The Other Son: Chapter Fourteen
Title: The Other Son
Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Fourteen: FOOTHOLD
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
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 fourteen | FOOTHOLD
“I’m okay,” Sam said, although after Ellen had narrowed her look into a frown and held-out the water and the painkillers further, Sam gave-in. “Hey, no,” he said, when Jo passed, carrying blankets and pillows and disappearing out the door of the room Sam always slept-in when he stayed at the Roadhouse. “Dean’s gotta stay close. There’s trouble following us and Gordon wasn’t it.”
Jo glanced first at Dean and then at her mother, who nodded and gestured to the bare bed that had always sat collecting dust as a reminder to Sam of the brother who should have been sleeping there. Jo dropped the clean blankets on it and started to make the bed, smiling brightly when Dean - a silent spectre since they’d left Gordon - began to help. “Sam?” Ellen asked, tilting her head toward the hallway and he followed her out, walked down far enough that their whispered voices wouldn’t drift to the bedroom where Jo and Dean were working. “What did he do back there? Do to Gordon?”
Sam glanced back toward the door and then shrugged. “Dean’s gifts, they’re kind of difficult to explain. As far as I can tell, he pushed his own memories into Gordon’s head - sort of flooded him, maybe, so it was painful. But nothing damaging…”
“I’m not mad,” Ellen said, and Sam immediately stopped building his defence of Dean. “I need to know what to expect. Gordon, he’s got friends, is all. Not close friends,” she said thoughtfully. “But people who would stand-up and take notice if you really mess with the man.”
“Dean said that he doesn’t think Gordon will be anymore trouble, and I believe him."
“Okay, then,” Ellen said, and then gestured back towards the bedroom. “I reckon you two should get some sleep, you both look like absolute hell.”
“Thanks, Ellen,” Sam said.
“No need to thank me, Kiddo,” she said, nodded at him with a fond smile and disappeared down to the bar. When Sam returned to the bedroom, Dean was sprawled half-on the bed with his feet firmly planted on the ground. His shirt was riding-up, exposing just a hint of jutting hipbone, and Jo caught Sam’s eye because she hadn’t been able to avoid jumping back like she was a kid who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It was fleeting, Jo was nothing if not confident and self-assured, she winked at Sam and said goodnight to Dean and was gone just as easy as that.
“You shouldn’t tease people like that,” Sam said, unable to mask the fond smirk.
“Who’s teasing?” Dean kicked his shoes off and then shucked his clothes off before climbing into his bed, his back pointedly to Sam and the other side of the room where Sam's bed was.
“Are you okay?” Sam said.
“I’m tired.” There was no way to miss the pointed nature of the comment, or pick-up the meaning of Dean’s body language. Sam sighed and changed quickly, flipped the light off and crawled into his bed, watching Dean’s back in the faint glow of the half-moon, the silence between them speaking more than words.
………………………………………..
Sam woke the next morning with bruised wrists and aching arms and an empty bed beside him. It wasn't the best way to wake-up in the morning, but it was pretty late -- closer to the afternoon -- so he figured he had brought it on himself. It took some effort to break-free of the warm cocoon he had made of his blankets in the night, but he managed and threw-on his clothes quickly and without much thought, making a quick venture to the bathroom to clean-up before heading-down the stairs to the bar.
The Roadhouse made most of its money off of hunters passing-through the area, or stopping-by to speak with Ellen and to see if there was a hunt somewhere to set-off to. Though it was open from eleven until early in the morning, the fact that it was primarily a stop for hunters meant that most of its business came at night. When Sam entered the bar, Ash was sacked-out on the pool table and Ellen was behind the counter cleaning-out glasses and speaking with two men, both of whom had the rough look of a hunter and who spoke in gruff whispers. He was already heading outside, not wanting to disturb when Ellen called, "Out back!" and he knew where to find Dean.
Dean had his head and half of his body in the hood of a beat-up Bronco, affording Sam a pretty magnificent view of tight faded jeans stretched over a sublime rear. Of course, Jo was standing right beside the truck and noticed him almost as soon as he bounced out of the door, which had Dean standing-up and nodding and destroying Sam's view. "Hey," Sam said, smiling at Dean. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
"I'm helping Jo fix this piece of crap."
