The Other Son: Chapter Six
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Six: NEST
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully. All I can say is that there is no new Winchester being added into the mix. This is definitely not one of those fics.
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter six | NEST
.......
THEN:
.......
“I’m coming back,” Sam said, his voice filling the quiet of the car. “I’m not abandoning him.”
“Prove it,” Dean’s voice echoed through his head. A challenge and a request.
.......
NOW:
.......
Sam hadn’t meant to slam on the breaks quite so hard. He was momentarily startled, sitting there in the middle of the road out of town, his father’s taillights getting further away until they swerved to the side and Sam’s phone rang. “Sammy?” the tone was warning, and Sam knew he was probably pressing his luck but that this was about something more than his dad could understand.
“I’ll follow, I just - I need to make a stop first,” he said. “I won’t be long, and I know where to find you.” Their old pattern of picking rooms and motels when they were separated, calculated by distance and codes - a family secret.
“Alright, Sammy,” John said, though it was clear he didn’t like it, and Sam watched his father pull-out again and continue onward, while Sam pulled a U-turn in the middle of the disserted highway.
Dean was behind the bar of the Wyvern, just as he’d said he’d be. Gone were Sam’s jeans and T-shirt, and in their place was the white button-down with rolled sleeves and the black pants that was Dean’s usual bar-wear, but Sam’s belt was around Dean’s waist. “Sam?” Dean said, like he was surprised as Sam dropped into a seat by the bar.
“I said I’d come.” As if it really was that simple, as if he hadn’t been about to drive-out of town without letting Dean know he’d been intending to come back. Dean smirked and tilted his head to the side, like he was reluctant to give the point to Sam.
“One sec,” Dean said, turning around and mixing-up a drink before sliding the glass over to Sam. “One of my own. Try it,” he said. “It’ll knock you flat.”
“I hope not,” Sam said. “I have to drive tonight.”
Dean’s teasing expression turned leery. “Leaving town?”
“A hunt,” Sam said. “Not far from here.”
“What is it?”
“Vampires, apparently,” Sam said, although he still couldn’t quite reconcile himself to that fact.
“No shit,” Dean said, but there was no teasing in his expression.
“I’ll come by when it’s done,” Sam promised, hand reaching out for the glass Dean had given, but Dean plucked it from the counter, knocking the drink back and not flinching though the potency of the concoction was evident in the way it made Dean sniff and wiggle his nose. “That was my drink,” Sam complained.
“You can have it when you come back.” Dean shrugged, his eyes meeting Sam’s across the bar and conveying the seriousness of his statement, as well as the several levels on which it was intended. Then he turned his back on Sam, crossing to the far-end of the bar where a lady was waving for a refill.
Sam couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He’d been hoping for a kiss, some small shared intimacy that he could think on as he drove, could soothe himself with, assuring himself that they’d parted on good terms that it wouldn’t be long before Sam was driving into Fitchburg again. This seemed far more tentative, far more uncertain.
……………………………………
John didn’t ask where he’d been when Sam walked through the door. It was late and he was sitting-up at the desk peering over his journal - Sam had never seen the man without it once, and had been rigorously instructed in how to keep his own journal - organized based on hunts. He didn’t greet Sam, either, barely looked-up when Sam entered, tossing his bag at the foot of the second bed - the one furthest from the door, just like always. When he did speak, it was to ask if Sam had a good long blade.
“Several, why?”
“Real vampires aren’t exactly like the ones in the movies,” John said. “To kill one, you have to take-off its head.”
“How come this is the first time I’ve heard about them?” Sam asked as he unpacked the things he’d need for that night.
“I thought they were extinct - other hunters I know, I thought they’d cleared them out.”
“But they haven’t?”
“No,” John said. “Ellen, she called me. There’ve been a couple of attacks in the area and I figured since we were the closest ones out here, we’d take the hunt.”
“So we’re doing Ellen a favour?” Sam had always wondered - though he kept it to himself - if his dad and Ellen had ever hooked-up. He tried to ask indirectly sometimes, or tried to trick them into saying something, but neither John nor Ellen had fallen for it and Sam had let it go, more or less.
“It’s a hunt, Sammy. People are dying and getting hurt.”
“Fair enough,” Sam muttered, shucking his clothes before he climbed into bed.
…………………………………
Hunting with his father meant hunting half-blind. It didn’t matter what John had said about understanding that Sam had grown-up and needed to do things on his own, it was ingrained - force of habit. John broke things into tasks and forgot to share the bigger picture, so while John disappeared for the day to do god only knew what, Sam was left one his own to collect dead man’s blood from the county morgue - for what purpose he could not even begin to guess - and to sit around and wait for his father to return.
When it came to hunting, Sam wasn’t good at staying idle. He had no idea how to go about hunting vampires, except that apparently the only way to kill one was to sever its head. He knew that apparently they stayed together in a ‘nest’, because John had deemed that suitable to share. Beyond that, Sam had nothing.
It seemed logical to Sam that creatures with essentially human characteristics (well, mostly), who were nocturnal, would frequent the local bar - not many places in town would stay open late at night, and Sam couldn’t think of a better way of catching what a vampire might consider a prime meal. He had the time, and his dad hadn’t exactly told him not to ask around - and even if he had, it wasn’t like he could get angry with Sam for going out for a beer.
The bar was raw wood and cheap red plastic seat coverings. Sam wouldn’t help drawing comparisons between it and the Wyvern - the Wyvern being worlds away from the smokey, chatter-filled place. Nobody had much to say about suspicious characters, but the bartender pointed Sam in the direction of a farm on the outskirts of town. Sam nursed his beer; loathe to return to the mindless waiting in an empty motel room, but one beer was all he wanted, and there was only so long he could make it last.
