Crawl Space (1/3)
A week before Dean’s twenty-first birthday, they move again.
Sam has time to say goodbye to his English teacher. He hasn't made friends; they were in town less than two months, and he’s pretty sure he won’t even be remembered in a week’s time. He’s taken empty seats in the backs of classrooms and hidden behind his too-long bangs, knowing he wouldn’t be there long.
‘Ms Grey?’ he says after his final class, hugging his books to his chest as he approaches her desk.
‘Sam.’ She smiles warmly at him, collecting papers on her desk into a neat pile. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Uh, no. I mean, yes. It’s just, we’re leaving town, my family and I. And I, I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I’ve really enjoyed your class.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything all right?’
‘What? Oh, yes. It’s all good. My dad, he, uh, travels a lot for work.’
‘I see.’ There’s a small, awkward silence. Then, she looks at the books he’s holding. ‘Those are library books, aren't they?’
‘Yes. I’m just going to return them.’ He feels a little guilty that she seems to think he’s going to skip town with the books.
‘That’s not why I asked, Sam.’ She tilts her head toward the topmost book. ‘I was just remembering the essay you wrote on that play last week. You seemed to really like it.’
‘I did. Uh, I do. I really liked what you said about it. About… inhibitions and rules.’
His teacher smiles. ‘I noticed.’ Opening her briefcase, she takes out a slim book and puts it on the desk. ‘Take my copy,’ she says. ‘I have a feeling you'll want to read it again.’
‘I…’ Sam swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. ‘I can’t take your book.’
‘I’ll get another,’ she insists, pushing the book gently toward him.
-
‘Dean, I swear I’ll sit in the back seat if you don't keep your hands off my book.’
‘Seriously, what’s it about?’ Dean says around the gum he’s chewing, flooring the accelerator.
‘You don't really want to know.’ Sam glances up through the windshield. Dad’s truck is visible in the distance, a small black blur on the road ahead. ‘You’re just bored.’ He shifts his gaze to Dean. ‘And don't chew gum and talk at the same time. It’s gross.’
‘You’re gross.’ Dean leans over and gives the side of Sam’s head a parody of a nuzzle. ‘Shut up unless you want gum in your hair.’
‘Screw you,’ Sam says, feigning disinterest, but he shifts closer to his door anyway. He wouldn’t put it past Dean to actually spit the gum into his hair.
-
They stop at a diner for a late lunch. Sam can tell Dad’s miles away, even though he’s sitting right across from them.
‘Dad?’ Dean prompts.
‘You said something?’
Sam and Dean exchange a glance. ‘Yeah,’ Dean says. ‘Why are we going to Bobby’s? Is it a case?’
‘Maybe.’ Dad gives them a smile. Sam can tell it’s forced. ‘You boys need a break anyway.’
‘I didn't need a break from school,’ Sam points out. Dean kicks him under the table, and he shuts up.
‘You can go to school in Sioux Falls,’ Dad says, startling them both.
‘We going to be there awhile, then?’ Dean asks, stealing a fry off Sam’s plate.
‘Maybe. I’ll know more when we get there.’ Dad throws down a couple of bills. ‘Finish up or we won’t get there tonight.’
‘But we’re still a couple hundred miles away, and I’m kinda beat,’ Dean protests. ‘Can’t we stop somewhere for the night?’
Dad gets to his feet. ‘Sam can drive for a while if you’re too tired.’ His tone brooks no arguments, and Dean shuts up.
-
‘So why d’you think Dad’s in such a hurry to get to Bobby’s?’ Sam asks.
‘No clue,’ Dean grunts.
‘You want me to drive for a bit?’ Sam asks. He likes to drive-it isn't often he’s practically invited to-but he’s engrossed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and he doesn't want to drive tonight unless Dean really isn't up to it.
‘Nah, I’m good. You keep your nose in your book, you giant geek.’
Sam clicks on his book-light-a Christmas gift from Dean, possibly the best his brother’s ever given him-and settles in for the ride. ‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘Tell me if you're too tired. Don't be stupid and macho and get us killed.’
Dean puts on AC/DC in retaliation.
-
They reach Bobby’s a little after midnight. Dad's truck is already parked outside, incongruously shiny among all the junkers in the yard. Dean parks next to it, careful to leave space for Dad to pull the vehicle out if he needs to.
Sam’s expecting Bobby to greet them with hugs as he usually does, but Dad and Bobby are deep in a discussion and don't seem to want to be disturbed. ‘There’s food in the kitchen if you boys are hungry,’ Bobby says in lieu of a greeting.
Sam’s curious about the books piled between the two men on the desk, but Dean tugs at his sleeve and makes him follow him to the kitchen.
‘What?’ Sam asks, annoyed, as Dean turns around to look at him.
‘Let them do what they have to do, okay?’
‘Since when are you so eager to stay out of other people’s business?’
‘It’s not that.’ Dean takes the lid off a pan on the counter, revealing congealing pasta. Making a face, he puts the pan in the oven to heat.
‘Then what?’
‘I think…’ Dean glances toward the study and lowers his voice. ‘I think they might be talking about us.’
‘Us?’ Sam asks blankly. ‘What about us?’
‘I don't know, okay?’ Dean says in an annoyed whisper. ‘It’s just. Dad’s been acting a bit cagey.’
‘More than usual, you mean?’
‘Don’t be a bitch,’ Dean says automatically, and Sam lets out a little sigh of frustration. Dean’s so used to playing the peacemaker between him and Dad that Sam sometimes wonders if his brother overcompensates for Dad’s gruffness.
‘You know I didn't mean it like that,’ he says. ‘Tell me what you meant?’
‘He was talking to Bobby earlier. On the phone. A couple times, before we skipped town. He wouldn't talk in front of me.’
‘You think it’s about Mom?’ Sam’s voice comes out small. He knows Dean hates it when he mentions Mom, but it’s what they're both thinking.
Dean’s head jerks up sharply at that, as though he hadn't expected Sam to mention their mother. The oven dings just then, startling them both.
Dean doesn't answer. He gets up, shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of his chair. Sam watches him get two plates and dish out the food.
‘If it’s about Mom,’ Sam begins.
‘Talk a little louder, why don't you?’ Dean cuts him off, still in that angry-whisper voice.
‘Sorry,’ Sam whispers back. ‘If it’s about Mom, why wouldn't he tell us?’
‘I don't know. Maybe he doesn't want to say anything until he knows more.’
Sam just nods, taking a bite of his pasta even though he isn't the slightest bit hungry.
-
There’s an invisible knot at the base of Sam’s stomach. He knows it isn't really there, not physiologically, but sometimes it’s so real that it makes everything else seem phony in comparison. It swells up when Sam worries about stuff, and Sam worries about stuff a lot. He worries when Dad and Dean go hunting and leave him behind. (He was fourteen when Dad finally decided that Sam could be trusted to take care of himself if left alone.)
At times like these-whenever it seems as though there’s a chance they may find a lead on Mom’s killer-he worries about Dad. His imagination is better than technicolor, showing him various scenarios in which his father gets himself killed chasing after a monster. He’s been having nightmares about monsters all his life, even before he knew they were real.
Now, he isn't small enough to climb into Dean’s bed as he did when he was younger and woke trembling in the middle of the night, but sometimes he wishes he were.
‘Dude, stop thinking so loudly,’ Dean complains from his bed. They're sharing the room they usually do at Bobby’s place. It has two mismatched beds-one bed and a divan, actually-and a heap of cartons piled in a corner. Sam takes the divan, which is smaller, although he’s grown almost a foot in the last eighteen months and is just a couple of inches from catching up with Dean’s six-foot-plus height.
‘I can’t sleep.’ Sam turns over so he can face Dean.
‘I figured, princess. You want me to get that pea out from under your mattress?’
‘Ha-fucking-ha. You aren't sleeping either.’
‘I would if you’d stop thinking so loudly.’
Sam pushes off the covers and goes to sit on the windowsill, looking out at the yard. The moon’s almost full and everything looks silvery. When he was little he could fit comfortably on the broad sill, often curling up there with a book. Now, he has to hold on to the edge with one hand to keep himself perched in place.
Behind him, he hears Dean sigh. The sheets rustle as his brother gets up. He comes to stand beside Sam, so close that if Sam let go of his handhold, he wouldn't fall. He doesn't say anything, but he’s a wall of reassurance.
‘Go to sleep, Sammy,’ he says after a while, turning around and going back to bed. Sam follows suit, and this time sleep comes more easily. Sam’s last conscious thought is that maybe Dean didn't say anything because they’ve never really known how to talk to each other about Mom.
-
As usual, Sam and Dean start to go a little stir-crazy after being holed up in Bobby’s house for over a day. Dean deals with it by messing around with the Impala. Sam hovers in the house, torn between going back to his book and trying to figure out what Dad and Bobby are investigating.
‘Sam, why don't you go to the library in town?’ Dad says finally.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Bobby asks. Dad shoots him a glare.