"Don't let my mom hear you say that, she loves this thing," Jo teased, then turned to grin at Sam. "Dean told my mom that he'd have her up and running in no time. I don't think she believes him."
"She doesn't have to, this thing purring in her parking lot will show that people need to have a little more faith in me." Sam frowned, because the second part of Dean's statement had been said with an edge that the teasing hadn't exactly warranted -- and had been directed towards Sam.
"Can I help?" Sam offered, he stepped down from the door and headed to the Bronco.
"Oh my god," Jo said. "You're going to try and fix a car? Remember what happened the last time?"
"What happened?" Dean asked her, ignoring Sam who stood beside him (blushing a little at the statement).
"Nothing," Sam cut Jo off before she could retell the entire embarassing story that Bobby had sworn he'd repeat to no one. "Are you feeling more rested?" Sam asked pointedly.
Dean looked blandly back at him. "I have a headache."
"Is that what happens when you use your powers?" Jo asked, oblivious to the undertones of the conversation. "My mom told me what happened. I have painkillers back inside."
"Naw," Dean said. "Working helps take my mind of things. It'll be gone in no time."
"You know what might also work?" Sam said.
"Not now, Sam," Dean said, his tone harsh, and he grabbed a wrench and went back to work. Sam stared for a minute, unable to understand Dean's shift in attitude or how to get him to open up about it. After a minute, when Jo started to wonder what was wrong with him, Sam turned on his heel and went back into the bar.
"Sit your butt down!” Ellen said, and Sam complied before he had even fully registered the command. The two men that had been sitting at the bar earlier were absent, and Ellen handed him a bottle of beer and eyed him critically as she wiped-down the counter. “Trouble?”
“It’s nothing,” Sam dismissed, wondered if he actually convinced her because he hadn’t managed to convince himself.
She made a noncommittal, non-believing grunt and continued to watch him. “So, that boy’s a bartender, huh?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling as he remembered his first glimpse of Dean behind the bar, of his work clothes and how naturally he had moved about in that space. Then the question completely registered and he gulped down the swig of beer he’d just taken and frowned. “He tell you that?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Right about the time he asked for work here.”
“What?” He cleared his throat and the shock turned to anger. “What?” The door was slamming behind him as he strode back out of the bar, his beer forgotten and Ellen watching him with a bemused expression. Sam didn’t care, he rounded the wood building and dragged Dean up and out from the hood of the Bronco by his belt-loops.
“I swear to god, Sam,” Dean started almost at once. “If you say something about having a talk one more time I’m gonna…”
“No,” Sam said, still partially dragging Dean, not paying any heed to Jo’s confused and worried frown as he paced further away. “No. This isn’t how it’s gonna play.”
“Games now, is it?”
“You’re the only one who’s playing any games, Dean!” Sam snarled. “You’re working for Ellen? Since when?”
“Since now! And it’s funny what you say about games because the last I checked I wasn’t the one withholding important information!”
That statement struck the wind out of Sam’s sails. He had no idea what Dean was suddenly talking about. “What information?”
“I dunno, Sam. Why don’t you think real hard? It has something to do with a bunch of demons and a weapon and me going darkside or something!”
“Dean…”
“You didn’t think that maybe you should tell me something like that?”
“Dean, I didn’t-“
“You didn’t think that I had a right to know? That I was endangering people around me? Endangering you and Sophia and - and my dad?”
“You didn’t kill your father,” Sam said, tried to sound absolutely certain because although he hated lying and keeping secrets, the involvement of the demons in Paul’s death was something Sam wanted to keep from Dean forever.
“Are you sure about that, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you,” Dean said. “I don’t believe you! - How far would you go, Sam? You’ve been driving helter skelter across this damn country keeping those things from me. Where does it stop?”
“If you’re so scared about hurting someone, then why stay here?” Sam said, desperate to calm Dean down, make him see what Sam had really been trying to accomplish - although at that point, Sam wasn’t even sure himself. Dean’s barely masked panic, invisible to anyone who didn’t know how to look, was making Sam feel ten kinds of shitty for putting-off one difficult conversation. It hadn’t been worth it, but Sam had made his choice and now he had to suck it up and deal with it. He was staring at the consequences of his poor judgement and it was breaking him to pieces.
