Shadows 05
A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys. My beta was sick and busy with life. I hope you're still with me :)
I'll post the next chapter in a few days.
Enjoy :D
- Katie -
Katie made a big green bubble with the chewing gum in her mouth. It burst and deflated quickly, but so far, it was the biggest one she’d created in an hour of ceaseless work. She was ridiculously proud of it.
Her dad’s motel was no hotel Ritz, and not many people tended to rent a room around eleven o’clock in the night. The flow of “customers” increased after midnight, when mostly bellied and bald men needed an undisturbed place to spend some quality time in their lady’s (or man’s) company.
Katie chewed thoroughly, to the point of her jaw starting aching, and attempted to surpass her record of the biggest bubble of the night.
Occasionally two women would rent a room but that happened rarely. Katie had always thought girls to be morally on a higher ground than boys, and this observation proved her right. She’d seen too many men with rings on their fingers, as they dragged a cheap-looking chick or a guy from the street behind, to lose every last naïve thought she could have possessed about the male part of the population.
The men coming here were pigs, cheating pigs.
As her next bubble-sadly no bigger than the previous-burst with a loud pop, a woman entered and approached her desk. Katie looked her up and down, immediately hating her. The woman looked like a model from the famous fashion magazine covers. She had auburn hair, huge, gravity-defying breasts (And that was so not fair!), skin tanned just right. No pores on face, no imperfections. Bitch.
Katie was a professional though. She smiled sweetly. “Hiya.”
“Hi, sweetie,” the woman replied, like Katie was some kid. She was old enough to vote, for Christ’ sake!
“What can I do for you?”
The woman smoothed her miniskirt-a hooker, she was definitely a hooker-and looked around with open disgust, taking her time to answer. She ran a forefinger gracefully over Katie’s desk, bringing it to her face for inspection. She grimaced, rubbing away some made-up specks of dust her mind supplied. “I am meeting with my friends here. One of them wears a hideous trench coat…”
When Katie just continued to chew on her gum loudly, the woman continued. “One wears a cap and suspenders… no?” she asked, clearly becoming irritated. “One of them is really tall, looks like he’s in need of a hairdresser...”
“The last two’ve just rented a room here,” Katie interrupted, remembering the two described guys. She had assumed they came here together. Hearing that this woman had to be their ordered hooker relieved Katie from tonight’s nightmares. The pair would make a hell of a weird couple.
Not that the implanted vision of this threesome in her brain was any better.
“Sorry though, no dude in a trench coat,” she said. And really? Three guys on one hooker? Katie was happy it wasn’t in her job description to clean the rooms afterward. Poor old Pakistan lady who did that...
“Can you tell me the number of their room, honey?” the woman asked.
If you shove the pet names down your throat and choke on them… Katie looked into her notebook. “Room 29.”
The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, frowning for a second like she could hear Katie’s thoughts aloud. “Thank you,” she purred, and walked away in the direction of the long hall where the rooms were situated, her hips swinging from side to side.
Katie cracked the next bubble with her teeth. She rubbed her cheek. It started itching. When it worsened, she took out her small cosmetic mirror from the handbag. Half of her face was covered with ugly red pimples. What the-
“Eww!”
- Sam -
“We should leave, Sam,” Castiel said.
Sam stood up and towered over the angel to give himself some upper ground.
“This ain’t right,” Benny offered his opinion, for which Sam couldn’t care less. Of course it was screwed and wrong. Of course it was gonna bite him in the ass later. But the feeling of rightness battled with much more powerful instincts to learn, to know, to find out. The fight hadn’t even started properly and Sam’s conscience was already losing a great deal.
“Listen, Cas,” he said, while Dean joined little Sam to play with the teddy bear, “I know this is wrong, okay? I know. It’s just-we’re talking about Dean here. No chick flick moments, no open feelings. And… and I’ve always thought I knew everything about him. Suddenly, I’m looking at my big brother putting a damn revolver into his mouth and I just can’t leave it like that. Dean won’t ever tell me… I know that one for sure, and… I-I need to find out why he did it… so I can help him.”
“You can’t help him, Sam,” Castiel insisted. “These moments already happened. It’s in the past. Dean has made peace with it.”
“Oh, did he?” Sam shot back. “You see into people, Cas. You tell me if Dean really is fine under the surface.”
Castiel lowered his head. The silence spoke for him.
“I thought so…”
Sam looked at little Dean. He was happy, content with just playing with his baby brother. This was how Sam had always imagined Dean with him in the time Sam was too little to remember. Seeing it warmed his heart and broke it in halves simultaneously.
Dean was his one true family, always had been. Sure, he could be insufferable at times when he put his head into it. He was overly flirty and joked when the situation was too serious to be taken lightly. He’d make fun of Sam reading books, liking school. He’d tease him like big brothers did to the younger ones.