The vision hit him when he was not even five paces out of the bar. One moment, Sam was walking tall, and the next he was bent-double, his head filled with screams, watching bloody fingers scrabble desperately against blue cotton. Latin chants and painted black symbols danced before his eyes and the screams raised in volume but lowered in pitch -- a child’s cry becomes a man’s agonized call. The Latin made a relentless charging wave in Sam’s head.
When the vision finally released him, Sam was crumpled on the dusty drive with a stranger bent over him, concern in his voice. “You okay, kid?” The hand was strong where it was wrapped around Sam’s upper arm, and despite the disorientation that never failed to follow a vision, Sam’s instincts were screaming at him. The stranger had the look of a man who had done dark things and enjoyed them. He blended with the night like he was born in it.
“I’m fine,” Sam said, shuffling back so he could stand.
“Are you sure?”
“Back off,” Sam said, surprised at his tone but not regretting it.
The man held-up his hands and shook his head, grinning a little. “Well, Sam. You’re your daddy’s boy.” The comment, as it was no doubt intended to, caught Sam’s attention. “John Winchester’s kid, am I right? Gordon Walker,” the man said, offering a hand that Sam felt reluctant to take. “I’m a hunter.”
…………………………………..
Gordon Walker had a lot to say, but mostly, he wanted to say it to John Winchester. He was staying in the same motel as Sam and his dad were staying, and it was an awkward ride back to the motel, Sam continuously glancing in his rear-view because Gordon’s shiny red car trailing behind Sam’s black impala felt like having a gun pressed to the back of his head, and if a bullet was coming Sam wanted to the opportunity to watch it launch.
John was there when they got back to the motel, and it didn’t surprise Sam in the least when Gordon and John went to speak privately, leaving Sam once again alone. Gordon was after the vampires - had been following them across several states, apparently, and seemed more than determined to finish them off on his own. He’d spoken to Sam like he’d had no idea what he was doing (which might have been true, but that was through no fault of Sam’s). “Might as well have peed all over the town and said ‘My hunt, back off’,” Sam muttered as he paced restlessly.
The vision was still buzzing through him and it made him jittery, especially as there had been no clues as to what it might mean. There were no landmarks, nothing that would allow him to track who or what was happening. He hadn’t seen a face - only heard a voice, and seen the fingers - and the symbol hadn’t been like any Sam had seen before.
He paced to the window and peered outside but his dad and Gordon were out of sight, and there was no telling when they would return. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Sam dialled the first number that came to mind.
“Sam?”
“Bobby,” Sam said, relief in his tone. “I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I need to know about a symbol. Something I haven’t seen before.”
“Well, can you describe it?”
Sam tried to compare what he’d seen in his vision to anything he’d seen while reading through the books that other hunters - including Bobby - had leant him. “It almost looked like a devil’s trap - with the pentagram surrounded by the circles - but the centre of it was empty, no scorpion-thing, and surrounding the pentagram was a kind of sun-design. And the lines in the middle weren’t solid, they were words, writing I mean. I couldn’t make it out.”
“Is that all you can remember?”
“I think … I think the outer-ring was reinforced with salt. And there were figures - four of them, just inside the circle. North was a figure holding-up a sword, and South - the sword was pointed down. East was a figure carrying fire in his hands, and West was a figure burning.”
“They were winged, weren’t they? The figures.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “You know what it is?”
“Powerful magic, is what,” Bobby said. “Where did you see that?”
“In a vision.”
“Jesus Christ, Sam. Another one?”
“Well, I can’t exactly control them!”
“Did this vision give you anything else?”
“No. Nothing. There was screaming, and bloody fingernails and that symbol.”
“Well, there would be screaming,” Bobby muttered.
“What is it?”
“It’s Raphael’s Circle. It’s for purification.”
“Purification? I don’t understand.”
“From a demon. It’s dark meeting light in a single spell, common ground - you get me? It’s not pretty, and it’s not pleasant, but it’s supposedly effective - just nobody’s had any cause to use it. If a demon is invited into a body, you can’t just exercise it - it’s got to be leached out.”
“Invited? - But who would even do something like that?”
“Nobody. I’m sure some crazy people might have tried it - not understanding what calling a demon and giving over power like that really means - but something like that, it calls for an exchange and there aren’t many people that have anything to offer of interest to a demon of any real power that it couldn’t just take for itself. It hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“But … if it did happen, how does the spell work?”
“It takes time and a lot of pain,” Bobby said. “Sam, you catch the person in that circle - just like a devil’s trap - and they can’t get out of it. It works on two levels - it binds the person, and it binds the demon - and over time, it separates the two - rips them apart, like. Until you’ve got the demon, and the person separate. After that, you usually take the person out of the circle and exercise the demon. Why? What are you thinking?”
“I have no idea what I’m thinking,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have absolutely nothing to go on -- no time frame, no location, no face no name - nothing. Just this trap thing.”
“Well, you keep your eye open for anything strange - for anyone who might have taken a demon into them.”
“Yeah, I’d say Gordon except I already ‘Christo’d’ him.”
“Walker?”
“You know him, too? Dad’s out there talking to him. I think he’s trying to chase us off this hunt. Can you believe Ellen sent us over here when this guy was already tracking these vampires?”
“Anytime there’s vampires, Gordon usually ain’t far behind,” Bobby said. “You keep your head on straight and look after yourself.”