“Because that’s a bar full of hunters,” Dean said, gesturing behind him to where the Roadhouse stood. “Every last one of them more than capable of taking me out if I can’t do it myself.”
Sam hadn’t meant to grab Dean, or to hurt him, but the anger and fear and panic that had been simmering inside him was over-boiling and he seized Dean by the shirt and slammed him hard against the side of the metal shed, heard the whole thing creak and didn’t care. “Don’t you say that.”
“I’m being realistic, Sam,” Dean said coolly, his expression blank and his eyes determined. “Are you?”
“Uh, Boys?” Jo said, taking a hesitant step forward and waving a hand. “Maybe you want to cool off a second?”
“You son of a bitch,” Sam said, his voice quiet so only Dean could hear him. “You don’t get to make that call.”
“Right,” Dean scoffed. “I’m just supposed to keep my head down, do what you say and hope things work-out. I’m not keeping my head down anymore, Sam. This isn’t like before. If those things killed my dad, I want to find them and I want to waste them. But if I’m some sort of demon pawn? Maybe it’s time to rethink this whole duck-and-weave strategy.” Dean pushed Sam back and walked off.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Dean,” Sam said.
“Yeah? Well, neither do you.” Sam banged a clenched fist against the shed and walked-off in the opposite direction. Whether Dean believed it or not, their strategy had been working fine - they hadn’t run into anyone but Gordon Walker, and Sam was pretty sure Gordon wasn’t part of any demon’s plan. Staying in one place was asking for trouble, just like letting any hunters know that Dean had - for some reason that had yet to be explained - been picked for some kind of demonic weapon was an even worse idea. There was no way that Sam would walk away and let Dean face whatever was coming on his own, but he really would have preferred if they could just keep moving and put-off any showdown, at least for a few more days.
………………………………………………….
Sam walked to clear his head, but there was really nothing he could do to change how things had gone down. Dean was still grieving, even if he didn’t show it, and it had been one thing after another since Paul had been buried. Of course it had been stupid to keep the full story from Dean, but Sam had thought that with a bit of time, it might have been less of a shock. There was no way around it, Dean knew and was reacting exactly how Sam had predicted - except Dean was running off of information given to him from Gordon Walker, and that son of a bitch had likely coloured his dark tidings to inflict the maximum amount of doubt and confusion. The very least Sam could do now that all the cards were on the table, was to explain it so that Dean could see it rationally. Really, there was no conclusive description about what the demons were planning - it didn’t necessarily entail Dean turning evil and killing people.
“Ah,” Ellen said when Sam walked through the front entrance and let the door bang closed behind him. “Back I see.”
He nodded his head and glanced around. “Where’s Dean?”
She shook her head and smiled, propped a fist on her hip and quirked an eyebrow. “Hon, I know you don’t like hearing this, but you can suck it up and listen because it’s important. You and you’re father - you’re a lot more alike than either of you pretend. Those things John does that drive you crazy? Maybe you should ease-up on that with Dean.”
“Ellen, I appreciate it, but Dean’s not a hunter. There are things that you learn from experience, that he just doesn’t understand.”
She laughed. “You know your father sat right there on that stool and said the exact same thing to me about you once?” she gestured to a seat by the bar. Sam gazed at the chair and sighed. “I always figured hunters worked best in a real team. A full-on partnership between complete equals. You don’t need to take responsibility for everything, Sam. I haven’t known him very long, but when you went missing? That was all Dean. I haven’t known a hunter who could put together something like that so quick and with complete strangers - and it had nothing to do with the fact that the man is psychic - or not everything to do with it at least. Hunters over-think sometimes, it ain’t good for ‘em.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, her words running over in his head. “Okay.” She nodded at him, grabbed-up some empty bottles and disappeared into the back. Sam hadn’t seen Dean out back by the Bronco when he’d been returning, so he headed towards the room they had shared.
“Sam,” Jo called, stopping Sam mid-step on the staircase. “Can I talk to you?” He glanced up the stairs toward the bedroom and then turned and headed back towards Jo. She led him back to the empty kitchen and paced back-and-forth a bit before placing her hands down on the table. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about what’s coming after you. It’s demons?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “More than one, at least.”
