A/N First, there's one clarification from Chapter 41 - Sam did return to the Diner, although Ruby, being dead, was not there. But the demons still were, and Sam was not going to let them go, no matter what Dean said.
Moving into this chapter: By virtue of the fact that it all has to do with ghosts, which Sam confirmed in the last chapter he still can't do anything to, there are no changes to s04e02 Are You There, God? It's Me, Dean Winchester. There is very little change to s04e03 In the Beginning, except that, rather than Ruby picking Sam up in a car, Sam steals a car and — as amusing it that would be — I'm not going to show it.
We pick up at the beginning of s04e04 Metamorphosis. There are portions of original dialog in this chapter, particularly in scene five (with Travis in their hotel room, what was the start of Act III in the episode). Stick with it, after a little while, it goes way different. Explanations for why at the end with my usual explanations.
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Empty Warehouse
425 Waterman
Thursday, September 26, 2008
11:56 pm
Dean turned the lights on the Impala off and pulled slowly into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse the angel Castiel had directed him to, parking beside a suspiciously familiar older model Toyota.
He'd definitely seen that car before, at the other end of the Motel parking lot, where it was - or had been - so surrounded by weeds he'd been surprised the thing wasn't blooming itself. Or rusted clean through.
He was kind of impressed that Sammy had been able to hotwire the thing, really. Guess he was paying attention about car maintenance after all. Or at least car theft.
The side door next to where the Toyota was parked wasn't completely shut and he pulled on it slowly, relieved (and completely surprised) to find that it didn't squeak.
Ahead of him, the empty warehouse loomed and he wondered where to go. A movement towards the end of the warehouse, on the left, caught his attention and he saw a stupidly tall figure pass in front of the chicken-wire reinforced windows.
There you are, he thought and crept quietly towards the office, keeping down and out of sight of the windows.
It killed him to have to sneak up on his brother, to not just walk in and say 'Hiya, Sammy, what's up?' but the angel's warning was still running on a loop in his head: Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will.
So, he crept up on the kid he believed in more than he believed in himself, and hid just to the side of the half-glass door, out of the eyeline of the man handcuffed to a chair.
It disgusted him to realize he was literally going behind his brother's back.
"Where's Lilith?" Sammy's voice carried easily through the gaps around the door.
"Kiss my ass," the man replied and from his vantage point, Dean was 80% sure he saw the guy's eyes turn black.
Demon then. Okay, that made sense.
"I'd watch yourself, if I were you," Sam warned.
"Why? Huh?" Stunt Demon #1 challenged. "Because you're the great Sam Winchester, the Boy King? Azazel's hero? I got no loyalty to you, Mr. Hero."
"No," Sam agreed, "your loyalty is to Lilith, which is why you're where you are. Where's Lilith?"
"Fuck. You."
Sam shrugged and extended his right hand towards the demon, and slowly started to curl his fingers into a partial fist.
The demon started to choke, and black smoke dribbled out of his mouth before Sam straightened his fingers and the smoke slipped back into the meatsuit.
"Let's try that again," Sam suggested calmly. "Where's. Lilith?"
The demon was still coughing, but just shook his head. "Who?" he tried to be nonchalant but another deep cough betrayed him.
Sam shook his head, and began to recite a spell that Dean was pretty sure he'd never heard before. "Mendacium daemon non dicetur, see veritas ex ore tuo."
Dean's Latin wasn't good — he mostly just memorized stuff, didn't understand it the way Sammy did, but then languages were never Dean's thing — but he recognized a few words. Demon, of course, and truth.
The demon apparently knew Latin as well, because for the first time, it started to look worried.
"Where's Lilith?" Sam asked again.
The Demon began to pant but shook his head.
"I do not have time for this," Sam decided. "Tua sung mendacium sanguine. Where's Lilith? Respondere!"
Dean frowned. Had his brother just said something about blood?
"Lilith…who?" The words seemed to be dragged out of the demon's throat, followed by a deep,
wracking cough. Dean's eyes widened as blood dribbled from the demon's mouth and eyes, trickled down the side of his neck from, Dean would bet, his ears.
What the hell?!
"You know you can't lie," Sam said calmly. "And if you try, it's only gonna hurt worse. Now, you know where Lilith is. Tell me."
"I don't know!" the Demon gasped, but didn't cough and Dean didn't see anymore blood. "It's the truth!"
Sam nodded. "Okay. That much is true. But you know something. What is it?"
The demon shook his head.
Sam started to fist his hand again, pulling out a little stream of smoke again.
The demon made a run for it, a thick column of smoke suddenly erupting from the meatsuit's mouth.
"No," Sam said calmly and pushed his palm towards the body on the chair.
The smoke seemed to struggle, trying to go left then right, but was inexorably forced back into the blood-speckled mouth.
"The sooner you tell me what you know, the sooner I send you back to Hell," Sam said reasonably.
Aw, Sammy, Dean shook his head. Nobody wants to be in Hell, not even demons.
"You think I want to go back to Hell?" the demon tried to laugh, and ended up choking instead, little bits of blood flecking the cracked lips.
Sam closed his eyes and extended his arm again, tightening his fingers, but this time was different. There was no dribble of smoke, no pulling a part of the demon away from itself, and Dean could only stare in shock as the demon arched painfully, screaming.
Dean could swear he could hear bones scraping, creaking. Breaking. Damn, Sam wasn't kidding when he said his TK was stronger. But it was more than that which made Dean's heart speed up.
Because this wasn't just an interrogation, this was torture and Dean wasn't sure what sickened him more: that it was his sweet-natured baby brother doing it, or that he wanted to join in.
"It's Hell or me," Sam said coldly. "Which do you think is preferable?"
For a moment, it was a staring contest, the demon giving every effort to remain defiant even as it panted in pain and obvious fear.
After a minute or so, the demon looked down and seemed to relax suddenly before the head shot up, eyes wide with terror.
"End this!" the man in the chair choked out. "Please!"
"I am," Sam said, his voice suddenly gentle. "It'll all be over soon, I promise," he continued. "Rest now," he said quietly, and raised his left hand parallel to the ground and slowly flexed his wrist downward, while his right hand formed into a hard fist he abruptly lifted. "Front and center," Sam snapped, and Dean could see by the black eyes that the demon was in control again.
"Don't do that again," Sam warned, "or I'll just kill you, instead of sending you back to Hell. Now. What. Do you know. About Lilith?"
For a moment, the demon just stared at him, face slack. "You don't know what she'll do to me," he whined.
"No," Sam admitted, lowering his arms to his side. "but I know what I'll do. Because I can keep doing this for hours before it does anything to the host, and I know he's asleep now, because I made sure of it. Now, I know from experience that my methods are going to fuck you up way more than simple death would. So. What's it gonna be?"
The demon seemed to deflate again, staring at the floor. "I don't know where she is," he said so softly that Dean had to strain to hear. "But she has a plan for someplace called St. Mary's. A monastery or something. I think. I don't know when, or where it's located. But it's important to her. I don't know why."
Sam tilted his head to the left. "Huh. You're telling the truth," he mused, "because you're not bleeding. But I was told, by reliable sources, that you were pretty high up in Lilith's so-called family. Why's she keeping you in the dark?"
The demon shook his head. "I'm not sure."
"But you have a guess. Look at me," Sam commanded.
The demon shook his head.
Sam sighed, and lifted his hand, tipping it to the side, and tightening his fingers again.
It was perfectly clear to Dean that this time, he was squeezing the meatsuit's throat, forcing the head up and making the demon meet his gaze.