“’Course, Bobby. You know me.”
“That’s why I’m tellin’ ya,” Bobby said wryly, which made Sam grin. “Listen, I’ll ask around about possessions, see what’s been happening, okay?”
“Yeah, I appreciate it,” Sam said. “See ya, Bobby.” He flipped the phone closed and turned it over in his hand before flipping it open again, scrolling through his list of contacts before he found the most recent addition. “Sophia,” he said when her familiar voice answered.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Sam.”
“Mr. Winchester,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“I get that you’re mad,” Sam said, cutting through the song-and-dance.
“I really don’t think you get just how mad I am. Vampires, Sam? Really?”
“They’re real!”
“That’s not the point! You couldn’t have waited? Not even a day?”
“It’s complicated,” Sam said.
“It usually is,” Sophia retorted. “It’s called life.”
“I just need Dean’s number, I never got it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sam.”
“Sophia …”
“No, I’m serious. He said that you told him you were coming back, and that’s good. Because if it was really just a dine-and-dash …”
“A dine-and-dash?”
“I don’t want to call it anything else, because I don’t like people fucking with Dean. He gets fucked with enough, okay?”
“He’s hardly weak and defenceless.”
“That doesn’t make it okay. Look, Sam. It’s nothing personal. Well, it is … I’m trying to look out for my best friend. He’s fine, and he’s here, and yeah, he’s waiting. But honestly, I’m a little pissed at you for what you did.”
“So you’re not going to give me his number,” Sam said, just to be clear.
“I’m really not,” she said. “But I am really hoping that you get your butt back here before he has the chance to get all his stupid defences back on full alert, and build a few new ones just for you.”
“I hope so too. I’ll see you soon, Sophia.”
“You too. And Sam? … don’t get yourself killed chasing vampires. That would just be so … camp.”
Sam laughed at that. “I’ll try.”
…………………………………….
Sam was sitting cross-legged on his bed, idly searching through internet sites when John returned to the room. “So? What’s goin’ on?”
“He wants to go after the nest by himself,” John said, setting his gun aside, gathering what he needed to get ready for bed.
“What did you tell him?”
John glanced-up at Sam and for a moment, didn’t say anything. “We’ll go just before nightfall, lure them to the outside and take them down in the woods.”
“You found the nest?”
“Damn right, I did,” John said. “Gordon will probably be on the inside - we’ll be counting on that.”
……………………………
Hunting vampires wasn’t altogether different from hunting a werewolf. There was an intelligence that made it a challenge. John’s plan consisted of firing arrows tipped in dead man’s blood into the nest and striking down as many as they could - thus letting the vampires know that they were surrounded. It also put Gordon Walker at greater risk, considering he was inside the nest armed with a long sharp blade only and taking as many heads off as he could. Sam got the feeling that Gordon Walker hadn’t much impressed his dad. Still, the result was that a good percentage of the vampires dared to come outside of the nest. “They’re trying to pick-up our scent,” John explained. “Once they get that, it’s for life.”
“Great,” Sam muttered before having to sprint in the opposite direction from his father when two vampires broke through the clearing they’d been resting in.
Attacking just before nightfall evened the stakes. Vampires disliked sunlight but weren’t harmed by it. They were more likely to venture outside the nest the darker it was. John wanted to get rid of all the vampires in that nest in one night, and Sam was entirely behind that idea. The faster this was over, the faster he’d be able to move on.
Still, it wasn’t exactly pleasant - chopping off heads. Sam dodged through the trees, knowing that it didn’t matter how quiet he was, because they’d undoubtedly pick-up his scent - they’d wanted it that way. Either way, Sam wasn’t too keen on being turned, and there was always the chance that more than one fang would descend on him at a time, and he’d be overpowered.
As if his thoughts had summoned them, three vampires raced at him and Sam tested his grip on his blade before hefting it upwards, taking off one’s head even as the other two bowled into him, knocking him down and forcing him to drop his weapon. Sam twisted and kicked - jarring one vampire off of him and head-butted the other, scrambling to get to his blade before the vampires were able to jump back onto their feet, but he wasn’t fast enough. One fang grabbed his ankle and in a flash, the other was on him, choking him with an arm around his neck. “Play nice,” the vampire who was choking him crooned in his ear. Sam kicked feebly at the other’s head, dislodging its grip on his ankle. His right hand was still grasping - reaching for the machete that was just out of reach.
The moment Sam’s fingers curled around the handle of the machete he snatched it up, flailing it awkwardly and he was pretty certain he only managed to clock the vampire who had his arm around Sam’s throat in the back of the head with the flat-end of the blade, but it was he needed to do because a moment later there was air in his lungs and Sam was able to stumble to his feet and hack its head clean off its shoulders, taking the other down just as swiftly.
“Sam!” He could hear his dad calling, not far away but it had gotten dark.
“Here!” he called back, a moment later John was at his side, breathing heavy but grinning. “You’re crazy.”
“We cleared-out the nest,” John answered, still grinning, a mischievous glint in his eyes that Sam knew was there even if it was night and they barely had light to see by.
“Where’s Gordon?”
“He’ll have made it, his kind always do,” John answered. “Let’s clear out.” Sam didn’t ask what Gordon Walker had said to piss his dad off as much as he apparently had. They made their way back to where they’d left the vehicles and Sam followed his dad back to the motel where they packed-up and left.