He ate too loudly, spoke with his mouth full. He could be rude and tactless.
He was also very compassionate. He was brave, smart and fun to be around. He did those stupid things like sacrificing himself for others, and didn’t expect anything in return. He did it because he wanted to make this a better place. After everything they’d been through, he still believed in people.
He was loyal and generous. He loved his family above all.
He was all those things and more, and Sam had always adored him for them. He’d never spoken it aloud. How could he, when Winchesters were the tough brothers raised by an ex-marine and a hunter? Survival was more important than feelings.
Sam gritted his teeth. He would personally see to all Dean’s hidden wounds, with or without his brother’s consent. They had been ignoring their own lives for far too long.
But to heal the wounds he needed to locate them first.
Castiel followed his gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Sam read beneath his controlled expression. The angel craved to explore Dean’s life as well. He was just too righteous to act on the desire.
“I can’t stop you, Sam. You are in charge of the moment,” Cas told him finally, “but I’m not supporting you. I want you to realize that what you’re doing is wrong.”
“This ain’t gonna heal the kid’s wounds,” Benny said.
“It will reopen them.”
Sam could have argued with that. He’d taken a few psychology classes while in Stanford, and although he was far from being a professional, all the books and their professor taught him that denying and ignoring the problem never did help. It made the problem grow to monstrous proportions. What made people deal was talking. They needed to confide in someone, maybe cry on their shoulder. Let it go.
Benny pursed his lips. “Dean’s gonna be pissed.”
That was more of a sound argument. It still didn’t move Sam’s resolve.
“I’m afraid he won’t forgive us,” Castiel said.
“He’s gonna skin us alive,” the vampire added.
“I doubt Dean will resort to such brutality.”
Benny snorted. “You didn’t see him the couple days after I found him. The kid was like a kitten one minute, the next sinking his claws right into yer-“
“Shut it!” Sam snapped. “Both of you.” Cas tilted his head, irritated. Benny’s jaw clenched. “This is my decision and I’ll be the one to bear the consequences. It has nothing to do with you.”
“’Cept you dragging us along,” Benny drawled.
“Fine! You don’t wanna be here, you don’t have to.” Sam concentrated all his thoughts on excluding the angel and vampire back to awareness. He tried everything he could have come up with, from visualizing the scenario to simply thinking it.
Nothing happened. Even saying it aloud didn’t work. Dean still played with Sammy and the teddy bear, and Castiel and Benny stared at Sam like he’d gone crazy.
“Why don’t it work?” Benny turned to Cas.
The angel didn’t manage to answer in time. The memory changed abruptly. Sam was slowly getting used to the feeling of something crushing his body, making a small box of his flesh and bones only to stretch them again. It still made him shudder afterward.
This time, they appeared at a gas station. The Impala was parked at the far side. Sam saw their dad striding into the shop, body tense. What caught his attention was the stormy look on the man’s face. Pissed off, and a lot.
“Why didn’t it work?” Benny repeated the question, like nothing had interrupted them. Sam didn’t look at Castiel so he couldn’t tell why the angel hadn’t answered. He himself ignored Benny in favor of getting soaked by the presence of his breathing father.
Benny gazed the way Sam’s eyes were trained. “I figure you know him?”
“He’s my dad.”
It hurt to see him walking mere meters away, as alive as he could possibly be. Sam had said on many occasions he hated John Winchester’s guts, but he’d never truly meant it of course. He’d always loved his dad, worshiped him as a child and respected him as an adult.
Somewhere along the way, he’d buried those feelings, showing resentment instead.
The last conversation they’d had was full of heated words, angry accusations. Sam wished he could have had the chance to speak with dad one more time. Just once, to tell him how much Sam regretted those things he’d said over the years, to make dad listen that not everything he did was right, to tell him how much he sometimes hurt him and Dean even if John had never seen it, to make peace.
And it’s never going to happen, and yet there was so much Sam wanted to tell.
“Dean,” Castiel whispered, walking after about nine-year-old Dean, who was tugging Sam’s crying self toward the back restrooms. Little Sam was sobbing frantically as Dean pulled him behind the building. They stopped and Dean got to his knees in front of his little brother.
“Calm down, Sammy,” he urged softly, stroking the kid’s hair.
“I-I hate him, Dean, hate him!”
Dean flinched at the shrieked exclamation and so did Sam. He didn’t need to guess about whom the child was complaining. It still surprised him though. He’d never realized his supposed hatred for dad took roots so deep in the past. He’d always thought the rebellion was fueled by hormones in his pubescent years and the need for independence.
“Come on, you don’t mean it,” Dean soothed, wiping the tears gently with his fingers.