"Look. At. Me," Sam demanded when the demon tried to close its eyes. It did as it was told, clearly cowed. "Why is Lilith not sharing details?"
"I told you, I don't…."
"You don't know," Sam finished. "But you have a theory. I suggest you share it." Sam raised his hand again tipping the head back even further to the point where Dean was worried the neck would break.
"Okay, okay! It's you, okay?" The demon took a deep breath, and tried to control his panting. "I think…she's afraid of you. Well, not afraid of you," he hastened to add.
Loyal to the end, Dean smirked.
"But afraid that if you get enough of us to talk, you'd be able to put her plans together. Maybe even stop her," the demon admitted reluctantly.
Huh. Dean thought.
"Huh," Sam huffed, his head tilting slightly to the side. Dean could almost see the considering purse to his brother's lips, a look all too familiar to the older Winchester. "I'm flattered," he decided and dropped his hand.
The demon's head fell forward and he just hung there a moment, beaten in a way that would've made Dean feel sorry for him, if it had been a human.
Finally, the demon raised its head, swallowing heavily. "Look, that's all I know, okay? Can you just…do whatever you're gonna do to me and get it over with?"
"Sure," Sam smiled and reached out with his right hand again, this time forming a full fist as the black smoke exited the meatsuit in a thick cloud.
For a moment, it looked like the demon would escape, as it took a sharp turn away from the meatsuit, towards the door Dean hid next to. Then Dean watched as Sam opened his fist and pushed his palm towards the floor, forcing the smoke into the concrete where it glowed for a moment before disappearing.
Sam almost sprinted over to the limp meatsuit, kneeling before it and putting his hands on the body, one on the forehead, the other over the heart.
"Dean," Sam called and Dean jumped, startled. "I know you're here. You just gonna lurk, or are you gonna give me a hand?"
Dean stepped, unaccountably reluctantly, into the room, crossing to stand at Sammy's right shoulder.
"Heya, Sammy."
Sam nodded, but didn't look at him as he shifted one of his hands (which, Dean suddenly realized were glowing, surrounded at the edge with a purple light, and what the actual FUCK?) from the man's forehead to his throat where dark bruises in the shape of a very large hand were already forming.
With his other hand, Sam pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them to Dean. "Uncuff him, will you?"
Dean easily caught the keys and quickly complied.
"What're you doin' here, anyway?" Sam asked as they carefully laid the man on the ground, where Sam continued to heal the meatsuit, leaving unblemished skin behind wherever he touched.
Dean shrugged, and pulled out his bandana, gently wiping the blood from the man's cheeks, neck, mouth and ears. All the places where his own brother had made the poor bastard bleed.
"Could ask you the same thing," he said coldly and, for the first time, Sam looked at him.
He seemed surprised, Dean thought.
"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam frowned and Dean snorted. "I was questioning a demon, Dean. Why are you pissed?"
Dean scoffed. "Questioning?" he repeated. "That wasn't questioning, Sammy. That was torturing."
"It was a demon," Sam reminded and stood, stretching his back slightly.
"Yeah," Dean agreed and got to his own feet. "A demon with a living host. Man, I got what you were doing. I was right onboard," he admitted and Sam spread his hands slightly in a clear then what's the problem? gesture. "UNTIL the bastard let the meatsuit's actual owner wake up. At that point, Sammy, you ain't just torturing a demon anymore, you're torturing a human being."
"He was asleep…"
"You don't know that."
"I do actually," Sam assured him, "since I was the one who knocked him out. And you heard what I said, I could do that for hours before it would do permanent damage. Before it would do any damage I couldn't fix. Which I just did, in case you missed it."
Dean shook his head and looked down at the guy at their feet. "You heard him, Sammy! He was scared. He wanted your help, he begged for you to end it, end his suffering. And you just, just left him there."
Sammy shook his head and looked away. "Okay," he said, taking a deep calming breath. "Okay, you're pissed. I get that. Can you rip me a new one after I get him to the hospital?"
"Hospital?!" Dean repeated. "I thought you said you fixed him?"
Sam sighed, closing his eyes and lifting his fingers to squeeze the bridge of his nose. "He was possessed for months, Dean," Sam explained.
"Oh, so what was a few more minutes of torture, is that what you're saying?" Dean challenged.
"No," Sam said, drawing the word out with another calming breath as he let his hand fall to his side. "What I'm saying is, his kidneys were shot, his liver was shredded, he's malnourished and dehydrated. Now, I fixed what I could," he snapped, "enough that the poor bastard has a chance to live, but he's been bleeding internally for months, Dean, and I need to get him to a hospital," Sam finished. "So, I'll meet you back at the motel," he decided, turning (with unnecessary drama, Dean thought) to face the poor bastard in question…and staggered.
"Hey, hey," Dean rushed to his brother's side, grabbing his arms and stepping in front of him. Gently, he put a hand on the side of Sammy's face and turned the kid's head until Dean could look into the familiar hazel eyes. "You okay?"
Sam nodded, looking down and closing his eyes as he took a few deep breaths that were closer to panting than Dean liked. "Yeah," he said, unconvincingly. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll just take him…."
"Nope," Dean interrupted.
"Dean, he could still die," Sam said, unconsciously leaning into the arms that were now frankly holding him up. "I did what I could, but…"
"Yeah, I know you did," Dean admitted. "And exhausted yourself doing it, you stupid…"
"He's an innocent! I'm not gonna let him die five minutes after I got the demon out of him."
"No, that's not…Look," Dean said decisively. "I'll take him to the ER. You go back to the room."
"I can…"
"Nope." Dean crouched, grabbed the unconscious man on the floor by the arms and hoisted him up into a fireman's carry over his left shoulder. His right arm reached out so he could grab Sammy's upper arm and guide the kid towards the exit.
It was a long couple of minutes getting back to the cars — Dean almost dropped the poor meatsuit twice, trying to catch Sammy to keep him from falling — but with Sammy opening the doors for him, Dean was able to set the dude in
the shotgun seat of the Impala and buckle him into place.
He straightened and turned to face his brother who was leaning on the side of the Toyota like it was the only thing holding him up.
"You gonna be okay?" Dean frowned. "Maybe you should come with me, wait in the car while…"
Sam shook his head. "I gotta get the car back," he said and made himself straighten up. "Before anyone knows I borrowed it."
"Stole it, you mean," Dean smirked. "That's naughty, Sammy."
Sam shot him a bitchface for the ages. "I didn't steal it," he said with exaggerated dignity, "I borrowed it. Fixed it, too," he added, opening the driver's side door as Dean followed. "Had to tighten three wires and two spark plugs to get the hunk of junk to even start," he admitted, and rolled down the window before he more dropped than sat on seat, then leaned under the dash to spark the wires to get the damn thing running again. "And I tightened the fan belt, too," he admitted, pulling the door closed. Dean leaned his arms on the roof, and ducked his head to look inside.
"The fan belt?"
"God, the screeching was making me nuts," Sam admitted and Dean laughed. "I even put in a half-tank of gas," Sam laughed, sheepishly.
Dean grinned at him. "Sam Winchester, the Robin Hood of car thieves."
"Car borrowers," Sam corrected with a smirk.
Dean dropped his arms from the roof, and reached inside to turn his brother's head so he could see his eyes again. "You sure you're okay to drive, little brother?"
Sam rolled his blue-green-gold eyes. "I'm fine, Dean. We both know I've driven in worse shape."
Dean shrugged. It wasn't a lie.
"Anyway, the motel's only 6 miles away."