It was late but they were driving out of necessity. They were more than certain they’d cleared-out the nest and didn’t have to worry about a tail, but it was a precaution - that, and the fact that Gordon might have a thing or two to say to them. Sam had a solid few hours as he followed his dad to a new motel far enough away that they wouldn’t be so easy to find again, to wonder about his next course of action.
John would have a hunt come morning, somewhere else to go off to. Sam had about all he could take of not knowing the big picture as he went-out, and he didn’t have much faith in that changing anytime soon. He couldn’t explain why he wanted to return to Fitchburg, either, because John had always looked at personal attachments with a worried eye. There were all sorts of options, but the more Sam thought about it, there was really only one thing he actually wanted, and he already knew the only way to get it.
………………………………………
The burger joint wasn’t exactly an ideal breakfast, but it was food, and Sam was used to having his meals out of sequence. His dad was seated opposite him in the booth and flipping through the morning paper. “I’m thinking we head back down south a ways, there’s a string of suspicious activity that can take us right down into New Orleans where I’ve had my eye on a pretty nasty haunting.”
Sam thought about the vision he’d had - whatever he was being warned about, it involved a demon, and a pretty powerful one. He had more than one thing unfinished, and even if sitting there looking at his father and knowing that this was going to change things for good, he had to make the choice. “I’ve got a hunt,” Sam said.
John looked at him closely, knowing what it meant. “A hunt, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s a creature or something - that’s what it seems like - probably a rawhead.”
“I don’t like you hunting alone, Sammy,” John said.
Sam’s whole body was braced, waiting for his dad to start yelling, to start hurling the plates across the room and breaking things. “I think it’s best for me, dad.” He didn’t want to start pointing-out all the ways that his dad’s stubborn inability to let go of the habits he’d developed in the marines could conceivably get Sam killed - if Sam didn’t know the whole plan, then his options were that much less, and hunting smart was all about keeping as many options open as possible.
“So you’re just gonna leave, is that it?” And Sam could feel it starting, that horrible point just before John really started getting angry, when the rage was just beneath the surface - rearing its head up above you like a tsunami the moment before it came splashing down.
“We’re not gonna have this same argument again.”
“Which one is that?” John growled. “The one where you try to convince me that you’re all grown-up?”
“That’s exactly the one,” Sam hissed, leaning forward in attempt to keep the growing argument to themselves.
“Well then, fine Sammy. Walk away. But you’re not ready to hunt on your own for long, watching your own back and looking out for yourself while you drive across the country. And your visions make you a goddamn walking target.”
“I’ll have to take that chance, because I sure as hell can’t stay here and keep my head down and do everything just how you want it done and not have a damned clue what it is I’m doing!”
“Don’t turn this back on me! I am trying to protect you!”
“From what dad? You can’t even tell me, can you? You keep running and running from something, you gonna tell me what it is? Is it after me? Is that it? Because I’ve been on my own before and nothing’s found me.”
“Nothing has yet,” John said. “You’ve gotten sloppy, Sammy. Ever since your visions started you salt the doors and windows and think to yourself that if something’s coming, you’ll know. But you won’t.”
“You’re so sure.”
“You’re goddamned right, I’m sure! You’re brother was a psychic, Sam.”
“Well, he’s dead!”
“And at the rate you’re going, you will be too!” John snarled. He was out of the booth and out of the burger joint before Sam could really process the turn that the argument had taken. His brother had been a psychic, and he’d been killed anyway - because of his powers? Or in spite of them? Sam didn’t know, but likely that was the same question his father asked himself every day, all the more when Sam had his first vision.
“I get that you’re scared for me,” Sam said, following his father out into the parking lot.
“Oh, I’m not scared,” John denied. “I can’t believe I raised a boy to be so stupid, is all! You want to go out and hunt by yourself because you’re all grown up. Well, good for you! Go ahead! Go hunt, then, Sam.”
Sam was pissed-off and he was hurt, and every word out of his dad’s mouth was like the strike of a whip across his back, but he could hear the broken desperation in his father’s voice - John was scared. “I wish you could tell me why you’re like this,” Sam said. “You’ve been afraid before - I could always tell - with the visions, when I first started hunting. I’ve never seen you like this.” John said nothing, couldn’t even turn around and meet his son’s eyes. “I’m not leaving to hurt you, and I’m not leaving the hunt. If you could just tell me … if you could just say why you’re so anxious to let me go…?”
Sam was certain that if his dad had said anything, had explained any part of his mysterious anxiety, then Sam would have stayed, would have dealt with anything that he had to. It had something to do with his older brother, Sam was certain - it was made all the more clear with the fact that his brother had been gifted as well - but beyond that, Sam knew nothing. John had barely spoken about his firstborn, couldn’t bring himself to talk about him. Whether his dad knew more about his brother’s abduction and subsequent death than he’d confided in Sam was something he wondered about every day but Sam wasn’t prepared to let that stop him from doing what he needed to do for himself. “Then as far as I know,” Sam said. “I’m doing the right thing.” He turned and he left, and it was hard - felt like splitting in two, felt like disappointment and rage and betrayal - it felt like nine kinds of shit, but he did it anyway. He walked to the car and opened the door, started her up and drove away, leaving his dad standing alone in the parking lot of a cheap burger joint, fighting back tears and rage - abandoned once again, this time willingly, by his own blood. Sam wondered if it was better or worse than the last time.
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
Discount Airline Tickets
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Six: NEST
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'.
A/N: AU. This is difficult to summarize fully without also spoiling fully. All I can say is that there is no new Winchester being added into the mix. This is definitely not one of those fics.