Sammy moved from the reach, letting Dean’s hand hang in midair, and stomped on his feet. “I hate dad!”
“Daddy issues, princess?” Benny mocked him.
Sam said nothing.
“He was so mean to you,” his little version sobbed. “He threw out my Teddy.”
Benny snickered. “What a bastard.”
Sam had a vague recollection of being upset at dad and losing something precious when he was a kid; nothing specific, just the burning feeling of injustice done to him. Now, he knew what the precious thing had been, and was angry once again, quickly forgetting the bitter yet thrilling reaction to seeing dad alive. John was a master in not letting Sam harbor warm feelings toward him for longer than a couple of hours. Every damn time something ruined it. Selfish words, bad mood, moving, another hunt, orders.
Orders and manipulating their lives were John’s specialties.
Orders, orders, orders. Like they didn’t have brains, like they didn’t know what was good for them.
Dean sighed. “I told you s’not your fault. And dad was right, anyway.”
Sam let out a frustrated breath. Leave it to Dean to defend their father at all costs. He felt the familiar heat bubbling inside him, wiping all rational thought and leaving chaos behind. Small Sammy had to feel it already as well. His brows knotted together in one angry line.
“You know you couldn’t hide Teddy forever. Dad had to find him sooner or later, and,” Dean stopped any coming protests when little Sam opened his mouth, “like dad said, we shouldn’t steal people’s money.”
Sam snorted. “Unbelievable,” he complained to Cas and Benny. “So hustling and credit card frauds are fine, but Dean getting money to buy me a freaking teddy bear just won’t do.”
Castiel cocked his head. “Stealing is a sin.”
“Since when do you care about that?” Sam asked harshly, and Cas said nothing more. It was an unfair and a low blow, but Sam was happy in his petty victory. He wouldn’t have any angel judge them-Dean-for their lives. Especially Castiel, who had committed too many mistakes himself to start pointing out theirs. “Dean was a kid. He didn’t know of any other way to get the money. If dad didn’t like him doing it, he shouldn’t have taught us how to do it. But he did, and now he punishes us for it?”
“It was a lesson for me,” Dean said apologetically, making little Sam pout.
“So it’s your fault?” he whined, and Sam wanted to smack his past self over the head when Dean’s eyes got that haunted look he knew so well. These moments had formed Dean’s badly hidden low self-confidence, and he hated himself for putting parts of the thoughts in his brother’s head.
“I guess…” Dean dropped his eyes, hypnotizing the ground. It was right there. Sam saw it more clearly than at all times over the past years. The delicate squeeze of fingers on Sammy’s shoulder, the bowed posture, head lowered down. It all screamed remorse and self-loathing, and Sammy just stood there, lashing out at everyone in reach for losing his plaything.
Sam scrubbed his face roughly, feeling the growing stubble. He wanted to materialize and hug this kid version of his brother, never let go, tell him over and over again that whatever Dean perceived as his fault was nonsense. Tell it to him till his brother finally understood.
Dean pulled himself together and rose up. “Come on, Sammy. We gotta hurry before dad’s done shopping.”
They started toward the restroom’s door when a shadow loomed over their forms.
Sam spun around to see a man coming up to the kids. He’d been so engrossed in Dean and his younger self he’d failed to notice the approaching guy. He stepped away instinctively before the man would go right through him.
Glancing behind the guy, Sam saw a parked truck. Judging by the matching logo on its side with the man’s baseball cap placed askew on his head, he was the driver. His deep-set eyes were shadowed, untrustworthy, focused on Dean. Thin lips curved in an ugly smirk.
“Hello there,” he leered, and it sent creeps down Sam’s spine. Castiel rounded on the man, glowering at him, but of course the guy didn’t react in any way. They were not supposed to be here.
Dean jumped slightly but hid the shock pretty quickly. He ignored the man, continuing in their way. All the trucker needed were three long steps to get in front of Dean and block his path. “I said hello.”
Sam heard a grinding sound and when he looked, Benny had all his vampire teeth out and was snarling at the trucker. It reminded Sam of a dog, growling at the intruder, someone dangerous; someone whom the dog was ready to rip into shreds for trespassing onto his territory.
Dean pushed little Sam behind his back protectively. Sammy gripped the hem of his brother’s t-shirt.
“Yeah, we heard you,” Dean replied dryly, and the man grinned. He made a step forward. Dean backed away. The man’s grin widened.
“What are his intentions?” Castiel asked, and Sam had one crazy moment where he had to fight the urge to laugh. Thankfully, he didn’t need to explain why this scene evoked the craving for blood and violence in them all. However slowly, Cas still seemed to be perfectly capable of putting the pieces together even without Sam’s help. His face turned darker each second the truck driver kept advancing on Dean.
