The Witch and the Wolfen, Sam/Dean, 8/10
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Chapter 8 - The Book of Sam
Back at the Bunker, Sam moaned in his sleep, his head thrashing from side to side.
In his muddled dreams he sensed Dean was in trouble. But which Dean? And where?
¤ ¤ ¤
Here the world was a blasted ruin. His gorge rose as Dean killed another three people.
“They had it comin’,” he shouted to the gathered crowd.
Sam busied himself chopping wood. The people in the camp just bowed their heads in submission, used to the fact that their leader was a paranoid schizophrenic, and there were no meds left anywhere on this war-ravaged world.
Later, as he was finishing up, he could feel eyes on him.
“You’re new here. You keep your mouth shut and work hard.” Dean stepped out of the shadows. “I like that about a man.” Dean ran his hand down Sam’s neck and over his chest. “Come with me.”
Dean fucked him raw in the woodshed. Slapped him on the ass when he was done. “Yeah, we’ll be doing that more often.”
His maniacal grin made Sam shiver. He pulled together his few possessions at the paramilitary camp and slipped away in the dark of night.
+ + +
Here, Dean was older than most of the kids attending, but he had still thrown himself into the college life with gusto. Sam followed him for a few days. His brother was so happy. The shadows were gone from his eyes, and his girl, Katie, was perfect for him. There was no place for Sam here, no place big enough in Dean’s heart. He watched him through the window at an off-campus pub. Circle of friends, girlfriend. It was time for Sam to go.
Sam was getting into the Impala when someone grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him against the side of the car. Sam had already his knife out when he realized it was Dean. He froze. He’d only seen Dean from a distance till then. Up close, it was like a punch to the heart…. same green eyes, same nose, freckles, even his hair the same short, messy cut. He realized distantly that Dean was speaking.
“You listenin’? Who the hell are you, man? Why you following me?” Dean had one fist curled in Sam’s coat and another on his gun. He seemed more curious than angry.
“Nobody. Seriously, dude, I’m nobody to you.”
Dean’s head tilted; he looked perplexed, like he recognized Sam. Sam’s breath caught with hope.
“You’re not lookin’ for my dad, are you? ‘Cause he’s dead.”
With disappointment slamming threw him, Sam grabbed at that opener. “Yeah, I got the call tonight, that’s why I was leaving.”
Dean let go of his jacket and stepped back. “Something you wanted?”
“No, I just worked with him a couple of times and wondered if he was still in the game?”
Dean licked his lips and looked away. “Yeah, too late.”
“Listen, I’m sorry,…he was a great guy. I respected him.”
“Thanks, man.” Dean tucked his gun away at the back of his jeans. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Just, Dad and me, we made a lot of enemies over the years. Can’t be too careful.”
“I get you. You don’t mind me asking, you still in the life??”
“Nah, always wanted to go to college, have a real life. After Dad got the demon that started it all, well, the fire just went out of me. Got a great girl, a great life. I’m lettin’ someone else save the world now.”
Dean stepped back, a half smile on his face.
“Yeah. I get that.” Sam stretched out his hand. He wanted to pull Dean into a hug, wanted to feel those arms around him again. Wanted to fill the empty part of his heart. But he knew he couldn’t. Dean shook his hand, holding it just a little longer than necessary.
“And you’re sure we never met?”
“Absolutely, dude.” Sam tucked the knife up his sleeve and shoved his hands in his pockets
“Hey, nice wheels. My dad owned this exact model. He practically raised me in it. It got smashed in a traffic accident. That’s what led to Dad’s death. I always wanted to get another, but it just seemed wrong.”
“I get that, too.”
He watched Dean in his rearview mirror until the darkness swallowed him. Tears ran down his cheeks.
+ + +
Here, the roadhouse hadn’t burnt down. That’s where he tracked Dean and watched him from a stool at the bar as he breezed in with a whole team of hunters. A long scar ran down one side of his neck. Scars and tattoos crisscrossed his arms where his sleeves were rolled up.
“I nailed that Alpha right between the eyes.” Dean laughed and pulled Jo onto his lap. “Fucking fangers, right, baby?”
The team all wore matching attire, Kevlar vests, neck protectors. Because of the vampire problem, hunters were a wing of the local law enforcement here.
Sam nursed his beer in the corner and watched Dean with his people. The camaraderie, the love. Dean might be an only child here, but he was not alone.
