Losing His Religion, Part 1
Art Title:Tear Soaked Whiskey Memory
Prompt Number:E3007
Artist: loracine
Fic Title:Losing His Religion
Author:mandylynn4
Fandom/Genre:SPN, CaseFic
Pairing(s):Sam/Dean Winchester
Rating:Mature
Word Count:21K+
Warnings:Underage, strong religious themes
Summary:It's autumn, 1995, and the school year has only been underway for a few weeks when the Winchesters pull into a seedy motel on the outskirts of Sallisaw, Oklahoma, intent on finding the cause of three strange murders. Twelve year old Sam finds a wooden church in the woods after getting distracted on his walk home from school. He meets Jimmy, a man preparing for life in the seminary. They quickly become comfortable enough to discuss faith and life, but Jimmy suspects something strange about this child...about the faithlessness of his family....about the monsters Sam claims to have seen.... He questions the motives of the family, until, like the sudden murders, they're gone. His own faith is tested and continues to change through the next ten years - when he finds himself face to face with Sam and Dean Winchester, posing as priests to uncover details about identical murders from 1995.
Art Link(s): LJ
~*~FALL 1995~*~
It was a warm, sunny fall afternoon - one that almost made the locals believe summer hadn’t truly gone away - and Jimmy Novak had been cleaning some items that a parishioner’s family had left after their passing. The small church’s two stained glass windows didn’t open, so the air was heavy and sticky, but Jimmy didn’t mind. He’d propped open the doors to the sanctuary to let in the outdoor air. The silence, save for the rustling of leaves in the wind, was peaceful and deep and his thoughts often wandered to his own discernment - about how he would serve God and others with his calling. But for now, he was simply enjoying the quiet and being able to work with the pieces in the comfort of his faded jeans and t-shirt. Jimmy welcomed the mindlessness of his task as he used a soft cloth to clear the glass of a beautiful painting. He’d been working alone in the church for so long that day that he’d almost forgotten that other humans existed.
He startled when he heard the shuffling sound of sneakers on the scarred wooden floor and spun around, nearly dropping the painting. “Oh!”
A boy, probably not much older than twelve, stood in the doorway. His sandy-colored hair flopped in front of one eye and his hands clutched at the strap of his backpack, slung over one thin shoulder. A Walkman was clipped to his belt and the headphones hung from his thin neck. He surveyed the sanctuary with darting, untrusting eyes. “S-sorry...I just...the door was open and I-”
“No, it’s alright,” Jimmy said, safely placing the painting down and offering a genuine smile. “I just got carried away with my thoughts. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No. I just was wandering around and saw this place. Thought maybe I’d see what it looked like on the inside.”
“I see. Welcome!” Jimmy wiped his hands off with his cloth and stepped forward, hand outstretched, noting how the boy tensed as he got closer, almost defensively. “Uh, well, I’m Jimmy Novak. I’m a seminarian for St. Michael’s. And you are?”
“Sam.” His knuckles turned almost white as they clenched on his backpack and he took a step backwards, glancing over his shoulder and out into the forest as if looking for someone behind him.
“Nice to meet you, Sam.” An awkward moment passed before Jimmy cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “Forgive me, Sam, but I’ve not seen you around before. I’m sure there are people in Sallisaw that I’ve not met, but it’s unlikely. Many are church family here or friends of the same. Are you here for a special occasion? Visiting relatives?”
Sam shifted nervously from one foot to the other, face hidden away by his hair again. “Nah, we’re just passing through. Not sure how long we’re staying but Dad’s got a tough job to do in town before we can leave, so it’ll probably be a couple weeks or so..”
“Your whole family travels with your father?”
“It’s just me, Dean, and Dad. So yeah.”
“I see. That must be fun for you and...your brother?” The boy nodded, so Jimmy decided to keep going. “What kind of work does your dad do?”
“Uh….he’s a...a salesman.” Sam took another step towards the door, now halfway outside where the sun streamed down and cast his face in shadow. “I should probably get home…I wasn’t really paying attention when I was walking, listening to this new tape Dean got me….”
“I understand. You’re pretty far from the town to be walking, really. A couple of miles or so. And it’ll be getting dark here shortly. There's been a few incidents around here lately, so walking might not be safe. Do you need a ride?” He saw the boy’s hackles raise at the suggestion, so he quickly added, “Or to call...uh...Dean to pick you up?”
“No….no. I can walk. I can make it before the sun sets. It was nice meeting you, Sir.”
Jimmy nodded. “Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Sam. I hope to see you in town and maybe at Mass on Sunday?” He turned back to his task, bending down to rifle through a box of items. “If you think you need a ride, though, I’ve got Father Halloway’s old pickup out back. Won’t be a problem at all,” he threw over his shoulder. He waited a few minutes, trying to focus on his work instead of the silence that indicated the boy hadn’t left yet. Finally, though, he heard the boy shuffle away.
~*~
“Sam!”
Sam’s steps faltered on the path, head whipping around towards the sound of his brother’s voice in the woods. He could hear the crunching of leaves under Dean’s boots and he couldn’t help flinching the next time he heard the booming of his voice in the twilight. “Over here,” he hollered back, slowing his pace.
Dean’s shadow stretched out in front of him, long and dark gray, a hulking mass on the path as he rounded a slight bend. Thick leather jacket, collar turned up. Bulky boots and loose fitting jeans. Hand clasped around the thick handle of a hunting knife. He should be roasting out here today, but Sam knew he probably looked cool as a cucumber. Sam couldn’t make out his face just yet, the sun behind him, but he saw the way his brother’s shoulders relaxed slightly when he caught sight of Sam unharmed. Dean tucked the knife away in the pouch under his jacket as he jogged closer. “Sam! Jesus, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over since four.”
“Got turned around a bit when I started walking to the motel. Guess I got distracted. No big deal.”
“No. It is a big deal, Sam.” Dean was close enough that Sam could smell the fragrance of a stale cigarette on him. It set off alarm bells - Dean only bummed cigarettes when he was stressed out and when Dad wasn’t due back for a bit.
“You were smoking?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed and he tucked Sam under his arm, none to gently. He began herding Sam along the path, in the direction he’d come from, nervously looking behind them every once in a while. “Look. Dad’s working a hunt, Sammy. Dangerous stuff. People are turning up missing or dead. I’m already up shit creek because the salt lines weren’t up when he got back last night and you’re running around Oklahoma’s backwoods like some-”
“You found me, didn’t you?” Sam tugged away from Dean’s hold and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. The Impala was visible ahead. “I was just on my way back to the motel anyway. Jeez.”
“Seriously, dude? You couldn’t stay at home until I got there? Or at least leave a note?” Dean’s hands were shaking as he grabbed for Sam’s arm. He missed, but his blunt fingers snagged a bit of Sam’s hoodie, and he reeled the younger boy in like a fish on a pole. “You’re damn lucky Dad’s still at the library researching shit. He’s gonna be super pissed when he finds out you’ve been traipsing around the woods like this all by yourself.” He did a quick once-over and his frown deepened. “Unarmed even! Fuck!”
“I’m fine, Dean!” Sam wrenched his arm loose of his brother’s grip, but climbed into the Impala just the same. “I went for a walk. It’s not even dark.” When Dean didn’t respond, he blew an indignant breath into his bangs. “I’m not a baby.”
Dean scoffed as he started the car with a loud roar. “Yeah, well…”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, the town coming into view quickly. Random people waved at them as they drove past. Sam sunk down in his seat away out of habit. Small towns made him feel exposed and vulnerable. Dean’s nervous tapping on the steering wheel made him decide to break the silence, though.
“There’s a church back there,” Sam gestured behind them with a thumb. “The guy working there was telling me-”
Dean turned sharply to look at him. “A church? In the middle of the woods?”
“Yeah. It’s called St. Michael’s and it’s-”
“No. Stop.”
“Dean, it’s a Catholic church. It’s got Holy Water and crosses. It’s not evil. If you’d just go see it…”
“I’m not going near a church in the woods, especially when we’re working a hunt that Dad’s thinking has religious ties to it - no matter how fine it seems.” He shook his head disapprovingly as he pulled the car into the lot of the hotel. “Just….just go inside and do your homework.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, checking the perimeters like he was trained to do. Once he was satisfied, he slid one hand under the seat and retrieved a crumpled package of cigarettes. “Don’t tell Dad this happened.”
Sam sighed, exasperated. “Whatever.”
~*~
It was two days later when the boy stepped into the church again, red checked flannel tied around his scrawny waist. The armpits of his t-shirt were damp, and his shaggy hair stuck to his face.
Jimmy put the last songbook on the shelf. The air in the church was humid; he wiped small beads of sweat from his upper lip. He looked up when Sam entered. Smiling brightly, he said, “Sam! How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“Good to hear it. What brings you by today?”
“Just bored and thought I’d explore. I mean, if you don’t mind me hanging out for a few minutes. I don’t really want to go back yet.” He looked down at his shoes again. “Not really any reason to get back soon anyway, with Dad at….work. And Dean’s busy with Heather.” The girl’s name was spoken with a twinge of jealousy that the seminarian had to hide a smile at.
“Absolutely. You’re welcome to ‘hang out’ all you want. I’m just straightening up around here. I might not be the greatest company, but the church can be a great place to explore. Do you have anything you want to explore in particular?” He waited for Sam to offer a response, but the boy simply approached a painting on the wall.
He peered up at it with a strange combination of wonder and skepticism. The tinny sound of music could be heard through the headphones around his neck; Jimmy wondered briefly what he was listening to. As if sensing the unspoken question, Sam flipped off the Walkman with a flick of his thumb. He used the same thumb to point at the angel in the painting.
“Who’s that? Uh...I mean, it’s an angel, right?”
Jimmy nodded, studying the painting and the child at the same time. “That’s the archangel Gabriel, I believe.”
“You don’t know? I mean,” the young boy’s cheeks flushed red, “I thought you were a pastor or something.”
Jimmy chuckled. “Well, I’ve just started my journey to becoming a priest and haven’t studied much about depictions of the deities yet. But, I’m fairly certain.”
“I guess you don’t look like a priest.” Sam scuffed one toe of his sneaker on the ground, but he seemed to relax a little at the information. “So, what do you do to become a priest? I mean, do you study the Bible or pray a lot?”
Jimmy laughed lightly. “Some of both of those, actually. Bible study, prayer, community service to our town, and service to the church here. I can’t start the seminary until I’m 24, so I’m also taking classes for my Bachelor’s degree. In the meantime, I get to shadow an experienced priest and learn from him how the church community works from his point of view.”
“You’re going to college?” The boy’s eyes shone with interest.
“Yes, it’s a requirement to have a degree in addition to the seminary graduation.”
“Like, classes about the Bible and stuff?”
“I happen to be studying communications, but Father Halloway was a philosophy major, which I suppose is similar to ‘the Bible and stuff.’” Jimmy chuckled when Sam’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I guess those courses help priests understand the Bible and God’s work more easily and I’m hoping that communications will help me deliver God’s message effectively to everyone. I’m not terribly well versed in conversation, obviously.”
“Me, either,” Sam smiled, one dimple flashing briefly. “Communications is like, public speaking and stuff?” At Jimmy’s nod, Sam continued. “Huh. That’s cool. I always just thought you just decided to become a priest and then did some weird ritual or ceremony or something.”
Jimmy sat down in one of the short wooden pews in the sanctuary, gesturing for the boy to join him. Sam stayed near the painting, though, so Jimmy turned so he could speak to him better.