“You’re a cute little thing, ya’know that?” He reached out to touch Dean’s nose and the boy shrank away, retreating all the while backwards, dragging Sammy with him.
The trucker closed the distance easily. “Come now, don’t be shy.”
Sam clenched his hands into tight fists. He gazed behind his back. Where the hell was dad when they needed him?
“Gotcha adorable freckles,” the trucker sighed dreamily. Sam was ready to crack the fucker’s head against the wall. He dug his fingernails into the palms. He could do nothing, at all. This here had already happened. It had already happened to Dean. There was nothing whatsoever to do to change it.
Sam hadn’t felt this helpless in a long, long time. He wanted to kill the bastard right here, now, and he couldn’t, which was so fucking frustrating-
“Dean!”
Sam had never been so glad to hear his dad’s voice. He turned to see John Winchester shaking with fury. Dad’s face was murderous. He had this one reserved solely for monsters. Now, it was aimed at the truck driver. Sam exhaled in relief.
“Dean, take your brother to the car,” dad ordered, and when Dean didn’t instantly obey, he shouted, “Now!” making Sammy cry harder. It was odd that Sam didn’t remember this particular memory. He had been old enough and the scene was intense. He should have remembered it. Was it possible he’d somehow suppressed the memory? It seemed like a solution a kid would come up with if facing something they didn’t understand and that equally terrified them.
Dean grabbed little Sam and pushed him toward the Impala without a question.
Sam was torn between following Dean to make sure he was alright and staying to see dad beating the crap out of the pervert. In the end, he really had no choice, though. These memories were about Dean. If Sam stayed behind, he could miss something vital of Dean’s life, as his brother saw it.
So he followed Dean, Cas and Benny tightly behind, glancing over his shoulder. He was eager to get a glimpse of dad, but the two men were hidden behind the corner from prying eyes.
“You remember this one?” Benny gritted through his now human teeth.
Sam shook his head. He wasn’t in a condition to answer properly.
“I think I understand what happened,” Cas said after a moment of silence. Sam stared at him, hard. Was he for real? For a thousands-year-old angel, Cas could behave really… what, ignorantly… innocently? Sam took a closer look. The angel’s body was rigid, unleashed power crackling through the air around him, Cas knew what had taken place here. He just didn’t understand how a human being was able to be this… twisted.
Sam didn’t either.
He turned his gaze away, watching as Dean comforted little Sammy. One knee on the asphalt, hugging the life out of his brother while whispering soothing nonsenses in his ear. Dammit, it was Dean who needed comfort, not this crybaby that Sam had apparently been.
Their dad returned with a resolute pace in his stride. His knuckles were bruised, painted with blood.
“Dad?”
“Not my blood,” John retorted curtly, using a harsh tone which certainly made Dean believe he was the one at fault. Again. Sam cursed their father in his head for the hundredth time.
John assessed Dean critically, eyeing him up and down, a cold scrutiny that made Dean fidget uneasily. Dad either didn’t notice or simply ignored the signs of his son’s discomfort. “We’re cutting your hair when we get to the motel. They’re too long. We’ll also intensify your and Sammy’s training.”
Dean blinked, looking lost and confused as hell.
“No questions,” dad snapped, massaging his bruised knuckles. “Now you two get inside the damn car.”
Dean’s soft “Yes, sir.” was the last thing Sam heard from this memory.
- Lena -
Lena paused at the door. The two tin numbers were announcing the room’s number “29”. Hearing no sound inside, she entered. Lena had prepared herself for any sort of complications but was delighted to see all four men unconscious and blissfully unaware of the dangers creeping out of the shadows. Dean Winchester was lying on a bed with feet fallen over the edge, the angel half on top of him, covering him like a protecting shield. Sam Winchester and the vampire-that had so stupidly refused her a few days ago-were sprawled on the floor, limbs spread in weird angles.
She knelt down beside Sam and reached inside the breast pocket of his highly old-fashioned shirt. He would easily pass as a farmer boy with that look. She ran her other hand through Sam’s hair. The boy really needed a hairdresser.
A small, light coin made a contact with her fingers, and she took it out. This one was a very helpful kind of her magic tools, Lena’s favorite. It served her good like the GPS humans were so fond of, although a little more inaccurate. When she concentrated, Lena could determine how far the coin was and in which direction she should head to find it.
She patted the Sam’s other pocket, snatching out a cellphone, and dialed a memorized number. Waiting for the man to pick up, she didn’t give him any chance to speak then, going right down to business. “I have a deal for you.”
The king was quiet, surely trying to place Lena’s voice. He remembered. “Oh, really, honey? This is how we open a conversation?”
Lena rolled her eyes, waited. She wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, nor did she have the time.
“You spoil my fun, sweetheart, but fine, tell me more,” the king said.