‘Why isn't it a good idea?’ Sam looks from Dad to Bobby. ‘What aren't you guys telling us?’
‘It’s not your concern,’ Dad says shortly.
‘Like hell it isn’t,’ Sam says, catching the look on Bobby’s face.
‘Sam, I said-’
‘John,’ Bobby says. ‘Maybe we should-’
‘You say another word, so help me god.’
‘They have a right to-’
‘They're my sons.’ And that’s the end of the discussion.
-
‘It’s about us,’ Sam confirms. He sits down on the porch steps and watches Dean wash the car.
‘I know, genius.’ Dean doesn't even bother to look up.
‘So what are we gonna do about it?’
Dean shrugs. ‘Wait.’
‘Wait? That the best you got?’ The words come out as a sneer, but Sam doesn't wish he could take them back. His annoyance with his family is like needles pricking under his skin these days, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before they push through and tear everything to pieces. Antagonizing Dean is just one of the ways in which he copes.
‘Let’s train,’ Dean says abruptly, throwing down his washcloth and disappearing into the garage.
-
Training had been much easier when Sam was younger. As a sixteen-year-old, he’s kind of hyper-aware of his body, and it doesn't take much for his imagination to turn seemingly innocuous things into sexual ones. He’s been learning about what turns him on, and most of his fantasies leave him with a sick, twisted feeling in his gut that conveniently disappears when he’s jerking off but returns full force as soon as he’s come off his high.
When he enters the garage, Dean pounces on him from behind. It’s a trick he’s learned recently, surprising Sam when he’s expecting it least. He should have been expecting it now, but he’s distracted and Dean takes him down easily, manhandling him to his knees and pinning his arms behind his back.
‘Getting sloppy, little bro.’ His breath is warm and noisy against Sam’s ear.
‘Get off me, you asshole!’ Sam squirms desperately, but Dean’s hold is like iron.
‘Is that what you're going to say to a monster about to eat you?’
‘I’m not seven, Dean.’ Sam thrusts his head back, hoping to catch Dean by surprise and maybe bruise his nose for good measure, but Dean just dodges and laughs. Sam struggles futilely, his breath getting quicker as he hears the clink of the cuffs a moment before Dean gets them around his wrists.
Dean gets to his feet, panting a little from the struggle, leaving Sam on his knees with his arms pinned behind his back. ‘I should put this in ice.’ He holds up the key. ‘Hang it in front of you and let you wait for it to melt.’
Sam’s heart nearly stops at those words. He’s imagined that particular scenario so many times that it’s practically ingrained into his brain. It’s something he’s been longing to try out but hasn't quite dared to. What if he had to get free before the ice melted or had a cramp?
‘Hey,’ Dean says, his voice surprisingly gentle. ‘You with me?’
‘Yeah,’ Sam says, dry-mouthed. He doesn't meet Dean’s eyes. ‘How long do I have?’
‘Three minutes,’ Dean says, placing the key in front of Sam.
‘You make it way too easy,’ Sam scoffs.
‘Clock’s ticking, Sammy. Get to it.’
Sam turns around on his knees, his back to Dean. Learning how to get out of handcuffs is a pointless exercise, in his opinion, but Dad has insisted on teaching them how to get loose. Sam suspects it’s because not all the monsters they chase are supernatural beings.
Ignoring the low thrum of arousal under his skin from being cuffed, he searches with his fingers for the key. After a minute of fruitless searching, he turns around in frustration to see the key dangling from Dean’s hand.
‘You cheating fucker.’
‘You turn your back on a bad guy, and you think he’s gonna play fair?’ Dean asks with his eyebrows raised.
‘But you already caught me!’
‘Doesn’t mean I can’t get nastier.’ Dean drops the key on the floor. ‘Try again. Keep an eye on me this time. Don't let me do anything you can’t observe.’
Keeping his eyes on Dean, Sam inches forward on his knees this time, trying to maneuver his body so that the key is under him. Just when his fingertips graze the cold metal, Dean steps out of his line of vision.
‘Dean,’ Sam groans in frustration.
‘You really think I’d make it that easy?’
‘I hate you,’ Sam says, his fingers scrabbling to get the key before Dean does, but it’s hopeless. Dean reaches under him and snags the key deftly, dangling it from his fingers once more.
‘Let’s try this again,’ he says, his mouth shaping into a wicked grin. ‘And make sure it isn't too easy.’
‘Like you've been easy on me so far.’ Sam tries to turn around when Dean moves behind him, but before he knows it, Dean’s wrapping something over his eyes-a bandana, probably-and tying it off behind his head.
‘I can’t do this,’ Sam says, tugging at his cuffs in frustration.
‘Stop that. You'll hurt yourself.’ Sam senses that Dean is kneeling behind him. ‘Use your other senses. Listen.’ The last word is spoken almost directly into his ear.
Sam listens. He hears the tiny sound the key makes as it hits the floor. It sounds like it’s just a couple of inches behind him. Moving back, he puts his hands on the floor and manages to curl his fingers around the key. ‘Yes!’
‘Good boy,’ Dean says. He doesn't usually use the phrase seriously. ‘Now get the cuffs open.’
It takes a few minutes, and despite the January chill in the air, Sam’s sweating by the time he gets the key into the lock and twists it. The cuffs still attached to his left wrist, he reaches up with his right hand and rips the blindfold off. ‘How’d I do?’
Dean glances at his watch, even though they both know Sam took well over three minutes. ‘Good. You did good, Sammy.’
The praise curls around Sam like warmth, and for once he doesn't even mind that Dean called him ‘Sammy’.
-
Their sparring is interrupted by Dad calling them from the house. Sam brushes himself off and follows Dean inside, still on an adrenaline high from the exercise.
‘We’re going to see Missouri,’ Dad says when they're both sitting side by side on the couch.
‘Missouri?’ Dean asks blankly. ‘What’s in Missouri?’
‘Not the state,’ Bobby clarifies. ‘The person. Missouri Moseley lives in Kansas.’
‘Lawrence, to be precise,’ Dad adds.
‘Is this about Mom?’ Sam can’t hold himself back any longer.
Dad and Bobby exchange glances. ‘I don't know yet, Sam,’ Dad says. ‘But I don’t think so. It may be something else.’
‘If it’s not about Mom, then why are we going to Kansas?’ Dean asks.
‘Because Missouri is a psychic.’
‘Why do we need to see a psychic?’ Sam presses.
He doesn't miss the way Dad and Bobby are exchanging looks, as though trying to decide how much to tell the boys. ‘Dad,’ Sam says. ‘Please.’
Dad takes a deep breath and sits down in a chair close to Sam’s spot on the sofa. ‘You remember a couple weeks ago, when you had that school thing and I couldn't make it because I was on a hunt?’ he asks. There’s something like regret in his voice, and Sam feels a little regret himself. He’d made Dad feel guilty about it for days.
Sam nods, and Dad continues. ‘I caught a demon. It wasn't your regular kind.’
‘What kind was it?’ Dean asks. Dad’s looking at Sam as though trying to figure out how to say what’s coming next. He’s not looking at Dean at all. Sam shifts closer to his brother.
‘A crossroads demon. They… pretty much steal people’s souls. This one told me something that happened years ago. Before your Mom and I got married.’
Sam doesn't realize he’s been scrabbling for a hold on the couch until Dean’s fingers grasp his.
‘What happened, Dad?’ Dean’s voice is steady, his hand gripping Sam’s, and Sam’s never been more grateful to have his brother next to him.
Dad scrubs a hand over his tired, unshaven face. ‘I don't exactly know. The demon didn't say much. Except that it might have something to do with you, Sam.’
‘Mom died because of me?’
‘No! No, not that. The thing that killed her may have been a demon. I’m almost positive it was a demon pretty high up on the food chain. If I’m right, then this demon targeted more children your age, Sam. He…’ Dad pauses for a moment. Sam’s coiled so tight that the knot in his stomach feels like a balloon about to burst.
‘Targeted?’ Dean breaks in before Sam can say a word. ‘What do you mean, targeted? How? For what?’
‘I don't know exactly how. That’s why we’re going to see Missouri.’ In a gesture of rare tenderness, Dad reaches out and smooths Sam’s hair back from his face. ‘She’ll be able to tell us more.’
-
Sam can’t sleep at all that night.
‘Thinking about it won’t help,’ Dean points out.
‘How would you know? You aren't the one who got Mom killed.’
Dean refuses to rise to the bait. ‘Sam, Dad said it wasn't your fault.’
‘How? How was it not my fault, if the demon murdered Mom because she was trying to protect me from him?’
‘We don't know what happened, Sam. You heard Dad. He doesn't know anything for sure.’
‘I know.’ Sam wraps his arms around his knees. ‘I know it’s true. I can feel it in my gut.’
‘No, you can feel your anxiety in your gut.’ Dean comes over and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Sam turns blindly into him, pressing his face into Dean’s neck. He takes in a huge breath, but it still feels as though he isn't getting enough air.