“There’s an order to all of this, as any career path you choose, Sam. But I guess the first step is to get the call to the priesthood.” When Sam didn’t respond for a moment, Jimmy coughed and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “It’s kind of like finding something you have a deep interest in doing. Discovering something you love to do and have a passion to study. Some people enjoy studying art and take steps to become graphic artists. Others find joy in crunching numbers and go to school to become accountants. Of course, the priesthood has a bit more profoundness in the calling, but it’s similar.” Jimmy paused, taking in the way Sam’s face became open and thoughtful at his words. “You seem like a bright young man. Are you planning on going to college someday, Sam?”
And just like that, the wall inside of Sam flew back up. The boy frowned, slightly crooked front teeth biting down on his lip as he thought. He sat down gingerly on the pew directly behind Jimmy’s, letting his book bag slide to the floor, and looked back over at the painting of Gabriel. “Maybe. But probably not.” His voice sounded far away and small, much younger than he appeared and for some reason it made Jimmy’s heart twitch painfully. When he looked back at the seminarian, though, his expression had hardened and there wasn’t a doubt in Jimmy’s mind that the child was living with the expectation of being much older. Sam cleared his throat, as if clearing his mind as well, and looked straight into Jimmy’s eyes. “So you believe in angels, then, right? Like that Gabriel guy? In real life?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, my mom used to believe in them - that’s what Dean says anyway. And Pastor Jim that we used to stay with thought they might be real…,” he trailed off, then looked at Jimmy. “Have you seen one?”
“No, not personally.” Jimmy’s brown creased in concern. “But, just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, Sam. That’s called faith.”
Sam’s eyes went back to the painting, staring hard enough to bore holes into it. “But how did the artist know what to paint, then? I mean, if no one’s seen an angel before?”
“I’m not sure. There are enough stories in the Bible that describe the angels. The voices of God’s prophets told those stories.”
“But how does anyone know if these people were telling the truth or not? It could just be a bunch of guys who told the same silly story they made up together. They could write anything they wanted. There’s no proof.”
“I….” Jimmy swallowed, wishing that Father Halloway was here to help him with this child. A child who obviously had not grown up believing in anything that wasn’t real or tangible and who had no concept of faith. Jimmy felt a piece of his heart breaking inside to think that the spark in this boy was being snuffed out due to a complete lack of hope. He took a shaky breath. “I don’t have any proof, Sam. I have faith that it’s true and so many others hold these same beliefs. We trust in the Lord. We come together once a week - sometimes more - and talk about these things. We take pleasure in knowing that someone is out there to help us with our lives, to guide us when we need it.” He slid across the pew, reaching out a hand to the boy, intent on offering a slight bit of reassurance. “You mentioned your mother believing in angels...does she still? What does your family believe in, Sam?”
Sam got up suddenly, picking his bag up off the floor. “My mom died when I was a baby. I should probably go. Dad’s gonna wonder where I’m at.”
Jimmy gave him a soft smile, trying not to let on the deep-seated concern building inside him as he dropped his hand. “Of course. Be careful getting back, Sam. The police are still looking for answers in these brutal crimes nearby. I don’t want to have to read about you in the paper tomorrow.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before continuing, thinking about the three people they’d found carved up in the woods. “Maybe you can come to Mass on Sunday and learn more about the Catholic faith? Explore the beliefs your mother might have held?”
“Yeah….uh...maybe.” He started to leave, but doubled back as he passed the large holy water font near the doorway. “Uh….this is going to sound weird, but….can I…” He gestured at the water. “With all that's going on - the murders - maybe I can start with this and try to believe in something.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, but went to fetch a small vial for holy water anyway. They’d take these to shut-ins and the nursing homes and hospitals nearby, but this was the first time someone had asked for one. He filled the bottle and held it out to the boy.
“You know not to drink it, right?” he teased. “People dip their hands in it. Sometimes, babies’ heads.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Duh.” He slid the vial into his pocket. “Thanks.”
With that, the boy was gone, skittering out of the sanctuary as if a motor was attached to his backside. Jimmy made his way to the back of the church, settling into the tiny office. He picked up the old rotary phone, dialing a number by heart.
“Hello? Father Halloway? I’ve got a few questions….”
~*~
Sam smiled up at the waitress, happily digging into the piece of strawberry shortcake she placed in front of him. “Thanks.” His math textbook was spread out on the table, but he’d long since forgotten about it in order to eat dinner.
“Not a problem, sugar. Your daddy told me to look out for you and your brother - make sure y’all get enough to eat.”
Dean gave her his flirty grin, stretching out in the booth so that his shirt tightened around his chest. “That’s real nice of you, ma’am.”
Sam rolled his eyes. But the waitress laughed, throwing her head back so her blonde curls swept across the middle of her back. Sam had to admit that, while she was pretty, she was also obviously as old as their father. It didn’t seem to bother her that a teenage boy was hitting on her, though. Her eyes glittered with promises when she looked down at Dean. “Don’t you dare call me that! I’m not old enough for that yet. Y’all can call me Jill.” As she turned to walk away, she sent another flirty glance at him, hips swaying slightly. “The tab’s been paid up for you boys. So once you get done, just leave the plates. A ‘right?”
“You’re too kind, Miss Jill!”
Sam coughed to catch her attention, then held out his water glass. “Could I get some more water, please?”
“Sure, honey.” She took it from him, frowning when a drip of water slid down over the back of her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Once she was gone, Sam put his fork down and scowled. “Do you have to be like that?” He pushed the plate of shortcake away and began shoving books back into his backpack. “It’s gross.”
Dean sat up, blinking. “Huh?”
“She’s like thirty, Dean. Like a mom.”
“Not my mom,” Dean smirked, sending another glance after the waitress. When he noticed Sam’s huff of irritation, he sat up. “Sorry, Sammy. Didn’t know it ruffled your feathers.”
“Well, at least she’s not a demon.”
Dean’s eyes darted around the restaurant, panicked. “Dude…”
“I put holy water on the outside of my glass. Got it from Mr. Novak.”
“Seriously?”
“Just had to know.”
He took a bite of his pie and frowned. “This pie is crap.”
“Let’s just go. I’ve got a report to finish.”
“On Lord of the Flies? You’ve read that thing like three times and written as many reports on it already.”
“Yeah, well, some people like to reevaluate their work.”
Dean threw his napkin down on top of his plate, digging out a couple of dollars from his pocket for a tip, and squinted at his brother. “Whatever, nerd. I was gonna see if you wanted to go see a movie at the theater, but I guess…”
“Dean…”
“Fine.” The muscles in Dean’s jaw ticked in frustration and Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek at the rush of warmth that went through his body as he watched it. “It’s getting dark anyway. Dad will be pissed if we’re not back before the sun goes down.”
Sam had to scramble to get everything collected from the table and follow his brother outside. And if he relished the slight cool breeze on his hot face? He chalked it up to the heater being too warm in the diner. He ignored the way his stomach clenched as he watched his brother stalk down the road angrily.
It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way watching Dean, but it had certainly changed from only a year ago. Now, it wasn’t just hero worship; little brother wanting to be like big brother. Now it was confusing and strange and humiliating. It was like when Katie in Louisburg had asked if he’d like to study with him and batted her eyes. Or like when he’d accidentally looked over and noticed Chris in Abilene smiling at him as he changed for gym class. The rush of adrenaline and heat through his body was akin to those times. But Dean was his brother, which brought on another wave of the same. Sam ducked his head and forced himself to think about his report; forced his thoughts from the taboo ideas his warped brain supplied.
Puberty was fucking weird.
~*~
“Gotta hit the head,” John Winchester said, voice gruff with exhaustion - and quite possibly a fair amount of whiskey. His duffle bag hit the floor just inside the door with a heavy thud. “Make sure you tell your brother to clean that gun of his. Can’t get jammed like that again. Not if he wants us to stay alive out there.”
Sam looked up from his reading assignment to respond, but his father was already closing the bathroom door behind him. Dean came through the battered door shortly after, looking weary with his filthy, sawed-off shotgun dangling loosely in one hand. He slid it onto the rickety table beside Sam. The youngest Winchester pushed the dirty barrel off his notes and placed his bookmark back into his assigned novel before regarding his brother more thoroughly. He repressed a shudder his body threatened as he fully took in the sight of him. For some reason, wrecked Dean did a lot for him.
“Everything okay?” Sam asked. “Dad seemed pissed.”
“It’s fine.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “I just didn’t get my gun in order like I was supposed to. Almost got us killed when a fucking thing came out of nowhere and my damn gun got jammed.” He slumped down in the tattered recliner nearby and sighed. “Dad’s quick at least. Made sure we didn’t get as much as a scrape. And watch your mouth.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Like you care.” He watched as Dean stripped off his jacket and flannel, taking inventory of his limbs, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d escaped intact. “What was it anyway?”
Dean looked up at Sam as he emptied his pockets onto the dingy bedspread. His voice was low, glancing towards the bathroom door occasionally. “To be honest? I’ve never seen anything like it. But Dad’s got a line into some other hunters. He stopped by a payphone on the way back in; talked for a long time and made a bunch of notes in his journal.”
“You think Dad knew what it was?”
“No.”
Sam swallowed against his dry throat. “Seriously?”
“I’m sure he’s gonna find out. That’s why we’re here, right?” Dean came closer, putting a warm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t worry.” He gave his younger brother a small, reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder briefly and leaned closer, a final check over his shoulder for their father. “But it was totally fucked, Sammy...it looked kind of like-”
The bathroom door swung open and Sam watched as his older brother’s body stiffened, hand falling away from his shoulder and face flushing. John was tucking in his shirts. He surveyed the room, eyes narrowing at the door. “I’m going out. Gotta lead on something down at the diner. You boys stay here. Don’t stay up late and fix the damn salt lines.” The door was already shutting behind him. A moment later, the familiar rumble of the Impala taking off filled the room.
“Sir, yes, sir!” Dean said softly, a strange tone to his voice. Sam looked at him curiously. Dean sighed. “How’re you comin’ on your homework?”
“Almost done.”
“Good. And you ate?”
“Yep. Washed the dishes, too.”
“Brown-noser,” Dean teased with a small, weary smile. “How’s about we find something good on the boob tube when you’re done with the studying?” He fetched the bag of salt from the floor near the door and began checking the lines around the room. When Sam didn’t answer, he offered, “Maybe we can find something on pay per view, eh?”
Sam shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Like what?” He thought back to the few times he’d woken up and caught Dean watching adult movies on motel televisions. Sweat prickled his underarms when he recalled the sounds his brother made and how he had an impulsion to be able to see more than just the back of Dean and the lewd program he was watching. He knew that’s what teenage boys did when left to their own devices - and more recently, he’d began to see the value in touching his own body - but seeing it was a dirty thrill in itself. He dragged his mind back from those thoughts, swiveling in the chair so his lap was concealed under the table. Luckily, Dean didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t know.” The older brother snagged the cardboard advertisement off the top of the television set and scanned the programs. “At eleven Batman Forever’s on.”
“We’ve seen it like three times already.”
“Yeah, but it’s Batman, Sam. You can’t go wrong with the Riddler and Two-Face.”
Sam couldn’t help smiling up at his brother. Dean’s face became so young, so carefree when he could just focus on kid stuff and not hunting…. “Okay. Point. But I’ve gotta get this stuff done first, okay? And you gotta dress your gun before Dad gets back.”
“Ughhh...party pooper.”
Sam laughed and tried very hard not to notice the way his brother’s joints became looser, his eyes sparkled, or his entire being resembled the sixteen year old he was supposed to be. He was happy and that made Sam happy. And if it happened to be a few minutes before he could safely stand up from the table? No one needed to know why...
