do with my hands, that's all."
"Whatcha thinkin' about, brainiac?"
"I just…I feel sorry for them."
"Yeah. A mass grave is never a pretty thing."
"No," Sam shook his head. "I mean, yeah, them, too, but…"
"Ah. Matt and Larry."
Sam nodded.
"What about 'em?"
"I think Matt's a pretty good kid."
"No argument," Dean nodded and Sam shot him a surprised look. "What? He didn't have to help us. And weird as his insect thing is, combining something he loves with school for AP Credit? Pretty clever. Reminds me of somebody else I know."
Sam blushed slightly, as he usually did when faced with a compliment. "I feel sorry for Larry, though. He's got a great kid, and…just won't let himself dig deep enough to see it. All he sees is the anger, and the hurt, and…he looks at Matt and thinks, my kid hates me, and he just can't see that more than anything all Matt wants is for Larry to love him, and to maybe at least try to accept him as he is."
"Yeah," Dean sighed and frowned. "Sometimes parents get stuck on the wrong things."
Sam scoffed. "One way to put it."
"Why are you sorry for Matt, then?"
Sam sighed. "He can't see past his hurt. His dad's not a bad guy, either, but he thinks Larry looks at him and sees this freak."
"Probably does," Dean shrugged.
"Maybe. But…that's not all Larry sees. On some level, maybe he doesn't even register it himself, but he sees his kid. A kid he loves." Sam looked out the windshield at the building before him, suddenly unable to look at his brother. "All Matt sees is the disappointment and the anger and…and that's all awful. Especially at that age, but…he doesn't get that it could be so much worse."
"But it isn't worse," Dean reminded and put a hand on Sam's shoulder, drawing his brother's gaze again. "And I think you're right. I think they do love each other. Don't understand each other, but the love's still there. And they've got a chance to work through it."
Sam nodded and dropped his gaze to the upholstery between them, idly scraping at a nonexistent stain (because stains in the Impala were simply Not Allowed) with a fingernail.
"I'm scared," he whispered and Dean squeezed his shoulder lightly.
"It's just a few bugs, Sam. We've hunted worse."
"Not that," Sam scoffed, shaking his head in apparent exasperation, and feeling quietly grateful that Dean was giving him both a smidgeon of normality and an out if he wanted it. "If we find Dad…"
"We will."
"I know, I know. But when we do…" He made himself look up to meet the patient, supportive green gaze that had gotten him through so much of his life when he would've just given up. Sam gave a half-shrug and shook his head, blinking to try to hold back the tears. "What if he still hates me? Dean, what if the first thing he does when he sees me again is try to kill me?"
Dean shook his head, and gave his baby brother a small smile. "Not gonna happen," he reassured his kid. "First of all, you can't honestly believe I'd let him hurt you," Dean pointed out, slightly offended at the very idea. Sam smiled slightly and shrugged his agreement. "And B, Dad knows he fucked up, Sammy. He knows he was completely wrong about you, from the get. He knows that you were as much a victim of that yellow-eyed bastard as Mom was — maybe even a bigger one, given the way things worked out."
"The way things worked out," Sam deadpanned. "Like, him nearly beating me to death? That way things worked out?"
Dean frowned. "Yeah," he admitted, realizing that it probably sounded, to Sam, like he was minimizing what was easily the second-worst day of their lives. Well, third now. "And don't think that I've forgotten it was more than nearly. But more than that, man. He knows you didn't summon shit, and I've got tell you, Sammy, he's damned embarrassed to have believed the rumors at all. And so fucking sorry for everything he ever said or did to you. Which he should be," Dean emphasized. "But really, Sammy, I mean…I told you this. I told you all of this."
"When?!" Sam scoffed.
"When we talked," Dean reminded, and sighed at Sammy's blank look. "On the phone? When I was first back with Dad. You know, when I called? From the Dells?"
"Oh," Sam nodded. "Riiiight. The phone call when you said I was never going to see you again, you mean? That phone call? 'Cause, newsflash, Dean, but the whole 'hey, little brother, to protect you, you can't ever see or talk to me or Bobby or pretty-much -anybody-you've-ever-met-in-your-whole-life' thing? That's really the only part of that call I actually remember."