"Yeah, a little close to home for an interrogation site, don't you think?"
Sam rolled his eyes again. "Oh, sorry, Dean, next time I'll move the demon further away after I run him to ground. Jesus," he muttered.
"Whatever. Just — Be careful, Sammy," he warned. "And when you get to the motel, make sure you…"
"Park in the exact same spot, and make sure the seat and the visors and everything are just the way I found it," Sam intoned. "I know, Dean."
"And wipe your prints," Dean reminded.
"Don't need to," Sam smirked and waved the fingers on his right hand slightly. "I'm always wearing gloves, remember?"
"You really need to get me a pair of those," Dean grinned. "Listen, when you get to the room…"
"Geez, Dean, I'm not a kid," Sam whined, just like a kid.
"…drink at least one full bottle of water before you lie down, okay?" Dean continued, ignoring him. "And don't try for a shower until I get there, dude, you look like so much as a trickle of water's gonna knock your ass over like it was a fire hose."
"Yeah, yeah," Sam waved his concerns away, "I'll be good, Mom," he promised.
"Smartass," Dean smacked him on the arm. "And we're not done talking about this," he added. "Just so we're clear."
"Never thought we were," Sam muttered.
Dean pounded twice on the roof of the car, and Sam glared at him for the implied "permission" to leave.
"And don't speed!" he yelled after his brother, as Sam pulled away and turned around towards the entrance. "In a stolen car," he added as the taillights turned out of the parking lot.
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Willow Tree Motel
Friday, September 27, 2008
1:26 am
Dean returned to the motel, and just sat in his baby, engine off, head leaning back against the headrest, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
Dean had called in an anonymous tip about a guy just outside the ER who needed help, then waited a minute or two before casually strolling in behind a mother with a sick child, as if he had nothing to do with the dude found semi-conscious and delirious right in front of the ER doors.
Dean had hung around until the dude's wife (wife, he reminded himself, not widow) arrived, and shamelessly eavesdropped to get the news he knew Sam would want.
Dude would be okay.
"So what's the downside?" Dean asked the air. "He saved the meatsuit. And he got good intel on Lilith. So what's so wrong about it?" He shook his head as the voice of an angel repeated in his head. So stop it. Or we will.
He'd been mulling it over, all the way back from the hospital.
It didn't make any sense. As far as Dean could tell, Sammy wasn't doing anything wrong. But that didn't mean the angles agreed, apparently, and now Dean had to tell his hopeful, helpful, do-gooder little brother to stop saving lives?!
He finally climbed out of the Impala, and unlocked the door to the room, genuinely hoping that Sam would be asleep, that the conversation (read: potential fight) they needed to have would be able to wait until they'd both gotten some rest.
No such luck.
Sam was in front of him almost before he could close the door.
"Is he okay?"
Dean blinked, his train of thought suddenly derailed. Oh, the meatsuit, right. "Yeah," he nodded, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the armchair in the corner. "Guy was fucked up, you were right, but they say he'll make it. They took him straight into surgery. I heard them tell the wife that when they got him open, there was a lot less actual damage than they thought, given the amount of internal bleeding. Apparently," he shot his brother a look of cautious awe, "his body cavity was full of blood, but they couldn't find any actual damage."
"Oh, thank god," Sam sunk onto his bed, swinging his legs around so he was leaning against the pillows, and tipped his head back into the wall with a sigh. "I was afraid I might've missed something they wouldn't be able to fix."
"No, no. You did good, Sammy." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "You know, he woke up on the way there," Dean admitted, collapsing on his bed. "He said…Actually," he admitted sheepishly, "I guess I owe you an apology."
"For what?" Sam frowned.
Dean shrugged and looked at his brother, who actually looked worse than the meatsuit had when he'd woken up in the Impala and… explained a few things when Dean tried to apologize for the treatment he'd received.
"Eric said…did you know his name was Eric?"
"No," Sam shook his head.
"Yeah. Eric Edwards. He's 42, and he'd been possessed for three months, apparently. He managed to get control back on his own one time, just long enough to run away from home before the demon raped his wife in front of their three kids."
"Jesus."
"Yeah. He told me that when you'd captured the demon, before you did anything else, you helped him get control back," Dean said tightly. "Told me you asked him if you could rough him up a little bit. He said that he'd agreed, because you'd explained what was happening to him. That you said you were after the demon's boss, and if you found 'em, maybe there'd be less demons in the world. Maybe other people wouldn't have to go through what he did."
Sam just shrugged.
"You had his permission," Dean marveled. "You got the meatsuit's permission to use his body to torture the demon."
Sam shrugged again.
"Why didn't you tell me that?"
Sam slowly turned his head to face him. "Would you have listened?"
Dean blinked and looked away, wiping a hand down his face. "No," he admitted softly. "No, I wouldn't've. But…"
"Why, Dean?" Sam asked wearily, and sat up, pulling his mile-long legs in to sit cross-legged, facing him. "Why is it so easy to believe I'm doing something wrong?" he wondered, and Dean winced a little at the way the familiar — loved — voice cracked with tears that the kid wouldn't show. "Why is it always so much easier to believe I'm fucking up than to believe I'm doing something right?"
"Sam…"
"Is it the demon blood?" he wondered. "Is that it? The blood that bastard fed me? Or my powers? Is it because I'm a witch, and you just can't trust a witch, any witch, not even your own brother?"
"Sammy…"
"Because I can't change what I am, Dean," Sam said softly. "And I know I'm not…that I'm just…I'm barely even human…" he whispered, and dropped his head forward with a little gasp of pain.
"Sam," Dean pushed himself off the bed and sunk to his knees in front of his brother, placing a hand on each knee. "Sammy, that ain't true."
Sam raised his eyes slowly, blinking to keep the wetness there from spilling down his face. "No?" he whispered. "Then tell me, Dean. If I were anybody else, anybody else, and I could do what I can do…" He licked his lips and shook his head. "Tell me you wouldn't hunt me."
"Sam…" Dean sighed and looked away for a second, trying to figure out how to tell his baby brother that it was the angels that thought he was doing wrong, not his brother.
"That's what I thought." Sam's voice went cold as he stood suddenly, pushing Dean over onto his ass and stepped over him, grabbing his coat and the keys from the dresser. "I'm taking the car."
"Sammy!" Dean scrambled to his feet. "Sam, wait! It's not…"
The door slammed before he could get to it, and seconds later, he heard the Impala fire up and speed out of the parking lot.
Dean stood in the middle of the unexpectedly empty room, hands on his head, staring despondently at the door.
"It's not what you think," he whispered. "Fuck." He ran his hands down his face and yelled into his palms. "FUCK!"
He dropped his hands and paced for a few moments, growing steadily angrier until, finally, he stopped in the middle of the room and stared up at the ceiling.
"CASTIEL!" he yelled. "Castiel, get down here, you feathered son of a bitch! We need to talk."
He looked around the room, shaking his head angrily when he found he was still alone. "Castiel, I said.."
"Hello, Dean."
The deep voice behind him had him nearly jumping out of his skin, and he spun around, almost bumping into the angel who was standing so close behind him, Dean should have been able to feel his breath. Dean took a hasty step back, bumped into the bed and ended up half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, looking up at the angel.
Castiel's head tilted and his eyes narrowed. "You seem distressed," the angel noted, then glanced around the room. "Sam is not here. Did you not find him?"
"You don't know?" Dean challenged, pushing himself up off his elbows to a fully-seated position.
