SD Minibang: God Save the Human Cannon Ball (Part II)
Part II
'Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there.'
~
October
Receiving no word on the success or failure of the spell, Sam could only write and wait out the next four weeks. Then, on the morning of the new moon, Cas blazed back inside Claire, lighting her eyes like candles and searching with single-minded focus for something to write on. Like the last time he'd witnessed this, Sam felt completely helpless, cut off and cut out. All he could do was put pen and paper in her hands and guide her to a chair so she didn't hurt herself-or so Cas didn't accidentally hurt her.
Watching the pen scribble at a startling pace, Sam grinned. He was ready.
It's working. Do it again for the hungry ones. Protect him from those; there are so many. On parchment, this time. Dean says be neater. Write legibly. You always had such chicken-scratch, Sammy.
August 1996
There were years when Sam could only remember being hungry. Well, being hungry and being with Dean. There was a hollow ache in his ribs, and his skin felt too thin-stretched over bones that were too big and hurt all the time.
There was being hungry and there was Dean-brilliant, brash, fearless Dean. Sam didn't even know what to think about his brother. Dean was seventeen and perfect and infuriating. The two - hunger and Dean - were all tangled up, though he didn't quite know how.
Dean was seventeen and Sam was thirteen and the facts were these: they were out of money, Dad was late getting back from a hunt, Sam was hungry, and Dean had stolen a car.
It was a crappy Civic with rusted fenders and a jerky clutch, but Sam got to ride shotgun so that improved his mood considerably, and made the car seem just a little bit cooler than it actually was.
"Whattya want for dinner Sammy? Anything you want, we can get it."
Sam's fingers cut the air outside the window as he dipped his hand up and down. The warm night air blew on his face, drying sweat and lifting the hair on his forehead. "Chinese buffet," he said. "I could eat, like, twenty egg rolls. We should go to Wegman's; they've got the buffet in the food court."
Dean was nodding, looking distracted as he pulled onto the highway. "Okay, yeah, that'll work. But we gotta be quick, Sammy. Can't hide that stuff in our clothes. We'll have to make a run for it."
Sam snorted, feeling a little reckless and a little crazy. "Dad's got us runnin' every morning at the buttcrack of dawn. I think we can handle it."
Dean glanced over at him and grinned. Dad said training wouldn't start until Sam turned fourteen, but he was up doing a lot of the physical stuff every morning with his brother-running, strength training, agility. No one could touch them.
But when they pulled into the parking lot, Sam got a little nervous, and his palms started to sweat. He didn't have Dean's quick fingers or his easy, unassuming posture. He wouldn't for another couple years.
They piled their plastic containers high with lo mein, egg rolls, beef and broccoli, shrimp and peppers. Sam's mouth watered, his stomach rumbled, and his heart thudded in his chest. He was so hungry he could barely think straight, his head fuzzy and his fingers a little twitchy. Sam filled his container, closed it, and then eyed the exit, waiting for Dean to be ready.
Dean bounced on the balls of his feet and put his hand on the back of Sam's neck, scraped his fingers up into Sam's hair. "Ready?" he asked. "We might have to run before we hit the exit, so you go for it, okay? Run like hell, Sam."
"Okay." Sam swallowed. "I'm a little nervous."
"Eh, don't be a wuss. We got this. And we're gonna feast tonight."
"I think that guy's watching us, Dean," Sam murmured, gesturing vaguely toward a man in a Wegman's apron working one of the registers. Sam looked away and looked back, unable to help himself. The guy was definitely watching. "Should we-"
"It's fine, just play it cool."
Dean started for the exit, walking slow and easy, and Sam quickly followed. When the checkout man made a move to head them off, Sam bolted for the door, cradling his food close to his chest. His throat closed on a shout of panic when Dean moved right between the guy and Sam, grinning like he wanted trouble. Sam hesitated in the open door, unsure if he should go back to help, but then Dean shoved the guy with his shoulder and they made a run for the parking lot.
Dean dodged customers, carts, and cars just the way Dad drilled him every morning before breakfast, and Sam tried to make his clumsy young body do the same, but he was thirteen and barely coordinated enough to keep hold of anything with two hands while walking slow, let alone running with one arm out for balance.
Tripping over his own feet, he fumbled the container of Chinese and watched in horror as the thin plastic cracked and splattered noodles and egg rolls across the pavement. He stopped dead and looked at the ruined meal, angry tears threatening at the sheer tragedy of all that wasted food. He almost bent down to grab an egg roll that hadn't touched the ground when he heard Dean's shout.
"Leave it, Sam! Just come on-get in the damn car!"
Trying out all kinds of new curses at his own clumsiness, at the checkout guy for chasing them, and especially at Dad for not leaving them enough cash, he threw himself into the car. They peeled out of the lot, Dean's eyes flicking up and away from the rear-view mirror.