Dean shrugged, but he had the grace to look at least a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I get that," he nodded. "But…I gotta tell you, Sammy. Two years with the man, and after every hunt — especially the bad ones, you know?"
Sam nodded. This fucked up bug thing might only be his twelfth or thirteenth hunt since he'd started college, but he still remembered the bad hunts.
Hunts where even after they were in town, people kept dropping like flies. The ones where they had to remind each other that you really couldn't save everyone, no matter how hard you tried.
The ones that pushed even Sam to want to drink himself into forgetting, if only until the late morning (or, if you were lucky, the early afternoon) light of the next day reminded you that you were still alive and that that was a good thing, because you might still be able to Save People from the Next Monster.
Because there was always a Next Monster.
"After a bad one, Dad'd…Well. You know," he shrugged, and Sam nodded again, remembering far too many mornings when, as a child, the toy du jour had been empty liquor bottles lying on the floor. He and Dean would make towers from them, sometimes, he recalled, and the memory flickered as a brief smile across his lips, recalling one particularly impressive structure that Dean had made which, years later, he had recognized in a book about the 1889 Paris World's Fair.
Dean should've gone to college, too. He'd've made a hell of an engineer.
"Anyway, once Dad was good and drunk," Dean continued, "he'd just…" Dean's voice trailed off, and he stared over Sammy's shoulder, out into the college grounds beyond, shaking his head. "He was so…he was just broken, Sammy," Dean whispered. "He'd talk about what…about how he used to treat you, you know? Not just beating the shit out of you, either — although there was lots of that. Both the original doing as well as the talking about it. But it was…when he'd talk about hitting you, or — or whipping you, you know, with his belt…he'd get really upset, but…when he talked about what he said to you, man, he…" Dean inhaled slowly, deeply and dragged his gaze back to Sammy's suddenly wide, slightly wet blue-green eyes. "That's when he'd cry," Dean whispered.
"He'd…" Sammy's voice broke, unable to finish the sentence.
Dean nodded. "Mom's birthday. Really bad hunts. Your birthday. And May 8th. Every year. The great John Winchester, the toughest Hunter who ever fuckin' lived…bawlin' like a baby into his whiskey bottle."
"May 8th?" Sam frowned. He knew that day, almost exactly one week after his birthday, was important, but damn him if he could remember why.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, Sammy, May 8th. The second most important anniversary in the Winchester Family Calendar of Pain, right after Novem — after losing Mom," he corrected himself when Sammy winced slightly at the reminder that Jess had been murdered on the ceiling less than five months ago. "The Day Dad Killed his Baby Boy," Dean pronounced, pompously. "Well, almost killed his baby boy," he amended. "At least that's what Dad thinks."
"I didn't die," Sam shrugged, "so almost is right."
"Only because you can heal yourself," Dean frowned, then chuckled. "You wanna hear some real irony? Dad once said to me, 'Dean, after everything I did to him, all the things I said, the names I called him,' " Dean quoted, deepening and roughening his voice even more than normal, " 'telling him he was evil, a demon, the Boy King of Hell; how did my baby boy turn out so fucking normal, that he scored a full-ride to Stanford?' " Dean broke off with a chuckle. "Like you were the blonde chick in the Munsters."
Sam frowned. "Do you think he'd feel better or worse to know I'm the biggest freak of all?" he wondered.
"You aren't a freak," Dean snapped, completely ignoring an entire lifetime of prior teasing of Sammy — by Dean — for being exactly that.
"Right," Sam nodded. "I'm just a perfectly normal telekinetic, telepathic, healer with demon blood in his veins who happens to be a natural-born witch and is destined to be the Boy King of Hell."
"Exactly!" Dean beamed, startling a laugh out of his brother.
"You're ridiculous," Sam chuckled.
Dean just shrugged again, grinning, then became suddenly serious again. "He's proud of you, you know."
Sam's eyes grew wide and ever so slightly more blue. "Seriously?" he wondered with a nervous chuckle.
Dean flashed a lopsided grin. "Brags on you to everyone he can. 'You think Dean's smart, you should meet my youngest son. Smartest person I've ever met. Full ride to Stanford Law, and he went to an average of 10 schools every year, too! Brilliant kid. Both of 'em leave me in the dust, mentally.' "
"Seriously?" Sam scoffed. "Where does he think we got our brains, out of a Cracker Jack box?"