Summary: Sam knows there are a lot of things about his father that he will never understand, or agree with -- the first and foremost being why John Winchester is so unnerved by his son's visions. It's why Sam goes alone to Fitchburg when images of the town's 'welcome' sign flash through his head while he's driving and leave him reeling for hours after. He's only looking for a hunt, but what he finds is about to turn Sam's entire world upside-down, and threaten its very foundations.
chapter six | NEST
.......
THEN:
.......
“I’m coming back,” Sam said, his voice filling the quiet of the car. “I’m not abandoning him.”
“Prove it,” Dean’s voice echoed through his head. A challenge and a request.
.......
NOW:
.......
Sam hadn’t meant to slam on the breaks quite so hard. He was momentarily startled, sitting there in the middle of the road out of town, his father’s taillights getting further away until they swerved to the side and Sam’s phone rang. “Sammy?” the tone was warning, and Sam knew he was probably pressing his luck but that this was about something more than his dad could understand.
“I’ll follow, I just - I need to make a stop first,” he said. “I won’t be long, and I know where to find you.” Their old pattern of picking rooms and motels when they were separated, calculated by distance and codes - a family secret.
“Alright, Sammy,” John said, though it was clear he didn’t like it, and Sam watched his father pull-out again and continue onward, while Sam pulled a U-turn in the middle of the disserted highway.
Dean was behind the bar of the Wyvern, just as he’d said he’d be. Gone were Sam’s jeans and T-shirt, and in their place was the white button-down with rolled sleeves and the black pants that was Dean’s usual bar-wear, but Sam’s belt was around Dean’s waist. “Sam?” Dean said, like he was surprised as Sam dropped into a seat by the bar.
“I said I’d come.” As if it really was that simple, as if he hadn’t been about to drive-out of town without letting Dean know he’d been intending to come back. Dean smirked and tilted his head to the side, like he was reluctant to give the point to Sam.
“One sec,” Dean said, turning around and mixing-up a drink before sliding the glass over to Sam. “One of my own. Try it,” he said. “It’ll knock you flat.”
“I hope not,” Sam said. “I have to drive tonight.”
Dean’s teasing expression turned leery. “Leaving town?”
“A hunt,” Sam said. “Not far from here.”
“What is it?”
“Vampires, apparently,” Sam said, although he still couldn’t quite reconcile himself to that fact.
“No shit,” Dean said, but there was no teasing in his expression.
“I’ll come by when it’s done,” Sam promised, hand reaching out for the glass Dean had given, but Dean plucked it from the counter, knocking the drink back and not flinching though the potency of the concoction was evident in the way it made Dean sniff and wiggle his nose. “That was my drink,” Sam complained.
“You can have it when you come back.” Dean shrugged, his eyes meeting Sam’s across the bar and conveying the seriousness of his statement, as well as the several levels on which it was intended. Then he turned his back on Sam, crossing to the far-end of the bar where a lady was waving for a refill.
Sam couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He’d been hoping for a kiss, some small shared intimacy that he could think on as he drove, could soothe himself with, assuring himself that they’d parted on good terms that it wouldn’t be long before Sam was driving into Fitchburg again. This seemed far more tentative, far more uncertain.
……………………………………
John didn’t ask where he’d been when Sam walked through the door. It was late and he was sitting-up at the desk peering over his journal - Sam had never seen the man without it once, and had been rigorously instructed in how to keep his own journal - organized based on hunts. He didn’t greet Sam, either, barely looked-up when Sam entered, tossing his bag at the foot of the second bed - the one furthest from the door, just like always. When he did speak, it was to ask if Sam had a good long blade.
“Several, why?”
“Real vampires aren’t exactly like the ones in the movies,” John said. “To kill one, you have to take-off its head.”
“How come this is the first time I’ve heard about them?” Sam asked as he unpacked the things he’d need for that night.
“I thought they were extinct - other hunters I know, I thought they’d cleared them out.”
“But they haven’t?”
“No,” John said. “Ellen, she called me. There’ve been a couple of attacks in the area and I figured since we were the closest ones out here, we’d take the hunt.”
“So we’re doing Ellen a favour?” Sam had always wondered - though he kept it to himself - if his dad and Ellen had ever hooked-up. He tried to ask indirectly sometimes, or tried to trick them into saying something, but neither John nor Ellen had fallen for it and Sam had let it go, more or less.
“It’s a hunt, Sammy. People are dying and getting hurt.”
“Fair enough,” Sam muttered, shucking his clothes before he climbed into bed.
…………………………………
Hunting with his father meant hunting half-blind. It didn’t matter what John had said about understanding that Sam had grown-up and needed to do things on his own, it was ingrained - force of habit. John broke things into tasks and forgot to share the bigger picture, so while John disappeared for the day to do god only knew what, Sam was left one his own to collect dead man’s blood from the county morgue - for what purpose he could not even begin to guess - and to sit around and wait for his father to return.
When it came to hunting, Sam wasn’t good at staying idle. He had no idea how to go about hunting vampires, except that apparently the only way to kill one was to sever its head. He knew that apparently they stayed together in a ‘nest’, because John had deemed that suitable to share. Beyond that, Sam had nothing.
It seemed logical to Sam that creatures with essentially human characteristics (well, mostly), who were nocturnal, would frequent the local bar - not many places in town would stay open late at night, and Sam couldn’t think of a better way of catching what a vampire might consider a prime meal. He had the time, and his dad hadn’t exactly told him not to ask around - and even if he had, it wasn’t like he could get angry with Sam for going out for a beer.