‘Breathe,’ Dean says, rubbing between his shoulder blades. ‘Just breathe, Sammy. It’s going to be okay.’
It’s easier said than done, but after a while Sam’s breathing slows to something approaching normal.
‘I’m gonna ask you something,’ Dean says. ‘Don’t hit me, okay?’
‘Ask me what?’
‘When was the last time you… you know.’ Dean makes a vaguely obscene gesture with his hand.
‘Dean, are you asking me about sex?’
‘’Course not, Sammy. I know you haven't had sex.’ Dean grins. ‘Not with another person, anyway.’
‘So you're asking me when I last-dude, that stuff’s private!’
‘It’s the best stress-buster I know, okay? That’s why I asked. You need some alone time, the bathroom’s all yours. Hell, if you need a bed I’ll leave you to it and sleep on the couch.’
‘Stress-buster?’ Sam asks, incredulous. ‘We could be talking about the thing that killed Mom, and you want me to jerk off?’
‘Exactly,’ Dean says. ‘We could be talking about the thing that killed Mom and pretty much fucked up our entire lives. You don't have any control over any of that. None of it.’
‘So?’
‘So, you gotta find the things you can control, Sam. Find your own space where nothing can touch you, no matter how small the space is. Me, I don't know what sort of hunt Dad’s going to take me on next. I can’t control that stuff. But I can take care of my wheels. I can train myself-’
‘And me,’ Sam puts in, beginning to catch on.
‘And you,’ Dean says, ruffling his hair. ‘Make sure we give the best we got so we can kick it in the ass every single time. You know what I mean?’
‘I think so. Still don't know what it has to do with… you know.’
Dean just smiles and taps his fingertip against his temple. ‘Your own space, remember? Trust me. It helps.’ He winks and shifts to his own bed.
-
‘Sammy.’ Dad’s hand is on his shoulder, shaking him awake.
‘Dad?’ Sam looks at Dean’s empty bed. ‘What’s the matter? Is it time to go?’
‘Change of plans,’ Dad says. ‘Bobby and I are going to Lawrence. You stay and do as your brother says, all right?’
He’s gone before Sam has even woken up completely.
-
‘Good and bad are strange categories. Sometimes context is everything.’
He remembers the word his English teacher had said. He thinks they mean more to him than they could to anyone else. With nothing else to do, he and Dean keep training. He knows Dad’s told Dean more about what’s going on than he’s told Sam, but Dean isn't talking. Sam knows he thinks he's doing the right thing by keeping information from Sam, but at the same time, Sam wishes he could knock some sense into him.
-
They’re sparring in the living room the next afternoon when everything goes to hell.
Dean has him in a very effective headlock and Sam knows he’s lost this round. He leans back against Dean for a moment, catching his breath, and then Dean gets to his feet and gives him a hand up.
He doesn't know what makes him do it, but the next moment he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Dean’s.
‘Dean,’ Sam says. He’s terrified, but it’s like looking at a scene in a film that he has no control over.
Dean stays very still for a second. Then, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at the wetness on it as though it’s blood, or worse.
Before Sam can move, the same hand hits him hard, right across the face.
Sam goes sprawling back, the force of the blow and its complete unexpectedness catching him by surprise. He falls on the couch, his gaze on Dean’s face, shocked into stillness.
‘Dean-’
‘Shut up. Shut the fuck up.’ Dean’s on him in a second, straddling Sam’s thighs, his hand closing around Sam’s throat. He squeezes hard and shakes Sam so hard that he thinks his bones might rattle. ‘What’ve you done to my brother? Who are you?’
Sam tries to choke out Dean’s name, but Dean’s large hand is cutting off his air supply. His arms try to flail, but one of them is pinned under him and the other is trapped between his body and Dean’s, bones feeling brittle as chalk under Dean’s onslaught.
‘Tell me!’ Dean roars, his face terrified, and Sam lets out a sob.
‘Please,’ Sam tries to say, but both of Dean’s thumbs are digging into his windpipe now. His tears, oblivious to his inability to breathe, are somehow finding their way down his cheeks.
The phone starts ringing.
Dean looks up with his hands still locked around Sam’s throat, his eyes wild. Sam takes advantage of his distraction to knee him in the stomach, taking great gulps of air as Dean’s hold loosens.
But it isn't for nothing that Dean prides himself on his prowess as a fighter. Before Sam has time to sit up, Dean’s on him again, flipping him over and wrenching his arms behind his back.
‘Dean, for fuck’s sake, it’s me!’
‘I said shut the fuck up,’ Dean says. His merciless, unerring hand finds and pinches a nerve in Sam’s neck, and Sam’s world goes black.
-
He dreams he’s in a small tunnel. It’s almost completely dark and very claustrophobic.
He hears it before his eyes get used to the darkness: someone breathing too loudly in the damp, confined space.
‘Hello?’ He crawls toward the sound; the ceiling is too low for him to stand.
The labored breathing quiets immediately. ‘Who’s there?’ A woman’s voice, its pitch betraying her nervousness.
‘I… I’m not sure, actually.’
‘Dean?’ She crawls into view. ‘It’s Dean, isn't it?’
He holds back, suspicious. ‘I thought you said you didn't know who was there?’
‘You told me yesterday. Your name, I mean.’ She pushes grimy dark hair off her face. ‘I’m Lily. At least I think that’s my name.’
‘Wait, I told you yesterday? How long have we been here? And where is here, anyway?’
‘I don’t know, all right? I’m stuck here, same as you.’
‘I just got here,’ he says. ‘I’ve never seen you before.’
‘You forget.’ The girl-Lily?-swipes angrily at her tears, smudging the dirt over her face. ‘You always forget, Dean.’
Dean. The name’s terribly familiar, like it’s a part of him. ‘I told you my name is Dean?’
‘You were saying it the first time I saw you. Over and over again.’
-
‘Dean,’ Sam says. It comes out sounding like ‘D’n,’ the consonants sticking together and the vowels silenced by his hoarse throat.
There’s something lumpy and sort-of soft under him. He blinks up at the ceiling a few times before his vision comes into focus. He’s lying on the mattress in Bobby’s panic room.
He swings his legs off the bed and stumbles to his feet, lurching a little and almost falling as he makes his way to the door. ‘Dean!’ He pounds on the heavy metal. ‘Open the door, damn it!’
Dean appears almost immediately, as though he’d been hovering around waiting for Sam to wake up. The small cover over the peephole is slid aside, and Dean peers in. ‘Sam?’
‘Of course it’s Sam! Who else did you lock in here?’ Sam kicks at the door, anger and confusion boiling inside him.
‘Sam, if it’s you, I’m sorry. I really am.’ Dean sounds like his puppy just died, and Sam’s anger softens a little when he hears the tone of Dean’s voice. Being alert to Dean in pain is one of his default states.
‘Dean, come on. Who else would I be?’ Something strikes him. ‘Was that Dad on the phone? What did he say?’
Dean stays silent, still looking at Sam through the peephole.
‘He said something to you before he left, didn't he? Something about me. Something that’s making you think you can’t trust me.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Dean says, but he doesn't meet Sam’s eyes.
‘It’s exactly like that.’ Sam jams his hands into his pockets. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’
‘I’ll bring you a bucket.’ Dean starts moving away.
‘I am not peeing in a fucking bucket,’ Sam snarls after him. ‘I’ll hold it till my bladder bursts, and it'll all be on you.’
‘Stop acting childish,’ Dean says, but he stays.
‘Dean, please.’ Sam steps as close to the door as he can, curling his fingers around the narrow bars. ‘Please. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what Dad said to make you so afraid of me.’
‘Afraid of you?’ Dean sneers. ‘I’m not afraid of you, little brother. It’s what’s inside you that can’t be allowed to run around loose.’
It’s like he’s just upended a bucket of ice over Sam’s head. ‘What’s inside me?’ he asks in a whisper.
Dean opens his mouth as if to answer, but then takes a step back from the door. ‘Step away from the door. Go to the bed and sit on your hands.’
‘Dean, what-’
‘You wanna be let out of there, you do as I say.’
Sam nods and does as instructed. He keeps a close eye on the door as he hears the clink of keys. He can take a chance and run at Dean as soon as he steps in. It may be his only opportunity for freedom.
But at the same time, he knows from hearing Dean’s voice and seeing the anguish on his face that he’s scared sick. Not for himself, but for Sam. Because he thinks that something inside Sam is controlling him. Sam has two choices now: either make his bid for freedom and let Dean think he’s possessed or whatever, or stay and be a prisoner but retain some hope of convincing Dean that he’s fine, that he’s Sam.
He sits on his hands and watches Dean come in.
Dean is holding the shotgun with the rock salt bullets, the muzzle pointed unwaveringly at Sam’s chest. ‘Don’t think I won’t use it.’ He takes out the handcuffs that they’d used while sparring and tosses them on the bed. ‘Put them on.’