The angelic head tilted the other way. "If I knew, I wouldn't have to ask. What's distressing you, Dean?"
Dean scoffed and shook his head. "Distressing me?" he challenged and stood, forcing himself not to react to the angel inches away. "I found Sam," he reported.
"Did you stop him," Castiel demanded.
"No," he admitted and Castiel raised one eyebrow, frowning slightly. "I wanted to see what he was doing, first," Dean was surprised to defend himself. "And I gotta say, I don't see what the problem is."
Castiel turned and walked a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. He turned back slowly, frowning more deeply. "You do not."
"No," Dean shook his head, his chin raised in unconscious defiance.
"He is using powers that derive from demon blood," Castiel reminded.
"Or maybe, maybe he was born like this!" Dean countered. "He's a born witch, why can't the rest of his abilities…"
"They're not. His powers come from Azalel's blood. And he's been drinking additional demon blood on his own."
"He was tricked into that."
"That is of no import," Castiel decreed. "He's ingested more demon blood, and the damage is done."
"Damage?" Dean paled. "What damage?"
"He must stop using his powers, Dean," the angel insisted. "They are infernal and Heaven will not tolerate their continued use."
Dean flinched a little at that. "He's saving people, you self-righteous sonuvabitch! Which is more than you've been doing, as far as I can tell."
Castiel stalked, panther-like, slowly forward until they were toe to toe. "It. Is. Of. No. Import," he repeated. "Sam Winchester will cease using his demon-born powers. He will stop on his own…or Heaven will stop it." For a moment, the blue eyes drilling into his held Dean as captive as a hawk's gaze held a rabbit's. "I have not yet acted on this," Castiel continued, more gently, "because you hold him in some regard."
"Hold him in som…."
"As I was the angel who raised you from Perdition," Castiel continued, "it is to my care that you have been entrusted. It could have been any angel in my garrison, but nevertheless, I have that honor."
"Honor?" Dean scoffed, and was ignored again.
"Another angel likely would have stopped Sam's activities by now," the angel admitted, and Dean winced at what that might entail, "but I have seen that he holds some importance for you…"
"Importance?!" Dean marveled. "He's my brother, you heartless…"
"AND THEREFORE," Castiel continued on and Dean flinched, "I have allowed his actions… allowed him to continue."
Dean swallowed heavily, but it wasn't in him to not defend his little brother, to just let it go. "Castiel, if you would just listen," Dean begged. "Sammy's helping people, he's saving lives! Isn't that what Heaven wants?"
"I have told you what Heaven wants, Dean," Castiel responded implacably. "Again, I must tell you, stop your brother. This is your second warning, Dean. There will not be third."
A flutter of wings and Dean was, once more, alone in the room.
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Willow Tree Motel
Friday, September 27, 2008
10:38 am
Dean didn't think he'd ever heard anything as sweet as the familiar rumble of his baby's engines or the creak of her driver's side door, unless it was the heavy footsteps that hesitated outside the motel room door for a full minute.
He glanced at the little round table by the window, where both room keys sat, and started to stand, to let his brother in, but sank back onto his bed when the door unlocked and opened.
Sam froze just inside the door, closing it behind him, and stared at his brother. "Hey."
"Hey?" Dean repeated and stood, all his worry suddenly (typically) transmuting to anger as he walked to his brother and pushed him hard in the chest, throwing him back into the door. "Nine hours, you're gone, when you were so wiped out you could barely fuckin' stand, and all you gotta say to me is Hey?"
"Dean, I…" Sam tried to take a step into the room, and was crowded back against the door.
"I didn't know what happened to you, where you went, if you crashed my car…"
"The car," Sam huffed and nodded.
"…if you'd died, and all I get is HEY?!" Dean slammed his fist against the door beside Sammy's head, and was vaguely impressed that the kid barely flinched.
"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly, staring Dean directly in the chest, unable to meet his brother's eyes. "I shouldn't have left. I was…I was just…"
"Where'd you go?" Dean demanded and finally took two steps back, giving Sam room to slip carefully around him to sit on one of the chairs at the little table. "You weren't at the diner, you weren't at the bar, you didn't go down to the lake. You didn't go to the hospital, which you probably should've."
Sam's eyes flicked up from the table, going wide. "You…you looked for me?" he marveled and the wonder and disbelief in the kid's voice shoved all the anger out of Dean like a bulldozer clearing out a sandbox.
Dean sank into the seat opposite his brother. "Of course, I looked for you, asshole," he grumbled, hiding his fear behind the expected. "You took my car."
Sam chuckled and shook his head. "She's fine."
"Are you?"
Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."
Dean slumped forward, head hanging above the arms he crossed on the table. "Jesus, don't do shit like that, man. I thought…I thought you weren't coming back."
"Seriously?" Sam reached out and bumped one crossed arm with his knuckles until Dean looked up. "You thought I just…booked?"
Dean shrugged and looked away. "Or got killed or something," he nearly whispered.
"Okay," Sammy shook his head and snapped his fingers so Dean looked at him again.
"Not a dog," Dean groused.
Sam smiled. "First," he said counting on his fingers, "all my shit's still here, you dufus. Practically everything I own is in this room, I ain't leavin' all that behind. Second, if I were going to run out, I wouldn't do it in your car. That'd be a total douche move; you raised me better than that."
Dean shrugged a little, and nodded, tacitly acknowledging that he didn't really believe Sammy was that big a douche, as Sam continued.
"And last, but not least…" Sam paused and put one bear paw on Dean's arm. "I just got you back, asshole. I'm not leaving you, Dean. Not ever."
Dean nodded slowly in acknowledgment. "So why'd you book?"
"You were…I needed to get my head together."
"For nine hours?"
Sam smiled, bashfully. "Well, no. I just…I fell asleep."
"You…" Dean shook his head in disgust, swiping one hand pointedly at the two beds in the room. "Where'd you go?"
"I just drove," Sam shrugged. "And then I realized I'd driven right back to the warehouse."
"I went by there."
"I opened the delivery doors in the back and pulled in, closed 'em behind me," Sam shrugged. "And by then, I was…I was getting a headache, so I crawled into the back seat, just to close my eyes for a few minutes, you know? I guess I really fell asleep. Woke up about 20 minutes ago."
"Jesus," Dean shook his head, and stood, ruffling Sammy's hair so that the kid ducked away. "Always gotta do things the hard way, doncha?"
Sam smiled, just a little, then took a deep breath. "Listen, Dean, about before…" he began and followed Dean over to the beds.
"No," Dean interrupted. "No, Sammy. This time I talk and you listen," he decreed and grabbed his brother's shoulders, pushing him gently onto the edge of the kid's bed.
"But…"
"No buts," Dean insisted, settling down beside him, not quite close enough to be touching. "You walked out before I could set you straight, so now, you get to just sit there and hear me out, got it?"
Reluctantly, Sam nodded.
"Okay, then. First thing first. I don't want to hunt you, you moron, and there is no world where I ever would. Got me?"
Again, a slow, reluctant nod.
"But," Dean continued and leaned over just enough to momentarily bump shoulders when Sam full on flinched at the word, "apparently, I'm not the only one we've gotta deal with."
Sam's eyes closed on a defeated sigh. "Other hunters…."
"Fuck other hunters," Dean frowned, and Sam's eyes snapped open again, hopeful and surprised and full of wonder. "Any of those bastards comes for my little brother, he better have his will in order, 's all I'm saying. I'm not talking about that."
"Then…" Sammy's eyes got wide. "Bobby?" he breathed and Dean rolled his eyes so hard he half expected to see his own brain.