"That dick is totally writing down the plates-we gotta ditch these wheels, Sam."
"Dean..." he started, barely able to think around his empty stomach. "What're we gonna do? Should we try again somewhere else? I'll be better this time, I promise."
"Nah, dude, we're done. Gotta get rid'a this POS and lay low for the night."
Sam knuckled his eyes. "I'm sorry, man."
"S'okay, Sammy. I just gotta find a place to pull off. And you can have mine, all right?"
Sam's stomach rumbled again. "But what'll you eat? I can't take yours."
"Just shut up for a minute, man."
And Sam did. They both got cranky and brittle when they were hungry.
When they finally left the car in a mostly out of business plaza parking lot and walked the few blocks back to the motel, Sam's stomach had stopped growling and just ached.
No sooner had the door locked behind them than he scrambled for the takeout Dean handed over, falling on it like an animal. The salt and grease settled his stomach and cleared his head. He ate while Dean showered and promised himself he'd save half for his brother. There was plenty to share.
But it tasted so good that he couldn't seem to stop. Carbohydrates, protein, and fat-he could feel himself coming back to life. He felt like a helium balloon, re-inflated after floating half-dead near the ground. It was the best meal he could remember eating.
So when his brother emerged from the shower a few minutes later, there were only a few soggy noodles and half an egg roll left. Sam looked at the three bites of food and got pissed. "Is Dad coming back tomorrow? He was supposed to be here."
"He'll be back," Dean said, drying his hair with a towel that had cigarette burns on it.
"Why didn't he leave us more money?"
"Cause he wants us to be able to take care of ourselves."
Sam almost said, 'Well, we failed his stupid test,' but Dean hadn't failed. Dean had been brilliant. Looking down at the near-empty containers, he felt the food in his gut turn heavy. "I'll go find us some more," he said, psyching himself up, needing to prove himself. "I think there was a Gas'n'Sip up the road. And that Pizza Hut might have something in the dump-"
Pulling on boxers and sweats, Dean tossed the towel back into the bathroom. He plopped down into the chair next to Sam and looked him right in the eye. "You get enough to eat?" Sam nodded. "You sure?"
Realizing his brother had disappeared into the bathroom so he wouldn't have to watch Sam eat his dinner, he offered up the egg roll to Dean. "Here," he said, so angry and embarrassed that he could barely speak.
Dean took it and grinned like Sam had given him something way better. He took small bites, the way Sam knew he should have, to make it last. Then Dean ate each lo mein noodle separately, sucking them in and licking his lips after every one. When he finished he rubbed his stomach, like that was actually enough. He grinned again, but it sagged a little when he saw Sam's sullen anger.
"Sam, it's okay. We'll find ourselves some breakfast in the morning, and Dad'll be home in time for dinner."
"And if he's not?"
"Then we'll find a pool table or a poker game." He ruffled Sam's hair and leaned in close. "And startin' tomorrow, I'm gonna teach you the tricks of the trade. I know Dad doesn't want you in the field until you're fourteen, but we don't have to tell him you're startin' in on the fun stuff early. Earlier the better, far as I'm concerned."
Sam grinned at that, and Dean returned it.
The next morning, Dean taught Sam how to be a cheat, a thief, and a liar. He said it was important that Sam know how to look out for himself, especially when money was tight. Part of him resented the fact that they had to do this at all. Normal kids did not do this. But normal kids also didn't have brothers like Dean, who stole cars and gave up their dinners just so their little brothers wouldn't be hungry.
Part of him resented learning how to steal; the rest of him paid attention to Dean's instructions because, no matter how angry Sam got, Dean was still the coolest brother, ever. That morning, they feasted on granola bars that Sam had palmed like a pro. And Dad was back by supper.
November
Sam wanted saving his brother to take less than four months. End of story.
Four months was too long, and he was only halfway there with nothing more than Claire's word that they were getting anywhere. It was still two weeks until he could work the spell again.
Judging from the bits that Cas had written and from his conversations with Claire, Sam was not only bringing Dean out of Purgatory, but also protecting him from what was down there. The first spell protected him from the Leviathan, the second from the monsters that ate humans. The third would keep him safe from the ones that fed on youth. Dean wasn't a kid anymore, hadn't ever really been a kid, but Sam supposed in comparison to the souls in Purgatory, he was a child.
And Sam couldn't do a damn thing for him for another two weeks.
"I'm ready for a hunt," he said, striding into the kitchen and finding Claire at the stove and Jody at the table with coffee. When they just looked at him, he exhaled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm losing my mind staying here-there's been no recent Leviathan activity that I can find, but if I don't kill something evil soon, I'll-"
"Sounds good," Jody interrupted, neatly derailing whatever stupid scary thing he might have said. "What'd you have in mind?"