‘Dean-’
Dean cocks the gun. ‘Do it or eat a mouthful of salt.’
‘I’m human. Salt won’t hurt me.’
‘Just do it or I’m out of here.’
‘Very mature,’ Sam sneers, but he does as asked.
Dean inclines his head toward the door, keeping the gun trained. ‘Walk ahead of me.’
Sam stares at him for a moment. ‘You’re serious about this.’
‘Walk.’
Dean’s face is expressionless, but Sam knows the look in his eyes. He’s terrified for Sam, and Sam feels the last of his anger drain away. ‘All right,’ he says quietly. ‘Don’t worry about me, Dean. I’m fine, I swear.’
‘Just go,’ Dean says, gesturing with the gun this time.
Sam nods and walks out of the room. He can feel the gun trained on his back, Dean’s gaze boring into his skull as though his brother wishes he could see right into Sam’s head and determine for himself that Sam’s all right.
‘Just what did Dad say to you, anyway?’ Sam asks when they reach the top of the stairs.
‘That’s for me to know. Go use the bathroom. If you try to close the door, I’ll blow it open.’
Sam holds up his cuffed hands. ‘I’m supposed to go like this?’
‘You’re a smart kid. You'll figure it out.’
‘Jerk.’ Sam deliberately uses the word, hoping for Dean’s standard response, but Dean doesn't take the bait.
‘You gonna watch me pee?’ He asks when Dean follows him to the door. ‘Kinky.’
‘Stop trying to rile me up.’ Dean’s expression doesn't change. ‘If you’re Sam, you'll know why it’s necessary.’
‘I am Sam, and I don’t know, so help me understand!’
‘Just do your business and we’ll talk, okay?’ Dean sounds weary, and Sam takes pity on him. He turns his back to Dean and leaves the door ajar while he pees, open just enough so Dean can see that he’s not trying to get away.
Sam zips himself up and washes his hands as best he can. ‘I’m hungry,’ he says. ‘How long was I out, anyway?’
‘A couple of hours.’ Dean has the grace to look contrite. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘I’m fine,’ Sam says shortly.
‘Come on.’ Dean tries to put his hand on Sam’s back, but Sam flinches away. He isn't going to let Dean off that easy. Dean sighs. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich.’
They eat sitting at the kitchen table, Sam’s hands still cuffed. When he’s finished his sandwich and glass of milk, he looks at Dean. ‘What did Dad say?’
‘You have demon blood in you.’
The words come out so matter-of-factly that Sam has trouble processing them for a moment. ‘He-I what?’
‘That’s what the psychic told him. He said it made sense given what the crossroads demon had said, too. He said a demon killed Mom and put his blood in you.’
‘And you believe this crap?’
‘It’s not crap. Dad wouldn't believe it if it wasn't true.’
‘And Dad can never make mistakes, right?’
‘No. Not like this. He wouldn't risk you unless he was sure.’
‘Risk me? Dean, did Dad ask you to kill me?’
‘What? No. Jesus. No. He just said to keep you locked up till he gets back.’ Dean doesn't meet Sam’s gaze.
‘You’re lying.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Fuck you. I know you, and you're not telling the truth. Fuck. He really did ask you to kill me.’
‘You don't know what you're saying, okay? Dad wouldn't ask me to do that. He knows-he just wouldn’t.’
‘No, but he would ask you to keep me locked up until he comes and does it himself.’
‘No one’s killing Sam,’ Dean says evenly, his gaze finally meeting Sam’s.
‘But you don't think I’m Sam. Would you kill me if you thought I’d turned into a demon? Huh? Would you kill me to save me from a monster?’
‘No,’ Dean says, not taking his eyes off Sam’s. ‘I would never kill my brother. And I wouldn't let anyone else hurt him either.’
‘You’re talking about me like I’m not even here.’
‘Did you listen to a word I said? You have demon blood in you.’
‘We don't know that.’
‘We do. I’m positive. Dad wouldn't have told me if he wasn't sure.’
Sam nods, his vision blurring. This time it’s Sam who turns his head away.
-
He wakes up in a dream, and he’s back in the tunnel. It’s dead silent this time, and it doesn't sound as though anyone else is around.
‘Lily?’ he calls.
‘Dean?’ she responds from somewhere in the darkness. A moment later he hears a scuffling sound, and she crawls toward him. ‘I thought you weren't coming back. You’ve been away so long.’
‘I was just here a couple hours ago.’
She shakes her head. ‘I haven't seen you since yesterday.’
‘Lily, I think I’m dreaming this. I’m dreaming you.’
In response, she crawls right up to him and pinches his arm hard.
‘Ow!’
‘That feel like a dream to you?’
‘If it’s not a dream, what else could it be? I’m not really here.’
‘Then where are you?’
‘I’m not-I don’t know. It’s like I know, but the knowledge is only there in my subconscious. You know?’
‘No, I don’t. You're not making any sense.’
‘If I’m really here, then why don't you find me here all the time? Why do I come and go?’
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ she says. ‘You remember my name this time. You remember being here earlier?’
‘Yeah. It’s starting to-I don’t know, I’m starting to remember things when I’m here. And my name’s not Dean. It’s Sam.’
She frowns. ‘Then why did you say it was Dean?’
‘I don’t think I did,’ he says, trying to explain. ‘I think I was calling for Dean. He-uh, he’s someone I trust with my life.’
‘Is he trapped somewhere here too?’
‘God, I hope not.’
‘You don't know where he is?’
‘I don't even know where I am.’
‘But you're sure your name is Sam?’
‘Yeah, pretty sure.’
‘How?’
‘What?’
‘How are you so sure your name is Sam? What if it’s really Dean?’
Before he can answer, Lily’s gaze turns to something beyond him. He turns to follow it, but can only make out an unnatural blackness. Although there isn't a sound to be heard, he feels almost literally frozen, as though something huge and ominous is moving toward them out of the pitch-black darkness.
‘He’s back,’ Lily whispers, her eyes huge and dark.
‘Who?’
‘The-’
-
‘Dean!’
Beside him, Dean startles awake in his chair. ‘What-why did you scream?’
Sam shakes his head to try to clear it. ‘I don't know. Nightmare. I think.’
‘You think? What were you dreaming about?’
‘I can’t remember, okay?’ Sam snaps. He fucking hates this. He’s strapped down to the bed at wrists and ankles, and although Dean hasn't made them tight enough to cut into his skin, it’s difficult trying to sleep without being able to change position.
‘I can remember just fine what I was just dreaming of.’
‘What was it? Were you fucking some girl whose name you didn't know? Someone you didn't even plan to say goodbye to when you skipped town?’
‘I’d much rather fuck someone anonymous than my little brother, and if you were really Sam, you'd know that. You're just proving that you're some sick fuck who’s taken over my brother’s body.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Sam says, stung. ‘You’re not being fair. You’re not even trying to understand.’
‘I understand better than you think.’
‘No, you don’t. You're the one who’s proving that he’s a stupid high school dropout who doesn't have two fucking brain cells to rub together.’ He regrets the words the moment they come out of his mouth, but the damage has been done.
Dean stares at him as though he can’t believe what he just heard, his expressive eyes shining with hurt and betrayal.
Then he gets up and slams the door behind him.
‘Dean, I’m sorry. Please!’
Dean reopens the door, and for a moment of blessed relief, Sam thinks he’s changed his mind. Then he sees that Dean is putting a bucket in a corner of the room.
‘There’s your bathroom,’ he says, freeing one of Sam’s wrists. By the time Sam gets the rest of his restraints off, he’s long gone, the key turned in the lock with a resolute click.
Dean doesn't return that night, not even to give Sam anything to eat or drink. He screams until his voice is hoarse and kicks the door with all his strength, but only succeeds in tiring himself out. When he’s exhausted himself, he throws himself on the mattress and sinks into sleep.
-
‘Can you remember now?’ Lily asks.
He shakes his head. ‘My name is Sam,’ he tries saying, but he isn't convinced. There’s a new memory in his head, something that wasn’t there in his last dream. A snippet of a conversation.
‘Dean, I want to see Frost's house.’
‘Sure, you giant geek.’
The voices he remembers sound alike enough that he wonders if the other speaker is a relative, a twin. Maybe he’s like the man in the iron mask, waiting for his brother. Or is it his brother who's waiting for him?
‘Maybe Dean’s your boyfriend,’ Lily says.
‘Why would you say that?’
She shrugs. ‘Just a vibe I get from you. Or maybe because I know my girlfriend’s somewhere out there, looking for me.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
She smiles, tells him not to worry because she's pretty sure he isn't her type.
He almost smiles, but doesn't because there’s not enough space inside him for much aside from terror. Through it all, he senses that there’s a person-shaped space next to him. Someone who should be there, someone vital like a limb, and sometimes he can just see them from the corner of his eye. The features dissolve before he can identify them, eyes flickering with a color that's lost before he can give it a name.