~*~
Sam rolled over in his bed, startling awake when he heard the scratching noise across the room. The television was still on, although the sound had been turned down and the screen was running through the pages of the local channel’s programming. Dean’s head was visible at one end of the small sofa, an arm stretched over his eyes in slumber. Soft snores came from the other bed, where Sam could see his father’s form, still clothed, stretched diagonally across the covers. He must have come in and passed out, his shoes still on. A quick scan of the door revealed his father’s break in the salt line, boot prints scattering the grains of salt throughout the threadbare carpet. Sam swallowed against the lump of fear in his throat.
Scritch-scritch-scraaaaatch…
Sam’s eyes flicked over to the darkened doorway of the bathroom, where the sounds were coming from. “Dean,” he tried to say, but his voice was weak and small. His brother didn’t move. He was afraid to try saying it again; worried that whatever was scratching would hear him.
Slowly, he reached under his pillow and retrieved the silver knife he kept there. The vial of holy water was tucked under his pillow, too, but he ignored it for now. His mind whirled with bits of Latin he’d heard his father chanting during hunts, but he was unsure of the order in which to say any of them. His heart sped up as the scratching got louder. He caught movement in the bathroom - a shadow amongst the darkness - and his breath caught.
A woman’s shape. Long, curls down a slender back. Thin fingers with pointy nails. Soft curves. Willowy legs. Glowing, golden eyes - catlike.
Sam shivered as the figure scratched her nails down the doorframe, walking forward and into the room. He could see now, even in the dim light that it was not at all a woman. Its face….
“Sammmm,” the thing whispered. It was at the foot of his bed, nails - no claws - gripping the coverlet and pulling it towards her.
Sam shook, the whole bed vibrating with his fear, and he couldn’t believe his brother and father weren’t waking up to this. He didn’t try to keep the covers on his body, though, knowing that he’d lose strength if it came to a fight. The covers were of no use, anyway. His hand hurt with the force he was gripping the knife with and he couldn’t stop the instinctual pull of his legs up underneath him as he scrambled up on the bed.
“Go-go away,” he said, voice watery. He felt his eyes sting with tears and since when had he started crying at the sight of a monster?
“Oh, Sam,” the creature hissed, amusement evident. “That knife won’t harm me. And the holy water is laughable. If you think that man in the woods has magic, you're sorely mistaken, baby. In fact, you should tell Daddy over there that I won’t be easily countered. You know, when you get your big boy voice back.”
Sam gasped as the monster shifted closer to the supine form of his father. Its hand reached out and raked a sharp nail over John’s chest, blood marking the front of his shirt as it carved into his flesh. John grunted in his sleep, but didn’t move otherwise.
“Don’t worry, baby,” the monster grinned. It regarded Sam through strands of fiery red hair, golden eyes blazing stronger as the blood spilled. “He can’t feel it. Yet.” It slashed in deeper, just at the sternum. Blood spurted upwards, sprinkling the creature’s face and causing it to moan in pleasure. “He will, though...if he keeps trying to meddle with Mabon…” It licked the blood from its claw, laughing. Then, quick as a flash, the creature was next to Dean, claw outstretched.
Sam screamed.
~*~
John looked thoughtfully at his sons, Sam curled up with his head propped up on Dean’s lap while his brother ran a hand through his hair. The younger boy seemed to have finally fallen back to sleep. Dean’s hand never ceased in its soothing, despite the fact that it’d been moving for close to two hours already. He’d seen Dean’s care of the boy over the years - he’d almost always taken on a secondary parent role, fiercely protective - but this was new. The way his fingers danced over his brother’s scalp was past brotherly; it was almost intimate.
That’s ridiculous, he thought, frowning. Dean’s just shaken up. And Sam didn’t calm easily…. He shuddered at the memory of hearing his youngest child’s screams and seeing his pale, terrified face. He took a long draw from his whiskey bottle.
At the time, John hadn’t had time to really be anything but alert and ready for action. But, the sun was coming up, washing the room in an orange tint, and with the daylight and the story his son had told him? He had to admit that he was more than a little worried about the boy. He also suspected something else was going on - witchcraft or maybe possession?
The dream had been hyper-realistic, Sam had said. He’d recalled the dream effortlessly, as if all of it had happened, even going to far as to tug up John’s shirt to see his chest underneath. He had clung to Dean as he waited for John to search the room thoroughly. He demanded another line of salt be added to all of the windows and doors, all the while looking sicker than he’d ever looked. Then, as his body had calmed down and one arm wound around Dean’s waist, he’d sketched the symbol he’d seen on John’s chest.
John held the paper in his hand now. The symbol was the same as those carved into the bodies of the three people found in the woods recently. The description of the creature matched what he’d been hunting - a beautiful woman with red hair and glowing eyes. The sharp claws, though, were a new development. He hadn’t been able to figure out what had made the symbols, but now….
“Dean,” he said, low so not to disturb Sam. As it was, the boy whimpered in his sleep and clutched at his older brother’s torso more tightly. Dean’s hand faltered, then continued its stroking.
“Yeah?”
“Gonna go make a few calls. Something about this seems strange. Sam shouldn’t have known any of this and I’m not sure that it was a dream. Stay here until he wakes up.”
“Want me to wake him for school? He’s got assignments to turn in and he’ll be pissed if we don’t give him the chance to go in if he’s up for it.”
John sighed. “Wake him in time to get ready and see how he feels.” He took another swig of whiskey. “Depending on what I find out, I’ll be back after dark.”
Dean nodded. “I’ll take care of Sammy.”
~*~
Dean must have fallen back to sleep himself when he was jolted awake by the buzzing of the alarm clock. He looked down at his brother, still tucked against his body. Carefully he reached over and pressed the button to shut off the loud noise, then took a moment to actually look at Sam.
Sometimes, when he would come in late from a date or a hunt, Dean would catch this sight of Sam. Unruly hair damp around the edges from sweat and messy from slumber. Pink lips open slightly. Long, coltish limbs askew, yet graceful against the bedding. Chest rising and falling rhythmically. At times, Dean had felt his own breath catch with the view. He was blown away at the innocence and peace Sam alluded. He couldn’t believe how beautiful his baby brother had grown so far.
More than once, Dean had felt his body warming in a flush as he looked at his brother. This time was no different. In fact, he felt his body responding to the closeness of their bodies within the bed; so much closer than they normally ended up. True, they shared a bed for years and sometimes still did, but today, Sam’s entire form was pressed against Dean’s side. He could feel the curve of his shoulder against his ribs and the bow of his back under his hand. Sam’s breath puffed out onto Dean’s thin t-shirt. It was an intimacy that he wasn’t privy to with the girls he slept with and it sent a shiver through to his soul.
Sam groaned in his sleep, clutching tightly to Dean’s midsection. Dean grit his teeth and pulled his hips back, willing his body not to respond to the sounds and movement of his brother’s form. It was wrong to think these things of his brother - especially when Sam was only 12. It was evil to let the physical closeness invade him like this, to let his thoughts cross to dirty. He bit the inside of his cheek and thought about vampires and demons and werewolves and Dad….
Once Sam was still and snoring lightly again, he slid out from underneath his arm and waited patiently to see if he’d rouse. Thankfully, he didn’t, so Dean tugged on his shoes and jacket and stepped outside. He kept the door open slightly, in case Sammy did wake. He went through the motions of lighting a cigarette, then let his body relax into the sensation of the warm smoke flowing through his lungs.
The creature Sam had described...it was uncanny the accuracy to what their dad was hunting. The symbol? Something that he’d seen firsthand carved into the bodies of those found in the woods around town. And the way their dad had nearly panicked along with Sam? That was downright petrifying.
He choked on the lungful of smoke when the phone inside the hotel rang out sharply. He tossed the butt on the ground and raced inside; too late to stop it from jolting his brother from slumber.
“Shit, sorry, Sammy.” He cupped a hand on his brother’s cheek as he reached for the phone with the other. “It’s alright. I got you.” He felt Sam instantly begin to calm and he smiled softly.
Into the phone, he said, “Yeah?”
“Dean?”
“Dad?”
“I got us another room at the Starlight on the other side of town. Start packing up - the job’ll be done tonight.” His voice softened, “Sam doin’ alright?”
“He’s been sleeping...phone woke him up. Haven’t had time to ask him if he was going to school or not yet.”
Beside him, Sam huffed a breath. He watched as his brother stretched and yawned, rubbing a fist over his eyes. It made him look incredibly young. Dean flushed red with shame at the thoughts he’d had about him earlier. He coughed and scooted over, giving Sam some more space on the bed.
John hummed. “It’s probably better if he goes to school while you get the room packed up. I need you to search for a hex bag while you’re working on that. Best if he didn’t know you were looking for it.”
“So you think it’s….”
“Witch related. Some idiots around town have summoned an autumn nymph and then corrupted her. They probably thought that they could steal some of her power, but here soon, they won’t need to worry about trying to corrupt her. She’ll start killing people on her own. Maybe she’s not exactly targeting us, but to be on the safe side, I need you to keep an eye on Sam. The room at the other hotel is under the third name from the top of page 64 in the phone book in the drawer. Paid up. Make sure Sam gets to school safely and make sure you’re there to pick him up. No need for him to be alone. I’m still not sure how or why he could see her in his dream, but that’s a secondary worry at this point. Hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be back when it’s done. If I’m not back by ten tomorrow morning, call Bobby. He’ll be on his way. You find a hex bag in the room? Burn it.”
Dean frowned at the phone, which had gone dead. “Time for school, Sammy. I’ll walk with ya.”
“You don’t have to. I’m good.” Dean must have pulled a face because Sam rolled his eyes. “It was just a dream, Dean. Dad said so himself. A stupid baby dream that I freaked out about. I can get myself to school.”
Dean sighed. “Humor me.”
“Dad told you to, huh?”
“Caught me. Now get in the bathroom and brush your teeth - your mouth smells like something died in it.”
“Well,” Sam said over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom, “at least I don’t smell like the bottom of an ashtray.”
Dean scoffed. He pulled the covers up on the bed, not being able to stand leaving the room untidy, even with maid service. As he adjusted the pillow, the vial of holy water rolled onto the floor and rested against his foot. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands thoughtfully. Dean tucked the vial into his pocket quickly as the water turned off in the bathroom.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he began to get dressed. “Hey, Dean? You think that Mr. Novak might have some ideas about these demons? I mean, he’s studying to be a priest, so…”
“Don’t,” Dean began, fierceness in his eyes, “don’t even think about that, Sammy. Priests can’t help us. They know fuck-all about real demons. And some guy who’s studying to be a priest sure as hell can’t help us. Honestly, God can’t even help us. He made these damn things and now we’re stuck cleaning up His mess. Dad and I will take care of it. Of you.”
“But Jimmy’s been really helpful with my questions so far….and we get help from Father Jim all the time. He keeps his salt lines down just like us.”
“He’s not the same. He's a hunter, like us. And when did you get on a first name basis with this guy from the woods? I don't like it.”
“But…”
“No. You keep Mr. Novak out of this. And stay away from him.”
Sam watched as Dean stomped out of the motel room and angrily shoved a cigarette into his mouth. He pulled a clean shirt over his body and sighed. Then, as a last second idea struck him, he stuffed the sketches of the demon he’d seen in his dream last night into his backpack. He slid a hand under his pillow for the holy water, but frowned when he didn't find it. Casting a perfunctory look under the bed and the covers, he hummed in frustration. Shrugging, he figured it would turn up, and headed out the door.
~*~
“I’ll pick you up after school, okay?”
“I can walk. I’ll meet you by that weird tree out front of the high school.”
Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and frowned. “Yeah, but I’ve got stuff I’ve gotta do for Dad, so I’m not gonna be there.”
Sam’s face scrunched up in anger. “We’re leaving?”
“No. Moving across town. Don’t mention it to anyone, got it?”
“Why? That was just a dream, Dean.”
“Not the point. Dad wants us to move? We move.” He reached over and ruffled Sam’s shaggy hair. “Now go dazzle them with that insane book report.”