Sam shifted his weight, felt like his skin was too tight. "I don't know; I'll hit the papers, look for something local. It's been so quiet lately, though, I-"
He caught Claire's eye as she leaned her hip on the counter and idly tapped the spatula against the cast iron skillet. The kitchen smelled awesome, he realized. She was making pancakes. Regarding him evenly, she finally sucked in a quick breath. "We're going to look for my mom. Or whatever's wearing my mom."
Jody sat up straighter. "Claire, honey, I don't know if that's a good idea."
"I want to kill it," she said and Jody flinched.
"It's... not easy to see the people we love be something they're not supposed to be. I don't want you to have to go through that."
"I've already seen it," Claire snapped. "I was there when she was possessed and when it stabbed her." She looked at Sam. "Will you help me get it out of her?"
Frowning, he nodded. "Yeah. 'Course. I can do a locating spell to track it down, but Claire, your Mom's probably not-"
"Once the demon's out of her, she'll die. I know."
Jody stared down into her mug, mouth pinched. Then she took a deep breath and seemed to shrug off any misgivings she had. "Okay." She looked up at Sam. "Road trip."
~
Sam was used to riding shotgun-after seven years on the road with his brother, of course he was.
Sam was not used to riding shotgun in a Subaru Outback while Jody sang along to a Pat Benatar best-of and Claire practiced exorcisms in the backseat.
They'd taken the Outback because Jody wanted working AC and the Impala made Claire carsick, so Sam sat up front with Jody and thought, 'my life is weird,' while staring out the window as they headed north.
Working out one of Bobby's locating spells hadn't been too difficult, and the results were backed up by demonic omens in and around Beulah, North Dakota. The drive was stupidly long because every road in the Dakotas either went east to west, north to south - there were no diagonals - but the country was stark and beautiful, burning with Indian summer, so he tried to relax and take it in.
For the most part, demons stuck to small towns, setting up shop where they could do the most amount of damage with the least risk of exposure. Despite their appetite for mayhem and violence, they knew to keep a low profile.
There was definitely something rotten at the Beulah high school, and it came in the form of a new long-term biology sub named Amelia Novak. Doing a little digging before the trip, Claire learned that the demon wearing her mother had been hired for the fall term and, very shortly thereafter, reports of student bullying and violence had drastically increased. There were of course no names in the local paper, but the articles detailing the incidents pointed right at the school.
They didn't have much in the way of a plan beyond following the demon to wherever it was squatting, trapping it behind salt lines, and letting Claire perform the exorcism - Sam at her elbow with Ruby's knife if she needed it - but upon arriving at the school, they found Amelia in an empty classroom, reading Twilight with her feet up on her desk. From their vantage point in the parking lot, they could see that the room had only one door and a bank of windows.
Turning to Jody and Claire, Sam lowered the binoculars and shrugged. "Jody, you wanna salt the windows while we go in the front?"
"Works for me," she said. "You better keep her distracted, though. I don't want a panicky demon smoking in my face before I get that salt down."
Claire, who was looking flushed and a little shaky, met Jody's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "I don't think that'll be too hard. The bitch really doesn't like me."
Sam remembered the rage he'd felt at seeing Yellow-Eyes behind his father's eyes, smirking and smug. Only Sam knew just how close he'd come to putting a bullet in John Winchester's head. He'd never told Dean, knew Dean wouldn't take it too well.
Not a day went by that Sam didn't regret not doing it. If he'd known he could save their father from a hundred years of torture, save Dean from making the deal, save himself from bringing on the end of the world, he'd have done it in a heartbeat. But knowing their father was in there, knowing what it would have done to Dean if he pulled the trigger, Sam had backed down.
He wouldn't let Claire make the same mistake. She wasn't a kid anymore and hadn't been for awhile.
November 1989
Before adolescence hit, before he went a little crazy with hormones and developed a bone-deep dislike of what they did for a 'living,' - before he even knew what they did for a living - Sam missed John when he left town for jobs. He had Dean, of course. He always had Dean. But when Sam was six, it seemed very important, specifically very bad, that their dad left them alone.
On nights when Sam knew Dad wasn't coming back, Dean had to pull him out of his funks. Which was no easy task because Sam knew how to hold onto a funk.
"All right, Sammy, it's all right. Don't cry-please don't cry, man." Dean had hold of Sam's hands and ducked down to try and get Sam to look at him but he wouldn't. Sam looked stubbornly at the carpet and wouldn't stop sniffling. "Dad'll be back by morning. You'll wake up and he'll be here making breakfast, I swear. Pancakes, just how you like'em!"