Late in the evening Sam thought about leaving. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice Dean’s arrival until he leaned against the bar beside him.
“Hey Jo. Send us another round?” Jo nodded and started pulling drafts.
“Hey, I don’t recognize you. You new here?” Dean took a swig from his longneck. It was a hot night, and Sam could see sweat trickling down Dean’s neck. He was more bulked up, some obvious gym work.
“Just passing through.”
“Hunter, though - right?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought so, from the look in your eye.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Either that, or you were eyeing me up all night.”
Sam chuckled and took a drink.
“Hey, that’s okay, ‘cause I noticed you, too. Old lady and me, we’re into it if you are?”
Dean leaned in and kissed Sam, a quick exploratory taste.
Sam’s eyes closed, and he chased Dean’s mouth as he withdrew. It had been so long.
“Oh yeah, you’re into it.” Dean smirked.
The next morning Sam woke up sore and alone. Dean had fucked him like a champion, played his body like a violin, but there had been no connection, no meeting of souls. That Dean had reserved that for Jo. Sam had just been a good time.
+ + +
Here, Dean stood in a white suit with a single red rose on his lapel, strolling through the rubble of Detroit.
“Hmm, this is new.” Dean’s smile so sharp it cut, as his eyes went to black.
+ + +
Here Dean was a junkie in New Orleans. Sam would have stayed, made it his mission to bring Dean back, but a random fight in an alleyway took that option away. Sam tried to stop it, but Dean’s attacker got the jump on him. He could still feel the sharp blade of his knife as he pressed it against Sam’s face. In the end he won, but too late to save Dean. He left that night.
Sam didn’t have the heart to do another funeral.
+ + +
Here, Dean sat on a throne in the middle of what once was Detroit. Thousands of slaves like an ant colony worked to restore the city.
+ + +
Here, he saw Dean happily settled, four kids and a wife and his very own garage. Sam brought the Impala to him to tune up. “She’s in cherry shape. Obviously loved. I guess there’s no chance you’d sell her?”
“No, sorry.” Sam shook his head. “She’s like part of the family.”
Dean smiled, “Can’t blame you. Well, all she needed was a new filter and some oil. She’s good to go.” He wiped the oil from his hands, just as a tow-headed little boy ran up to him.
Dean hugged him to his side. “Hey, Sammy boy.”
Sam swallowed, hard.
“Mom says supper’s gonna be ready in half an hour.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.” He kissed the boy’s head, “Go play,” The little boy ran off, Dean looked on fondly.
“Sammy?”
“Yeah, named after my brother. He died when I was four.” Dean’s jaw tightened. He shook his head and turned back to Sam, “What brings you to town anyway?”
“I’m looking for my brother.”
“Yeah?” Dean perked up visibly. “Any luck?”
“Not so far.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Sam woke with a jolt. He hated this, hated that he had so much bottled up inside him, that it pushed its way into his sleep. He scrubbed his face, trying to banish away his dreams.
Maybe one day he could tell Dean… but that was a ways off. He hadn’t even told Dean where he was from yet. One confession at a time.
He lay there, still too exhausted to move, too exhausted to sleep longer. He glanced at the clock and startled. Three o’clock in the afternoon? He’d wanted to see Dean off. He thought around for Dean, tapping his familiar link. There was no way his injury accounted for him sleeping until three in the afternoon. He didn’t know why he was surprised. His mate’s capacity for deception and self-sacrifice seemed to be a hard-wired characteristic of almost all Dean Winchesters.
He thought about all the other worlds he’d visited. All the Deans he’d met. How each new world had filled his heart with hope, until it didn’t. He’d been running on fumes when he’d come to this world. With no real means of communication and no Dean in sight, he should have left immediately, but he’d been too dispirited, too exhausted to move on.
Instead, he’d given up the hunt and ever finding Dean. Maybe his whole idea had been crazy anyway. Even though the spell he’d gotten from the alternate world Sam and Dean had helped cut down on the amount of archangel grace needed for each portal jump, he only had a jump or two’s worth left from the jar Rowena had given him. Maybe there was no other Dean in the universe for him. Maybe he’d had the best he could ever hope for, and the rest of his life would be just making the best of things.
So he’d made himself a home at the Bunker. And when he finally grew restless, he went back to his roots, helping people. But then that glimmer of hope rekindled, and he began looking again, travelling so he’d cast a broad net. He started to hope there was a Dean for him in this world, a Dean who’d need his services at some point.