The bar was raw wood and cheap red plastic seat coverings. Sam wouldn’t help drawing comparisons between it and the Wyvern - the Wyvern being worlds away from the smokey, chatter-filled place. Nobody had much to say about suspicious characters, but the bartender pointed Sam in the direction of a farm on the outskirts of town. Sam nursed his beer; loathe to return to the mindless waiting in an empty motel room, but one beer was all he wanted, and there was only so long he could make it last.
The vision hit him when he was not even five paces out of the bar. One moment, Sam was walking tall, and the next he was bent-double, his head filled with screams, watching bloody fingers scrabble desperately against blue cotton. Latin chants and painted black symbols danced before his eyes and the screams raised in volume but lowered in pitch -- a child’s cry becomes a man’s agonized call. The Latin made a relentless charging wave in Sam’s head.
When the vision finally released him, Sam was crumpled on the dusty drive with a stranger bent over him, concern in his voice. “You okay, kid?” The hand was strong where it was wrapped around Sam’s upper arm, and despite the disorientation that never failed to follow a vision, Sam’s instincts were screaming at him. The stranger had the look of a man who had done dark things and enjoyed them. He blended with the night like he was born in it.
“I’m fine,” Sam said, shuffling back so he could stand.
“Are you sure?”
“Back off,” Sam said, surprised at his tone but not regretting it.
The man held-up his hands and shook his head, grinning a little. “Well, Sam. You’re your daddy’s boy.” The comment, as it was no doubt intended to, caught Sam’s attention. “John Winchester’s kid, am I right? Gordon Walker,” the man said, offering a hand that Sam felt reluctant to take. “I’m a hunter.”
…………………………………..
Gordon Walker had a lot to say, but mostly, he wanted to say it to John Winchester. He was staying in the same motel as Sam and his dad were staying, and it was an awkward ride back to the motel, Sam continuously glancing in his rear-view because Gordon’s shiny red car trailing behind Sam’s black impala felt like having a gun pressed to the back of his head, and if a bullet was coming Sam wanted to the opportunity to watch it launch.
John was there when they got back to the motel, and it didn’t surprise Sam in the least when Gordon and John went to speak privately, leaving Sam once again alone. Gordon was after the vampires - had been following them across several states, apparently, and seemed more than determined to finish them off on his own. He’d spoken to Sam like he’d had no idea what he was doing (which might have been true, but that was through no fault of Sam’s). “Might as well have peed all over the town and said ‘My hunt, back off’,” Sam muttered as he paced restlessly.
The vision was still buzzing through him and it made him jittery, especially as there had been no clues as to what it might mean. There were no landmarks, nothing that would allow him to track who or what was happening. He hadn’t seen a face - only heard a voice, and seen the fingers - and the symbol hadn’t been like any Sam had seen before.
He paced to the window and peered outside but his dad and Gordon were out of sight, and there was no telling when they would return. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, Sam dialled the first number that came to mind.
“Sam?”
“Bobby,” Sam said, relief in his tone. “I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“I need to know about a symbol. Something I haven’t seen before.”
“Well, can you describe it?”
Sam tried to compare what he’d seen in his vision to anything he’d seen while reading through the books that other hunters - including Bobby - had leant him. “It almost looked like a devil’s trap - with the pentagram surrounded by the circles - but the centre of it was empty, no scorpion-thing, and surrounding the pentagram was a kind of sun-design. And the lines in the middle weren’t solid, they were words, writing I mean. I couldn’t make it out.”
“Is that all you can remember?”
“I think … I think the outer-ring was reinforced with salt. And there were figures - four of them, just inside the circle. North was a figure holding-up a sword, and South - the sword was pointed down. East was a figure carrying fire in his hands, and West was a figure burning.”
“They were winged, weren’t they? The figures.”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “You know what it is?”
“Powerful magic, is what,” Bobby said. “Where did you see that?”
“In a vision.”
“Jesus Christ, Sam. Another one?”
“Well, I can’t exactly control them!”
“Did this vision give you anything else?”
“No. Nothing. There was screaming, and bloody fingernails and that symbol.”
“Well, there would be screaming,” Bobby muttered.
“What is it?”
“It’s Raphael’s Circle. It’s for purification.”
“Purification? I don’t understand.”
“From a demon. It’s dark meeting light in a single spell, common ground - you get me? It’s not pretty, and it’s not pleasant, but it’s supposedly effective - just nobody’s had any cause to use it. If a demon is invited into a body, you can’t just exercise it - it’s got to be leached out.”
“Invited? - But who would even do something like that?”
“Nobody. I’m sure some crazy people might have tried it - not understanding what calling a demon and giving over power like that really means - but something like that, it calls for an exchange and there aren’t many people that have anything to offer of interest to a demon of any real power that it couldn’t just take for itself. It hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“But … if it did happen, how does the spell work?”
“It takes time and a lot of pain,” Bobby said. “Sam, you catch the person in that circle - just like a devil’s trap - and they can’t get out of it. It works on two levels - it binds the person, and it binds the demon - and over time, it separates the two - rips them apart, like. Until you’ve got the demon, and the person separate. After that, you usually take the person out of the circle and exercise the demon. Why? What are you thinking?”
“I have no idea what I’m thinking,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have absolutely nothing to go on -- no time frame, no location, no face no name - nothing. Just this trap thing.”
“Well, you keep your eye open for anything strange - for anyone who might have taken a demon into them.”
“Yeah, I’d say Gordon except I already ‘Christo’d’ him.”
“Walker?”