"I know!" Dean laughed. "Man, if you ever decide to tell him he's the brains in this family — dude, let me know in advance, so I can make popcorn!"
Sam grinned, as Dean hoped, and shook his head. "Let's go talk to that professor," he suggested and opened the door, still smiling, looking a little bit lighter after Dean's unexpected revelations.
Mission accomplished, Dean grinned to himself and followed his brother inside.
===SPN===SPN===SPN===
CLIMACTIC SCENE - Interior of house, attic
Sawdust began to fall through the roof.
"Termites," Matt said.
"All right, everybody get back," Dean commanded. "Get back, get back, get back," he repeated, herding the family into one corner as Sam frantically pushed a piece of board against the hole.
"Sam, that's not gonna…" Dean began, even as he helped his brother hold the board up.
"I know," Sam said softly. "This won't keep 'em out," he admitted and turned bright blue eyes — Witch Eyes — towards his brother. "But I can."
"Sam…"
"You just gotta keep them away from me," Sam said quietly.
"Well, we all gotta…"
"The Pikes," Sam clarified. "Keep them away from me, get their attention on something else."
"Like what?" Dean hissed. "What is going to hold their attention when they can hear the damn bugs flying, fighting and fuckin' chewing their way in here?"
"I don't know," Sam admitted. "But you'll think of something. You have to."
"Sam…"
"Hey," Sam said solemnly. "May 8th, remember? What did we learn about me getting distracted?"
Dean sighed. "Right. Right." He looked around for another piece of wood and made a show of pounding it against the one Sam was holding, saying loudly. "That'll hold that in place," while giving Sam a slightly desperate, lifted-eyebrows look.
"I'll stay here and make sure it does," Sam said, his voice rising for just a moment to match Dean's. He gave Dean an encouraging nod and, keeping his back carefully towards the family of three huddled in the attic corner, closed his eyes, smiling slightly at the gentle squeeze on his shoulder as Dean walked away and knelt behind him, keeping himself between the Pikes and Sam.
"Okay," he heard Dean say calmly. "We're pretty sure that was a small hole in the shingles. Larry, I trust you had good roofers working on this place."
"The best," Mr. Pike vowed.
"That's good. Because the best would've put in some built-in bug protection," Sam heard Dean say. "Over the insulation," he continued, his voice full of knowledge and confidence, because if there was one thing Dean Winchester knew how to do, it how was take the most outrageous lie and really sell it, "and on top of the water and ice barriers, they put down this layer of this specially treated felt, now."
"I didn't order that," Larry said quietly.
"Nah, you wouldn't have to," Dean assured him, "it's all standard now. Two layers of felt, the first one is just saturated in bug repellent. Because even at the best of times, termites are a bitch, you know? It'll take them hours to get through that," Sam heard the ridiculous reassurance.
"How many hours?" Matt wondered, softly. "Cuz it's 1:00 am and the sun doesn't come up until about 6:30."
"Hours and hours," Dean assured them, and Sam felt his brother settle himself into a comfortable crouch to wait it out. "We'll be fine…" Dean assured and Sam pushed the words and the thoughts of the people behind him away, concentrating on the house around him.
He closed his eyes, and pictured the panel he'd been holding up being glued to the ceiling before slowly letting go. The panel stayed in place, and he took three deep even breaths.
The words began to form in his mind, the way they sometimes did when things were bad, when he really needed them to just be there, ready to go.
And there they were, ready for him to breathe them out as if he'd always known them.
"Mens mea domus est; Domus est animus meus.
Voluntas mea domus est; Domus est voluntas mea.
Ferrea mens est, ferrum domus. Lapis mea voluntas, domus lapis est.
Nihil ingredior. Nihil per. Nihil per.
Mens, animus, tectum, domus. Omnia ferrum, totum lapis est. Nihil impetrabo, nihil impetrabo. Nihil impetrabo, nihil impetrabo. Omnia ferrum, totum lapis est. Omnia ferrum, totum lapis est. Nihil penetrabit. Omnia intus tuta sunt. Omnes intus vivent. Omnia intus tuta sunt. Ferrum sum, lapis sum. Ista veritas, hoc ferrum, hoc lapis est.
