Something To Grow Into
TITLE: Something To Grow Into
AUTHOR: e313
FANFIC: Supernatural
SPOILER: the end of s2.
SUMMARY: Sam’s strolling the gray areas. Dean follows.
RATING: PG
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated.
DISCLAIMER: Some dude’s. They’re just visiting me.
Sam doesn’t mean to. It’s not a plan he has to do this you see. It starts easy enough. Only a tiny step on a path that seems, is, the only choice.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions they say. They’ve already been on the road and to the fucking gate, so a significant part of the scary is lost on them.
See that Ava girl was right.
There are zombies in New Orleans.
They’re slow and not particularly shiny in the brain department but they have numbers on their side and there’s that moment in battle when the brothers split. Sam is barely managing to hold his own. Dean’s doing marginally better. He shoots rock salt into one and slams the butt of the rifle onto rotten face number two, then swings it like a club and catches a third on the side of the head hard enough to knock it down. A blade would have been nice right about now, next time he’ll make sure to bring one with. In the few seconds he got for himself, Dean loads the shotgun with practiced ease and he’s on top of the situation till he hears Sam’s cry, turns in pure instinct, and a fourth one hits him from behind. Sam’s got a tree bark rough at his back and four fingers of foul smelling flesh tight round his throat, the pinkie’s missing, and that’s too weird a candidate for a last thought, but his brain’s lacking oxygen right now, so he’s gonna forgive himself this time. He yells when his spine first encounters the tree cuz it hurts dammit.
Then.
Then that’s it. Dean goes down at the edge of Sam’s vision and Sam’s eyes do that odd thing where there’s total black for a tenth of a second, followed by crystal clear vision, followed by the zombie half chocking Sam flying up and away and crashing right into the one about to straddle Dean’s body on the ground with enough force for both of them to land six feet away. Dean gets his breath back and leaps up. Sam’s pissed off like never before. The battle’s short.
Latter, in a motel room terminally stuck in the eighties, decoratively speaking, they clean each other wounds, sleep.
They don’t talk about it.
Once you give into it there’s all sorts of new Jedi mind tricks you can have.
A cop has her gun trained on them.
It’s a small café in Nowhereville Indiana. Just this little place they are driving through till they stop for a coffee and cherry pie, cuz they’ve missed breakfast cuz they’ve been on the road till 5 fucking 30 fucking am. There was a haunting that was routine till they realized the only way to get rid of the poltergeist was to burn down the whole house, so fire they set. In an empty house. In a well to do neighborhood.
No, they didn’t check into a motel to catch a nap after. They got the hell out of dodge.
Well, heroes get hungry, too, you know. Which brings us right here, right now, in this pleasantly rustic café of an original 60s décor, best homemade cherry pie they’ve had in a while and delicious hot coffee smelling like heaven, till this cop walks in, young, light brown hair, pregnant for God’s sake, with an obvious ultrageek tendency to stay up and do her homework cuz she recognizes them as wanted -the bad kind- and she’s stupid enough, or civil-minded enough, or brave enough to draw her gun and aim it at them, order them to freeze. To her credit her voice has managed to be almost steady and cool, but her hands are getting sweaty on the gun. Dean can tell. He’s stopped with a fork full of pie halfway to his mouth and is obediently freezing.
Sam looks around at the scant patrons, the elderly couple in the booth next to them with a kid no more than 4 that’s obviously their grand-daughter, pig tails in big green bows of satin ribbon, the four middle aged women two tables over, probably friends catching up over their tea, the young couple at the far corner -they’d been giggling quietly over a magazine-, the waitress standing right next to them refilling their mugs. He turns back to the cop.
They can’t fight their way out of it. The cop’s too young. Too scared.
Sam looks at her. Really looks at her.
So scared.
“It’s okay.”
Her gaze locks on his and she takes a steadying breath.
“It’s fine. It’s okay,” Sam’s voice soothing, “we’re okay.”
“Yes,” the girl has calmed down now.
“We’re not whom you thought we were, are we?” Sam’s eyes bore into her, let it happen.
“No, no.” Her uncertain smile turns embarrassed and she sheathes her gun. “Sorry, guys, must have taken you for someone else. It’s…”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Sam smiles back reassuringly.
They take their time finishing their brunch, wave at her and the waitress on their way out, leave a big tip, friendly like.
You saw what your brother just did to Jake, right?