She grinned. Crowley had always known how to make business.
part four
part six
I'll post the next chapter in a few days.
Enjoy :D
- Katie -
Katie made a big green bubble with the chewing gum in her mouth. It burst and deflated quickly, but so far, it was the biggest one she’d created in an hour of ceaseless work. She was ridiculously proud of it.
Her dad’s motel was no hotel Ritz, and not many people tended to rent a room around eleven o’clock in the night. The flow of “customers” increased after midnight, when mostly bellied and bald men needed an undisturbed place to spend some quality time in their lady’s (or man’s) company.
Katie chewed thoroughly, to the point of her jaw starting aching, and attempted to surpass her record of the biggest bubble of the night.
Occasionally two women would rent a room but that happened rarely. Katie had always thought girls to be morally on a higher ground than boys, and this observation proved her right. She’d seen too many men with rings on their fingers, as they dragged a cheap-looking chick or a guy from the street behind, to lose every last naïve thought she could have possessed about the male part of the population.
The men coming here were pigs, cheating pigs.
As her next bubble-sadly no bigger than the previous-burst with a loud pop, a woman entered and approached her desk. Katie looked her up and down, immediately hating her. The woman looked like a model from the famous fashion magazine covers. She had auburn hair, huge, gravity-defying breasts (And that was so not fair!), skin tanned just right. No pores on face, no imperfections. Bitch.
Katie was a professional though. She smiled sweetly. “Hiya.”
“Hi, sweetie,” the woman replied, like Katie was some kid. She was old enough to vote, for Christ’ sake!
“What can I do for you?”
The woman smoothed her miniskirt-a hooker, she was definitely a hooker-and looked around with open disgust, taking her time to answer. She ran a forefinger gracefully over Katie’s desk, bringing it to her face for inspection. She grimaced, rubbing away some made-up specks of dust her mind supplied. “I am meeting with my friends here. One of them wears a hideous trench coat…”
When Katie just continued to chew on her gum loudly, the woman continued. “One wears a cap and suspenders… no?” she asked, clearly becoming irritated. “One of them is really tall, looks like he’s in need of a hairdresser...”
“The last two’ve just rented a room here,” Katie interrupted, remembering the two described guys. She had assumed they came here together. Hearing that this woman had to be their ordered hooker relieved Katie from tonight’s nightmares. The pair would make a hell of a weird couple.
Not that the implanted vision of this threesome in her brain was any better.
“Sorry though, no dude in a trench coat,” she said. And really? Three guys on one hooker? Katie was happy it wasn’t in her job description to clean the rooms afterward. Poor old Pakistan lady who did that...
“Can you tell me the number of their room, honey?” the woman asked.
If you shove the pet names down your throat and choke on them… Katie looked into her notebook. “Room 29.”
The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, frowning for a second like she could hear Katie’s thoughts aloud. “Thank you,” she purred, and walked away in the direction of the long hall where the rooms were situated, her hips swinging from side to side.
Katie cracked the next bubble with her teeth. She rubbed her cheek. It started itching. When it worsened, she took out her small cosmetic mirror from the handbag. Half of her face was covered with ugly red pimples. What the-
“Eww!”
- Sam -
“We should leave, Sam,” Castiel said.
Sam stood up and towered over the angel to give himself some upper ground.
“This ain’t right,” Benny offered his opinion, for which Sam couldn’t care less. Of course it was screwed and wrong. Of course it was gonna bite him in the ass later. But the feeling of rightness battled with much more powerful instincts to learn, to know, to find out. The fight hadn’t even started properly and Sam’s conscience was already losing a great deal.
“Listen, Cas,” he said, while Dean joined little Sam to play with the teddy bear, “I know this is wrong, okay? I know. It’s just-we’re talking about Dean here. No chick flick moments, no open feelings. And… and I’ve always thought I knew everything about him. Suddenly, I’m looking at my big brother putting a damn revolver into his mouth and I just can’t leave it like that. Dean won’t ever tell me… I know that one for sure, and… I-I need to find out why he did it… so I can help him.”
“You can’t help him, Sam,” Castiel insisted. “These moments already happened. It’s in the past. Dean has made peace with it.”
“Oh, did he?” Sam shot back. “You see into people, Cas. You tell me if Dean really is fine under the surface.”
Castiel lowered his head. The silence spoke for him.
“I thought so…”
Sam looked at little Dean. He was happy, content with just playing with his baby brother. This was how Sam had always imagined Dean with him in the time Sam was too little to remember. Seeing it warmed his heart and broke it in halves simultaneously.
Dean was his one true family, always had been. Sure, he could be insufferable at times when he put his head into it. He was overly flirty and joked when the situation was too serious to be taken lightly. He’d make fun of Sam reading books, liking school. He’d tease him like big brothers did to the younger ones.