He had hoped it would work, but never in a million years did he actually expect it to, or to be mated and to find love in his life again. Even if this Dean was a self-sacrificing idjit who obviously drugged him.
For now though, he could only hope that this scouting mission went off without a hitch. He could grill Dean about his ‘long sleep’ later when he was back safe and sound.
He’d scried his mate’s location, Dean’s reassuring blue dot moving toward town. By nightfall Dean’s dot was at the city limits. Sam scried the city for lifesigns, What he couldn’t find were any townspeople. No other signs of life. Not for the first time, he wished Dean had waited for him to go with him.
Again Sam tried the link, but didn’t ‘hear’ anything from Dean. He suspected it had reached its limits.
Frustrated, he didn’t notice that his fists had clamped around the edges of the table till it creaked. There must be some way to reach Dean other than the link. Then it occurred to him: not only was Dean his mate, he was his familiar. That gave Sam certain powers that went beyond mates. He rushed down to the Men of Letters library to research. After combing through the library for three hours, he finally found a text that might help.
In most instances, familiars were cats or crows or creatures that did not speak. It was important for the witch to be able to see what they saw. Sam had completely neglected this age-old practice of ‘shadow walking’. He’d never had nor needed a familiar before, so he hadn’t even thought of it. To shadow walk he needed to create a charm. Witches could generally shadow walk any willing creature, but to find their specific familiar, they needed a totem, usually in the form of a necklace or a ring with something of the familiar incorporated. He wouldn’t be able to talk with Dean, not like their link sharing, but he could at least see through Dean’s eyes, see what he was facing.
Dean didn’t have much in the way of physical possessions; most were in the pack he took to Lawrence. Sam was able to find the green knit cap that Dean’s father had given him. It was under the foot of Sam’s bed, probably knocked off when he carried Sam in. That was the only reason Dean would have left it behind.
Sam found a few stray hairs and tied them in a small loop. Next, he found a moss-green peridot that matched Dean’s eyes and a ring left behind by some MoL with a garnet in a silver setting. It was simple and had the same rough shape as the peridot. It would fit perfectly.
The spell took him most of the afternoon and evening, but it went off without a hitch; the loop of hair folded into the opal and disappeared. Anxious to see if it would work, he stuck it on his ring finger and said the words Familiar mea, per meos oculos videam.
Suddenly the world tipped sideways, and he was looking through Dean’s eyes. Grimly, he watched as he approached the school, all the way up to his subsequent capture. Seeing Lucifer sent a chill down his spine. It was the same face that had haunted his own waking dreams on his earth.
He wondered why Dean hadn’t smelled the demons or the other wolfen, but then he saw Meg through Dean’s eyes, which would explain much. Sam’s spells were based more in healing, not battle. No wonder he’d had such trouble coming up against her during the rain spell. Meg was both a powerful witch and demon. He had to admit to some grim satisfaction when he saw the burns on the side of her face.
The lassos were new, though. Old magic that, probably older than Meg. And he saw the fleet of vehicles. It was rare in this world to see one operating car, let alone a whole convoy of them. When they took off with Dean, he knew he had to take drastic measures.
He wondered how far the shadow walking spell would go. He’d have to move fast or risk losing them, and he wasn’t losing Dean. With Dean locked in the box van Sam couldn’t very well see where they were taking him. He needed to resort to another aspect of his new spell, and cast out looking for a crow or raven to be his eyes.
Caeli amicus, per oculos tuos videam. There was the eerie caw of a raven, and suddenly Sam could see through its eyes. He nudged it toward the van, directing it to follow.
With Dean tracked, Sam now had to get his own house in order. First, he’d have to recharge. He couldn’t go into battle this weak. He’d need to use the siphoning spell to steal energy from lifeforces around him. Not enough to kill, just enough to repair the damage the battle with Meg had done. And, he could do that as he followed Dean.
Plan sketched out, he packed a change of clothing for both him and Dean, and some food, strapped the demon blade to his thigh, and slid the archangel blade in its holster on his back. A couple of bedrolls and an emergency kit were already in the trunk of the Impala. He picked up a few semi-automatics and boxes of rounds from the armory and then went to see Cas.