Part 2
Sam has time to say goodbye to his English teacher. He hasn't made friends; they were in town less than two months, and he’s pretty sure he won’t even be remembered in a week’s time. He’s taken empty seats in the backs of classrooms and hidden behind his too-long bangs, knowing he wouldn’t be there long.
‘Ms Grey?’ he says after his final class, hugging his books to his chest as he approaches her desk.
‘Sam.’ She smiles warmly at him, collecting papers on her desk into a neat pile. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Uh, no. I mean, yes. It’s just, we’re leaving town, my family and I. And I, I guess I just wanted to say thank you. For everything. I’ve really enjoyed your class.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything all right?’
‘What? Oh, yes. It’s all good. My dad, he, uh, travels a lot for work.’
‘I see.’ There’s a small, awkward silence. Then, she looks at the books he’s holding. ‘Those are library books, aren't they?’
‘Yes. I’m just going to return them.’ He feels a little guilty that she seems to think he’s going to skip town with the books.
‘That’s not why I asked, Sam.’ She tilts her head toward the topmost book. ‘I was just remembering the essay you wrote on that play last week. You seemed to really like it.’
‘I did. Uh, I do. I really liked what you said about it. About… inhibitions and rules.’
His teacher smiles. ‘I noticed.’ Opening her briefcase, she takes out a slim book and puts it on the desk. ‘Take my copy,’ she says. ‘I have a feeling you'll want to read it again.’
‘I…’ Sam swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. ‘I can’t take your book.’
‘I’ll get another,’ she insists, pushing the book gently toward him.
-
‘Dean, I swear I’ll sit in the back seat if you don't keep your hands off my book.’
‘Seriously, what’s it about?’ Dean says around the gum he’s chewing, flooring the accelerator.
‘You don't really want to know.’ Sam glances up through the windshield. Dad’s truck is visible in the distance, a small black blur on the road ahead. ‘You’re just bored.’ He shifts his gaze to Dean. ‘And don't chew gum and talk at the same time. It’s gross.’
‘You’re gross.’ Dean leans over and gives the side of Sam’s head a parody of a nuzzle. ‘Shut up unless you want gum in your hair.’
‘Screw you,’ Sam says, feigning disinterest, but he shifts closer to his door anyway. He wouldn’t put it past Dean to actually spit the gum into his hair.
-
They stop at a diner for a late lunch. Sam can tell Dad’s miles away, even though he’s sitting right across from them.
‘Dad?’ Dean prompts.
‘You said something?’
Sam and Dean exchange a glance. ‘Yeah,’ Dean says. ‘Why are we going to Bobby’s? Is it a case?’
‘Maybe.’ Dad gives them a smile. Sam can tell it’s forced. ‘You boys need a break anyway.’
‘I didn't need a break from school,’ Sam points out. Dean kicks him under the table, and he shuts up.
‘You can go to school in Sioux Falls,’ Dad says, startling them both.
‘We going to be there awhile, then?’ Dean asks, stealing a fry off Sam’s plate.
‘Maybe. I’ll know more when we get there.’ Dad throws down a couple of bills. ‘Finish up or we won’t get there tonight.’
‘But we’re still a couple hundred miles away, and I’m kinda beat,’ Dean protests. ‘Can’t we stop somewhere for the night?’
Dad gets to his feet. ‘Sam can drive for a while if you’re too tired.’ His tone brooks no arguments, and Dean shuts up.
-
‘So why d’you think Dad’s in such a hurry to get to Bobby’s?’ Sam asks.
‘No clue,’ Dean grunts.
‘You want me to drive for a bit?’ Sam asks. He likes to drive-it isn't often he’s practically invited to-but he’s engrossed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and he doesn't want to drive tonight unless Dean really isn't up to it.
‘Nah, I’m good. You keep your nose in your book, you giant geek.’
Sam clicks on his book-light-a Christmas gift from Dean, possibly the best his brother’s ever given him-and settles in for the ride. ‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘Tell me if you're too tired. Don't be stupid and macho and get us killed.’
Dean puts on AC/DC in retaliation.
-
They reach Bobby’s a little after midnight. Dad's truck is already parked outside, incongruously shiny among all the junkers in the yard. Dean parks next to it, careful to leave space for Dad to pull the vehicle out if he needs to.
Sam’s expecting Bobby to greet them with hugs as he usually does, but Dad and Bobby are deep in a discussion and don't seem to want to be disturbed. ‘There’s food in the kitchen if you boys are hungry,’ Bobby says in lieu of a greeting.
Sam’s curious about the books piled between the two men on the desk, but Dean tugs at his sleeve and makes him follow him to the kitchen.
‘What?’ Sam asks, annoyed, as Dean turns around to look at him.
‘Let them do what they have to do, okay?’
‘Since when are you so eager to stay out of other people’s business?’
‘It’s not that.’ Dean takes the lid off a pan on the counter, revealing congealing pasta. Making a face, he puts the pan in the oven to heat.
‘Then what?’
‘I think…’ Dean glances toward the study and lowers his voice. ‘I think they might be talking about us.’
‘Us?’ Sam asks blankly. ‘What about us?’
‘I don't know, okay?’ Dean says in an annoyed whisper. ‘It’s just. Dad’s been acting a bit cagey.’
‘More than usual, you mean?’
‘Don’t be a bitch,’ Dean says automatically, and Sam lets out a little sigh of frustration. Dean’s so used to playing the peacemaker between him and Dad that Sam sometimes wonders if his brother overcompensates for Dad’s gruffness.
‘You know I didn't mean it like that,’ he says. ‘Tell me what you meant?’
‘He was talking to Bobby earlier. On the phone. A couple times, before we skipped town. He wouldn't talk in front of me.’
‘You think it’s about Mom?’ Sam’s voice comes out small. He knows Dean hates it when he mentions Mom, but it’s what they're both thinking.
Dean’s head jerks up sharply at that, as though he hadn't expected Sam to mention their mother. The oven dings just then, startling them both.
Dean doesn't answer. He gets up, shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of his chair. Sam watches him get two plates and dish out the food.
‘If it’s about Mom,’ Sam begins.
‘Talk a little louder, why don't you?’ Dean cuts him off, still in that angry-whisper voice.
‘Sorry,’ Sam whispers back. ‘If it’s about Mom, why wouldn't he tell us?’
‘I don't know. Maybe he doesn't want to say anything until he knows more.’
Sam just nods, taking a bite of his pasta even though he isn't the slightest bit hungry.
-
There’s an invisible knot at the base of Sam’s stomach. He knows it isn't really there, not physiologically, but sometimes it’s so real that it makes everything else seem phony in comparison. It swells up when Sam worries about stuff, and Sam worries about stuff a lot. He worries when Dad and Dean go hunting and leave him behind. (He was fourteen when Dad finally decided that Sam could be trusted to take care of himself if left alone.)
At times like these-whenever it seems as though there’s a chance they may find a lead on Mom’s killer-he worries about Dad. His imagination is better than technicolor, showing him various scenarios in which his father gets himself killed chasing after a monster. He’s been having nightmares about monsters all his life, even before he knew they were real.
Now, he isn't small enough to climb into Dean’s bed as he did when he was younger and woke trembling in the middle of the night, but sometimes he wishes he were.
‘Dude, stop thinking so loudly,’ Dean complains from his bed. They're sharing the room they usually do at Bobby’s place. It has two mismatched beds-one bed and a divan, actually-and a heap of cartons piled in a corner. Sam takes the divan, which is smaller, although he’s grown almost a foot in the last eighteen months and is just a couple of inches from catching up with Dean’s six-foot-plus height.
‘I can’t sleep.’ Sam turns over so he can face Dean.
‘I figured, princess. You want me to get that pea out from under your mattress?’
‘Ha-fucking-ha. You aren't sleeping either.’
‘I would if you’d stop thinking so loudly.’
Sam pushes off the covers and goes to sit on the windowsill, looking out at the yard. The moon’s almost full and everything looks silvery. When he was little he could fit comfortably on the broad sill, often curling up there with a book. Now, he has to hold on to the edge with one hand to keep himself perched in place.
Behind him, he hears Dean sigh. The sheets rustle as his brother gets up. He comes to stand beside Sam, so close that if Sam let go of his handhold, he wouldn't fall. He doesn't say anything, but he’s a wall of reassurance.
‘Go to sleep, Sammy,’ he says after a while, turning around and going back to bed. Sam follows suit, and this time sleep comes more easily. Sam’s last conscious thought is that maybe Dean didn't say anything because they’ve never really known how to talk to each other about Mom.
-
As usual, Sam and Dean start to go a little stir-crazy after being holed up in Bobby’s house for over a day. Dean deals with it by messing around with the Impala. Sam hovers in the house, torn between going back to his book and trying to figure out what Dad and Bobby are investigating.
‘Sam, why don't you go to the library in town?’ Dad says finally.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Bobby asks. Dad shoots him a glare.
‘Why isn't it a good idea?’ Sam looks from Dad to Bobby. ‘What aren't you guys telling us?’