Hoc verum est. Ferrum sum. Lapis sum. Ferrum sum. Lapis sum."
A shiver ran through him, from the top of his skull to the soles of his feet, into the house and out through the floors and walls.
"What was that?" Joannie gasped.
Dean shrugged. "Frustrated bugs, striking the house," he shrugged and forced himself not to look at Sam. "It's okay. The sheet will hold."
"I thought you said it was felt?" Larry frowned.
"Right. Sheet of felt. It'll hold," Dean reassured them and shifted back a foot or two, to sit with his knees drawn up, as close to Sammy as he dared get. "We just gotta wait it out. Try to get a little sleep," he urged, and Larry looked at him as if he were insane. "Naw, man, it's okay. We got nothing to do but sit here until dawn. Get some rest, because tomorrow — dude, you need to arrange to move the hell outa here."
Larry chuckled. "Absolutely," he agreed and put an arm around his wife, who immediately snuggled into his side. He hesitated a moment, then swung his other arm over Matt's shoulder and pulled his son into his side, closing his eyes as he dropped a kiss on to the heads of his most precious.
Dean smiled and, when he was sure that none of the Pikes were looking he glanced back at Sammy.
His brother stood, his hands slightly raised, his head tipped slightly back. Dean could more feel than hear the words his brother breathed into the air — into the house — and felt a shiver as the reflected power danced across his skin.
And so it went.
Sam stood and, Dean was pretty sure, chanted.
The Pikes dozed off and on through the long night.
And Dean sat between them, listening to the buzzing of the insects around the house, his brother's voice nearly inaudible in the air and, after several hours, a soft, slow drip…drip…drip of a liquid he preferred not to identify hitting the thin plywood at Sammy's feet.
Dean's head jerked up from his chest with a snort, and he looked at his watch. 6:32.
He stood, stiffly, and went to stand next to Sam, casting a glance at the sleeping family in the corner.
Sam still stood exactly where he'd been all night, hands now at his side, and a small dark pool gathering between his feet.
As Dean was reaching for him, Sam's eyes fluttered opened and he reached up to pull down the board his mind had been holding to the ceiling all night long.
Through a six-inch hole in the roof, they could see a swarm of flying insects disappearing into the sunrise.
Sam let out a shuddering breath and swayed a little.
Dean grabbed him by one arm, and steadied him, pulling a bandana out of a pocket of his jacket. "Easy," he whispered. "You okay, little brother?"
Sam blinked, and pulled himself back from the house as he nodded. "I'm okay," he said softly.
Dean nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Imma get the family downstairs," he told Sammy and pressed his bandana into one of Sam's hands. "Clean yourself up, man, you've got blood all over your face."
Sam nodded and wiped at the tacky warmth he felt dripping from his nose all the way down to his chin.
"Hey," he heard Dean tell the Pikes. "It's over. Go on downstairs, man, we'll be down in a minute, just want to be sure it's all secure up here."
In a few minutes, Sam and Dean were alone in the attic, and Dean took the bandana back, grabbing Sammy's face and turning it into the sunbeam striking through the roof. "How you feeling?" he asked as he wiped off the last of the blood, using his tongue to wet a corner of the bandana to finish the job, much to Sam's disgust.
"Dude! Gross," Sammy tried to pull away, but Dean held fast to his chin and Sam was reduced to just glaring at his brother as he was cleaned up like a five-year who'd gotten messy with his ice cream.
"How do you feel," Dean pressed as he shoved the bandana into a pocket of Sam's coat.
"I feel…" Sam huffed softly. "Smaller."
Dean shook his head. "You're still a Sasquatch," he assured his kid and clapped a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "And based on that monumental nosebleed we just cleaned up, you're gonna have a Sasquatch-sized headache in a few minutes," he predicted, "but you did it. You saved us. I'm proud of you, Sammy," he said and ruffled Sammy's hair in exactly the way he knew annoyed his little brother the most.
Sam ducked his head, and swatted Dean's hand away. "It's Sam," he corrected and headed towards the attic stairs.