He ate too loudly, spoke with his mouth full. He could be rude and tactless.
He was also very compassionate. He was brave, smart and fun to be around. He did those stupid things like sacrificing himself for others, and didn’t expect anything in return. He did it because he wanted to make this a better place. After everything they’d been through, he still believed in people.
He was loyal and generous. He loved his family above all.
He was all those things and more, and Sam had always adored him for them. He’d never spoken it aloud. How could he, when Winchesters were the tough brothers raised by an ex-marine and a hunter? Survival was more important than feelings.
Sam gritted his teeth. He would personally see to all Dean’s hidden wounds, with or without his brother’s consent. They had been ignoring their own lives for far too long.
But to heal the wounds he needed to locate them first.
Castiel followed his gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Sam read beneath his controlled expression. The angel craved to explore Dean’s life as well. He was just too righteous to act on the desire.
“I can’t stop you, Sam. You are in charge of the moment,” Cas told him finally, “but I’m not supporting you. I want you to realize that what you’re doing is wrong.”
“This ain’t gonna heal the kid’s wounds,” Benny said.
“It will reopen them.”
Sam could have argued with that. He’d taken a few psychology classes while in Stanford, and although he was far from being a professional, all the books and their professor taught him that denying and ignoring the problem never did help. It made the problem grow to monstrous proportions. What made people deal was talking. They needed to confide in someone, maybe cry on their shoulder. Let it go.
Benny pursed his lips. “Dean’s gonna be pissed.”
That was more of a sound argument. It still didn’t move Sam’s resolve.
“I’m afraid he won’t forgive us,” Castiel said.
“He’s gonna skin us alive,” the vampire added.
“I doubt Dean will resort to such brutality.”
Benny snorted. “You didn’t see him the couple days after I found him. The kid was like a kitten one minute, the next sinking his claws right into yer-“
“Shut it!” Sam snapped. “Both of you.” Cas tilted his head, irritated. Benny’s jaw clenched. “This is my decision and I’ll be the one to bear the consequences. It has nothing to do with you.”
“’Cept you dragging us along,” Benny drawled.
“Fine! You don’t wanna be here, you don’t have to.” Sam concentrated all his thoughts on excluding the angel and vampire back to awareness. He tried everything he could have come up with, from visualizing the scenario to simply thinking it.
Nothing happened. Even saying it aloud didn’t work. Dean still played with Sammy and the teddy bear, and Castiel and Benny stared at Sam like he’d gone crazy.
“Why don’t it work?” Benny turned to Cas.
The angel didn’t manage to answer in time. The memory changed abruptly. Sam was slowly getting used to the feeling of something crushing his body, making a small box of his flesh and bones only to stretch them again. It still made him shudder afterward.
This time, they appeared at a gas station. The Impala was parked at the far side. Sam saw their dad striding into the shop, body tense. What caught his attention was the stormy look on the man’s face. Pissed off, and a lot.
“Why didn’t it work?” Benny repeated the question, like nothing had interrupted them. Sam didn’t look at Castiel so he couldn’t tell why the angel hadn’t answered. He himself ignored Benny in favor of getting soaked by the presence of his breathing father.
Benny gazed the way Sam’s eyes were trained. “I figure you know him?”
“He’s my dad.”
It hurt to see him walking mere meters away, as alive as he could possibly be. Sam had said on many occasions he hated John Winchester’s guts, but he’d never truly meant it of course. He’d always loved his dad, worshiped him as a child and respected him as an adult.
Somewhere along the way, he’d buried those feelings, showing resentment instead.
The last conversation they’d had was full of heated words, angry accusations. Sam wished he could have had the chance to speak with dad one more time. Just once, to tell him how much Sam regretted those things he’d said over the years, to make dad listen that not everything he did was right, to tell him how much he sometimes hurt him and Dean even if John had never seen it, to make peace.
And it’s never going to happen, and yet there was so much Sam wanted to tell.
“Dean,” Castiel whispered, walking after about nine-year-old Dean, who was tugging Sam’s crying self toward the back restrooms. Little Sam was sobbing frantically as Dean pulled him behind the building. They stopped and Dean got to his knees in front of his little brother.
“Calm down, Sammy,” he urged softly, stroking the kid’s hair.
“I-I hate him, Dean, hate him!”
Dean flinched at the shrieked exclamation and so did Sam. He didn’t need to guess about whom the child was complaining. It still surprised him though. He’d never realized his supposed hatred for dad took roots so deep in the past. He’d always thought the rebellion was fueled by hormones in his pubescent years and the need for independence.
“Come on, you don’t mean it,” Dean soothed, wiping the tears gently with his fingers.
Sammy moved from the reach, letting Dean’s hand hang in midair, and stomped on his feet. “I hate dad!”