"N-no, he won't. You'll be m-making breakfast, and you always burn the-"
"Well, I won't this time, okay? I'll be extra careful. And we've got blueberries in the freezer; I can make blueberry ones!"
But not even that worked. Sam pulled his hands from Dean's and squeezed them into fists and felt like he and Dean were utterly alone in the world, cut off and vulnerable. Not even pancakes, not even Dean's hands on Sam's arms, in his hair, could make Sam feel less alone.
But Dean wasn't giving up, because Dean never gave up. "All right, I know-I know what'll fix you up." He disappeared into their bedroom and, not wanting to cry all alone in the TV room, Sam followed.
His brother was half under the bed, butt sticking up, bumps of his spine showing through his t-shirt. Curious despite himself, Sam dropped down onto his heels to see what Dean was getting, and after a moment he backed out, dragging a box of cassette tapes with him. His eyes were wide and a little desperate.
"Hey, Sammy, you remember these?"
Running his fingers over the dusty cases, Sam sounded out the names: "Elvis Presley, The Supremes, James Brown, Sam Cooke, The Tem-Temp-"
"The Temptations-that's right."
Reading didn't come easy for Sam, not then, not like numbers did. It would take a few more years of Dean reading magazines to him at bedtime before it would click, before Sam could understand words like he did math.
"These were Mom's?" Sam asked, not quite sure.
"Yeah, these were Mom's," Dean said, touching the cases reverently.
"But I thought Dad made you leave'em."
Dean nodded, picked out the Sam Cooke. "He told me to, but I kept'em anyway, hid'em in my stuff." Looking up, he forced a bright Dean-smile. "Come on. Sam Cooke's your favorite, remember? He's the best 'cause he's another Sam?"
Frowning his skepticism, Sam tried to remember, but it'd been a long time since he'd seen or heard these tapes. Dean kept them secret, like he did all his memories of their mom. He only shared them with Sam when he really really needed to, because secrets always distracted Sam enough to pull him out of a funk. And this was a big secret-something about their mother and going against Dad's orders.
"Let's put it on, okay?" Dean said.
Nodding, Sam followed him back out to the TV room and waited while Dean put the tape into the beat up boom box Pastor Jim had given him for his birthday. They wouldn't be taking it with them when they moved next time. Fast-forwarding to the track he wanted, Dean cranked up the volume and hit play.
Music filled the room, tinny and loud, but definitely familiar from some distant early childhood memory. Dean mouthed along to the words and in some parts sang under his breath-and he made such funny faces while he did it that Sam couldn't help laughing.
"Come on, Sam, you gotta move if you want the full effect." Grabbing Sam's hand, Dean pulled him into the middle of the room and shook his hips in his best Elvis impression.
Sam tried his best to follow along but kept giggling at Dean's exaggerated faces and silly dance moves. Eventually, laughter rang out as loud as the music and Dean was the only thing Sam could see.
On the way home, Jody asked Sam to drive so she could sit in back with Claire. Claire let Jody put an arm around her, let Jody pull her close and stroke her hair. She thought that it was more for Jody's benefit than her own.
Claire watched Sam's reflection in the rear-view mirror. It was hard and sad, and it was lonely. Touching her own face, feeling the line of her mouth, the firm set of her chin, and the tension between her eyes, Claire thought she might look similar. They were both orphans now, for real.
Closing her eyes, she had to suck in a quick breath and open them again, her mind instantly returning to the biology classroom and her mother's body thrashing against the salt barrier at Claire's feet. Her mother's voice had been so horrible that Claire lost the Latin and trailed off in the middle, frightened tears clogging her throat. She'd been halfway into the classroom, reaching for her mother, when Sam grabbed her shoulder and picked up the exorcism where she'd left off. He helped her finish it, their voices loud and strong, sending the demon into a fit that shoved Amelia Novak up against the windows, right in Jody's face, and back to the door again before the smoke finally erupted from her mouth and dissipated.
She wasn't ever going to forget what had been done to her mother, not ever. Bodies weren't supposed to move like that, be tortured like that.
She looked at Sam's reflection again, willed him to glance up and meet her eyes in the mirror. She wanted him to recognize what she'd done, how brave she'd been. But he kept his eyes on the road. She had the feeling his mind was mostly somewhere else.
Turning, she put her cheek on Jody's shoulder, fought to keep her eyes open even though they were heavy after all that tension and adrenalin had drained out of her. "She told me she loved me, that she was proud, and then she died," Claire whispered, just loud enough that Jody could hear. "That was all. There wasn't anything else, no time for anything else."
Jody spread her palm in Claire's hair and kissed her temple. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. You did right by your Momma, though. You did real good."
"I feel terrible."
"Yeah, you will for awhile."