“Fine.” Sam headed into the school, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.
Dean watched the milling of the middle schoolers around the grassy front yard of the school, only turning to leave once the bell had rung. Then, he retreated back down the road towards their motel.
Behind him, Sam slunk out of the school’s side entrance, eyes peeking out from under the fringe of bangs on his forehead. He cast a few quick glances in either direction, then took off running in the direction of the woods.
~*~
“Do you believe in demons?”
Sam’s voice was a hushed whisper in the dimness of the church, but Jimmy’s heart sped up as if the child had screamed it from the rafters. He wiped his now sweaty palms on his slacks and stood up from where he’d been polishing the floors.
“Demons?” The boy nodded, eyes solemn and mouth drawn tight. The seminarian regarded him carefully. “I’m not sure how Father Halloway would talk to you about this, so you’ll have to settle for my own opinion.”
“Based on your studies, right?”
“Of course. But remember, I’m not a priest yet. I’m just learning.”
“I know.”
Jimmy frowned and studied his watch. “Speaking of learning, aren’t you supposed to be in school? It’s ten in the morning.”
The apples of Sam’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t back down from the question. “Teacher in-service. No school today.”
One of Jimmy’s eyebrows cocked up, puzzled. “On a Wednesday.”
Sam huffed a breath, small hands clenching angrily at his sides. “My dad doesn’t believe in church or God or any of that. Neither does Dean. Last night I had a wicked nightmare - something that I’m pretty sure was a demon or an entity or something. They’re acting like I’m crazy.” He gulped in a deep breath, eyes wild. “I have questions and you’ve been helpful and nice and nobody else will talk to me about this stuff. And I’m pretty sure that I can’t possibly write another essay about The Lord of the Flies without a teacher wondering if I’m copying someone because no kid my age should have one that polished. I’ve written it four times.” In a small voice, looking up through his bangs, he said, “Please?”
“Okay.” Jimmy took a slow breath, then cleared his throat. “I believe there are what people may call demons to justify behaviors that they feel shame for. For example, if a man has been unfaithful to his wife, he might call the woman he had an affair with a demon. Or, if there is an unexplained, strange occurrence that has a negative connotation? That may also be blamed on demons. Like these murders….”
The boy seemed to mull over this information with great care, frown deepening on his face. “But not actual monsters, right?”
“Monsters…?”
“You know. Like vampires and ghouls and shifters and stuff like that?”
“Like Dracula?” Jimmy’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “Frankenstein? The Boogeyman? I’m fairly certain those are ideas made up for movies and books.”
Sam frowned. “Frankenstein wasn’t the monster. He was the doctor.” He pulled the book bag from his shoulders, digging inside until he retrieved a rumpled page from the bottom. He smoothed it out on the nearest pew before presenting it to Jimmy. “I’m talking about these.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, mouth dropping open. “Where….where did you get this?”
“It’s mine. I drew these.”
“But this,” Jimmy indicated the symbol scrawled near a corner, “where have you seen this?”
Sam shrugged. “My dream last night. That was carved in my dad’s chest. By this.” He pointed to the crude drawing of a woman with claws.
“Do you know what it represents?” When the boy shook his head, he continued, “it’s a symbol in the Wiccan religion. But the Wiccan religion is peaceful…”
“That thing in my dream was anything but peaceful.”
Jimmy nodded. “Are all of these drawn from your dreams?”
“No.”
“Your imagination?”
“No.”
“Where, then, Sam?”
“Some are from my dad’s journal. Some are from things I’ve seen.” Sam swallowed. “Dad and Dean are superheroes, Mr. Novak. They save people from these things.”
“Your father’s not a salesman, then?”
“Hunter.”
Jimmy nodded. “And these things you believe you’ve seen? These are real? Your father and your brother hunt them?”
“Yes.” Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “We’re here to help with the people who’ve gone missing. Who’ve died. In fact, holy water can help identify demons. And salt lines can keep them out of your house.”
Jimmy put the paper down, hands shaking slightly. “Sam, I don’t know what-”
“I just need to know...if God is truly here to help people in need….why does he send these things here? Why do they hurt people? And why does my family have to be the ones to save people? Why can’t we just be normal?”
The seminarian sucked in a deep breath. “God gives us tests, to make us stronger. To increase our faith in Him. He’s not an uncaring God, Sam. And he doesn’t have monsters as those you are describing sent to kill us. We are His creations and He loves us all.” He gestured to the paper on the pew, not wanting to look it or Sam equally. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m afraid that I can’t help you. And for the record, as a soon-to-be man of the cloth? Holy water doesn't have magical powers and neither does salt. The people with the ability to solve cases like these are the police. Maybe we should call them and show them your notes. Your father’s notes….”
The boy stood still for a long moment, scarcely breathing. Jimmy felt the tension in both their bodies, heavy in the air of the church. Then, as if a something had suddenly switched inside him, Sam surged forward and snatched the paper up. He stuffed it in his backpack fiercely. Tears were starting to stream down his face, Jimmy noticed, as the boy headed for the door. HIs chest was heaving and his back was ramrod straight. He turned at the entrance to the church, fury in his eyes.
“Dean kept telling me not to talk to you. That you would try to tell me lies to keep me from believing the truth. And you almost had me, Mr. Novak. I almost had your blind faith in your God. But I’m right. People have been dying in this town from a demon and we’re going to save the rest of you.”
And just as quickly as he’d come, Sam was gone.
~*~
“Mr. Novak.”
Jimmy looked up at the voice at the door of the sacristy, where he was rummaging through a box of tithing envelopes. A teenager, wearing a thick leather jacket and walking a cocktail sure-footed saunter, approached him, stopping not a foot away. He looked pretty for a boy, bowed lips and thick eyelashes, but hardened and older than his years. He looked like a man who'd seen too much, stuffed inside the body of a young model. The seminarian pulled himself up, feeling his heartbeat speed up and his breath catch. “Can I help you?”
“What did you say to Sam?”
“Pardon?”
“Sam. Little guy, about this high, floppy hair and puppy eyes? Dimples. Smart..just like his mouth some days.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I didn’t-”
The boy’s hand flew out, striking the wall that Jimmy hadn't realized he'd backed into. Anger flashed in green eyes. Jimmy flinched.
“He wouldn't tell me what was wrong when he got home. Wouldn't tell me he'd been crying. But my brother's a rotten liar and I knew the second he walked in. I know him like the back of my hand.”
“Dean?”
The boy leaned forward, close enough that Jimmy could see flecks of gold in his eyes. “Yeah. Sammy’s my responsibility and he was upset….after ditching school and coming here. I know you're smart enough not to have touched a hair on his head, but I don't think you're quite smart enough to keep your Bible thumping bullshit to yourself.” When Jimmy didn't answer, he slapped the wall again, rattling the tiny wooden cross hanging there. “What did you say to him?”
“Well talked about his drawings,” Jimmy stammered, feeling his face heat up with panic. “He asked about God and monsters. He told me crazy things - about holy water and salt and hunting-”
Dean stepped back, nearly reeling as if Jimmy had struck him. “What else?”
“I told him that those things weren't magical; that the police could help with the murders and that he needed to show them his drawings and your father’s notes…”
Suddenly, Dean was on him, pressing him back into the wall with hands clenched into fists holding him steady at the shoulders. “I'm going to say this one time: leave Sammy alone. This job our dad is working is almost done. But since Sam likes a good debate, he'll keep coming back out here and listening to your plainclothes bullshit about what you think is real. But if you don't send him packing next time he comes here, I will personally make sure you meet a monster face to face.”
He let go of Jimmy, condescendingly smoothing down his shirt where he'd held it. He backed away, dangerous glare still poised on him.
Once Dean had turned at the door, Jimmy found his voice. “You're doing him a disservice by not allowing him to have faith.”
Dean’s jaw twitched. “He does have faith. Just not in your God.”
For minutes after the boy had left, Jimmy stood stock still, waiting for him to return and kill him. Anxiety pooled in his stomach and made him nauseous. Eventually, he gathered the capacity to push away from the wall and fall to his knees. He prayed for a long time for those boys and for his own safety.
Mostly, he prayed that the angels would watch over him until the Winchesters were gone….for good.
~*~
It didn’t take but a few hours for Jimmy to realize that Sam’s family was in the wind. Both boys had cut classes that day, neither schools even thinking twice about it. Dean’s attendance was spotty at best anyway, said the secretary at the high school. Sam’s teachers had wondered briefly, but hadn’t investigated further since he didn’t cause much trouble and they believed he was ill.
He put in a call to Father Halloway, not giving details about Dean’s visit, but telling the jest of the conversation to him. The old man had sighed and hummed in agreement while he regaled the tale. Eventually, the priest had asked Jimmy to think hard about his course of action. That whatever he did next would be important to his character as a future man of the cloth.
His discussion with Father Halloway confirmed what he thought might be his next move. And although the elderly priest was due back next week, he urged Jimmy to make the phone call - not to wait. He’d been right that the symbol was Wiccan, but Father Halloway had reminded him that while Wiccans were a peaceful religious group, there were others who would worship the Devil himself using the same symbols. The fact that Sam Winchester’s family was directly linked to the symbol did not bode well. He’d spent some time praying the rosary and asking for answers, but, as usual, God was silent. With resolve, he hauled himself back into the office and went to the phone. His hand wavered as he punched in the numbers.
“Hello? Sequoyah County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Yes, this is Jimmy Novak, at St. Michael’s? I’m calling on behalf of a child in danger. His name is Sam Winchester….and he seems to have been brainwashed, or worse. And as much as it pains me to think it, his father may have information regarding these murders.”
His hand tightened on the receiver as he listened to the police officer on the other end. His face paled and he chewed at his bottom lip with worry. He listened for a long time, then sighed.
“So you're saying that the boy that I’ve been talking with for weeks just doesn't exist? No brother? Father? No one by that name anywhere at all?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No….I don't need to make a statement. I...I'm fine. Maybe overtired. Probably seeing things where there really isn't anything at all. Yes. Father Holloway will be back a week from tomorrow. I’ll make sure he stops by to visit your aunt.”
When he hung up the phone, he staggered out into the sanctuary and fell to his knees. He clenched the beads of his rosary to tightly that his fingers ached. He continued to pray.
-*-
Jimmy stared down at the newspaper headline the day his mentor was due back and frowned. Satanic Altar Remains Found in Woods; Mayor Suspects Cult Involvement in Recent Murders
He'd chatted with numerous people of Sallisaw over the past week, trying to dig up clues to where Sam and his family had gone. He'd turned up nothing but passing rumors of the drifters. Some thought they'd mentioned going east. Some said back to South Dakota. Others just knew the black hulk of a car they drove was gone and the roads were quieter without it. He had also discovered that no one else found it strange for a man and two young boys would travel as they did. In fact, most of those he spoke to barely remembered the trio. Jill from the diner had some scandalous things to say of the father, but Jimmy didn't pay her much mind because she was one who craved the attention of men all over town.
He read down the article, looking for more information regarding the killings. Autumn Solstice. Mabon. Dark church beliefs. People believing in ritual sacrifice. A symbol that continued to surface found on the remains of the supposed altar. A photo was to be found on an inside page, so he flipped the paper open to see. Once there, he sucked his breath in sharply.
The symbol, carved into wood and cracked through the center, stood out dark in contrast to the pale altar. The symbol that had been carved into bodies.
The symbol Sam Winchester had sketched and shown him.