‘It’s not your concern,’ Dad says shortly.
‘Like hell it isn’t,’ Sam says, catching the look on Bobby’s face.
‘Sam, I said-’
‘John,’ Bobby says. ‘Maybe we should-’
‘You say another word, so help me god.’
‘They have a right to-’
‘They're my sons.’ And that’s the end of the discussion.
-
‘It’s about us,’ Sam confirms. He sits down on the porch steps and watches Dean wash the car.
‘I know, genius.’ Dean doesn't even bother to look up.
‘So what are we gonna do about it?’
Dean shrugs. ‘Wait.’
‘Wait? That the best you got?’ The words come out as a sneer, but Sam doesn't wish he could take them back. His annoyance with his family is like needles pricking under his skin these days, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before they push through and tear everything to pieces. Antagonizing Dean is just one of the ways in which he copes.
‘Let’s train,’ Dean says abruptly, throwing down his washcloth and disappearing into the garage.
-
Training had been much easier when Sam was younger. As a sixteen-year-old, he’s kind of hyper-aware of his body, and it doesn't take much for his imagination to turn seemingly innocuous things into sexual ones. He’s been learning about what turns him on, and most of his fantasies leave him with a sick, twisted feeling in his gut that conveniently disappears when he’s jerking off but returns full force as soon as he’s come off his high.
When he enters the garage, Dean pounces on him from behind. It’s a trick he’s learned recently, surprising Sam when he’s expecting it least. He should have been expecting it now, but he’s distracted and Dean takes him down easily, manhandling him to his knees and pinning his arms behind his back.
‘Getting sloppy, little bro.’ His breath is warm and noisy against Sam’s ear.
‘Get off me, you asshole!’ Sam squirms desperately, but Dean’s hold is like iron.
‘Is that what you're going to say to a monster about to eat you?’
‘I’m not seven, Dean.’ Sam thrusts his head back, hoping to catch Dean by surprise and maybe bruise his nose for good measure, but Dean just dodges and laughs. Sam struggles futilely, his breath getting quicker as he hears the clink of the cuffs a moment before Dean gets them around his wrists.
Dean gets to his feet, panting a little from the struggle, leaving Sam on his knees with his arms pinned behind his back. ‘I should put this in ice.’ He holds up the key. ‘Hang it in front of you and let you wait for it to melt.’
Sam’s heart nearly stops at those words. He’s imagined that particular scenario so many times that it’s practically ingrained into his brain. It’s something he’s been longing to try out but hasn't quite dared to. What if he had to get free before the ice melted or had a cramp?
‘Hey,’ Dean says, his voice surprisingly gentle. ‘You with me?’
‘Yeah,’ Sam says, dry-mouthed. He doesn't meet Dean’s eyes. ‘How long do I have?’
‘Three minutes,’ Dean says, placing the key in front of Sam.
‘You make it way too easy,’ Sam scoffs.
‘Clock’s ticking, Sammy. Get to it.’
Sam turns around on his knees, his back to Dean. Learning how to get out of handcuffs is a pointless exercise, in his opinion, but Dad has insisted on teaching them how to get loose. Sam suspects it’s because not all the monsters they chase are supernatural beings.
Ignoring the low thrum of arousal under his skin from being cuffed, he searches with his fingers for the key. After a minute of fruitless searching, he turns around in frustration to see the key dangling from Dean’s hand.
‘You cheating fucker.’
‘You turn your back on a bad guy, and you think he’s gonna play fair?’ Dean asks with his eyebrows raised.
‘But you already caught me!’
‘Doesn’t mean I can’t get nastier.’ Dean drops the key on the floor. ‘Try again. Keep an eye on me this time. Don't let me do anything you can’t observe.’
Keeping his eyes on Dean, Sam inches forward on his knees this time, trying to maneuver his body so that the key is under him. Just when his fingertips graze the cold metal, Dean steps out of his line of vision.
‘Dean,’ Sam groans in frustration.
‘You really think I’d make it that easy?’
‘I hate you,’ Sam says, his fingers scrabbling to get the key before Dean does, but it’s hopeless. Dean reaches under him and snags the key deftly, dangling it from his fingers once more.
‘Let’s try this again,’ he says, his mouth shaping into a wicked grin. ‘And make sure it isn't too easy.’
‘Like you've been easy on me so far.’ Sam tries to turn around when Dean moves behind him, but before he knows it, Dean’s wrapping something over his eyes-a bandana, probably-and tying it off behind his head.
‘I can’t do this,’ Sam says, tugging at his cuffs in frustration.
‘Stop that. You'll hurt yourself.’ Sam senses that Dean is kneeling behind him. ‘Use your other senses. Listen.’ The last word is spoken almost directly into his ear.
Sam listens. He hears the tiny sound the key makes as it hits the floor. It sounds like it’s just a couple of inches behind him. Moving back, he puts his hands on the floor and manages to curl his fingers around the key. ‘Yes!’
‘Good boy,’ Dean says. He doesn't usually use the phrase seriously. ‘Now get the cuffs open.’
It takes a few minutes, and despite the January chill in the air, Sam’s sweating by the time he gets the key into the lock and twists it. The cuffs still attached to his left wrist, he reaches up with his right hand and rips the blindfold off. ‘How’d I do?’
Dean glances at his watch, even though they both know Sam took well over three minutes. ‘Good. You did good, Sammy.’
The praise curls around Sam like warmth, and for once he doesn't even mind that Dean called him ‘Sammy’.
-
Their sparring is interrupted by Dad calling them from the house. Sam brushes himself off and follows Dean inside, still on an adrenaline high from the exercise.
‘We’re going to see Missouri,’ Dad says when they're both sitting side by side on the couch.
‘Missouri?’ Dean asks blankly. ‘What’s in Missouri?’
‘Not the state,’ Bobby clarifies. ‘The person. Missouri Moseley lives in Kansas.’
‘Lawrence, to be precise,’ Dad adds.
‘Is this about Mom?’ Sam can’t hold himself back any longer.
Dad and Bobby exchange glances. ‘I don't know yet, Sam,’ Dad says. ‘But I don’t think so. It may be something else.’
‘If it’s not about Mom, then why are we going to Kansas?’ Dean asks.
‘Because Missouri is a psychic.’
‘Why do we need to see a psychic?’ Sam presses.
He doesn't miss the way Dad and Bobby are exchanging looks, as though trying to decide how much to tell the boys. ‘Dad,’ Sam says. ‘Please.’
Dad takes a deep breath and sits down in a chair close to Sam’s spot on the sofa. ‘You remember a couple weeks ago, when you had that school thing and I couldn't make it because I was on a hunt?’ he asks. There’s something like regret in his voice, and Sam feels a little regret himself. He’d made Dad feel guilty about it for days.
Sam nods, and Dad continues. ‘I caught a demon. It wasn't your regular kind.’
‘What kind was it?’ Dean asks. Dad’s looking at Sam as though trying to figure out how to say what’s coming next. He’s not looking at Dean at all. Sam shifts closer to his brother.
‘A crossroads demon. They… pretty much steal people’s souls. This one told me something that happened years ago. Before your Mom and I got married.’
Sam doesn't realize he’s been scrabbling for a hold on the couch until Dean’s fingers grasp his.
‘What happened, Dad?’ Dean’s voice is steady, his hand gripping Sam’s, and Sam’s never been more grateful to have his brother next to him.
Dad scrubs a hand over his tired, unshaven face. ‘I don't exactly know. The demon didn't say much. Except that it might have something to do with you, Sam.’
‘Mom died because of me?’
‘No! No, not that. The thing that killed her may have been a demon. I’m almost positive it was a demon pretty high up on the food chain. If I’m right, then this demon targeted more children your age, Sam. He…’ Dad pauses for a moment. Sam’s coiled so tight that the knot in his stomach feels like a balloon about to burst.
‘Targeted?’ Dean breaks in before Sam can say a word. ‘What do you mean, targeted? How? For what?’
‘I don't know exactly how. That’s why we’re going to see Missouri.’ In a gesture of rare tenderness, Dad reaches out and smooths Sam’s hair back from his face. ‘She’ll be able to tell us more.’
-
Sam can’t sleep at all that night.
‘Thinking about it won’t help,’ Dean points out.
‘How would you know? You aren't the one who got Mom killed.’
Dean refuses to rise to the bait. ‘Sam, Dad said it wasn't your fault.’
‘How? How was it not my fault, if the demon murdered Mom because she was trying to protect me from him?’
‘We don't know what happened, Sam. You heard Dad. He doesn't know anything for sure.’
‘I know.’ Sam wraps his arms around his knees. ‘I know it’s true. I can feel it in my gut.’
‘No, you can feel your anxiety in your gut.’ Dean comes over and wraps an arm around his shoulders. Sam turns blindly into him, pressing his face into Dean’s neck. He takes in a huge breath, but it still feels as though he isn't getting enough air.