Onto Part III
'Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there.'
~
October
Receiving no word on the success or failure of the spell, Sam could only write and wait out the next four weeks. Then, on the morning of the new moon, Cas blazed back inside Claire, lighting her eyes like candles and searching with single-minded focus for something to write on. Like the last time he'd witnessed this, Sam felt completely helpless, cut off and cut out. All he could do was put pen and paper in her hands and guide her to a chair so she didn't hurt herself-or so Cas didn't accidentally hurt her.
Watching the pen scribble at a startling pace, Sam grinned. He was ready.
It's working. Do it again for the hungry ones. Protect him from those; there are so many. On parchment, this time. Dean says be neater. Write legibly. You always had such chicken-scratch, Sammy.
August 1996
There were years when Sam could only remember being hungry. Well, being hungry and being with Dean. There was a hollow ache in his ribs, and his skin felt too thin-stretched over bones that were too big and hurt all the time.
There was being hungry and there was Dean-brilliant, brash, fearless Dean. Sam didn't even know what to think about his brother. Dean was seventeen and perfect and infuriating. The two - hunger and Dean - were all tangled up, though he didn't quite know how.
Dean was seventeen and Sam was thirteen and the facts were these: they were out of money, Dad was late getting back from a hunt, Sam was hungry, and Dean had stolen a car.
It was a crappy Civic with rusted fenders and a jerky clutch, but Sam got to ride shotgun so that improved his mood considerably, and made the car seem just a little bit cooler than it actually was.
"Whattya want for dinner Sammy? Anything you want, we can get it."
Sam's fingers cut the air outside the window as he dipped his hand up and down. The warm night air blew on his face, drying sweat and lifting the hair on his forehead. "Chinese buffet," he said. "I could eat, like, twenty egg rolls. We should go to Wegman's; they've got the buffet in the food court."
Dean was nodding, looking distracted as he pulled onto the highway. "Okay, yeah, that'll work. But we gotta be quick, Sammy. Can't hide that stuff in our clothes. We'll have to make a run for it."
Sam snorted, feeling a little reckless and a little crazy. "Dad's got us runnin' every morning at the buttcrack of dawn. I think we can handle it."
Dean glanced over at him and grinned. Dad said training wouldn't start until Sam turned fourteen, but he was up doing a lot of the physical stuff every morning with his brother-running, strength training, agility. No one could touch them.
But when they pulled into the parking lot, Sam got a little nervous, and his palms started to sweat. He didn't have Dean's quick fingers or his easy, unassuming posture. He wouldn't for another couple years.
They piled their plastic containers high with lo mein, egg rolls, beef and broccoli, shrimp and peppers. Sam's mouth watered, his stomach rumbled, and his heart thudded in his chest. He was so hungry he could barely think straight, his head fuzzy and his fingers a little twitchy. Sam filled his container, closed it, and then eyed the exit, waiting for Dean to be ready.
Dean bounced on the balls of his feet and put his hand on the back of Sam's neck, scraped his fingers up into Sam's hair. "Ready?" he asked. "We might have to run before we hit the exit, so you go for it, okay? Run like hell, Sam."
"Okay." Sam swallowed. "I'm a little nervous."
"Eh, don't be a wuss. We got this. And we're gonna feast tonight."
"I think that guy's watching us, Dean," Sam murmured, gesturing vaguely toward a man in a Wegman's apron working one of the registers. Sam looked away and looked back, unable to help himself. The guy was definitely watching. "Should we-"
"It's fine, just play it cool."
Dean started for the exit, walking slow and easy, and Sam quickly followed. When the checkout man made a move to head them off, Sam bolted for the door, cradling his food close to his chest. His throat closed on a shout of panic when Dean moved right between the guy and Sam, grinning like he wanted trouble. Sam hesitated in the open door, unsure if he should go back to help, but then Dean shoved the guy with his shoulder and they made a run for the parking lot.
Dean dodged customers, carts, and cars just the way Dad drilled him every morning before breakfast, and Sam tried to make his clumsy young body do the same, but he was thirteen and barely coordinated enough to keep hold of anything with two hands while walking slow, let alone running with one arm out for balance.
Tripping over his own feet, he fumbled the container of Chinese and watched in horror as the thin plastic cracked and splattered noodles and egg rolls across the pavement. He stopped dead and looked at the ruined meal, angry tears threatening at the sheer tragedy of all that wasted food. He almost bent down to grab an egg roll that hadn't touched the ground when he heard Dean's shout.
"Leave it, Sam! Just come on-get in the damn car!"
Trying out all kinds of new curses at his own clumsiness, at the checkout guy for chasing them, and especially at Dad for not leaving them enough cash, he threw himself into the car. They peeled out of the lot, Dean's eyes flicking up and away from the rear-view mirror.