It would be months before he stopped thinking about the boy with the haunting doodles and the puppy dog eyes. It would be years before he saw him again. But it would be sooner when he would see the symbol again…
Prompt Number:E3007
Artist: loracine
Fic Title:Losing His Religion
Author:mandylynn4
Fandom/Genre:SPN, CaseFic
Pairing(s):Sam/Dean Winchester
Rating:Mature
Word Count:21K+
Warnings:Underage, strong religious themes
Summary:It's autumn, 1995, and the school year has only been underway for a few weeks when the Winchesters pull into a seedy motel on the outskirts of Sallisaw, Oklahoma, intent on finding the cause of three strange murders. Twelve year old Sam finds a wooden church in the woods after getting distracted on his walk home from school. He meets Jimmy, a man preparing for life in the seminary. They quickly become comfortable enough to discuss faith and life, but Jimmy suspects something strange about this child...about the faithlessness of his family....about the monsters Sam claims to have seen.... He questions the motives of the family, until, like the sudden murders, they're gone. His own faith is tested and continues to change through the next ten years - when he finds himself face to face with Sam and Dean Winchester, posing as priests to uncover details about identical murders from 1995.
Art Link(s): LJ
~*~FALL 1995~*~
It was a warm, sunny fall afternoon - one that almost made the locals believe summer hadn’t truly gone away - and Jimmy Novak had been cleaning some items that a parishioner’s family had left after their passing. The small church’s two stained glass windows didn’t open, so the air was heavy and sticky, but Jimmy didn’t mind. He’d propped open the doors to the sanctuary to let in the outdoor air. The silence, save for the rustling of leaves in the wind, was peaceful and deep and his thoughts often wandered to his own discernment - about how he would serve God and others with his calling. But for now, he was simply enjoying the quiet and being able to work with the pieces in the comfort of his faded jeans and t-shirt. Jimmy welcomed the mindlessness of his task as he used a soft cloth to clear the glass of a beautiful painting. He’d been working alone in the church for so long that day that he’d almost forgotten that other humans existed.
He startled when he heard the shuffling sound of sneakers on the scarred wooden floor and spun around, nearly dropping the painting. “Oh!”
A boy, probably not much older than twelve, stood in the doorway. His sandy-colored hair flopped in front of one eye and his hands clutched at the strap of his backpack, slung over one thin shoulder. A Walkman was clipped to his belt and the headphones hung from his thin neck. He surveyed the sanctuary with darting, untrusting eyes. “S-sorry...I just...the door was open and I-”
“No, it’s alright,” Jimmy said, safely placing the painting down and offering a genuine smile. “I just got carried away with my thoughts. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No. I just was wandering around and saw this place. Thought maybe I’d see what it looked like on the inside.”
“I see. Welcome!” Jimmy wiped his hands off with his cloth and stepped forward, hand outstretched, noting how the boy tensed as he got closer, almost defensively. “Uh, well, I’m Jimmy Novak. I’m a seminarian for St. Michael’s. And you are?”
“Sam.” His knuckles turned almost white as they clenched on his backpack and he took a step backwards, glancing over his shoulder and out into the forest as if looking for someone behind him.
“Nice to meet you, Sam.” An awkward moment passed before Jimmy cleared his throat and dropped his hand. “Forgive me, Sam, but I’ve not seen you around before. I’m sure there are people in Sallisaw that I’ve not met, but it’s unlikely. Many are church family here or friends of the same. Are you here for a special occasion? Visiting relatives?”
Sam shifted nervously from one foot to the other, face hidden away by his hair again. “Nah, we’re just passing through. Not sure how long we’re staying but Dad’s got a tough job to do in town before we can leave, so it’ll probably be a couple weeks or so..”
“Your whole family travels with your father?”
“It’s just me, Dean, and Dad. So yeah.”
“I see. That must be fun for you and...your brother?” The boy nodded, so Jimmy decided to keep going. “What kind of work does your dad do?”
“Uh….he’s a...a salesman.” Sam took another step towards the door, now halfway outside where the sun streamed down and cast his face in shadow. “I should probably get home…I wasn’t really paying attention when I was walking, listening to this new tape Dean got me….”
“I understand. You’re pretty far from the town to be walking, really. A couple of miles or so. And it’ll be getting dark here shortly. There's been a few incidents around here lately, so walking might not be safe. Do you need a ride?” He saw the boy’s hackles raise at the suggestion, so he quickly added, “Or to call...uh...Dean to pick you up?”
“No….no. I can walk. I can make it before the sun sets. It was nice meeting you, Sir.”
Jimmy nodded. “Okay. Well, nice to meet you, Sam. I hope to see you in town and maybe at Mass on Sunday?” He turned back to his task, bending down to rifle through a box of items. “If you think you need a ride, though, I’ve got Father Halloway’s old pickup out back. Won’t be a problem at all,” he threw over his shoulder. He waited a few minutes, trying to focus on his work instead of the silence that indicated the boy hadn’t left yet. Finally, though, he heard the boy shuffle away.
~*~
“Sam!”
Sam’s steps faltered on the path, head whipping around towards the sound of his brother’s voice in the woods. He could hear the crunching of leaves under Dean’s boots and he couldn’t help flinching the next time he heard the booming of his voice in the twilight. “Over here,” he hollered back, slowing his pace.
Dean’s shadow stretched out in front of him, long and dark gray, a hulking mass on the path as he rounded a slight bend. Thick leather jacket, collar turned up. Bulky boots and loose fitting jeans. Hand clasped around the thick handle of a hunting knife. He should be roasting out here today, but Sam knew he probably looked cool as a cucumber. Sam couldn’t make out his face just yet, the sun behind him, but he saw the way his brother’s shoulders relaxed slightly when he caught sight of Sam unharmed. Dean tucked the knife away in the pouch under his jacket as he jogged closer. “Sam! Jesus, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over since four.”
“Got turned around a bit when I started walking to the motel. Guess I got distracted. No big deal.”
“No. It is a big deal, Sam.” Dean was close enough that Sam could smell the fragrance of a stale cigarette on him. It set off alarm bells - Dean only bummed cigarettes when he was stressed out and when Dad wasn’t due back for a bit.
“You were smoking?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed and he tucked Sam under his arm, none to gently. He began herding Sam along the path, in the direction he’d come from, nervously looking behind them every once in a while. “Look. Dad’s working a hunt, Sammy. Dangerous stuff. People are turning up missing or dead. I’m already up shit creek because the salt lines weren’t up when he got back last night and you’re running around Oklahoma’s backwoods like some-”
“You found me, didn’t you?” Sam tugged away from Dean’s hold and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. The Impala was visible ahead. “I was just on my way back to the motel anyway. Jeez.”
“Seriously, dude? You couldn’t stay at home until I got there? Or at least leave a note?” Dean’s hands were shaking as he grabbed for Sam’s arm. He missed, but his blunt fingers snagged a bit of Sam’s hoodie, and he reeled the younger boy in like a fish on a pole. “You’re damn lucky Dad’s still at the library researching shit. He’s gonna be super pissed when he finds out you’ve been traipsing around the woods like this all by yourself.” He did a quick once-over and his frown deepened. “Unarmed even! Fuck!”
“I’m fine, Dean!” Sam wrenched his arm loose of his brother’s grip, but climbed into the Impala just the same. “I went for a walk. It’s not even dark.” When Dean didn’t respond, he blew an indignant breath into his bangs. “I’m not a baby.”
Dean scoffed as he started the car with a loud roar. “Yeah, well…”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, the town coming into view quickly. Random people waved at them as they drove past. Sam sunk down in his seat away out of habit. Small towns made him feel exposed and vulnerable. Dean’s nervous tapping on the steering wheel made him decide to break the silence, though.
“There’s a church back there,” Sam gestured behind them with a thumb. “The guy working there was telling me-”
Dean turned sharply to look at him. “A church? In the middle of the woods?”
“Yeah. It’s called St. Michael’s and it’s-”
“No. Stop.”
“Dean, it’s a Catholic church. It’s got Holy Water and crosses. It’s not evil. If you’d just go see it…”
“I’m not going near a church in the woods, especially when we’re working a hunt that Dad’s thinking has religious ties to it - no matter how fine it seems.” He shook his head disapprovingly as he pulled the car into the lot of the hotel. “Just….just go inside and do your homework.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, checking the perimeters like he was trained to do. Once he was satisfied, he slid one hand under the seat and retrieved a crumpled package of cigarettes. “Don’t tell Dad this happened.”
Sam sighed, exasperated. “Whatever.”
~*~
It was two days later when the boy stepped into the church again, red checked flannel tied around his scrawny waist. The armpits of his t-shirt were damp, and his shaggy hair stuck to his face.
Jimmy put the last songbook on the shelf. The air in the church was humid; he wiped small beads of sweat from his upper lip. He looked up when Sam entered. Smiling brightly, he said, “Sam! How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“Good to hear it. What brings you by today?”
“Just bored and thought I’d explore. I mean, if you don’t mind me hanging out for a few minutes. I don’t really want to go back yet.” He looked down at his shoes again. “Not really any reason to get back soon anyway, with Dad at….work. And Dean’s busy with Heather.” The girl’s name was spoken with a twinge of jealousy that the seminarian had to hide a smile at.
“Absolutely. You’re welcome to ‘hang out’ all you want. I’m just straightening up around here. I might not be the greatest company, but the church can be a great place to explore. Do you have anything you want to explore in particular?” He waited for Sam to offer a response, but the boy simply approached a painting on the wall.
He peered up at it with a strange combination of wonder and skepticism. The tinny sound of music could be heard through the headphones around his neck; Jimmy wondered briefly what he was listening to. As if sensing the unspoken question, Sam flipped off the Walkman with a flick of his thumb. He used the same thumb to point at the angel in the painting.
“Who’s that? Uh...I mean, it’s an angel, right?”
Jimmy nodded, studying the painting and the child at the same time. “That’s the archangel Gabriel, I believe.”
“You don’t know? I mean,” the young boy’s cheeks flushed red, “I thought you were a pastor or something.”
Jimmy chuckled. “Well, I’ve just started my journey to becoming a priest and haven’t studied much about depictions of the deities yet. But, I’m fairly certain.”
“I guess you don’t look like a priest.” Sam scuffed one toe of his sneaker on the ground, but he seemed to relax a little at the information. “So, what do you do to become a priest? I mean, do you study the Bible or pray a lot?”
Jimmy laughed lightly. “Some of both of those, actually. Bible study, prayer, community service to our town, and service to the church here. I can’t start the seminary until I’m 24, so I’m also taking classes for my Bachelor’s degree. In the meantime, I get to shadow an experienced priest and learn from him how the church community works from his point of view.”
“You’re going to college?” The boy’s eyes shone with interest.
“Yes, it’s a requirement to have a degree in addition to the seminary graduation.”
“Like, classes about the Bible and stuff?”
“I happen to be studying communications, but Father Halloway was a philosophy major, which I suppose is similar to ‘the Bible and stuff.’” Jimmy chuckled when Sam’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I guess those courses help priests understand the Bible and God’s work more easily and I’m hoping that communications will help me deliver God’s message effectively to everyone. I’m not terribly well versed in conversation, obviously.”
“Me, either,” Sam smiled, one dimple flashing briefly. “Communications is like, public speaking and stuff?” At Jimmy’s nod, Sam continued. “Huh. That’s cool. I always just thought you just decided to become a priest and then did some weird ritual or ceremony or something.”
Jimmy sat down in one of the short wooden pews in the sanctuary, gesturing for the boy to join him. Sam stayed near the painting, though, so Jimmy turned so he could speak to him better.
“There’s an order to all of this, as any career path you choose, Sam. But I guess the first step is to get the call to the priesthood.” When Sam didn’t respond for a moment, Jimmy coughed and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “It’s kind of like finding something you have a deep interest in doing. Discovering something you love to do and have a passion to study. Some people enjoy studying art and take steps to become graphic artists. Others find joy in crunching numbers and go to school to become accountants. Of course, the priesthood has a bit more profoundness in the calling, but it’s similar.” Jimmy paused, taking in the way Sam’s face became open and thoughtful at his words. “You seem like a bright young man. Are you planning on going to college someday, Sam?”