It’s a long, twistingly complex story.
They’re tracking a demon. Or to be precise, what they think is a demon, which is not wrong per se. Man, this is not willing to make sense.
Hot damn.
Okay. Deep breath.
There’s a trail of bodies. Different ages, both sexes, plus the killer is not a racist for sure. Details include no external wounds at all, no blood spilt, found in their beds, hands folded on their bellies, in peaceful repose, their eyes missing. There’s sulfur residue under window shutters or next to the door. Of course they think it’s a demon.
Turns out they’re wrong for sometimes the evil is Evil and other times it’s a middle aged grocery store owner with a whole load of childhood rooted issues, a penchant for a specific rare poison, and a sick, sick mind. Serial killers are part of reality, too, no? Only this one has attracted a fan. Of the very special kind.
The demon appears snarling ‘Mine!’
Two days ago Sam entered the house -this old woman was one of the victims. There was a nephew listed, whom the police tried to call and left a voicemail for. He never bothered to call back, or hadn’t till then. Dean thought it a good idea to borrow the name. Him and his friend would stay at the house (easier to investigate the scene of the crime that way) for a few days- to find Dean unconscious, a figure about to carry the body up the stairs. Dean was dropped. He/she/it jumped out a window -that’s the problem with ground floors- before Sam had gotten a good look.
Dean’s still at the hospital slowly getting better. Very slowly.
Sam sends the demon back to hell. After.
Ah, was pretty cold, wasn’t it? How certain are you that what you brought back is 100% pure Sam?
It’s Sam. Sam’s his brother. This fight is hard. Sometimes things are just… not. Okay? Sometimes there’s only a rock and a hard place; you choose the lesser of two evils. If both evils get eliminated in the process, heh, no tears spilling over that.
Did you sell your soul for me like dad did for you? Tell me the truth. Dean, tell me the truth.
Sam.
They won’t lie to each other. They might not tell things, but they don’t lie. Sam still hasn’t told Dean everything from his little talk with Yellow Eyes. Neither are they discussing recent developments. Dean doesn’t ask. Sam doesn’t volunteer. It all works out for the best.
How long did you get?
One year. I get one year.
Well, more than half the year is gone and, if he’s gonna do this, he better do it right. Sam needs practice so practice he’ll get. It’s not that he goes empty handed to battle -he is the weapon. His mind. The blood that’s not his, running rounds in veins of a mortal- cuz that’d be stupid, plus what’d he tell Dean? He holds a gun with both hands, the shape familiar and comforting, as back up. It’s his voice, his mind that orders the demon to stop. It’s his will that casts it away, his silent cry then, an order not voiced aloud, yet obeyed for it to ‘Go! Go back to hell!’
Dean sees the black smoke rise and go; watches as the ex-possessed man collapses on the floor in front of them. Before he has a chance to start on the Latin. He hasn’t heard a word from Sam beyond the first desperate ‘stop!’. When he turns to look at Dean, his eyes shining, hints of a smile creeping on his face, Dean knows.
You shouldn’t have done that. How could you do that?
Dean wants to meet death head on. And away from innocent bystanders. They haven’t found any way to break the contract so he’ll go at a crossroad. He won’t just run for hellhounds to hunt him down like an animal.
Don’t get mad at me. Don’t you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That’s my job.
Dean reasons with Sam in about those words. Sam agrees.
What do you think my job is?
What?
Then he says he’s coming along.
You’ve saved my life. Over and over. I mean you sacrificed everything for me, don’t you think I’d do the same for you? You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I don’t care what it takes, I’m gonna get you out of this.
Dean’s cool. He did what he had to do, he’s accepted the consequences.
Sam is cool. He might have practiced with this a little bit more that Dean knows or suspects or had occasion to witness. That’s not why the cool stays with him when she shows up herself, though. The way Sam sees it, either it goes as he hopes, or he makes, asks, begs her to take him too. Sharing Dean’s faith…there are worse things in the world. Like not sharing it.
She’s appropriately saucy, gliding over to them, wearing that triumphant little smile on her face and in that very moment Sam hates her like he’s never hated anything else. She pays little mind to him, zeroes straight to Dean, raises a hand to caress down his arm.
Never touches him.
“Stop.”
Her hand freezes mid move. She just stands there. The eyes that turn on Sam hold honest surprise.
“What?”
She’s about to take back her smile, get on with it, fingers twitch, and…
“No.”