“You know him, too? Dad’s out there talking to him. I think he’s trying to chase us off this hunt. Can you believe Ellen sent us over here when this guy was already tracking these vampires?”
“Anytime there’s vampires, Gordon usually ain’t far behind,” Bobby said. “You keep your head on straight and look after yourself.”
“’Course, Bobby. You know me.”
“That’s why I’m tellin’ ya,” Bobby said wryly, which made Sam grin. “Listen, I’ll ask around about possessions, see what’s been happening, okay?”
“Yeah, I appreciate it,” Sam said. “See ya, Bobby.” He flipped the phone closed and turned it over in his hand before flipping it open again, scrolling through his list of contacts before he found the most recent addition. “Sophia,” he said when her familiar voice answered.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Sam.”
“Mr. Winchester,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“I get that you’re mad,” Sam said, cutting through the song-and-dance.
“I really don’t think you get just how mad I am. Vampires, Sam? Really?”
“They’re real!”
“That’s not the point! You couldn’t have waited? Not even a day?”
“It’s complicated,” Sam said.
“It usually is,” Sophia retorted. “It’s called life.”
“I just need Dean’s number, I never got it.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sam.”
“Sophia …”
“No, I’m serious. He said that you told him you were coming back, and that’s good. Because if it was really just a dine-and-dash …”
“A dine-and-dash?”
“I don’t want to call it anything else, because I don’t like people fucking with Dean. He gets fucked with enough, okay?”
“He’s hardly weak and defenceless.”
“That doesn’t make it okay. Look, Sam. It’s nothing personal. Well, it is … I’m trying to look out for my best friend. He’s fine, and he’s here, and yeah, he’s waiting. But honestly, I’m a little pissed at you for what you did.”
“So you’re not going to give me his number,” Sam said, just to be clear.
“I’m really not,” she said. “But I am really hoping that you get your butt back here before he has the chance to get all his stupid defences back on full alert, and build a few new ones just for you.”
“I hope so too. I’ll see you soon, Sophia.”
“You too. And Sam? … don’t get yourself killed chasing vampires. That would just be so … camp.”
Sam laughed at that. “I’ll try.”
…………………………………….
Sam was sitting cross-legged on his bed, idly searching through internet sites when John returned to the room. “So? What’s goin’ on?”
“He wants to go after the nest by himself,” John said, setting his gun aside, gathering what he needed to get ready for bed.
“What did you tell him?”
John glanced-up at Sam and for a moment, didn’t say anything. “We’ll go just before nightfall, lure them to the outside and take them down in the woods.”
“You found the nest?”
“Damn right, I did,” John said. “Gordon will probably be on the inside - we’ll be counting on that.”
……………………………
Hunting vampires wasn’t altogether different from hunting a werewolf. There was an intelligence that made it a challenge. John’s plan consisted of firing arrows tipped in dead man’s blood into the nest and striking down as many as they could - thus letting the vampires know that they were surrounded. It also put Gordon Walker at greater risk, considering he was inside the nest armed with a long sharp blade only and taking as many heads off as he could. Sam got the feeling that Gordon Walker hadn’t much impressed his dad. Still, the result was that a good percentage of the vampires dared to come outside of the nest. “They’re trying to pick-up our scent,” John explained. “Once they get that, it’s for life.”
“Great,” Sam muttered before having to sprint in the opposite direction from his father when two vampires broke through the clearing they’d been resting in.
Attacking just before nightfall evened the stakes. Vampires disliked sunlight but weren’t harmed by it. They were more likely to venture outside the nest the darker it was. John wanted to get rid of all the vampires in that nest in one night, and Sam was entirely behind that idea. The faster this was over, the faster he’d be able to move on.
Still, it wasn’t exactly pleasant - chopping off heads. Sam dodged through the trees, knowing that it didn’t matter how quiet he was, because they’d undoubtedly pick-up his scent - they’d wanted it that way. Either way, Sam wasn’t too keen on being turned, and there was always the chance that more than one fang would descend on him at a time, and he’d be overpowered.
As if his thoughts had summoned them, three vampires raced at him and Sam tested his grip on his blade before hefting it upwards, taking off one’s head even as the other two bowled into him, knocking him down and forcing him to drop his weapon. Sam twisted and kicked - jarring one vampire off of him and head-butted the other, scrambling to get to his blade before the vampires were able to jump back onto their feet, but he wasn’t fast enough. One fang grabbed his ankle and in a flash, the other was on him, choking him with an arm around his neck. “Play nice,” the vampire who was choking him crooned in his ear. Sam kicked feebly at the other’s head, dislodging its grip on his ankle. His right hand was still grasping - reaching for the machete that was just out of reach.
The moment Sam’s fingers curled around the handle of the machete he snatched it up, flailing it awkwardly and he was pretty certain he only managed to clock the vampire who had his arm around Sam’s throat in the back of the head with the flat-end of the blade, but it was he needed to do because a moment later there was air in his lungs and Sam was able to stumble to his feet and hack its head clean off its shoulders, taking the other down just as swiftly.
“Sam!” He could hear his dad calling, not far away but it had gotten dark.
“Here!” he called back, a moment later John was at his side, breathing heavy but grinning. “You’re crazy.”
“We cleared-out the nest,” John answered, still grinning, a mischievous glint in his eyes that Sam knew was there even if it was night and they barely had light to see by.
“Where’s Gordon?”
“He’ll have made it, his kind always do,” John answered. “Let’s clear out.” Sam didn’t ask what Gordon Walker had said to piss his dad off as much as he apparently had. They made their way back to where they’d left the vehicles and Sam followed his dad back to the motel where they packed-up and left.