Dean just smiled and followed his kid down stairs.
====SPN===SPN===SPN====SPN====SPN=====
LATER
Sam and Dean leaned against the car, watching the reconciled Matt and Larry talk to each other.
"Glad they figured it out," Dean smiled.
"Yeah."
The silence stayed for a minute or so, the brothers reveling in so clear a win.
"I want to find Dad," Sam said quietly.
"Yeah, me too."
"No but…I need…I need to..."
Dean shot Sam a sideways glance. "So help me, if you say you need to make some sort of apology to him, I will beat the crap out of you. You never did a fuckin' thing wrong, Sammy. Nothing."
Sam smiled slightly, warmed, as always, by the fierceness of his brother's love. "No, not apologize," Sam agreed.
"Damn straight," Dean muttered. "He owes the apology."
"Maybe," Sam shrugged and chuckled at Dean's annoyed huff. "Okay, yeah. But I doubt he'll give one."
"Fucking better," Dean said beneath his breath and Sam smiled again.
"It's okay, though," he continued, "if he doesn't. I don't mind, Dean. You've told me what he said, that he has regrets, and I just…that's enough."
"It really isn't."
"It is for me," Sam assured him. "And I just…I want to find him, and make some sort of…I don't know…peace with the guy, I guess. Maybe be a…a family again."
Dean snorted. "Maybe the migraine knocked it out of you, Sammy, but the way I remember it, we were a pretty piss-poor family."
"So we'll be a better one, this time," Sam decided.
"Yeah," Dean snorted. "For the five minutes it takes for you to start questioning orders and him to get pissed about it.'
Sam laughed, softly. "Yeah, probably. I think we'd've been oil and water even without his fucked up fantasies about me."
"Fanta — never say that again," Dean said firmly. "Like, EVER," he insisted with a theatrical full body shake. "Yeesh. I think I need a shower, now."
"Showe…murder fantasies, you pervert," Sam frowned, smacking Dean's arm.
"Whatever happens," Dean sighed and stood, walking around the car. Sam followed suit, stood and opened the passenger door. "You and Dad will end up at each other's throats again, and I'll end up in the middle."
Sam frowned and closed the door behind him as he settled into the car, waiting a moment until Dean had started the car and pulled away from the curb.
"You know, I'm a big boy now, Dean," Sam told him quietly.
Dean shot him a glance. "Yeah, I've noticed that, Gigantor, you barely fit in the car."
"What I mean is," Sam continued, shooting his brother a bitchface, "I can fight my own battles, Dean. You don't have to be in the middle between me and Dad."
"Sure, Sammy," Dean snorted. "I'll just let the remains of my family kill each other, then, no problem."
"Dean…."
"No, Sam," Dean interrupted. "Just…no. You can ask me to leave, you can ask me to go back to Dad, you can ask me to stay away for two years."
"That was your idea," Sam corrected, sharply.
"But what you cannot do is ask me to sit it out when you two get started. I won't." Dean shook his head. "Honestly, Sammy, I know we need to find him, I want to find him, but…I'm still not entirely comfortable with you and Dad being together again."
"You were the one…what was all that about how broken up he was about what he did?"
"Every word was true," Dean assured him, "but I gave up believing in Santa Claus a long time ago, Sammy."
"The hell does that mean?"
"It means, it was a call from some rando hunter that caused him to almost kill you, and a call from another rando hunter that got him all remorseful and shit. Dude's still takin' phone calls, and I'm not taking any chances."
"I'm an adult, Dean."
"I know you're an adult, Sam," Dean sighed.
"Really? Then you know you can stop protecting me! "
"No, I can't. It's my Job to keep you safe, Sam."
"I am perfectly capable of keeping myself safe, Dean."
"It's not about what you're capable of, Sammy!" Dean explained. "I know what you're capable of, little brother, and I know what I'm capable of, and what I am not capable of is letting you get hurt!"
"Dean…"
"No, Sammy, No. Just…just stop, okay?"
Sam blinked at the slight crack in his big brother's voice.
"Don't ask that," Dean said, his voice suddenly quiet and a little desperate. "Don't ask me to stop lookin' out for you, man. It'd be easier to stop breathin'. So just…don't ask."