Another aborted gesture, her hand not a centimeter closer to Dean. Now her eyes hide a drop of fear just there, at the very back. Sam can see it.
“Release your hold on Dean.”
She smiles sweetly to the younger brother, all her focus on him now.
“You want me to cancel his contract.”
Left eyebrow raised and a carefully neutral expression bordering on blaze.
Jeez, she’s not even trying, is she? Arrogant bitch.
“No. I want you to release any hold there is by this contract on Dean for now and for ever on his body, soul, life.”
“That can not be done. Those aren’t the rules, pretty boy.”
“No, it can’t happen. You can do it.”
Fear almost leaks on the demon’s face. Almost.
“I don’t understand”.
“Yes, you do. If you say it, it is done,”
Sam stares at her. It’s like pining a butterfly.
“Say it.”
Her face distorts in pain. Her teeth sink in her lower lip for a couple of seconds in an effort to stifle the words, swallow them back.
Sam chokes the command again in a whisper, words grating against his tongue, catching and tearing on his teath, his eyes fixed into hers.
“Say. The. words.”
She says it. When the hellhounds come, there’s this momentary panic that it didn’t work, that it’ll backfire. Making the demon do it, state Dean’s release, was one thing. Being about to witness if the lore is right is another. There’s a scream as they take her away. Hell’s not forgiving to those who break their contracts.
Guess I gotta save your ass for a change.
Sam orders a demon to track down and take out a pack -or is it flock? Dean’ll ask Sammy. Later. Maybe- of this water monster things they have no name for or a way to kill. Winchesters are resourceful, tough, clever. Without gills. Which is an accessory necessary for this operation. The demon processes one of the creatures and proceeds to eliminate the rest. Successfully.
Sam would have preferred to send it packing, but it pleads to stay in a fish. Wants a deal. It’s trout or what. How much harm can it cause?
Seriously, how were they supposed to hunt under water?
Yeah.
They’re at a dead end.
Sam summons a demon. If no human has every heard of it, perhaps it’s time they’d ask a non-human.
Yeah.
There’s an army out there. An army scattered, roaming headless, purposeless, destroying. The one who brought them is dead. All those who could control them are dead. Except Sam. And they’re gonna need some help taking care of the problem, cuz hunters may try, but these pack a punch much meaner than your standard ghost or monster. Divide and conquer, wasn’t it? Or fight fire with fire; use some against some others. When the picking’s slim, could you disregard a potential weapon like that? Give it up, asshole, or we’ll be talking proverbs for hours here.
Well, then, we got work to do.
It’s working, dude. They’re doing good work here. Somebody gotta step up, make the hard decisions. Somebody’s gotta accept the responsibility and the hurt-regrets-guilt that goes with it cuz if you wanna keep your hands totally clean, if you wanna avert your eyes and play-act the three little monkeys of no see, no tell, no hear, then the world, this world is lost to Hell or whatever it doesn’t matter. Saving people, hunting evil, the family business, hands dirty, dipped in ash or blood that’s the reality and what one’s gotta do. Well, who are you to judge, huh? Huh? Are you the one out there fighting at the first line? Are ya? No, no you’re not. The end justifies the means is only a proverb to you; once in high school you had this little philosophical discussion on it, remember? Which end, what means, when, how, factors, variables….now back off. Cuz you know shit. You’re not the one out there.
What’s dead should stay dead.
No.
Notes: Dialogue from episode 22, season 2.
See that Ava girl was right. Once you give into it there’s all sorts of new Jedi mind tricks you can have.
-Jake-
You saw what your brother just did to Jake, right. Ah, was pretty cold, wasn’t it? How certain are you that what you brought back is 100% pure Sam?
-Yellow Eyed Demon-
What’s dead should stay dead.
-Yellow Eyed Demon-
Did you sell your soul for me like dad did for you? Tell me the truth. Dean, tell me the truth.
Sam.
How long did you get?
One year. I get one year.
You shouldn’t have done that. How could you do that?
Don’t get mad at me. Don’t you do that. I had to. I had to look out for you. That’s my job.
What do you think my job is?
What?
You’ve saved my life. Over and over. I mean you sacrificed everything for me, don’t you think I’d do the same for you? You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. And I don’t care what it takes, I’m gonna get you out of this. Guess I gotta save your ass for a change.
Yeah.
-Dean and Sam-
Well, then, we got work to do.
-Dean-