"That dick is totally writing down the plates-we gotta ditch these wheels, Sam."
"Dean..." he started, barely able to think around his empty stomach. "What're we gonna do? Should we try again somewhere else? I'll be better this time, I promise."
"Nah, dude, we're done. Gotta get rid'a this POS and lay low for the night."
Sam knuckled his eyes. "I'm sorry, man."
"S'okay, Sammy. I just gotta find a place to pull off. And you can have mine, all right?"
Sam's stomach rumbled again. "But what'll you eat? I can't take yours."
"Just shut up for a minute, man."
And Sam did. They both got cranky and brittle when they were hungry.
When they finally left the car in a mostly out of business plaza parking lot and walked the few blocks back to the motel, Sam's stomach had stopped growling and just ached.
No sooner had the door locked behind them than he scrambled for the takeout Dean handed over, falling on it like an animal. The salt and grease settled his stomach and cleared his head. He ate while Dean showered and promised himself he'd save half for his brother. There was plenty to share.
But it tasted so good that he couldn't seem to stop. Carbohydrates, protein, and fat-he could feel himself coming back to life. He felt like a helium balloon, re-inflated after floating half-dead near the ground. It was the best meal he could remember eating.
So when his brother emerged from the shower a few minutes later, there were only a few soggy noodles and half an egg roll left. Sam looked at the three bites of food and got pissed. "Is Dad coming back tomorrow? He was supposed to be here."
"He'll be back," Dean said, drying his hair with a towel that had cigarette burns on it.
"Why didn't he leave us more money?"
"Cause he wants us to be able to take care of ourselves."
Sam almost said, 'Well, we failed his stupid test,' but Dean hadn't failed. Dean had been brilliant. Looking down at the near-empty containers, he felt the food in his gut turn heavy. "I'll go find us some more," he said, psyching himself up, needing to prove himself. "I think there was a Gas'n'Sip up the road. And that Pizza Hut might have something in the dump-"
Pulling on boxers and sweats, Dean tossed the towel back into the bathroom. He plopped down into the chair next to Sam and looked him right in the eye. "You get enough to eat?" Sam nodded. "You sure?"
Realizing his brother had disappeared into the bathroom so he wouldn't have to watch Sam eat his dinner, he offered up the egg roll to Dean. "Here," he said, so angry and embarrassed that he could barely speak.
Dean took it and grinned like Sam had given him something way better. He took small bites, the way Sam knew he should have, to make it last. Then Dean ate each lo mein noodle separately, sucking them in and licking his lips after every one. When he finished he rubbed his stomach, like that was actually enough. He grinned again, but it sagged a little when he saw Sam's sullen anger.
"Sam, it's okay. We'll find ourselves some breakfast in the morning, and Dad'll be home in time for dinner."
"And if he's not?"
"Then we'll find a pool table or a poker game." He ruffled Sam's hair and leaned in close. "And startin' tomorrow, I'm gonna teach you the tricks of the trade. I know Dad doesn't want you in the field until you're fourteen, but we don't have to tell him you're startin' in on the fun stuff early. Earlier the better, far as I'm concerned."
Sam grinned at that, and Dean returned it.
The next morning, Dean taught Sam how to be a cheat, a thief, and a liar. He said it was important that Sam know how to look out for himself, especially when money was tight. Part of him resented the fact that they had to do this at all. Normal kids did not do this. But normal kids also didn't have brothers like Dean, who stole cars and gave up their dinners just so their little brothers wouldn't be hungry.
Part of him resented learning how to steal; the rest of him paid attention to Dean's instructions because, no matter how angry Sam got, Dean was still the coolest brother, ever. That morning, they feasted on granola bars that Sam had palmed like a pro. And Dad was back by supper.
November
Sam wanted saving his brother to take less than four months. End of story.
Four months was too long, and he was only halfway there with nothing more than Claire's word that they were getting anywhere. It was still two weeks until he could work the spell again.
Judging from the bits that Cas had written and from his conversations with Claire, Sam was not only bringing Dean out of Purgatory, but also protecting him from what was down there. The first spell protected him from the Leviathan, the second from the monsters that ate humans. The third would keep him safe from the ones that fed on youth. Dean wasn't a kid anymore, hadn't ever really been a kid, but Sam supposed in comparison to the souls in Purgatory, he was a child.
And Sam couldn't do a damn thing for him for another two weeks.
"I'm ready for a hunt," he said, striding into the kitchen and finding Claire at the stove and Jody at the table with coffee. When they just looked at him, he exhaled and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm losing my mind staying here-there's been no recent Leviathan activity that I can find, but if I don't kill something evil soon, I'll-"
"Sounds good," Jody interrupted, neatly derailing whatever stupid scary thing he might have said. "What'd you have in mind?"