"Okay," Sam nodded. "Okay, Dean. Than…"
"Don't you thank me, dammit," Dean ground out. "It's not a favor. It's not some..obligation I have. It just… it just IS. It's always been. I just…the day you start thankin' the sun for coming up in the morning? That's the day you can fucking thank me."
"Okay," Sam breathed. "Sorry."
Dean shook his head and pushed a tape in, glancing at his brother before turning the blasting volume down slightly. "Get some rest," he said curtly. "Don't want that bug-induced migraine coming back or you'll be all bitchy again."
"I wasn't bitchy," Sam said, more by reflex than any offense, and settled himself into the corner between the door and the seat, the familiar music and the growling vibrations of home surrounding him. "Jerk," he added and closed his eyes.
Dean cracked a smile and reached over the back of the seat to pull a blanket into the front, tossing it gently over his brother. Sammy always got so chilled after he did something that gave him a nosebleed. "Go to sleep," he urged and twitched the blanket up over Sammy's shoulders.
Sam sighed and snuggled in a little deeper, Dean and his baby making him feel — as always — snug and safe.
Home.
=======SPN=======SPN=======SPN======SPN=====
Willard is the title character in a 1971 movie (remade in 2003) about a social misfit who has a special relationship with his pet rats, and uses them to get back at the people who bully him. The original movie spawned a song, Ben, sung by Michael Jackson. It won the Golden Globe for Best Song and was was nominated for the Best Song Oscar
Anthony Michael Hall was the star of the tv show The Dead Zone, based (loosely) on the characters from the Stephen King novel of the same name. In the series, Anthony Michael Hall's character can see the past and the future by touching people or objects.
The 1889 Paris World's Fair was most famous for the construction of the Eiffel Tower, which was the structure Sam recognized as having been recreated by Dean on the floor of a motel room, using liquor bottles.
The Munsters was a TV show in the U.S. from 1964-1966. It was the story of a loving, otherwise all-American family, the Munsters, which was headed by the bumbling but very decent Herman Munster (Frankenstein's monster) who married a vampire bride, Lily. Together they had one child, Eddie, who was part vampire and part werewolf, and they raised their niece Marilyn, with the help of "Grandpa Munster", who was actually Lily's father and who lived with the family in their gothic mansion. Marilyn, a.k.a. "the blonde chick" was a beautiful young woman, who was always self-conscious about her "peculiar" looks, as she did not fit in with the rest of the family, being a completely normal-looking, normal-acting, non-monster teenage girl of the 60's.
Cracker Jack is a snack of peanuts and caramel coated popcorn sold in boxes with a prize inside. When they were kids, Sam and Dean would've seen prizes that were anything from stickers to rings to thumb size games that had to be tilted to guide a tiny ball through a tiny maze. Americans of a certain age will still ask if something came out of a Cracker Jack box, indicating that it is thought to be cheap and worthless.
Sam's Spell was, as always, written in English and translated to Latin by an app. The original English was:
My mind is the house, The house is my mind.
My will is the house, The house is my will.
My mind is iron, the house is iron.
My will is stone, the house is stone.
Nothing can get in. Nothing can get through.
Nothing can get in. Nothing can get through.
My mind, my will, the roof, the house. All is iron, all is stone.
Nothing will get in, nothing will get through. Nothing will get in, nothing will get through.
All is iron, all is stone. All is iron, all is stone.
Nothing will penetrate. All inside are safe. All inside will live. All inside are safe.
I am iron, I am stone. This is truth, this is iron, this is stone.
This is truth. I am iron. I am stone. I am iron. I am stone.
Gigantor was a giant, virtually indestructible robot created to protect the world in an American cartoon series in the mid-1960's. The robot was created by an inventor, whose young son called on Gigantor when the world was in danger.
Princess of the Fae - I'm so glad you thought so. Once the image came to me, it HAD to be worked into the story somehow
Souless666 - The BMs are going to be epic, if I do say so myself. I can't help it, I love the way these two relate/snipe/support each other.
I understand your take on Eileen and Sam also, but yes, it's good to see new points of view.
As for my John - hang on, there's more coming, reasonably soon. I hope.