And just like that, the wall inside of Sam flew back up. The boy frowned, slightly crooked front teeth biting down on his lip as he thought. He sat down gingerly on the pew directly behind Jimmy’s, letting his book bag slide to the floor, and looked back over at the painting of Gabriel. “Maybe. But probably not.” His voice sounded far away and small, much younger than he appeared and for some reason it made Jimmy’s heart twitch painfully. When he looked back at the seminarian, though, his expression had hardened and there wasn’t a doubt in Jimmy’s mind that the child was living with the expectation of being much older. Sam cleared his throat, as if clearing his mind as well, and looked straight into Jimmy’s eyes. “So you believe in angels, then, right? Like that Gabriel guy? In real life?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, my mom used to believe in them - that’s what Dean says anyway. And Pastor Jim that we used to stay with thought they might be real…,” he trailed off, then looked at Jimmy. “Have you seen one?”
“No, not personally.” Jimmy’s brown creased in concern. “But, just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, Sam. That’s called faith.”
Sam’s eyes went back to the painting, staring hard enough to bore holes into it. “But how did the artist know what to paint, then? I mean, if no one’s seen an angel before?”
“I’m not sure. There are enough stories in the Bible that describe the angels. The voices of God’s prophets told those stories.”
“But how does anyone know if these people were telling the truth or not? It could just be a bunch of guys who told the same silly story they made up together. They could write anything they wanted. There’s no proof.”
“I….” Jimmy swallowed, wishing that Father Halloway was here to help him with this child. A child who obviously had not grown up believing in anything that wasn’t real or tangible and who had no concept of faith. Jimmy felt a piece of his heart breaking inside to think that the spark in this boy was being snuffed out due to a complete lack of hope. He took a shaky breath. “I don’t have any proof, Sam. I have faith that it’s true and so many others hold these same beliefs. We trust in the Lord. We come together once a week - sometimes more - and talk about these things. We take pleasure in knowing that someone is out there to help us with our lives, to guide us when we need it.” He slid across the pew, reaching out a hand to the boy, intent on offering a slight bit of reassurance. “You mentioned your mother believing in angels...does she still? What does your family believe in, Sam?”
Sam got up suddenly, picking his bag up off the floor. “My mom died when I was a baby. I should probably go. Dad’s gonna wonder where I’m at.”
Jimmy gave him a soft smile, trying not to let on the deep-seated concern building inside him as he dropped his hand. “Of course. Be careful getting back, Sam. The police are still looking for answers in these brutal crimes nearby. I don’t want to have to read about you in the paper tomorrow.” He rubbed at the back of his neck before continuing, thinking about the three people they’d found carved up in the woods. “Maybe you can come to Mass on Sunday and learn more about the Catholic faith? Explore the beliefs your mother might have held?”
“Yeah….uh...maybe.” He started to leave, but doubled back as he passed the large holy water font near the doorway. “Uh….this is going to sound weird, but….can I…” He gestured at the water. “With all that's going on - the murders - maybe I can start with this and try to believe in something.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, but went to fetch a small vial for holy water anyway. They’d take these to shut-ins and the nursing homes and hospitals nearby, but this was the first time someone had asked for one. He filled the bottle and held it out to the boy.
“You know not to drink it, right?” he teased. “People dip their hands in it. Sometimes, babies’ heads.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Duh.” He slid the vial into his pocket. “Thanks.”
With that, the boy was gone, skittering out of the sanctuary as if a motor was attached to his backside. Jimmy made his way to the back of the church, settling into the tiny office. He picked up the old rotary phone, dialing a number by heart.
“Hello? Father Halloway? I’ve got a few questions….”
~*~
Sam smiled up at the waitress, happily digging into the piece of strawberry shortcake she placed in front of him. “Thanks.” His math textbook was spread out on the table, but he’d long since forgotten about it in order to eat dinner.
“Not a problem, sugar. Your daddy told me to look out for you and your brother - make sure y’all get enough to eat.”
Dean gave her his flirty grin, stretching out in the booth so that his shirt tightened around his chest. “That’s real nice of you, ma’am.”
Sam rolled his eyes. But the waitress laughed, throwing her head back so her blonde curls swept across the middle of her back. Sam had to admit that, while she was pretty, she was also obviously as old as their father. It didn’t seem to bother her that a teenage boy was hitting on her, though. Her eyes glittered with promises when she looked down at Dean. “Don’t you dare call me that! I’m not old enough for that yet. Y’all can call me Jill.” As she turned to walk away, she sent another flirty glance at him, hips swaying slightly. “The tab’s been paid up for you boys. So once you get done, just leave the plates. A ‘right?”
“You’re too kind, Miss Jill!”
Sam coughed to catch her attention, then held out his water glass. “Could I get some more water, please?”
“Sure, honey.” She took it from him, frowning when a drip of water slid down over the back of her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
Once she was gone, Sam put his fork down and scowled. “Do you have to be like that?” He pushed the plate of shortcake away and began shoving books back into his backpack. “It’s gross.”
Dean sat up, blinking. “Huh?”
“She’s like thirty, Dean. Like a mom.”
“Not my mom,” Dean smirked, sending another glance after the waitress. When he noticed Sam’s huff of irritation, he sat up. “Sorry, Sammy. Didn’t know it ruffled your feathers.”
“Well, at least she’s not a demon.”
Dean’s eyes darted around the restaurant, panicked. “Dude…”
“I put holy water on the outside of my glass. Got it from Mr. Novak.”
“Seriously?”
“Just had to know.”
He took a bite of his pie and frowned. “This pie is crap.”
“Let’s just go. I’ve got a report to finish.”
“On Lord of the Flies? You’ve read that thing like three times and written as many reports on it already.”
“Yeah, well, some people like to reevaluate their work.”
Dean threw his napkin down on top of his plate, digging out a couple of dollars from his pocket for a tip, and squinted at his brother. “Whatever, nerd. I was gonna see if you wanted to go see a movie at the theater, but I guess…”
“Dean…”
“Fine.” The muscles in Dean’s jaw ticked in frustration and Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek at the rush of warmth that went through his body as he watched it. “It’s getting dark anyway. Dad will be pissed if we’re not back before the sun goes down.”
Sam had to scramble to get everything collected from the table and follow his brother outside. And if he relished the slight cool breeze on his hot face? He chalked it up to the heater being too warm in the diner. He ignored the way his stomach clenched as he watched his brother stalk down the road angrily.
It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way watching Dean, but it had certainly changed from only a year ago. Now, it wasn’t just hero worship; little brother wanting to be like big brother. Now it was confusing and strange and humiliating. It was like when Katie in Louisburg had asked if he’d like to study with him and batted her eyes. Or like when he’d accidentally looked over and noticed Chris in Abilene smiling at him as he changed for gym class. The rush of adrenaline and heat through his body was akin to those times. But Dean was his brother, which brought on another wave of the same. Sam ducked his head and forced himself to think about his report; forced his thoughts from the taboo ideas his warped brain supplied.
Puberty was fucking weird.
~*~
“Gotta hit the head,” John Winchester said, voice gruff with exhaustion - and quite possibly a fair amount of whiskey. His duffle bag hit the floor just inside the door with a heavy thud. “Make sure you tell your brother to clean that gun of his. Can’t get jammed like that again. Not if he wants us to stay alive out there.”
Sam looked up from his reading assignment to respond, but his father was already closing the bathroom door behind him. Dean came through the battered door shortly after, looking weary with his filthy, sawed-off shotgun dangling loosely in one hand. He slid it onto the rickety table beside Sam. The youngest Winchester pushed the dirty barrel off his notes and placed his bookmark back into his assigned novel before regarding his brother more thoroughly. He repressed a shudder his body threatened as he fully took in the sight of him. For some reason, wrecked Dean did a lot for him.
“Everything okay?” Sam asked. “Dad seemed pissed.”
“It’s fine.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “I just didn’t get my gun in order like I was supposed to. Almost got us killed when a fucking thing came out of nowhere and my damn gun got jammed.” He slumped down in the tattered recliner nearby and sighed. “Dad’s quick at least. Made sure we didn’t get as much as a scrape. And watch your mouth.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Like you care.” He watched as Dean stripped off his jacket and flannel, taking inventory of his limbs, as if he wasn’t quite sure he’d escaped intact. “What was it anyway?”
Dean looked up at Sam as he emptied his pockets onto the dingy bedspread. His voice was low, glancing towards the bathroom door occasionally. “To be honest? I’ve never seen anything like it. But Dad’s got a line into some other hunters. He stopped by a payphone on the way back in; talked for a long time and made a bunch of notes in his journal.”
“You think Dad knew what it was?”
“No.”
Sam swallowed against his dry throat. “Seriously?”
“I’m sure he’s gonna find out. That’s why we’re here, right?” Dean came closer, putting a warm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Don’t worry.” He gave his younger brother a small, reassuring smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder briefly and leaned closer, a final check over his shoulder for their father. “But it was totally fucked, Sammy...it looked kind of like-”
The bathroom door swung open and Sam watched as his older brother’s body stiffened, hand falling away from his shoulder and face flushing. John was tucking in his shirts. He surveyed the room, eyes narrowing at the door. “I’m going out. Gotta lead on something down at the diner. You boys stay here. Don’t stay up late and fix the damn salt lines.” The door was already shutting behind him. A moment later, the familiar rumble of the Impala taking off filled the room.
“Sir, yes, sir!” Dean said softly, a strange tone to his voice. Sam looked at him curiously. Dean sighed. “How’re you comin’ on your homework?”
“Almost done.”
“Good. And you ate?”
“Yep. Washed the dishes, too.”
“Brown-noser,” Dean teased with a small, weary smile. “How’s about we find something good on the boob tube when you’re done with the studying?” He fetched the bag of salt from the floor near the door and began checking the lines around the room. When Sam didn’t answer, he offered, “Maybe we can find something on pay per view, eh?”
Sam shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Like what?” He thought back to the few times he’d woken up and caught Dean watching adult movies on motel televisions. Sweat prickled his underarms when he recalled the sounds his brother made and how he had an impulsion to be able to see more than just the back of Dean and the lewd program he was watching. He knew that’s what teenage boys did when left to their own devices - and more recently, he’d began to see the value in touching his own body - but seeing it was a dirty thrill in itself. He dragged his mind back from those thoughts, swiveling in the chair so his lap was concealed under the table. Luckily, Dean didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t know.” The older brother snagged the cardboard advertisement off the top of the television set and scanned the programs. “At eleven Batman Forever’s on.”
“We’ve seen it like three times already.”
“Yeah, but it’s Batman, Sam. You can’t go wrong with the Riddler and Two-Face.”
Sam couldn’t help smiling up at his brother. Dean’s face became so young, so carefree when he could just focus on kid stuff and not hunting…. “Okay. Point. But I’ve gotta get this stuff done first, okay? And you gotta dress your gun before Dad gets back.”
“Ughhh...party pooper.”
Sam laughed and tried very hard not to notice the way his brother’s joints became looser, his eyes sparkled, or his entire being resembled the sixteen year old he was supposed to be. He was happy and that made Sam happy. And if it happened to be a few minutes before he could safely stand up from the table? No one needed to know why...