‘Breathe,’ Dean says, rubbing between his shoulder blades. ‘Just breathe, Sammy. It’s going to be okay.’
It’s easier said than done, but after a while Sam’s breathing slows to something approaching normal.
‘I’m gonna ask you something,’ Dean says. ‘Don’t hit me, okay?’
‘Ask me what?’
‘When was the last time you… you know.’ Dean makes a vaguely obscene gesture with his hand.
‘Dean, are you asking me about sex?’
‘’Course not, Sammy. I know you haven't had sex.’ Dean grins. ‘Not with another person, anyway.’
‘So you're asking me when I last-dude, that stuff’s private!’
‘It’s the best stress-buster I know, okay? That’s why I asked. You need some alone time, the bathroom’s all yours. Hell, if you need a bed I’ll leave you to it and sleep on the couch.’
‘Stress-buster?’ Sam asks, incredulous. ‘We could be talking about the thing that killed Mom, and you want me to jerk off?’
‘Exactly,’ Dean says. ‘We could be talking about the thing that killed Mom and pretty much fucked up our entire lives. You don't have any control over any of that. None of it.’
‘So?’
‘So, you gotta find the things you can control, Sam. Find your own space where nothing can touch you, no matter how small the space is. Me, I don't know what sort of hunt Dad’s going to take me on next. I can’t control that stuff. But I can take care of my wheels. I can train myself-’
‘And me,’ Sam puts in, beginning to catch on.
‘And you,’ Dean says, ruffling his hair. ‘Make sure we give the best we got so we can kick it in the ass every single time. You know what I mean?’
‘I think so. Still don't know what it has to do with… you know.’
Dean just smiles and taps his fingertip against his temple. ‘Your own space, remember? Trust me. It helps.’ He winks and shifts to his own bed.
-
‘Sammy.’ Dad’s hand is on his shoulder, shaking him awake.
‘Dad?’ Sam looks at Dean’s empty bed. ‘What’s the matter? Is it time to go?’
‘Change of plans,’ Dad says. ‘Bobby and I are going to Lawrence. You stay and do as your brother says, all right?’
He’s gone before Sam has even woken up completely.
-
‘Good and bad are strange categories. Sometimes context is everything.’
He remembers the word his English teacher had said. He thinks they mean more to him than they could to anyone else. With nothing else to do, he and Dean keep training. He knows Dad’s told Dean more about what’s going on than he’s told Sam, but Dean isn't talking. Sam knows he thinks he's doing the right thing by keeping information from Sam, but at the same time, Sam wishes he could knock some sense into him.
-
They’re sparring in the living room the next afternoon when everything goes to hell.
Dean has him in a very effective headlock and Sam knows he’s lost this round. He leans back against Dean for a moment, catching his breath, and then Dean gets to his feet and gives him a hand up.
He doesn't know what makes him do it, but the next moment he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Dean’s.
‘Dean,’ Sam says. He’s terrified, but it’s like looking at a scene in a film that he has no control over.
Dean stays very still for a second. Then, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at the wetness on it as though it’s blood, or worse.
Before Sam can move, the same hand hits him hard, right across the face.
Sam goes sprawling back, the force of the blow and its complete unexpectedness catching him by surprise. He falls on the couch, his gaze on Dean’s face, shocked into stillness.
‘Dean-’
‘Shut up. Shut the fuck up.’ Dean’s on him in a second, straddling Sam’s thighs, his hand closing around Sam’s throat. He squeezes hard and shakes Sam so hard that he thinks his bones might rattle. ‘What’ve you done to my brother? Who are you?’
Sam tries to choke out Dean’s name, but Dean’s large hand is cutting off his air supply. His arms try to flail, but one of them is pinned under him and the other is trapped between his body and Dean’s, bones feeling brittle as chalk under Dean’s onslaught.
‘Tell me!’ Dean roars, his face terrified, and Sam lets out a sob.
‘Please,’ Sam tries to say, but both of Dean’s thumbs are digging into his windpipe now. His tears, oblivious to his inability to breathe, are somehow finding their way down his cheeks.
The phone starts ringing.
Dean looks up with his hands still locked around Sam’s throat, his eyes wild. Sam takes advantage of his distraction to knee him in the stomach, taking great gulps of air as Dean’s hold loosens.
But it isn't for nothing that Dean prides himself on his prowess as a fighter. Before Sam has time to sit up, Dean’s on him again, flipping him over and wrenching his arms behind his back.
‘Dean, for fuck’s sake, it’s me!’
‘I said shut the fuck up,’ Dean says. His merciless, unerring hand finds and pinches a nerve in Sam’s neck, and Sam’s world goes black.
-
He dreams he’s in a small tunnel. It’s almost completely dark and very claustrophobic.
He hears it before his eyes get used to the darkness: someone breathing too loudly in the damp, confined space.
‘Hello?’ He crawls toward the sound; the ceiling is too low for him to stand.
The labored breathing quiets immediately. ‘Who’s there?’ A woman’s voice, its pitch betraying her nervousness.
‘I… I’m not sure, actually.’
‘Dean?’ She crawls into view. ‘It’s Dean, isn't it?’
He holds back, suspicious. ‘I thought you said you didn't know who was there?’
‘You told me yesterday. Your name, I mean.’ She pushes grimy dark hair off her face. ‘I’m Lily. At least I think that’s my name.’
‘Wait, I told you yesterday? How long have we been here? And where is here, anyway?’
‘I don’t know, all right? I’m stuck here, same as you.’
‘I just got here,’ he says. ‘I’ve never seen you before.’
‘You forget.’ The girl-Lily?-swipes angrily at her tears, smudging the dirt over her face. ‘You always forget, Dean.’
Dean. The name’s terribly familiar, like it’s a part of him. ‘I told you my name is Dean?’
‘You were saying it the first time I saw you. Over and over again.’
-
‘Dean,’ Sam says. It comes out sounding like ‘D’n,’ the consonants sticking together and the vowels silenced by his hoarse throat.
There’s something lumpy and sort-of soft under him. He blinks up at the ceiling a few times before his vision comes into focus. He’s lying on the mattress in Bobby’s panic room.
He swings his legs off the bed and stumbles to his feet, lurching a little and almost falling as he makes his way to the door. ‘Dean!’ He pounds on the heavy metal. ‘Open the door, damn it!’
Dean appears almost immediately, as though he’d been hovering around waiting for Sam to wake up. The small cover over the peephole is slid aside, and Dean peers in. ‘Sam?’
‘Of course it’s Sam! Who else did you lock in here?’ Sam kicks at the door, anger and confusion boiling inside him.
‘Sam, if it’s you, I’m sorry. I really am.’ Dean sounds like his puppy just died, and Sam’s anger softens a little when he hears the tone of Dean’s voice. Being alert to Dean in pain is one of his default states.
‘Dean, come on. Who else would I be?’ Something strikes him. ‘Was that Dad on the phone? What did he say?’
Dean stays silent, still looking at Sam through the peephole.
‘He said something to you before he left, didn't he? Something about me. Something that’s making you think you can’t trust me.’
‘It’s not like that,’ Dean says, but he doesn't meet Sam’s eyes.
‘It’s exactly like that.’ Sam jams his hands into his pockets. ‘I need to use the bathroom.’
‘I’ll bring you a bucket.’ Dean starts moving away.
‘I am not peeing in a fucking bucket,’ Sam snarls after him. ‘I’ll hold it till my bladder bursts, and it'll all be on you.’
‘Stop acting childish,’ Dean says, but he stays.
‘Dean, please.’ Sam steps as close to the door as he can, curling his fingers around the narrow bars. ‘Please. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what Dad said to make you so afraid of me.’
‘Afraid of you?’ Dean sneers. ‘I’m not afraid of you, little brother. It’s what’s inside you that can’t be allowed to run around loose.’
It’s like he’s just upended a bucket of ice over Sam’s head. ‘What’s inside me?’ he asks in a whisper.
Dean opens his mouth as if to answer, but then takes a step back from the door. ‘Step away from the door. Go to the bed and sit on your hands.’
‘Dean, what-’
‘You wanna be let out of there, you do as I say.’
Sam nods and does as instructed. He keeps a close eye on the door as he hears the clink of keys. He can take a chance and run at Dean as soon as he steps in. It may be his only opportunity for freedom.
But at the same time, he knows from hearing Dean’s voice and seeing the anguish on his face that he’s scared sick. Not for himself, but for Sam. Because he thinks that something inside Sam is controlling him. Sam has two choices now: either make his bid for freedom and let Dean think he’s possessed or whatever, or stay and be a prisoner but retain some hope of convincing Dean that he’s fine, that he’s Sam.
He sits on his hands and watches Dean come in.
Dean is holding the shotgun with the rock salt bullets, the muzzle pointed unwaveringly at Sam’s chest. ‘Don’t think I won’t use it.’ He takes out the handcuffs that they’d used while sparring and tosses them on the bed. ‘Put them on.’