“I’ve got to go get Dean, Cas.” The donkey nudged his hand as if asking if he could go, too. “And I’ve got to go on my own on this one. And…we might not come back. If we don’t return in five days, I’ve coded the door on the Bunker and front gate to open so you won’t be trapped here. It’s the best I can do, buddy.” Cas’s water was on a drip line, so he’d never run out. But when he went to lay out fodder for the week, he discovered Dean had already done that.
“Oh, Dean.” He rubbed Cas’s neck, grumbling, “Damn fool.”
Sam turned on the lights in the motor pool.
He pulled the drop cloth off her. He had insisted Rowena figure a way to modify the spell so he could travel from world to world with her. There was no way he was leaving her behind. He ran his hand lovingly along her shiny hood. She was the only home he and Dean had ever really known.
Fragmented images of their lives, like the revolving clicks of a Viewmaster filled his mind: Dean and Dad singing to Sammy when he was little and scared of the dark, and they had to keep driving. Dean and Sam in a field leaning against the Impala’s hood as they watched fireworks light up the night sky. Dean obnoxiously in control of his five-album playlist, “Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts his cakehole, Sammy.” Dean’s fond looks when he thought Sam wasn’t looking. Heaven, Hell, Life, Death, Chuck, Dean and Sam, saving the world again. Dean and Sam settling down. And then finally Dean dying. And Sam stopped.
The day he almost ate his gun. Dean’s face appearing to save him even then.
“We can’t give up Sam, that’s just not in us.”
And the day he started again.
¤ ¤ ¤
It was the alternate-world Sam and Dean that first gave Sam hope. He talked to them about the spell they’d used to travel to this earth. They’d told him everything they knew, but Sam knew he needed more. He turned to the only person he knew who could help.
“Darling Samuel. How nice of you to call.” Rowena’s greeting was sticky sweet when she appeared in the Bunker library. “You look thin, dear. Are you eating? I know it’s been a wee while since we last talked.”
“I need your help, Rowena.”
“Och, so serious, Samuel. Aren’t you going to offer me a spot of tea first?”
“Do you want tea, Rowena?” Sam said tersely.
“Well no, I don’t, but a lady does like to be asked. Seriously, dear, you want my help? Whatever for?”
“Remember when you told me you thought I’d make a good witch?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Rowena sat down in one of the library’s more comfortable chairs, arranging her green velvet gown’s train around her. She stared at him expectantly.
“Were you lying?”
“Och, heavens no! I would never lie to you about something like that, Samuel. I thought you knew me better. I always thought you’d make a fine witch. Better maybe even than me. If you’d put your mind to it.”
“I need to find him.”
“Find who, love? And maybe I do need that tea. All these questions are making me dizzy.”
Sam huffed out, returning shortly with a tray of tea, including the biscuits he knew Rowena favored and cucumber sandwiches.
“Cucumber sandwiches! Now I know you’re serious.”
“I need to find Dean.”
“Samuel, Dean is dead, love.” She patted his hand gently.
“I know he’s dead, that’s why I want to find him. Another him. A Dean who’s alone, too.”
Rowen’s scarlet eyebrows rose behind her bangs, “Ahh, an intriguing idea, to be sure.”
“If a Sam and Dean can flee to our world, isn’t it possible that, somewhere out there amongst Chuck’s multiple universes, there’s a Dean without a Sam for some reason?” Sam thrust a page with the spell they’d used into Rowena’s hands. “And they did it with no Grace.”
She looked at it briefly. “Intriguing, they got around the need for archangel essence! But they also got stuck in the In-Between. Not a good thing for a lonely traveler. But aye, I think I could modify their spell to be safer and not need so much Grace to open the portal safely. Luckily, I still have a wee bit stashed away in case of emergencies.” She set aside the spell and held up her hand. “Don’t ask! But, in answer to your question, yes. But it would require quite a high level of spell work, Sam, and probably months, maybe years of searching. And you know I’m a busy girl. I have Hell to run these days.”
“I don’t want you to do it. I’ll do it. You just need to show me how.”
“Well, that, my dear, I can surely do. First, we need to set you up with the basics. And then we can move on from there. There is a wee problem with your theory, though, Sam. A Dean that’s never had a Sam might not want or need a Sam. He might have found other sources of comfort.”
“I don’t care. I can’t just stay here and not do something. I know he’s out there. A Dean for me. The universe can’t be that cruel.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet, Samuel.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Sam touched his ring, and the raven’s view the raven filled his vision.