~*~
Sam rolled over in his bed, startling awake when he heard the scratching noise across the room. The television was still on, although the sound had been turned down and the screen was running through the pages of the local channel’s programming. Dean’s head was visible at one end of the small sofa, an arm stretched over his eyes in slumber. Soft snores came from the other bed, where Sam could see his father’s form, still clothed, stretched diagonally across the covers. He must have come in and passed out, his shoes still on. A quick scan of the door revealed his father’s break in the salt line, boot prints scattering the grains of salt throughout the threadbare carpet. Sam swallowed against the lump of fear in his throat.
Scritch-scritch-scraaaaatch…
Sam’s eyes flicked over to the darkened doorway of the bathroom, where the sounds were coming from. “Dean,” he tried to say, but his voice was weak and small. His brother didn’t move. He was afraid to try saying it again; worried that whatever was scratching would hear him.
Slowly, he reached under his pillow and retrieved the silver knife he kept there. The vial of holy water was tucked under his pillow, too, but he ignored it for now. His mind whirled with bits of Latin he’d heard his father chanting during hunts, but he was unsure of the order in which to say any of them. His heart sped up as the scratching got louder. He caught movement in the bathroom - a shadow amongst the darkness - and his breath caught.
A woman’s shape. Long, curls down a slender back. Thin fingers with pointy nails. Soft curves. Willowy legs. Glowing, golden eyes - catlike.
Sam shivered as the figure scratched her nails down the doorframe, walking forward and into the room. He could see now, even in the dim light that it was not at all a woman. Its face….
“Sammmm,” the thing whispered. It was at the foot of his bed, nails - no claws - gripping the coverlet and pulling it towards her.
Sam shook, the whole bed vibrating with his fear, and he couldn’t believe his brother and father weren’t waking up to this. He didn’t try to keep the covers on his body, though, knowing that he’d lose strength if it came to a fight. The covers were of no use, anyway. His hand hurt with the force he was gripping the knife with and he couldn’t stop the instinctual pull of his legs up underneath him as he scrambled up on the bed.
“Go-go away,” he said, voice watery. He felt his eyes sting with tears and since when had he started crying at the sight of a monster?
“Oh, Sam,” the creature hissed, amusement evident. “That knife won’t harm me. And the holy water is laughable. If you think that man in the woods has magic, you're sorely mistaken, baby. In fact, you should tell Daddy over there that I won’t be easily countered. You know, when you get your big boy voice back.”
Sam gasped as the monster shifted closer to the supine form of his father. Its hand reached out and raked a sharp nail over John’s chest, blood marking the front of his shirt as it carved into his flesh. John grunted in his sleep, but didn’t move otherwise.
“Don’t worry, baby,” the monster grinned. It regarded Sam through strands of fiery red hair, golden eyes blazing stronger as the blood spilled. “He can’t feel it. Yet.” It slashed in deeper, just at the sternum. Blood spurted upwards, sprinkling the creature’s face and causing it to moan in pleasure. “He will, though...if he keeps trying to meddle with Mabon…” It licked the blood from its claw, laughing. Then, quick as a flash, the creature was next to Dean, claw outstretched.
Sam screamed.
~*~
John looked thoughtfully at his sons, Sam curled up with his head propped up on Dean’s lap while his brother ran a hand through his hair. The younger boy seemed to have finally fallen back to sleep. Dean’s hand never ceased in its soothing, despite the fact that it’d been moving for close to two hours already. He’d seen Dean’s care of the boy over the years - he’d almost always taken on a secondary parent role, fiercely protective - but this was new. The way his fingers danced over his brother’s scalp was past brotherly; it was almost intimate.
That’s ridiculous, he thought, frowning. Dean’s just shaken up. And Sam didn’t calm easily…. He shuddered at the memory of hearing his youngest child’s screams and seeing his pale, terrified face. He took a long draw from his whiskey bottle.
At the time, John hadn’t had time to really be anything but alert and ready for action. But, the sun was coming up, washing the room in an orange tint, and with the daylight and the story his son had told him? He had to admit that he was more than a little worried about the boy. He also suspected something else was going on - witchcraft or maybe possession?
The dream had been hyper-realistic, Sam had said. He’d recalled the dream effortlessly, as if all of it had happened, even going to far as to tug up John’s shirt to see his chest underneath. He had clung to Dean as he waited for John to search the room thoroughly. He demanded another line of salt be added to all of the windows and doors, all the while looking sicker than he’d ever looked. Then, as his body had calmed down and one arm wound around Dean’s waist, he’d sketched the symbol he’d seen on John’s chest.
John held the paper in his hand now. The symbol was the same as those carved into the bodies of the three people found in the woods recently. The description of the creature matched what he’d been hunting - a beautiful woman with red hair and glowing eyes. The sharp claws, though, were a new development. He hadn’t been able to figure out what had made the symbols, but now….
“Dean,” he said, low so not to disturb Sam. As it was, the boy whimpered in his sleep and clutched at his older brother’s torso more tightly. Dean’s hand faltered, then continued its stroking.
“Yeah?”
“Gonna go make a few calls. Something about this seems strange. Sam shouldn’t have known any of this and I’m not sure that it was a dream. Stay here until he wakes up.”
“Want me to wake him for school? He’s got assignments to turn in and he’ll be pissed if we don’t give him the chance to go in if he’s up for it.”
John sighed. “Wake him in time to get ready and see how he feels.” He took another swig of whiskey. “Depending on what I find out, I’ll be back after dark.”
Dean nodded. “I’ll take care of Sammy.”
~*~
Dean must have fallen back to sleep himself when he was jolted awake by the buzzing of the alarm clock. He looked down at his brother, still tucked against his body. Carefully he reached over and pressed the button to shut off the loud noise, then took a moment to actually look at Sam.
Sometimes, when he would come in late from a date or a hunt, Dean would catch this sight of Sam. Unruly hair damp around the edges from sweat and messy from slumber. Pink lips open slightly. Long, coltish limbs askew, yet graceful against the bedding. Chest rising and falling rhythmically. At times, Dean had felt his own breath catch with the view. He was blown away at the innocence and peace Sam alluded. He couldn’t believe how beautiful his baby brother had grown so far.
More than once, Dean had felt his body warming in a flush as he looked at his brother. This time was no different. In fact, he felt his body responding to the closeness of their bodies within the bed; so much closer than they normally ended up. True, they shared a bed for years and sometimes still did, but today, Sam’s entire form was pressed against Dean’s side. He could feel the curve of his shoulder against his ribs and the bow of his back under his hand. Sam’s breath puffed out onto Dean’s thin t-shirt. It was an intimacy that he wasn’t privy to with the girls he slept with and it sent a shiver through to his soul.
Sam groaned in his sleep, clutching tightly to Dean’s midsection. Dean grit his teeth and pulled his hips back, willing his body not to respond to the sounds and movement of his brother’s form. It was wrong to think these things of his brother - especially when Sam was only 12. It was evil to let the physical closeness invade him like this, to let his thoughts cross to dirty. He bit the inside of his cheek and thought about vampires and demons and werewolves and Dad….
Once Sam was still and snoring lightly again, he slid out from underneath his arm and waited patiently to see if he’d rouse. Thankfully, he didn’t, so Dean tugged on his shoes and jacket and stepped outside. He kept the door open slightly, in case Sammy did wake. He went through the motions of lighting a cigarette, then let his body relax into the sensation of the warm smoke flowing through his lungs.
The creature Sam had described...it was uncanny the accuracy to what their dad was hunting. The symbol? Something that he’d seen firsthand carved into the bodies of those found in the woods around town. And the way their dad had nearly panicked along with Sam? That was downright petrifying.
He choked on the lungful of smoke when the phone inside the hotel rang out sharply. He tossed the butt on the ground and raced inside; too late to stop it from jolting his brother from slumber.
“Shit, sorry, Sammy.” He cupped a hand on his brother’s cheek as he reached for the phone with the other. “It’s alright. I got you.” He felt Sam instantly begin to calm and he smiled softly.
Into the phone, he said, “Yeah?”
“Dean?”
“Dad?”
“I got us another room at the Starlight on the other side of town. Start packing up - the job’ll be done tonight.” His voice softened, “Sam doin’ alright?”
“He’s been sleeping...phone woke him up. Haven’t had time to ask him if he was going to school or not yet.”
Beside him, Sam huffed a breath. He watched as his brother stretched and yawned, rubbing a fist over his eyes. It made him look incredibly young. Dean flushed red with shame at the thoughts he’d had about him earlier. He coughed and scooted over, giving Sam some more space on the bed.
John hummed. “It’s probably better if he goes to school while you get the room packed up. I need you to search for a hex bag while you’re working on that. Best if he didn’t know you were looking for it.”
“So you think it’s….”
“Witch related. Some idiots around town have summoned an autumn nymph and then corrupted her. They probably thought that they could steal some of her power, but here soon, they won’t need to worry about trying to corrupt her. She’ll start killing people on her own. Maybe she’s not exactly targeting us, but to be on the safe side, I need you to keep an eye on Sam. The room at the other hotel is under the third name from the top of page 64 in the phone book in the drawer. Paid up. Make sure Sam gets to school safely and make sure you’re there to pick him up. No need for him to be alone. I’m still not sure how or why he could see her in his dream, but that’s a secondary worry at this point. Hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be back when it’s done. If I’m not back by ten tomorrow morning, call Bobby. He’ll be on his way. You find a hex bag in the room? Burn it.”
Dean frowned at the phone, which had gone dead. “Time for school, Sammy. I’ll walk with ya.”
“You don’t have to. I’m good.” Dean must have pulled a face because Sam rolled his eyes. “It was just a dream, Dean. Dad said so himself. A stupid baby dream that I freaked out about. I can get myself to school.”
Dean sighed. “Humor me.”
“Dad told you to, huh?”
“Caught me. Now get in the bathroom and brush your teeth - your mouth smells like something died in it.”
“Well,” Sam said over his shoulder on the way to the bathroom, “at least I don’t smell like the bottom of an ashtray.”
Dean scoffed. He pulled the covers up on the bed, not being able to stand leaving the room untidy, even with maid service. As he adjusted the pillow, the vial of holy water rolled onto the floor and rested against his foot. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands thoughtfully. Dean tucked the vial into his pocket quickly as the water turned off in the bathroom.
When Sam emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he began to get dressed. “Hey, Dean? You think that Mr. Novak might have some ideas about these demons? I mean, he’s studying to be a priest, so…”
“Don’t,” Dean began, fierceness in his eyes, “don’t even think about that, Sammy. Priests can’t help us. They know fuck-all about real demons. And some guy who’s studying to be a priest sure as hell can’t help us. Honestly, God can’t even help us. He made these damn things and now we’re stuck cleaning up His mess. Dad and I will take care of it. Of you.”
“But Jimmy’s been really helpful with my questions so far….and we get help from Father Jim all the time. He keeps his salt lines down just like us.”
“He’s not the same. He's a hunter, like us. And when did you get on a first name basis with this guy from the woods? I don't like it.”
“But…”
“No. You keep Mr. Novak out of this. And stay away from him.”
Sam watched as Dean stomped out of the motel room and angrily shoved a cigarette into his mouth. He pulled a clean shirt over his body and sighed. Then, as a last second idea struck him, he stuffed the sketches of the demon he’d seen in his dream last night into his backpack. He slid a hand under his pillow for the holy water, but frowned when he didn't find it. Casting a perfunctory look under the bed and the covers, he hummed in frustration. Shrugging, he figured it would turn up, and headed out the door.
~*~
“I’ll pick you up after school, okay?”
“I can walk. I’ll meet you by that weird tree out front of the high school.”
Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and frowned. “Yeah, but I’ve got stuff I’ve gotta do for Dad, so I’m not gonna be there.”
Sam’s face scrunched up in anger. “We’re leaving?”
“No. Moving across town. Don’t mention it to anyone, got it?”
“Why? That was just a dream, Dean.”