"Not Bo—Jesus, Sam," he whined, "of all the stupid… Bobby. Honestly," he scoffed. "We could be mass-murderers and Bobby would never turn on us."
Sam blinked and his lips twitched in something that probably wanted to be a smile. "Well. Technically…"
"Shut up!"
And suddenly, the Brothers Winchester were smiling at each other again, and a knot loosened in both their chests.
"Look, Sammy," Dean began. "There's some stuff you need to know."
Sam frowned, again, and nodded.
"I found you because Castiel told me where to look."
"You…Castiel knew where I was?" Sammy's eyes got wide and his voice shook.
Dean nodded. "Yeah," Dean confirmed and reached out to place a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "He…before he told me where you were.." Dean started and had to take a shaky breath before he could finish. "He told me…he said I have to stop you, Sammy."
"Stop me?"
Dean nodded again, jerkily. "Or they will."
"They? Th-The Angels?" Sam breathed.
"Yeah." Dean's voice was so soft he wasn't sure Sammy could even hear him, but the confusion, the pain, the fucking devastation on his God- and Angel-believing, prayerful baby brother's face, reflected in those tri-colored eyes, made it clear that Sam understood.
"Wha—but…I…I, I don't…" Sam began shakily. "I just…I'm saving people!" he protested.
"Yeah," Dean said bleakly. "I told him that."
"AND?"
"It was, uh, of no import," Dean repeated, his voice dripping with disdain.
"But…why?"
"Because…Look, Sammy," Dean interrupted himself. "You gotta know, man. I need you to know — I don't care. It don't matter what those fuckin' winged dicks say, it ain't true, and it doesn't change a thing, not a fucking thing about who you are. What you are. You're my little brother, and you," he choked out and grabbed Sammy close, holding the kid to his chest like he was five again, "You. Are. GOOD."
Sam stayed in his arms a few dozen seconds — maybe a minute, no more — then pulled away. Dean tried to pull him back, hold him tight or push his head into his shoulder, anything so he didn't have to see that broken look, watch the tears trickling from those stricken eyes, but Sammy grabbed his hands and just held them on the bed between them.
"What did they say?"
"It don't matter," Dean insisted.
Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. "Apparently Heaven thinks it does," he countered, forcing his voice to be as steady as he could. It still shook. "What did he say," he demanded.
"Sammy…"
"Just fuckin' tell me, Dean!" he practically shouted. "It can't be worse than what I'm thinking!"
"He said…" Dean had to look away. "He said that your…your powers. They're…" He shook his head, unable to continue.
Sam nodded and drew in and released a long, shaking breath. "Demonic," he completed.
Dean nodded.
Sam's jaw worked, and he looked away. "I'm a demon," he said softly.
"You're not," Dean insisted.
"Castiel — an Angel of the Lord — says that I am, that I'm…"
"NO," Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him until Sam looked him in the eye. "He said your powers were…from a bad place. Not YOU."
Sam nodded, slowly, and as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, his face became a hard mask that Dean would have given nearly anything to break. "And he said that he'd stop me," he reminded.
"Sam…"
"Did he…He'll kill me?" Sam pushed.
"Sammy, I…"
"Will. Heaven. Kill me?"
Dean closed his eyes and nodded, slightly. "I think so, yeah."
Sam huffed a laugh, and shook his head. "So that's Heaven's priority, huh?" he said quietly. "Just…stop me. Even though I'm helping people. Even though I'm saving lives."
"Sam…"
The younger Winchester just shook his head and stood, pacing away to lean on the table, head hanging between his arms.
"Sammy…" Dean crossed to stand beside him, close enough to hear the words, the barest breath of sound, that sighed from the bowed figure before him.
"It never changes."
"What…?"
"It never changes," Sam said in a more normal — if shakier — voice, and the boy turned to face his big brother.
Dean's heart constricted at the sight of slow tears sliding down from eyes so soft, so devastated, it would make a statue weep. "Aw, Sammy," he whispered and reached for him, only to see his brother pull away from any comfort.
"It never changes!" Sam wailed. "It doesn't matter what I do. It never matters what I do — only what some fucking demon did when I was six-months old. I didn't…I'm not…" He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, forcing himself to take slow, calming breaths.
"Sammy," Dean reached for him again, put a hand on his wrist in an old gesture of Winchester comfort and understanding.
Sam pulled his wrist away and used the same hand to roughly wipe the tears away. "I'm okay," he lied. "I'm okay."
For a moment, they stood there, Dean waiting, watching as his brother put his composure back together one tiny piece at a time.
They were still standing there when Sam's phone rang…
=====SPN=====SPN=====SPN====SPN====
Inside the Impala
Unknown two-lane highway
Southbound
Friday September 27, 2008
10:58 pm
Dean kept throwing glances at his brother, who sat shotgun looking out the windshield. The somebody just hit me upside the head with a 2x4 look would've been comical, if Dean couldn't relate quite so hard.
"Mom," Sam said slowly, "was a hunter."
Dean nodded. "Yep."
"Mom was a hunter."
Dean sighed. "Uh-huh."
"MOM," Sam repeated, "was a hunter!"
"Yeah, I think we've established that part, Sammy."
"Mom was a hunter," Sam repeated once more as Dean rolled his eyes, "from a family of hunters."
"'Bout the size of it," Dean nodded.
"Holy shit!"
"Hey, I know, believe me!" Dean laughed. "I never would've believed it if I hadn't seen it myself. And that woman could kick some ass. I mean, she almost took me down."
Sam laughed softly. "Would've paid money to see that," he admitted. "Dean Winchester, taken down by a girl."
"I said almost, smartass. And anyway," he shrugged, "we got those ass-kicking genes from somewhere, right?"
"Oh, like Dad wasn't enough."
"Double dose," Dean grinned at him. "It's no wonder we're so awesome!"
Sam laughed again, then grew slowly serious. "What was she like?" he asked softly. "I mean, was she…was she happy?"
Dean chuckled. "Man, she was amazing," he admitted. "She was…she was funny. Smart. So fuckin' hopeful. And Dad…Dad was this… Samuel called him a naive civilian. He was a totally different person." He glanced at his brother and quickly away. "You'd've liked him, Sammy."
Sam sighed and nodded. "Maybe that John would've liked me."
"Aw, Sam…"
"No, it's okay," he hastened to add. "I mean…I knew about Mom. Of course. But the bastard killed Dad and brought him back? And murdered our grandparents? This whole family, man. All that carnage, just to get into my nursery and bleed in my mouth? The fuck, man." He huffed a sigh and leaned his head back against the headrest.
"Sammy…"
"Oh, god, he was right," he sighed hopelessly.
"What? Who was…"
"Dad." Sam lowered his head and leveled a look of such pained resignation at his brother that Dean's breath caught in a solid ball in his chest. "It was all my fault. He was right. I killed her. I killed them all."
"Sammy, that's not true."
"You saw it, Dean," Sam argued. "Dad died, our grandparents. All because of me."
Dean shook his head. "Doesn't make it your fault, Sammy."
"No? How you figure."
"Well, it's like…it's like that big Duke guy, right?" he explained. "Dude got killed and, wham, country after country gets pulled in and the next thing you know, BOOOM! World War I. But he's not the one who started the war. It was the people who killed him, who started the war. He was just the, the…the victim of circumstance."
He frowned when there was no response from the shotgun seat, and glanced over to look at Sammy, who was staring at him slack-jawed. "What? I know stuff!"