“Daddy issues, princess?” Benny mocked him.
Sam said nothing.
“He was so mean to you,” his little version sobbed. “He threw out my Teddy.”
Benny snickered. “What a bastard.”
Sam had a vague recollection of being upset at dad and losing something precious when he was a kid; nothing specific, just the burning feeling of injustice done to him. Now, he knew what the precious thing had been, and was angry once again, quickly forgetting the bitter yet thrilling reaction to seeing dad alive. John was a master in not letting Sam harbor warm feelings toward him for longer than a couple of hours. Every damn time something ruined it. Selfish words, bad mood, moving, another hunt, orders.
Orders and manipulating their lives were John’s specialties.
Orders, orders, orders. Like they didn’t have brains, like they didn’t know what was good for them.
Dean sighed. “I told you s’not your fault. And dad was right, anyway.”
Sam let out a frustrated breath. Leave it to Dean to defend their father at all costs. He felt the familiar heat bubbling inside him, wiping all rational thought and leaving chaos behind. Small Sammy had to feel it already as well. His brows knotted together in one angry line.
“You know you couldn’t hide Teddy forever. Dad had to find him sooner or later, and,” Dean stopped any coming protests when little Sam opened his mouth, “like dad said, we shouldn’t steal people’s money.”
Sam snorted. “Unbelievable,” he complained to Cas and Benny. “So hustling and credit card frauds are fine, but Dean getting money to buy me a freaking teddy bear just won’t do.”
Castiel cocked his head. “Stealing is a sin.”
“Since when do you care about that?” Sam asked harshly, and Cas said nothing more. It was an unfair and a low blow, but Sam was happy in his petty victory. He wouldn’t have any angel judge them-Dean-for their lives. Especially Castiel, who had committed too many mistakes himself to start pointing out theirs. “Dean was a kid. He didn’t know of any other way to get the money. If dad didn’t like him doing it, he shouldn’t have taught us how to do it. But he did, and now he punishes us for it?”
“It was a lesson for me,” Dean said apologetically, making little Sam pout.
“So it’s your fault?” he whined, and Sam wanted to smack his past self over the head when Dean’s eyes got that haunted look he knew so well. These moments had formed Dean’s badly hidden low self-confidence, and he hated himself for putting parts of the thoughts in his brother’s head.
“I guess…” Dean dropped his eyes, hypnotizing the ground. It was right there. Sam saw it more clearly than at all times over the past years. The delicate squeeze of fingers on Sammy’s shoulder, the bowed posture, head lowered down. It all screamed remorse and self-loathing, and Sammy just stood there, lashing out at everyone in reach for losing his plaything.
Sam scrubbed his face roughly, feeling the growing stubble. He wanted to materialize and hug this kid version of his brother, never let go, tell him over and over again that whatever Dean perceived as his fault was nonsense. Tell it to him till his brother finally understood.
Dean pulled himself together and rose up. “Come on, Sammy. We gotta hurry before dad’s done shopping.”
They started toward the restroom’s door when a shadow loomed over their forms.
Sam spun around to see a man coming up to the kids. He’d been so engrossed in Dean and his younger self he’d failed to notice the approaching guy. He stepped away instinctively before the man would go right through him.
Glancing behind the guy, Sam saw a parked truck. Judging by the matching logo on its side with the man’s baseball cap placed askew on his head, he was the driver. His deep-set eyes were shadowed, untrustworthy, focused on Dean. Thin lips curved in an ugly smirk.
“Hello there,” he leered, and it sent creeps down Sam’s spine. Castiel rounded on the man, glowering at him, but of course the guy didn’t react in any way. They were not supposed to be here.
Dean jumped slightly but hid the shock pretty quickly. He ignored the man, continuing in their way. All the trucker needed were three long steps to get in front of Dean and block his path. “I said hello.”
Sam heard a grinding sound and when he looked, Benny had all his vampire teeth out and was snarling at the trucker. It reminded Sam of a dog, growling at the intruder, someone dangerous; someone whom the dog was ready to rip into shreds for trespassing onto his territory.
Dean pushed little Sam behind his back protectively. Sammy gripped the hem of his brother’s t-shirt.
“Yeah, we heard you,” Dean replied dryly, and the man grinned. He made a step forward. Dean backed away. The man’s grin widened.
“What are his intentions?” Castiel asked, and Sam had one crazy moment where he had to fight the urge to laugh. Thankfully, he didn’t need to explain why this scene evoked the craving for blood and violence in them all. However slowly, Cas still seemed to be perfectly capable of putting the pieces together even without Sam’s help. His face turned darker each second the truck driver kept advancing on Dean.
“You’re a cute little thing, ya’know that?” He reached out to touch Dean’s nose and the boy shrank away, retreating all the while backwards, dragging Sammy with him.