‘Dean-’
Dean cocks the gun. ‘Do it or eat a mouthful of salt.’
‘I’m human. Salt won’t hurt me.’
‘Just do it or I’m out of here.’
‘Very mature,’ Sam sneers, but he does as asked.
Dean inclines his head toward the door, keeping the gun trained. ‘Walk ahead of me.’
Sam stares at him for a moment. ‘You’re serious about this.’
‘Walk.’
Dean’s face is expressionless, but Sam knows the look in his eyes. He’s terrified for Sam, and Sam feels the last of his anger drain away. ‘All right,’ he says quietly. ‘Don’t worry about me, Dean. I’m fine, I swear.’
‘Just go,’ Dean says, gesturing with the gun this time.
Sam nods and walks out of the room. He can feel the gun trained on his back, Dean’s gaze boring into his skull as though his brother wishes he could see right into Sam’s head and determine for himself that Sam’s all right.
‘Just what did Dad say to you, anyway?’ Sam asks when they reach the top of the stairs.
‘That’s for me to know. Go use the bathroom. If you try to close the door, I’ll blow it open.’
Sam holds up his cuffed hands. ‘I’m supposed to go like this?’
‘You’re a smart kid. You'll figure it out.’
‘Jerk.’ Sam deliberately uses the word, hoping for Dean’s standard response, but Dean doesn't take the bait.
‘You gonna watch me pee?’ He asks when Dean follows him to the door. ‘Kinky.’
‘Stop trying to rile me up.’ Dean’s expression doesn't change. ‘If you’re Sam, you'll know why it’s necessary.’
‘I am Sam, and I don’t know, so help me understand!’
‘Just do your business and we’ll talk, okay?’ Dean sounds weary, and Sam takes pity on him. He turns his back to Dean and leaves the door ajar while he pees, open just enough so Dean can see that he’s not trying to get away.
Sam zips himself up and washes his hands as best he can. ‘I’m hungry,’ he says. ‘How long was I out, anyway?’
‘A couple of hours.’ Dean has the grace to look contrite. ‘Does it hurt?’
‘I’m fine,’ Sam says shortly.
‘Come on.’ Dean tries to put his hand on Sam’s back, but Sam flinches away. He isn't going to let Dean off that easy. Dean sighs. ‘I’ll make you a sandwich.’
They eat sitting at the kitchen table, Sam’s hands still cuffed. When he’s finished his sandwich and glass of milk, he looks at Dean. ‘What did Dad say?’
‘You have demon blood in you.’
The words come out so matter-of-factly that Sam has trouble processing them for a moment. ‘He-I what?’
‘That’s what the psychic told him. He said it made sense given what the crossroads demon had said, too. He said a demon killed Mom and put his blood in you.’
‘And you believe this crap?’
‘It’s not crap. Dad wouldn't believe it if it wasn't true.’
‘And Dad can never make mistakes, right?’
‘No. Not like this. He wouldn't risk you unless he was sure.’
‘Risk me? Dean, did Dad ask you to kill me?’
‘What? No. Jesus. No. He just said to keep you locked up till he gets back.’ Dean doesn't meet Sam’s gaze.
‘You’re lying.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Fuck you. I know you, and you're not telling the truth. Fuck. He really did ask you to kill me.’
‘You don't know what you're saying, okay? Dad wouldn't ask me to do that. He knows-he just wouldn’t.’
‘No, but he would ask you to keep me locked up until he comes and does it himself.’
‘No one’s killing Sam,’ Dean says evenly, his gaze finally meeting Sam’s.
‘But you don't think I’m Sam. Would you kill me if you thought I’d turned into a demon? Huh? Would you kill me to save me from a monster?’
‘No,’ Dean says, not taking his eyes off Sam’s. ‘I would never kill my brother. And I wouldn't let anyone else hurt him either.’
‘You’re talking about me like I’m not even here.’
‘Did you listen to a word I said? You have demon blood in you.’
‘We don't know that.’
‘We do. I’m positive. Dad wouldn't have told me if he wasn't sure.’
Sam nods, his vision blurring. This time it’s Sam who turns his head away.
-
He wakes up in a dream, and he’s back in the tunnel. It’s dead silent this time, and it doesn't sound as though anyone else is around.
‘Lily?’ he calls.
‘Dean?’ she responds from somewhere in the darkness. A moment later he hears a scuffling sound, and she crawls toward him. ‘I thought you weren't coming back. You’ve been away so long.’
‘I was just here a couple hours ago.’
She shakes her head. ‘I haven't seen you since yesterday.’
‘Lily, I think I’m dreaming this. I’m dreaming you.’
In response, she crawls right up to him and pinches his arm hard.
‘Ow!’
‘That feel like a dream to you?’
‘If it’s not a dream, what else could it be? I’m not really here.’
‘Then where are you?’
‘I’m not-I don’t know. It’s like I know, but the knowledge is only there in my subconscious. You know?’
‘No, I don’t. You're not making any sense.’
‘If I’m really here, then why don't you find me here all the time? Why do I come and go?’
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ she says. ‘You remember my name this time. You remember being here earlier?’
‘Yeah. It’s starting to-I don’t know, I’m starting to remember things when I’m here. And my name’s not Dean. It’s Sam.’
She frowns. ‘Then why did you say it was Dean?’
‘I don’t think I did,’ he says, trying to explain. ‘I think I was calling for Dean. He-uh, he’s someone I trust with my life.’
‘Is he trapped somewhere here too?’
‘God, I hope not.’
‘You don't know where he is?’
‘I don't even know where I am.’
‘But you're sure your name is Sam?’
‘Yeah, pretty sure.’
‘How?’
‘What?’
‘How are you so sure your name is Sam? What if it’s really Dean?’
Before he can answer, Lily’s gaze turns to something beyond him. He turns to follow it, but can only make out an unnatural blackness. Although there isn't a sound to be heard, he feels almost literally frozen, as though something huge and ominous is moving toward them out of the pitch-black darkness.
‘He’s back,’ Lily whispers, her eyes huge and dark.
‘Who?’
‘The-’
-
‘Dean!’
Beside him, Dean startles awake in his chair. ‘What-why did you scream?’
Sam shakes his head to try to clear it. ‘I don't know. Nightmare. I think.’
‘You think? What were you dreaming about?’
‘I can’t remember, okay?’ Sam snaps. He fucking hates this. He’s strapped down to the bed at wrists and ankles, and although Dean hasn't made them tight enough to cut into his skin, it’s difficult trying to sleep without being able to change position.
‘I can remember just fine what I was just dreaming of.’
‘What was it? Were you fucking some girl whose name you didn't know? Someone you didn't even plan to say goodbye to when you skipped town?’
‘I’d much rather fuck someone anonymous than my little brother, and if you were really Sam, you'd know that. You're just proving that you're some sick fuck who’s taken over my brother’s body.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Sam says, stung. ‘You’re not being fair. You’re not even trying to understand.’
‘I understand better than you think.’
‘No, you don’t. You're the one who’s proving that he’s a stupid high school dropout who doesn't have two fucking brain cells to rub together.’ He regrets the words the moment they come out of his mouth, but the damage has been done.
Dean stares at him as though he can’t believe what he just heard, his expressive eyes shining with hurt and betrayal.
Then he gets up and slams the door behind him.
‘Dean, I’m sorry. Please!’
Dean reopens the door, and for a moment of blessed relief, Sam thinks he’s changed his mind. Then he sees that Dean is putting a bucket in a corner of the room.
‘There’s your bathroom,’ he says, freeing one of Sam’s wrists. By the time Sam gets the rest of his restraints off, he’s long gone, the key turned in the lock with a resolute click.
Dean doesn't return that night, not even to give Sam anything to eat or drink. He screams until his voice is hoarse and kicks the door with all his strength, but only succeeds in tiring himself out. When he’s exhausted himself, he throws himself on the mattress and sinks into sleep.
-
‘Can you remember now?’ Lily asks.
He shakes his head. ‘My name is Sam,’ he tries saying, but he isn't convinced. There’s a new memory in his head, something that wasn’t there in his last dream. A snippet of a conversation.
‘Dean, I want to see Frost's house.’
‘Sure, you giant geek.’
The voices he remembers sound alike enough that he wonders if the other speaker is a relative, a twin. Maybe he’s like the man in the iron mask, waiting for his brother. Or is it his brother who's waiting for him?
‘Maybe Dean’s your boyfriend,’ Lily says.
‘Why would you say that?’
She shrugs. ‘Just a vibe I get from you. Or maybe because I know my girlfriend’s somewhere out there, looking for me.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
She smiles, tells him not to worry because she's pretty sure he isn't her type.
He almost smiles, but doesn't because there’s not enough space inside him for much aside from terror. Through it all, he senses that there’s a person-shaped space next to him. Someone who should be there, someone vital like a limb, and sometimes he can just see them from the corner of his eye. The features dissolve before he can identify them, eyes flickering with a color that's lost before he can give it a name.
Part 2