"I…" Sam shook his head abruptly. "Okay, I see the point," he agreed, "but you gotta admit, Dean… If it weren't for me…"
"Cas said there was no stopping it, Sam," Dean told him. "What Azazel did? It was always going to happen."
Sam shook his head and looked out the side window at the dark outline of trees flying by. "Yeah, maybe," he shrugged. "I just…" he chewed absently on his thumbnail until Dean reached over and pulled his hand away from his mouth. "I just…" he tried again, and sighed. "It's all so…" he shook his head. "I mean, Dad never mentioned our grandparents. Not once. And in almost the same breath you tell me we're named after them, you tell me that they were killed by the Demon that killed Mom. I mean… what am I supposed to do with that, Dean?"
Dean sighed. "I don't know, Sammy. I'm with you, man. It's a lot. Like… a lot, a lot. But… I don't know, man," he repeated. "The angels say it was supposed to happen, so…"
"Oh, now you believe in angels."
"Don't give me a hard time, Bitch. See you go back in time to meet our hot babe Mom when she was younger than us, see how your views change."
"Whatever, Jerk," Sam scoffed. "Wait a minute, hot? You thought Mom was hot? Dean!"
"In a strictly academic sense!" Dean defended himself. "I mean, it's just an observation, dude. Like, Dad was a good-lookin' guy. Not as good as me," he shrugged. "And you, you're…" he glanced at his brother, deliberately let his eyes rove over his little brother head to toe and slowly back again, enjoying the 'slightly skeeved out' look on his kid's face. "Well, you're not a… complete troll," he decided and bit back a grin at the narrow-eyed glare he got in return. "I can recognize beauty in a human form without wanting to get down with it, Sammy."
"Since when?"
"What are you talking about? I window shop all the time, Sammy. And I'm an expert at a little harmless flirting. Just a verbal catch-and-release, know what I mean? I mean, there's the physical catch-and-release, too. You know, after the real release, if you get my drift…"
Beside him, Sam dug his fingers into his eyes, trying to block out the images that his brain insisted on supplying. "Oh, shut up," he moaned, leaning his head back against the headrest again. "Just, shut up, man! I don't want to hear about your, your… fishing patterns."
Dean laughed. "I don't know, Sammy, seems to me you got a lot to learn, man. I mean, for starters, you're supposed to catch first, then release. All you ever do is just… release. Ain't right."
"Stop talking."
"Seriously, man, you gotta at least reel 'em in a little bit, before you throw 'em back."
Slowly, Sam lifted his head and turned his head to glare at his brother. "You realize, I know where you sleep, right?"
Dean smiled.
"You jump at every little sound, but never move no matter what I do. You'd be so easy to kill," Sam mused, and leaned his head against the window, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Go to sleep, little brother," Dean chuckled.
"So easy," Sam muttered again.
Dean full-out laughed, reaching out to lightly pat Sammy's shoulder. "In your dreams, dude. In your dreams."
=====SPN=====SPN=====SPN====SPN====
Motel Room Interior
Carthage, MO
Saturday September 28, 2008
1235 pm
Dean looked up from constructing his makeshift flamethrower (Damn, these are cool. Bet I could improve on this design, though) as Sam walked in the door, papers in hand.
"Not wasting any time, are you?" Sam commented.
"No time to waste," Travis confirmed. "The guy hulks out, we won't be finding bodies, just remains."
Dean watched as Sam settled at the table, hitching the chair a little closer to him than to Travis. Lining up sides, he figured, although he could've figure out for what.
"What if he doesn't hulk out?" Sam challenged. "I did a little homework. Uh, I've been checking out the lore on rougarous."
Travis glared. "What? My 30 years of experience not good enough for you?"
"What? No," Sam assured hurriedly. "No, I-I-I just wanted to be prepared. I mean, not that you didn't…"
Dean jumped in, eager to head off any misunderstandings. "Sam loves research. He does. He keeps it under his mattress right next to his KY. It's a sickness." He shot a glance at his brother. The fuck are you doing? "It is."
"Look, everything you said checked out, of course," Sam soothed. "But uh. I found a couple of interesting stories about people who have this rougarou gene or whatever. See, they start to turn but they never take the final step."
Dean looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"
"See if they never eat human flesh, they don't fully transform."
"So what? Go vegan, stay human?"
Sam nodded and shrugged. "Basically. Or in this case, eat a lot of raw meat, just not…"
"Long pig," Dean grinned.
"Right," Sam nodded.
Travis finally spoke, glaring at the younger Winchester. "Good on you for the due diligence, Sam," he said, sounding anything but pleased, and stood to walk to the coffee machine in the corner of the room. "But those are fairy tales." He poured himself a cup and took a quick sip before turning back to face the two boys at the table. "Fact is, every rougarou I ever saw or heard of… took that bite."
Sam stood, drawing himself up to full height in a way Dean recognized as his I'm not a kid, listen to me pose. "Okay, well that doesn't mean Jack will," he countered.
Dean stood up, backing his brother tacitly, if not with his words. He picked up the papers Sam had left on the table, and began leafing through them, keeping one ear on the conversation while he tried to draw his own conclusions.
"So what do we do? Sit and hope and wait for a body count?" Travis snarled.
"No," Sam countered. "We talk to him. Explain what's happening. That way he can fight it."
"Fight it," Travis repeated and shook his head, sadly. "I might have known you'd go this way."
"What?" Sam frowned.
"Look, Sam," Travis began, "I get that this might be… personal to you."
"What?" Dean demanded and took a step forward, coming up almost even with Sam's shoulder.
"I mean, Jack's a nice guy," Travis continued, "but he's got something evil inside him. Something in his blood. From what your Daddy told me, maybe you can relate, Sam."
"WHAT?" Dean spat and took a step forward, fists clenched at this side, only to run into the all-too-solid obstacle of his little brother's forearm.
"It's okay, Dean," Sam said softly.
Dean turned and stared at him. "It's not…"
"I get it, Travis," Sam continued over Dean's objections. "After we left him, I have no doubt John kept talking about me. Especially to his friends."
Travis had the grace to wince slightly.
"What I don't get," Sam continued, still in a soft, mild tone that Dean had long since learned to associate with occasionally extreme levels of violence, "is why, if you think I'm such a MONSTER," the word cracked into the room like a whip and Travis and Dean both flinched, "why," Sam's voice crooned soft and low, "would you call us for help?"
Travis swallowed, and looked away, his nerves evident in every line of his body. "John Winchester was the best hunter I've ever known, seen or heard of," he admitted. "And I know he trained you boys to be the same. I thought… I hoped…"
Sam nodded, and smiled slightly. "That he was wrong," he completed. "Or lying."
Travis just looked at the floor, unable to meet the gaze of either Winchester.
Dean stepped around Sam's restraining arm, shook off the hand that tried to grab him. "John Winchester," he said evenly, and stepped so close to Travis that the other man had to look up, meet his eyes. "was the greatest hunter that ever lived," he confirmed, stating what, to him, was as much a fact as the sun rising in the East. "He was also an alcoholic, crazy, delusional and fucking abusive son of a bitch," he snapped, "who almost killed his own son. With his own two hands. Now, if that's the man you choose to believe," he challenged, "maybe Sam and I'll just move along."
"Dean," Travis started, but Dean turned away and headed for his bed, shoving the few belongings he'd unpacked back into his duffle.
"We're not leaving," Sam assured and Dean spun around to glare at him, falling back into the silent communication that was so natural to the pair, and that either befuddled or creeped out pretty much everybody else. Except Bobby, of course.