“Not the point. Dad wants us to move? We move.” He reached over and ruffled Sam’s shaggy hair. “Now go dazzle them with that insane book report.”
“Fine.” Sam headed into the school, shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.
Dean watched the milling of the middle schoolers around the grassy front yard of the school, only turning to leave once the bell had rung. Then, he retreated back down the road towards their motel.
Behind him, Sam slunk out of the school’s side entrance, eyes peeking out from under the fringe of bangs on his forehead. He cast a few quick glances in either direction, then took off running in the direction of the woods.
~*~
“Do you believe in demons?”
Sam’s voice was a hushed whisper in the dimness of the church, but Jimmy’s heart sped up as if the child had screamed it from the rafters. He wiped his now sweaty palms on his slacks and stood up from where he’d been polishing the floors.
“Demons?” The boy nodded, eyes solemn and mouth drawn tight. The seminarian regarded him carefully. “I’m not sure how Father Halloway would talk to you about this, so you’ll have to settle for my own opinion.”
“Based on your studies, right?”
“Of course. But remember, I’m not a priest yet. I’m just learning.”
“I know.”
Jimmy frowned and studied his watch. “Speaking of learning, aren’t you supposed to be in school? It’s ten in the morning.”
The apples of Sam’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t back down from the question. “Teacher in-service. No school today.”
One of Jimmy’s eyebrows cocked up, puzzled. “On a Wednesday.”
Sam huffed a breath, small hands clenching angrily at his sides. “My dad doesn’t believe in church or God or any of that. Neither does Dean. Last night I had a wicked nightmare - something that I’m pretty sure was a demon or an entity or something. They’re acting like I’m crazy.” He gulped in a deep breath, eyes wild. “I have questions and you’ve been helpful and nice and nobody else will talk to me about this stuff. And I’m pretty sure that I can’t possibly write another essay about The Lord of the Flies without a teacher wondering if I’m copying someone because no kid my age should have one that polished. I’ve written it four times.” In a small voice, looking up through his bangs, he said, “Please?”
“Okay.” Jimmy took a slow breath, then cleared his throat. “I believe there are what people may call demons to justify behaviors that they feel shame for. For example, if a man has been unfaithful to his wife, he might call the woman he had an affair with a demon. Or, if there is an unexplained, strange occurrence that has a negative connotation? That may also be blamed on demons. Like these murders….”
The boy seemed to mull over this information with great care, frown deepening on his face. “But not actual monsters, right?”
“Monsters…?”
“You know. Like vampires and ghouls and shifters and stuff like that?”
“Like Dracula?” Jimmy’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement. “Frankenstein? The Boogeyman? I’m fairly certain those are ideas made up for movies and books.”
Sam frowned. “Frankenstein wasn’t the monster. He was the doctor.” He pulled the book bag from his shoulders, digging inside until he retrieved a rumpled page from the bottom. He smoothed it out on the nearest pew before presenting it to Jimmy. “I’m talking about these.”
Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline, mouth dropping open. “Where….where did you get this?”
“It’s mine. I drew these.”
“But this,” Jimmy indicated the symbol scrawled near a corner, “where have you seen this?”
Sam shrugged. “My dream last night. That was carved in my dad’s chest. By this.” He pointed to the crude drawing of a woman with claws.
“Do you know what it represents?” When the boy shook his head, he continued, “it’s a symbol in the Wiccan religion. But the Wiccan religion is peaceful…”
“That thing in my dream was anything but peaceful.”
Jimmy nodded. “Are all of these drawn from your dreams?”
“No.”
“Your imagination?”
“No.”
“Where, then, Sam?”
“Some are from my dad’s journal. Some are from things I’ve seen.” Sam swallowed. “Dad and Dean are superheroes, Mr. Novak. They save people from these things.”
“Your father’s not a salesman, then?”
“Hunter.”
Jimmy nodded. “And these things you believe you’ve seen? These are real? Your father and your brother hunt them?”
“Yes.” Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. “We’re here to help with the people who’ve gone missing. Who’ve died. In fact, holy water can help identify demons. And salt lines can keep them out of your house.”
Jimmy put the paper down, hands shaking slightly. “Sam, I don’t know what-”
“I just need to know...if God is truly here to help people in need….why does he send these things here? Why do they hurt people? And why does my family have to be the ones to save people? Why can’t we just be normal?”
The seminarian sucked in a deep breath. “God gives us tests, to make us stronger. To increase our faith in Him. He’s not an uncaring God, Sam. And he doesn’t have monsters as those you are describing sent to kill us. We are His creations and He loves us all.” He gestured to the paper on the pew, not wanting to look it or Sam equally. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m afraid that I can’t help you. And for the record, as a soon-to-be man of the cloth? Holy water doesn't have magical powers and neither does salt. The people with the ability to solve cases like these are the police. Maybe we should call them and show them your notes. Your father’s notes….”
The boy stood still for a long moment, scarcely breathing. Jimmy felt the tension in both their bodies, heavy in the air of the church. Then, as if a something had suddenly switched inside him, Sam surged forward and snatched the paper up. He stuffed it in his backpack fiercely. Tears were starting to stream down his face, Jimmy noticed, as the boy headed for the door. HIs chest was heaving and his back was ramrod straight. He turned at the entrance to the church, fury in his eyes.
“Dean kept telling me not to talk to you. That you would try to tell me lies to keep me from believing the truth. And you almost had me, Mr. Novak. I almost had your blind faith in your God. But I’m right. People have been dying in this town from a demon and we’re going to save the rest of you.”
And just as quickly as he’d come, Sam was gone.
~*~
“Mr. Novak.”
Jimmy looked up at the voice at the door of the sacristy, where he was rummaging through a box of tithing envelopes. A teenager, wearing a thick leather jacket and walking a cocktail sure-footed saunter, approached him, stopping not a foot away. He looked pretty for a boy, bowed lips and thick eyelashes, but hardened and older than his years. He looked like a man who'd seen too much, stuffed inside the body of a young model. The seminarian pulled himself up, feeling his heartbeat speed up and his breath catch. “Can I help you?”
“What did you say to Sam?”
“Pardon?”
“Sam. Little guy, about this high, floppy hair and puppy eyes? Dimples. Smart..just like his mouth some days.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I didn’t-”
The boy’s hand flew out, striking the wall that Jimmy hadn't realized he'd backed into. Anger flashed in green eyes. Jimmy flinched.
“He wouldn't tell me what was wrong when he got home. Wouldn't tell me he'd been crying. But my brother's a rotten liar and I knew the second he walked in. I know him like the back of my hand.”
“Dean?”
The boy leaned forward, close enough that Jimmy could see flecks of gold in his eyes. “Yeah. Sammy’s my responsibility and he was upset….after ditching school and coming here. I know you're smart enough not to have touched a hair on his head, but I don't think you're quite smart enough to keep your Bible thumping bullshit to yourself.” When Jimmy didn't answer, he slapped the wall again, rattling the tiny wooden cross hanging there. “What did you say to him?”
“Well talked about his drawings,” Jimmy stammered, feeling his face heat up with panic. “He asked about God and monsters. He told me crazy things - about holy water and salt and hunting-”
Dean stepped back, nearly reeling as if Jimmy had struck him. “What else?”
“I told him that those things weren't magical; that the police could help with the murders and that he needed to show them his drawings and your father’s notes…”
Suddenly, Dean was on him, pressing him back into the wall with hands clenched into fists holding him steady at the shoulders. “I'm going to say this one time: leave Sammy alone. This job our dad is working is almost done. But since Sam likes a good debate, he'll keep coming back out here and listening to your plainclothes bullshit about what you think is real. But if you don't send him packing next time he comes here, I will personally make sure you meet a monster face to face.”
He let go of Jimmy, condescendingly smoothing down his shirt where he'd held it. He backed away, dangerous glare still poised on him.
Once Dean had turned at the door, Jimmy found his voice. “You're doing him a disservice by not allowing him to have faith.”
Dean’s jaw twitched. “He does have faith. Just not in your God.”
For minutes after the boy had left, Jimmy stood stock still, waiting for him to return and kill him. Anxiety pooled in his stomach and made him nauseous. Eventually, he gathered the capacity to push away from the wall and fall to his knees. He prayed for a long time for those boys and for his own safety.
Mostly, he prayed that the angels would watch over him until the Winchesters were gone….for good.
~*~
It didn’t take but a few hours for Jimmy to realize that Sam’s family was in the wind. Both boys had cut classes that day, neither schools even thinking twice about it. Dean’s attendance was spotty at best anyway, said the secretary at the high school. Sam’s teachers had wondered briefly, but hadn’t investigated further since he didn’t cause much trouble and they believed he was ill.
He put in a call to Father Halloway, not giving details about Dean’s visit, but telling the jest of the conversation to him. The old man had sighed and hummed in agreement while he regaled the tale. Eventually, the priest had asked Jimmy to think hard about his course of action. That whatever he did next would be important to his character as a future man of the cloth.
His discussion with Father Halloway confirmed what he thought might be his next move. And although the elderly priest was due back next week, he urged Jimmy to make the phone call - not to wait. He’d been right that the symbol was Wiccan, but Father Halloway had reminded him that while Wiccans were a peaceful religious group, there were others who would worship the Devil himself using the same symbols. The fact that Sam Winchester’s family was directly linked to the symbol did not bode well. He’d spent some time praying the rosary and asking for answers, but, as usual, God was silent. With resolve, he hauled himself back into the office and went to the phone. His hand wavered as he punched in the numbers.
“Hello? Sequoyah County Sheriff’s Office.”
“Yes, this is Jimmy Novak, at St. Michael’s? I’m calling on behalf of a child in danger. His name is Sam Winchester….and he seems to have been brainwashed, or worse. And as much as it pains me to think it, his father may have information regarding these murders.”
His hand tightened on the receiver as he listened to the police officer on the other end. His face paled and he chewed at his bottom lip with worry. He listened for a long time, then sighed.
“So you're saying that the boy that I’ve been talking with for weeks just doesn't exist? No brother? Father? No one by that name anywhere at all?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “No….I don't need to make a statement. I...I'm fine. Maybe overtired. Probably seeing things where there really isn't anything at all. Yes. Father Holloway will be back a week from tomorrow. I’ll make sure he stops by to visit your aunt.”
When he hung up the phone, he staggered out into the sanctuary and fell to his knees. He clenched the beads of his rosary to tightly that his fingers ached. He continued to pray.
-*-
Jimmy stared down at the newspaper headline the day his mentor was due back and frowned. Satanic Altar Remains Found in Woods; Mayor Suspects Cult Involvement in Recent Murders
He'd chatted with numerous people of Sallisaw over the past week, trying to dig up clues to where Sam and his family had gone. He'd turned up nothing but passing rumors of the drifters. Some thought they'd mentioned going east. Some said back to South Dakota. Others just knew the black hulk of a car they drove was gone and the roads were quieter without it. He had also discovered that no one else found it strange for a man and two young boys would travel as they did. In fact, most of those he spoke to barely remembered the trio. Jill from the diner had some scandalous things to say of the father, but Jimmy didn't pay her much mind because she was one who craved the attention of men all over town.
He read down the article, looking for more information regarding the killings. Autumn Solstice. Mabon. Dark church beliefs. People believing in ritual sacrifice. A symbol that continued to surface found on the remains of the supposed altar. A photo was to be found on an inside page, so he flipped the paper open to see. Once there, he sucked his breath in sharply.
The symbol, carved into wood and cracked through the center, stood out dark in contrast to the pale altar. The symbol that had been carved into bodies.
The symbol Sam Winchester had sketched and shown him.
It would be months before he stopped thinking about the boy with the haunting doodles and the puppy dog eyes. It would be years before he saw him again. But it would be sooner when he would see the symbol again…