Morning was coming, and the Morningstar’s troop was still on the road. They had gone north, of Kansas City, and were still moving. At the front of the convoy was a giant pre-Fall snowplow clearing a perfect path out of the deeper snow drifts. Sam knew he had to be going soon. Had to get on the road before a new storm obscured their route and made the road impassable.
He checked the map. If Lucifer wasn’t going to a major city, and with an entourage this large, it wouldn’t be a personal home. Maybe he was going to an abandoned resort somewhere? All Sam knew was, he needed to follow immediately.
He loaded up the Impala, slid into the driver’s seat, and simply sat there. This was for all the marbles. Time to bring his Dean home. He turned the key, and the Impala breathed to life with a soft rumble.
In his early days investigating the Bunker, he’d discovered it had a long underground tunnel that stretched a mile under solid rock and came up at the edge of a local road. The MoLs were nothing if not ingenious. A sneaky way to come and go from the Bunker without being seen. Magical wards kept the doors of the tunnel hidden. Sam left the car idling as he shouldered them open past the snow. He looked back at the Impala; if his original Dean could see this, he’d be cursing Sam up and down. On the front of the Impala’s grille, Sam had welded brackets to hold a plow blade. He needed to be able to clear zombies, abandoned cars or whatever life on the new worlds threw at him, but Dean would have hated it. The brackets were almost undetectable when the blade was off, but he knew Dean would have spotted them immediately.
He eased the Impala onto the road, closed the doors and refreshed the hiding spell. The snow on top of the mountain was beginning to melt away, but there was still lots of snow, and Sam would need to clear a path ahead of him before they were done.
He popped one of Dean’s tapes in the player and ‘Born to Be Wild’ pumped out of the speakers. Sam grinned and set up his siphoning spell. It would take a small measure of energy from any mammal they drove past until Sam was back in fighting form. It wasn’t maybe the most ethical spell, but tough times required tough decisions.
He felt half decent by the time he hit Lawrence. A few people came out of their homes to watch him pass. Sam hoped Lucifer hadn’t left a spy in town to alert him. When he arrived at Lucifer’s cleared path at the far end of town, he breathed a little easier. Tightening his grip on the wheel, Sam pressed on, praying the snow would stay away at least until he caught up with Dean.
He checked in with his raven. Lucifer’s convoy had turned off the highway in Minnesota, still moving north. Sam pulled over briefly to check his map. The only place nearby was Red Lake. And after eleven hours of driving, they must be getting close to their final destination. Sam freed this raven and cast about for another willing assistant: an eagle this time. It continued the task of tailing the convoy.
By late evening, the energy siphoning spell had done its work. Sam was fully healed, but even with that, he still needed sleep. He was easily nine hours behind Lucifer, but once Lucifer’s troop arrived where they were going, even the demons would need rest, too. Whatever they intended to do with Dean would wait till tomorrow.
He crawled in the back seat, wrapped himself in several blankets, and used some of his excess energy to cast a warming spell. And although he had tried all day to link with Dean, he decided to give it one last try.
[Dean? Are you there?]
He looked out the window and saw a shooting star plummeting across the sky. He made a wish, his only wish, to get his soulmate back.
¤ ¤ ¤
Sam moaned in his sleep
The dream began the same way it always did. He was wandering through the forest, mist so thick he could barely see a few feet in front of him. Then the mist cleared, and he stood outside the barn. He ran in the opposite direction, stumbling and falling as he tried to get away, and the minute the mist cleared, he was back again at the barn.
The scene shifted and he was holding his brother as the light slowly seeped from his eyes. And the life bled from Sam’s heart.
The cold, silent journey home, Dean’s body wrapped in a blanket on the back seat.
Dean’s body burning like a Viking warrior of old.
Smoke in Sam’s eyes.
Standing by the cooling ashes, hollowed out and empty.
Scrubbing the Impala’s back bench for hours felt like penance. As if once the stains were gone, Dean would return. Sins forgiven. No wine spilled. But Chuck was gone, and Jack had other things on his mind.
Returning to the Bunker, but not home. Home was Dean. And Dean was gone.
Wandering the Bunker corridors wrapped in grief and loneliness, cursing Dean’s name. He didn’t need a hero, he needed his brother, his lover.
Walls closing in, guilt hammering him down.
Grief like a stone on his heart.
Time stretching out, an endless road of loneliness.
The last Winchester.
¤ ¤ ¤
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