It wasn't even Sam's telepathy. It was just…them.
We are so leaving, Sam.
No.
Sammy…
We don't. Leave. A Hunt.
Dammit, Sam.
No.
Dean rolled his eyes and threw the shirt he was about to pack back onto the bed. "Fine," he ground out between clenched teeth.
"We'll stay, Travis," Sam said calmly. "Whatever happens here, you still need… a hand," he nodded at Travis' broken arm, earning an eye roll from both the other parties in the room, "and no one else will be here soon enough."
Travis nodded. "I appreciate that."
"But," Sam added, "Dean and me… we are going to talk to him. If this goes down the way you expect…"
"It will."
"Well, if push comes," Dean interjected, "we'll shove. But Sammy's right. We're Hunters, not killers. And we're not killing a man when he hasn't done anything to get killed for."
Travis nodded slowly. It wasn't like he had a choice.
"And when we're done with this hunt, Trav," Dean spat and stepped into the other man's space again, "we're done. Lose our number. And stay away from my brother and me."
"Okay," Travis agreed, reluctantly. "We do it your way. And then I…" he shrugged.
"You stay away from us," Dean warned, his voice the kind of whisper that sent shivers up men's — and monster's — spines. "And if I hear you've been spreading John's lies about my little brother… I will hunt you down. You hear me?"
"I hear you," Travis nodded. "And… I'm sorry. I shouldn't've…"
"No," Dean agreed. "You shouldn't. Come on, Sammy," he turned away and grabbed his coat before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him before Sam could even follow.
=====SPN=====SPN=====SPN====SPN====
Interior of Impala
Heading to the Montgomery House
Saturday, September 28, 2008
1:11 pm
"That bastard," Dean fumed, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "We come all this way to help him out, because he's a friend and he just…" He smacked the steering wheel in frustration, then immediately ran his hand across the abused leather in a soothing motion.
"You can't blame him," Sam sighed.
"Hell I can't."
"It's not his fault," Sam continued. "There are a lot of hunters who… John wasn't exactly quiet about his views on me."
Dean shook his head. "Damn shame he's dead," he decided. "Wish he were still alive so I could kill the son of a bitch all over again."
Sam smiled. "Wouldn't change anything," he pointed out. "His lies are still out there, and if Travis is any indication…"
"They're not going anywhere," Dean sighed. "Fuck. Sammy, I'm… I wish…"
"Can't change the past, Dean," Sam absolved him. "No matter how much you want to. Didn't Castiel just show you that?"
"Don't get how you can be so calm about this. Don't get why we're staying," he grumbled.
Sam smiled. "Because we're Winchesters, Dean. And Winchesters nev—"
"Never leave a hunt unfinished," Dean continued with him and they both grinned at each other. "Right," Dean nodded. "That's why we're the best."
"That's why?" Sam challenged. "I thought it was because there wasn't anything we can't kill."
"And with style," Dean added, grinning. "Always with style, Sammy."
Sam chuckled and settled more comfortably into his seat, letting the silence settle over them like an old, worn blanket.
The silence wore on, and Dean became aware of a certain underlying restlessness in his little brother. Nothing the kid did, no shifting in his seat, but something… just, something.
"You okay?" he began and stopped when Sammy started talking over him.
"Look, Dean," Sam began, and paused, realizing Dean had started to say something. Dean made a get on with it gesture with one hand and Sam nodded.
"I know… I know that I'm not…" Sam looked out the window. "…normal," he continued, his voice breaking. "Like… at all… and I know…It's not…" He took a deep breath and made himself turn his head to look at his brother who was casting him looks like…. well, just like Sam figured he deserved to be looked at really. Like he was some… interesting… creature. Or a science experiment that got out of control.
Like he was a monster.
"I know, it's gotta be… hard," he admitted quietly.
"What does?"
"A Hunter. As good as you." Sam couldn't look at him, again, and turned toward the window again. "With a brother like me," he whispered.
"A brothe—-" Dean scoffed and sighed before pulling the car into a pull off on the side of the road.
"We're stopping?" Sam sat upright, looking around. "Why are we stopping?"
Dean put the car in park, killed the engine and reached for his brother. He froze for a moment when Sam flinched, then put an arm across the kid's shoulders and dragged the brat across the bench seat. "Anybody," he said earnestly, "would be lucky to have a brother like you," he promised and tugged the kid into his side. "Hunter or no."
"But…Dean, I'm…"
"If you say 'freak', I'm going to punch you in the face."
"Monster," Sam said so quietly that Dean couldn't be sure of the word, then shook his head, and pulled away, scrambling over the seat and out of the car, into the open air.
"Crap," Dean sighed and got out of the car, walking around her to stop in front of his brother, who was standing, hands in his pockets, staring at the dirt, for all the world like a kid who'd just lost his puppy. Or a puppy who'd just been kicked. Damn Travis anyway.
"Sammy." Dean grabbed his kid's chin and turned the familiar face towards his, sighing when Sam still cast his eyes down. "Dammit, look at me," he said, his voice more gentle than his words.
Slowly, Sam lifted his gaze, a single tear sliding down his cheek to be wiped away by Dean's thumb.
"You're not a Monster, Sammy," he began and Sam pulled away.
"No? Then why…"
"Why what?"
"I see it, Dean," Sam said quietly. "It's in the way you look at me."
"I don't look at you…."
"Like I'm a monster," Sam continued over him. "Or worse, like I'm an idiot and I don't know right from wrong."
"I never said that," Dean defended himself.
Sam scoffed, and turned away
"I never would, Sammy." He huffed a breath and grabbed the kid by the shoulders, spinning the kid around and holding the beloved face in his hands, forcing the little shit to look at him. "I don't think you're doing anything wrong, Sam," he promised. "It's the Angels…"
Sam jerked away. "Right. The Angels," he repeated. "The Angels you don't really even believe are real, but you're so willing to take their word for it…."
"I'm not!" Dean insisted. "But I'm not… They could kill you, Sammy, so, yeah, I'm gonna take that shit fucking seriously."
For a moment, the brothers just looked at each other, until Sam turned away with what Dean was very much afraid was a muffled sob.
"Sam," he begged, "Sammy, what is it? Come on, man. There's something I'm missing here. Why are you… why is using your powers so important to you? That's not what makes you the second best Hunter in the world, Sam. It's not."
"A Hunter?" Sam scoffed. "You think this is just about Hunting?"
"Well, then what is it? Come on, Sammy. TALK TO ME. What's goin' on with you?"
"I've got demon blood in my veins, Dean!" Sam turned back to him, almost yelling now, nearly vibrating with emotion. "This disease pumping through my veins, and I can't ever rip it out or scrub it clean! I'm a whole new level of Freak!"
"Sam, that's not…" Dean reached for him, and dropped his hand when Sam pulled almost violently away.
Sam shook his head as a single tear slid down his cheek. "I'm just trying to take this — this curse — and make something good out of it. Because I have to, Dean," he tried to explained. "And I know the Angels say… I don't know, maybe they're right, and it just leads to somewhere… dark… but… I can't…" He shook his head again, and tipped his head back, staring up at the sky, swallowing to hold back what Dean knew would be earth shattering sobs.
Earth shattering for Dean, at least.
"Okay," Dean said softly and insinuated himself slowly closer until he was able to reach out and pull his baby brother into his arms. "Okay, Sammy. Okay," he repeated soothingly, and pulled the shaggy head down to rest on his shoulder, sighing in relief when Sam's stupidly long arms wrapped around his waist and the kid turned to bury his face against Big Brother's neck. "It's okay," he repeated, shifting them slowly side to side in a motion he knew always calmed his brother (and, if he were honest, himself). "It's okay, Sammy. We'll figure it out. It'll be okay."