Sam shifted his weight, felt like his skin was too tight. "I don't know; I'll hit the papers, look for something local. It's been so quiet lately, though, I-"
He caught Claire's eye as she leaned her hip on the counter and idly tapped the spatula against the cast iron skillet. The kitchen smelled awesome, he realized. She was making pancakes. Regarding him evenly, she finally sucked in a quick breath. "We're going to look for my mom. Or whatever's wearing my mom."
Jody sat up straighter. "Claire, honey, I don't know if that's a good idea."
"I want to kill it," she said and Jody flinched.
"It's... not easy to see the people we love be something they're not supposed to be. I don't want you to have to go through that."
"I've already seen it," Claire snapped. "I was there when she was possessed and when it stabbed her." She looked at Sam. "Will you help me get it out of her?"
Frowning, he nodded. "Yeah. 'Course. I can do a locating spell to track it down, but Claire, your Mom's probably not-"
"Once the demon's out of her, she'll die. I know."
Jody stared down into her mug, mouth pinched. Then she took a deep breath and seemed to shrug off any misgivings she had. "Okay." She looked up at Sam. "Road trip."
~
Sam was used to riding shotgun-after seven years on the road with his brother, of course he was.
Sam was not used to riding shotgun in a Subaru Outback while Jody sang along to a Pat Benatar best-of and Claire practiced exorcisms in the backseat.
They'd taken the Outback because Jody wanted working AC and the Impala made Claire carsick, so Sam sat up front with Jody and thought, 'my life is weird,' while staring out the window as they headed north.
Working out one of Bobby's locating spells hadn't been too difficult, and the results were backed up by demonic omens in and around Beulah, North Dakota. The drive was stupidly long because every road in the Dakotas either went east to west, north to south - there were no diagonals - but the country was stark and beautiful, burning with Indian summer, so he tried to relax and take it in.
For the most part, demons stuck to small towns, setting up shop where they could do the most amount of damage with the least risk of exposure. Despite their appetite for mayhem and violence, they knew to keep a low profile.
There was definitely something rotten at the Beulah high school, and it came in the form of a new long-term biology sub named Amelia Novak. Doing a little digging before the trip, Claire learned that the demon wearing her mother had been hired for the fall term and, very shortly thereafter, reports of student bullying and violence had drastically increased. There were of course no names in the local paper, but the articles detailing the incidents pointed right at the school.
They didn't have much in the way of a plan beyond following the demon to wherever it was squatting, trapping it behind salt lines, and letting Claire perform the exorcism - Sam at her elbow with Ruby's knife if she needed it - but upon arriving at the school, they found Amelia in an empty classroom, reading Twilight with her feet up on her desk. From their vantage point in the parking lot, they could see that the room had only one door and a bank of windows.
Turning to Jody and Claire, Sam lowered the binoculars and shrugged. "Jody, you wanna salt the windows while we go in the front?"
"Works for me," she said. "You better keep her distracted, though. I don't want a panicky demon smoking in my face before I get that salt down."
Claire, who was looking flushed and a little shaky, met Jody's eyes in the rear-view mirror. "I don't think that'll be too hard. The bitch really doesn't like me."
Sam remembered the rage he'd felt at seeing Yellow-Eyes behind his father's eyes, smirking and smug. Only Sam knew just how close he'd come to putting a bullet in John Winchester's head. He'd never told Dean, knew Dean wouldn't take it too well.
Not a day went by that Sam didn't regret not doing it. If he'd known he could save their father from a hundred years of torture, save Dean from making the deal, save himself from bringing on the end of the world, he'd have done it in a heartbeat. But knowing their father was in there, knowing what it would have done to Dean if he pulled the trigger, Sam had backed down.
He wouldn't let Claire make the same mistake. She wasn't a kid anymore and hadn't been for awhile.
November 1989
Before adolescence hit, before he went a little crazy with hormones and developed a bone-deep dislike of what they did for a 'living,' - before he even knew what they did for a living - Sam missed John when he left town for jobs. He had Dean, of course. He always had Dean. But when Sam was six, it seemed very important, specifically very bad, that their dad left them alone.
On nights when Sam knew Dad wasn't coming back, Dean had to pull him out of his funks. Which was no easy task because Sam knew how to hold onto a funk.
"All right, Sammy, it's all right. Don't cry-please don't cry, man." Dean had hold of Sam's hands and ducked down to try and get Sam to look at him but he wouldn't. Sam looked stubbornly at the carpet and wouldn't stop sniffling. "Dad'll be back by morning. You'll wake up and he'll be here making breakfast, I swear. Pancakes, just how you like'em!"