It was late but they were driving out of necessity. They were more than certain they’d cleared-out the nest and didn’t have to worry about a tail, but it was a precaution - that, and the fact that Gordon might have a thing or two to say to them. Sam had a solid few hours as he followed his dad to a new motel far enough away that they wouldn’t be so easy to find again, to wonder about his next course of action.
John would have a hunt come morning, somewhere else to go off to. Sam had about all he could take of not knowing the big picture as he went-out, and he didn’t have much faith in that changing anytime soon. He couldn’t explain why he wanted to return to Fitchburg, either, because John had always looked at personal attachments with a worried eye. There were all sorts of options, but the more Sam thought about it, there was really only one thing he actually wanted, and he already knew the only way to get it.
………………………………………
The burger joint wasn’t exactly an ideal breakfast, but it was food, and Sam was used to having his meals out of sequence. His dad was seated opposite him in the booth and flipping through the morning paper. “I’m thinking we head back down south a ways, there’s a string of suspicious activity that can take us right down into New Orleans where I’ve had my eye on a pretty nasty haunting.”
Sam thought about the vision he’d had - whatever he was being warned about, it involved a demon, and a pretty powerful one. He had more than one thing unfinished, and even if sitting there looking at his father and knowing that this was going to change things for good, he had to make the choice. “I’ve got a hunt,” Sam said.
John looked at him closely, knowing what it meant. “A hunt, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s a creature or something - that’s what it seems like - probably a rawhead.”
“I don’t like you hunting alone, Sammy,” John said.
Sam’s whole body was braced, waiting for his dad to start yelling, to start hurling the plates across the room and breaking things. “I think it’s best for me, dad.” He didn’t want to start pointing-out all the ways that his dad’s stubborn inability to let go of the habits he’d developed in the marines could conceivably get Sam killed - if Sam didn’t know the whole plan, then his options were that much less, and hunting smart was all about keeping as many options open as possible.
“So you’re just gonna leave, is that it?” And Sam could feel it starting, that horrible point just before John really started getting angry, when the rage was just beneath the surface - rearing its head up above you like a tsunami the moment before it came splashing down.
“We’re not gonna have this same argument again.”
“Which one is that?” John growled. “The one where you try to convince me that you’re all grown-up?”
“That’s exactly the one,” Sam hissed, leaning forward in attempt to keep the growing argument to themselves.
“Well then, fine Sammy. Walk away. But you’re not ready to hunt on your own for long, watching your own back and looking out for yourself while you drive across the country. And your visions make you a goddamn walking target.”
“I’ll have to take that chance, because I sure as hell can’t stay here and keep my head down and do everything just how you want it done and not have a damned clue what it is I’m doing!”
“Don’t turn this back on me! I am trying to protect you!”
“From what dad? You can’t even tell me, can you? You keep running and running from something, you gonna tell me what it is? Is it after me? Is that it? Because I’ve been on my own before and nothing’s found me.”
“Nothing has yet,” John said. “You’ve gotten sloppy, Sammy. Ever since your visions started you salt the doors and windows and think to yourself that if something’s coming, you’ll know. But you won’t.”
“You’re so sure.”
“You’re goddamned right, I’m sure! You’re brother was a psychic, Sam.”
“Well, he’s dead!”
“And at the rate you’re going, you will be too!” John snarled. He was out of the booth and out of the burger joint before Sam could really process the turn that the argument had taken. His brother had been a psychic, and he’d been killed anyway - because of his powers? Or in spite of them? Sam didn’t know, but likely that was the same question his father asked himself every day, all the more when Sam had his first vision.
“I get that you’re scared for me,” Sam said, following his father out into the parking lot.
“Oh, I’m not scared,” John denied. “I can’t believe I raised a boy to be so stupid, is all! You want to go out and hunt by yourself because you’re all grown up. Well, good for you! Go ahead! Go hunt, then, Sam.”
Sam was pissed-off and he was hurt, and every word out of his dad’s mouth was like the strike of a whip across his back, but he could hear the broken desperation in his father’s voice - John was scared. “I wish you could tell me why you’re like this,” Sam said. “You’ve been afraid before - I could always tell - with the visions, when I first started hunting. I’ve never seen you like this.” John said nothing, couldn’t even turn around and meet his son’s eyes. “I’m not leaving to hurt you, and I’m not leaving the hunt. If you could just tell me … if you could just say why you’re so anxious to let me go…?”
Sam was certain that if his dad had said anything, had explained any part of his mysterious anxiety, then Sam would have stayed, would have dealt with anything that he had to. It had something to do with his older brother, Sam was certain - it was made all the more clear with the fact that his brother had been gifted as well - but beyond that, Sam knew nothing. John had barely spoken about his firstborn, couldn’t bring himself to talk about him. Whether his dad knew more about his brother’s abduction and subsequent death than he’d confided in Sam was something he wondered about every day but Sam wasn’t prepared to let that stop him from doing what he needed to do for himself. “Then as far as I know,” Sam said. “I’m doing the right thing.” He turned and he left, and it was hard - felt like splitting in two, felt like disappointment and rage and betrayal - it felt like nine kinds of shit, but he did it anyway. He walked to the car and opened the door, started her up and drove away, leaving his dad standing alone in the parking lot of a cheap burger joint, fighting back tears and rage - abandoned once again, this time willingly, by his own blood. Sam wondered if it was better or worse than the last time.
<< END CHAPTER >>
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