They stayed that way for what felt like hours, but, from the total lack of movement of the sun in the sky, was probably only minutes. They stood there, holding each other and rocking until Sam's breathing evened out and he slowly pulled back, turning quickly away to rub away any trace of tears neither of them would ever admit Sam (or Dean) had cried.
"Okay?" Dean asked cautiously.
Sam nodded, quickly, still not looking at him.
Dean nodded back and inhaled and let out a deep breath. "Right," Dean said and pulled the keys from his pocket. "Let's go talk to Jack," he said and Sammy followed silently back to the car.
=====SPN=====SPN=====SPN====SPN====
Interior of Impala
Leaving Carthage, MO
Saturday, September 28, 2008
5:46 pm
Dean kept quiet as long as he could, but eventually the brooding silence from Shotgun was too much for him.
"I'm sorry this one went down this way, Sammy, I really am."
Sam kept looking out the passenger window, not acknowledging Dean at all.
"And you were right," Dean pressed on.
That got his brother's attention. Sam scoffed and turned to face him. "No, I wasn't. Travis was. Guy was a monster from the jump and nothing was stopping it."
Dean glanced over long enough to be sure that their eyes met, then turned back to the road. "Maybe. But that's not what I meant."
Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes. "What then?" he asked, the picture of the put-upon little brother.
"I was just waking up, but I heard what you said to Jack. It doesn't matter what you are, it matters what you do."
"Right," Sam dismissed with a laugh. "And look what he did. He went through with what he was."
"Yeah, but…" Dean looked at his brother again, casting side glances at the road to be sure he wasn't going to hit anything while holding Sam's gaze. "It doesn't change the point. Just because he couldn't pull it off, doesn't mean…"
"What? That I can't?" Sam all but laughed at him, and shook his head, turning attention back to the passing scenery. "Doesn't mean I can, either."
"Sam…"
"No." He shook his head and turned back to face Dean. "Tell me something, Dean. Honestly, now."
"Of course. Always," Dean lied.
Sam smiled softly, as if he knew, but kept going. "My being able to do these things. To exorcize demons, with just my TK, to have my TK at all. The…the Force," he added, rolling his eyes at the term. "The witchcraft. You really okay with all that? I mean, really?"
Dean took a measured breath, and paused for almost a minute before he spoke again. "Honestly, Sam? It scares the shit out of me."
Sam huffed a laugh and nodded, looking away again.
"Not because I don't trust you," Dean pressed on. "That ain't it. And not because it makes you a monster, either, don't you ever think that, Sammy. Don't you ever think I ever thought that!"
Sam frowned and turned to face him again. "Why, then?"
Dean shrugged, frowning himself as he tried to put the words together. "I - I don't know, Sam. It just seems… Look, Ruby took it and, and fuckin' dosed you with more Demon blood, and, and now Castiel is talking about how, how, dangerous it is. I'm just… I'm worried you're gonna get hurt, that's all. And I believe what you said to Jack, I do. It's not what you are, it's what you do, and you… you do good, Sam, you always have and I know you always will, but… but that don't mean it can't be used against you. I don't know what the Angels are gonna do, Sam. It just seems… I don't know," he ended lamely. "It just scares me, is all. What if using them is… doing something to you?"
"Doing som — why would you say that?" Sam stared at him. "It's never done anything to me, not in all these years, so why, why would you thin… Castiel," he realized. "Castiel said something, didn't he? What did he say?"
"Nothin'!" Dean denied. "It's just… if Heaven is so worried about it, Sammy, I gotta wonder why. And, I mean — you always say Angels are looking out for people. Mom used to say that, Angels are watching over you. What if they are? What if that's why they want you to stop, Sam? To, to… I don't know. Save you?"
"Save me," Sam laughed darkly. "I can't be saved, Dean."
"What the hell does that mean?!"
"I can't… I can't make you understand," Sam shrugged.
"You can fuckin' try!"
"I can't," Sam repeated. "This, this thing, this blood, this… it's… it's not in you, Dean. You can't understand. It's just… just something I gotta deal with," he decided and looked away again.
"Hey!" Dean reached out and smacked his upper arm, so Sam turned to look at him again. "Not alone, you don't. You know that, right, Sammy? I may not be able to 'get it'. It may not be 'in me'. But I'm here, Sam. Whatever you need, man. I'm here."
Sam nodded and gave a weak smile. "I know," he whispered. "I know, Dean. It doesn't matter, anyway," he decided. "These powers, I… it's not worth it. Like you said, I can Hunt without out 'em. It's playing with fire." He huffed a laugh. "Hellfire, probably."
"Hey…"
Sam shook his head. "It's okay. I'm done. I'm done with it. I'm just… I'm not using them anymore."
Dean sighed. "Thank you," he said, clearly relieved.
"Don't thank me," Sam said drily. "I'm not doing this for you. Or the Angels or for anybody. It's my choice," he said and turned back to the window.
Conversation over.
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A/N
Princess of the Fae - Isn't it just? I kind of think the censors came down on that line. Shame, but I can't really blame them. Even in 2008, that's kind of crossing the bounds a little bit.
Souless666 Welcome back, my friend! So good to hear from you! I answered the issue about Sam at the barn or not above. . When I started this mess, the whole premise, for me, was How does Sam being powers!witch!Sam from long before Dean lets his brother know that "Dad's on a hunting trip", change what happens and, most importantly, how the brothers relate? I'm glad that I'm able to put that across effectively and that you like the way I'm handling this, and I hope that this chapter will be satisfying to you, also
Explanations:
As I was getting ready to write this one, it occurred to me that Dean has been nothing but supportive of Sam's powers, since he was a kid. No way that was going to change, no matter what Angels said. A lot of this episode was conflict between the brothers over Sam's exorcizing demons with his mind, and a lot of the points made seemed valid. There are also some really great moments in the episode, and some lines that resonated throughout the series — "if I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you" and "I'm a whole new level of freak", etc. The more I thought about THIS Sam and THIS Dean, the more it seemed to me that the conflict and the beats were still valid, but that THIS world would turn them on their head a little bit. So that's what I did. Also, the points that Dean made in the episode about Sam maybe relating to Jack a little too much were, I thought, entirely valid. I didn't want to lose that,but there was no way Dean would think that. Travis, on the other hand, was a friend of John's and hadn't seen the boys since before they got away from their father. It made sense that John would've talked to Travis about the evil that was his younger son (eye roll). The final scene, where Sam renounces his powers, was another beat that was too important to miss, but could never have happened the way it did in the show.
Anyway, that's why this chapter went massively AU but still kept some of the actual dialog and most of the plot points. Let me know what you thought about that!
The spells Sam recites to get the demon to tell the truth is the same one he used on Ruby in Chapter 39 The truth spell means: "Demon lies will not be spoken, only truth from your mouth." The spell that caused the demon to cough blood means "Your lies are blood". Respondere means "Answer". (We'll probably see these spells again, but this is likely the last time I'll write them out like this)
The Duke that Dean refers to is Archduke Ferdinand of Austria, whose assassination, ultimately, caused World War I when a series of countries were pulled into armed conflict via a series of treaties. Dean's interpretation (and this one) is definitely a simplification, but he ain't wrong.
KY, aka KY Jelly, is a common, commercially available sexual lubricant in the U.S. and that's the most I'll ever say about that.