"N-no, he won't. You'll be m-making breakfast, and you always burn the-"
"Well, I won't this time, okay? I'll be extra careful. And we've got blueberries in the freezer; I can make blueberry ones!"
But not even that worked. Sam pulled his hands from Dean's and squeezed them into fists and felt like he and Dean were utterly alone in the world, cut off and vulnerable. Not even pancakes, not even Dean's hands on Sam's arms, in his hair, could make Sam feel less alone.
But Dean wasn't giving up, because Dean never gave up. "All right, I know-I know what'll fix you up." He disappeared into their bedroom and, not wanting to cry all alone in the TV room, Sam followed.
His brother was half under the bed, butt sticking up, bumps of his spine showing through his t-shirt. Curious despite himself, Sam dropped down onto his heels to see what Dean was getting, and after a moment he backed out, dragging a box of cassette tapes with him. His eyes were wide and a little desperate.
"Hey, Sammy, you remember these?"
Running his fingers over the dusty cases, Sam sounded out the names: "Elvis Presley, The Supremes, James Brown, Sam Cooke, The Tem-Temp-"
"The Temptations-that's right."
Reading didn't come easy for Sam, not then, not like numbers did. It would take a few more years of Dean reading magazines to him at bedtime before it would click, before Sam could understand words like he did math.
"These were Mom's?" Sam asked, not quite sure.
"Yeah, these were Mom's," Dean said, touching the cases reverently.
"But I thought Dad made you leave'em."
Dean nodded, picked out the Sam Cooke. "He told me to, but I kept'em anyway, hid'em in my stuff." Looking up, he forced a bright Dean-smile. "Come on. Sam Cooke's your favorite, remember? He's the best 'cause he's another Sam?"
Frowning his skepticism, Sam tried to remember, but it'd been a long time since he'd seen or heard these tapes. Dean kept them secret, like he did all his memories of their mom. He only shared them with Sam when he really really needed to, because secrets always distracted Sam enough to pull him out of a funk. And this was a big secret-something about their mother and going against Dad's orders.
"Let's put it on, okay?" Dean said.
Nodding, Sam followed him back out to the TV room and waited while Dean put the tape into the beat up boom box Pastor Jim had given him for his birthday. They wouldn't be taking it with them when they moved next time. Fast-forwarding to the track he wanted, Dean cranked up the volume and hit play.
Music filled the room, tinny and loud, but definitely familiar from some distant early childhood memory. Dean mouthed along to the words and in some parts sang under his breath-and he made such funny faces while he did it that Sam couldn't help laughing.
"Come on, Sam, you gotta move if you want the full effect." Grabbing Sam's hand, Dean pulled him into the middle of the room and shook his hips in his best Elvis impression.
Sam tried his best to follow along but kept giggling at Dean's exaggerated faces and silly dance moves. Eventually, laughter rang out as loud as the music and Dean was the only thing Sam could see.
On the way home, Jody asked Sam to drive so she could sit in back with Claire. Claire let Jody put an arm around her, let Jody pull her close and stroke her hair. She thought that it was more for Jody's benefit than her own.
Claire watched Sam's reflection in the rear-view mirror. It was hard and sad, and it was lonely. Touching her own face, feeling the line of her mouth, the firm set of her chin, and the tension between her eyes, Claire thought she might look similar. They were both orphans now, for real.
Closing her eyes, she had to suck in a quick breath and open them again, her mind instantly returning to the biology classroom and her mother's body thrashing against the salt barrier at Claire's feet. Her mother's voice had been so horrible that Claire lost the Latin and trailed off in the middle, frightened tears clogging her throat. She'd been halfway into the classroom, reaching for her mother, when Sam grabbed her shoulder and picked up the exorcism where she'd left off. He helped her finish it, their voices loud and strong, sending the demon into a fit that shoved Amelia Novak up against the windows, right in Jody's face, and back to the door again before the smoke finally erupted from her mouth and dissipated.
She wasn't ever going to forget what had been done to her mother, not ever. Bodies weren't supposed to move like that, be tortured like that.
She looked at Sam's reflection again, willed him to glance up and meet her eyes in the mirror. She wanted him to recognize what she'd done, how brave she'd been. But he kept his eyes on the road. She had the feeling his mind was mostly somewhere else.
Turning, she put her cheek on Jody's shoulder, fought to keep her eyes open even though they were heavy after all that tension and adrenalin had drained out of her. "She told me she loved me, that she was proud, and then she died," Claire whispered, just loud enough that Jody could hear. "That was all. There wasn't anything else, no time for anything else."
Jody spread her palm in Claire's hair and kissed her temple. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry. You did right by your Momma, though. You did real good."
"I feel terrible."
"Yeah, you will for awhile."
Onto Part III