The trucker closed the distance easily. “Come now, don’t be shy.”
Sam clenched his hands into tight fists. He gazed behind his back. Where the hell was dad when they needed him?
“Gotcha adorable freckles,” the trucker sighed dreamily. Sam was ready to crack the fucker’s head against the wall. He dug his fingernails into the palms. He could do nothing, at all. This here had already happened. It had already happened to Dean. There was nothing whatsoever to do to change it.
Sam hadn’t felt this helpless in a long, long time. He wanted to kill the bastard right here, now, and he couldn’t, which was so fucking frustrating-
“Dean!”
Sam had never been so glad to hear his dad’s voice. He turned to see John Winchester shaking with fury. Dad’s face was murderous. He had this one reserved solely for monsters. Now, it was aimed at the truck driver. Sam exhaled in relief.
“Dean, take your brother to the car,” dad ordered, and when Dean didn’t instantly obey, he shouted, “Now!” making Sammy cry harder. It was odd that Sam didn’t remember this particular memory. He had been old enough and the scene was intense. He should have remembered it. Was it possible he’d somehow suppressed the memory? It seemed like a solution a kid would come up with if facing something they didn’t understand and that equally terrified them.
Dean grabbed little Sam and pushed him toward the Impala without a question.
Sam was torn between following Dean to make sure he was alright and staying to see dad beating the crap out of the pervert. In the end, he really had no choice, though. These memories were about Dean. If Sam stayed behind, he could miss something vital of Dean’s life, as his brother saw it.
So he followed Dean, Cas and Benny tightly behind, glancing over his shoulder. He was eager to get a glimpse of dad, but the two men were hidden behind the corner from prying eyes.
“You remember this one?” Benny gritted through his now human teeth.
Sam shook his head. He wasn’t in a condition to answer properly.
“I think I understand what happened,” Cas said after a moment of silence. Sam stared at him, hard. Was he for real? For a thousands-year-old angel, Cas could behave really… what, ignorantly… innocently? Sam took a closer look. The angel’s body was rigid, unleashed power crackling through the air around him, Cas knew what had taken place here. He just didn’t understand how a human being was able to be this… twisted.
Sam didn’t either.
He turned his gaze away, watching as Dean comforted little Sammy. One knee on the asphalt, hugging the life out of his brother while whispering soothing nonsenses in his ear. Dammit, it was Dean who needed comfort, not this crybaby that Sam had apparently been.
Their dad returned with a resolute pace in his stride. His knuckles were bruised, painted with blood.
“Dad?”
“Not my blood,” John retorted curtly, using a harsh tone which certainly made Dean believe he was the one at fault. Again. Sam cursed their father in his head for the hundredth time.
John assessed Dean critically, eyeing him up and down, a cold scrutiny that made Dean fidget uneasily. Dad either didn’t notice or simply ignored the signs of his son’s discomfort. “We’re cutting your hair when we get to the motel. They’re too long. We’ll also intensify your and Sammy’s training.”
Dean blinked, looking lost and confused as hell.
“No questions,” dad snapped, massaging his bruised knuckles. “Now you two get inside the damn car.”
Dean’s soft “Yes, sir.” was the last thing Sam heard from this memory.
- Lena -
Lena paused at the door. The two tin numbers were announcing the room’s number “29”. Hearing no sound inside, she entered. Lena had prepared herself for any sort of complications but was delighted to see all four men unconscious and blissfully unaware of the dangers creeping out of the shadows. Dean Winchester was lying on a bed with feet fallen over the edge, the angel half on top of him, covering him like a protecting shield. Sam Winchester and the vampire-that had so stupidly refused her a few days ago-were sprawled on the floor, limbs spread in weird angles.
She knelt down beside Sam and reached inside the breast pocket of his highly old-fashioned shirt. He would easily pass as a farmer boy with that look. She ran her other hand through Sam’s hair. The boy really needed a hairdresser.
A small, light coin made a contact with her fingers, and she took it out. This one was a very helpful kind of her magic tools, Lena’s favorite. It served her good like the GPS humans were so fond of, although a little more inaccurate. When she concentrated, Lena could determine how far the coin was and in which direction she should head to find it.
She patted the Sam’s other pocket, snatching out a cellphone, and dialed a memorized number. Waiting for the man to pick up, she didn’t give him any chance to speak then, going right down to business. “I have a deal for you.”
The king was quiet, surely trying to place Lena’s voice. He remembered. “Oh, really, honey? This is how we open a conversation?”
Lena rolled her eyes, waited. She wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, nor did she have the time.
“You spoil my fun, sweetheart, but fine, tell me more,” the king said.
She grinned. Crowley had always known how to make business.
part four
part six