“And Dean is some kind of - what? Some kind of demonic A-bomb or something?”
“Something like that,” he answered, tightly.
“So, he could go all Carrie or something.”
“Dean’s not evil,” Sam snapped. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on, okay? My dad doesn’t know, nobody knows, except the demons! My dad’s out there and he’s supposed to be getting information and he’ll call as soon as he knows something. For me, I’m just trying to keep Dean the hell away from demons. That’s it. Now, maybe the demons have a plan to turn him into some kind of psycho, but that doesn’t seem like a very unique weapon to me. Demons possess people and do that all the time. But who knows, right? Frankly, it would be more helpful if you would spend less time freaking out about him maybe-possibly-turning evil and more time convincing him that a moving target is harder to hit.”
She blinked at him, slightly hurt, slightly petulant, and he knew at once that she had a crush on Dean, and also, that she had just been worried about the both of them. He’d known Jo since they were both kids, and he immediately felt bad for snapping. “I’m sorry,” he said, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Look, I’m just not comfortable being in one place so long with what I know could be following, okay? He’s being unreasonable and it’s driving me crazy.”
She smiled. “You’re worried.”
“I’m not worried,” he dismissed instinctually, immediately picking-up an age-old game they shared.
“You know, you two bicker like an old married couple.”
“Not quite,” he said, laughing it off. “We’re not finishing each other’s sentences, at least.”
“Well, let me know when you do. Because then I can say that you, Sam Winchester, are totally whipped.” He replied in the most mature fashion he knew - by scrunching his face and sticking his tongue out at her. Then he left to track-down Dean.
The bedroom was empty; both the beds left exactly how they had been when Sam had woken that morning. The impala had still be outside and the keys were in Sam’s pocket. Dean’s bag was sitting at the foot of his bed.
Back in the bar area - already filling with the nightly customers - Sam scanned booths and benches and found no sign of Dean. “Hey, Ellen. Have you seen Dean anywhere?”
“Well, he walked out of here about an hour back, said he needed to clear his head some. He looked like he had a headache so I figured that was probably the best place for him. Bar gets noisy.” Sam tried to stay calm but the sense of foreboding was growing in the pit of his stomach. He crossed through the back and ran across Jo again, ignoring her as he headed to the back doors, although she followed him, asking him what was wrong, why he looked the way he did. Sam wondered how he looked, thought that if it resembled at all how he felt then it wasn’t pretty.
“Dean’s gone.”
“What?” Jo asked.
“Your mom said he walked out of here about an hour ago - to clear his head.”
“Well, then it’s fine,” Jo said. “You were gone for hours doing just that.” He gave her a look, but acknowledged that she had a point. She flicked-on the back lights to the property and they settled down at the kitchen table. “You really do have a control-thing, you know that?”
“It’s not a control thing,” Sam said. “I’m trying to keeping him safe.”
“I get it,” she said. “But maybe he’s trying to keep you safe too.”
“He doesn’t have to. There isn’t a legion of demons after me.”
“You’re worrying over nothing,” Jo said with a confidence that Sam felt was entirely and only for his benefit. “He has that mark, right? That protection sigil you made.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, finally feeling some of his worry ebb.
“See? There’s no way around that.”
And then a cold clutch of fear went through him. “Unless he wants to.”
“What?” Jo’s tone was sharp and she was suddenly sitting upright, no longer balancing her chair on two legs. “Why would he do that? Why would he willingly break the protection?”
“Dean?” Sam called, rose from the chair and headed towards the door. He didn’t have space in his head to curse Dean’s stupidity, or his stubbornness, or anything. He was entirely composed of panic and fear and the most pressing thing in his head besides “Dean” was “No!” The door slammed behind him as he ran out to the back of the house, banging again a second later when Jo followed him. “Dean!” He came to a stop by the Bronco, but there was no sign of Dean anywhere.
Jo let out a breath and squeezed his arm in reassurance. And then she screamed. Sam turned in the direction she was facing and saw it immediately, illuminated in the warm orange glow of the porch lights, on the back of the door that had swung closed behind them was the slanted F with the line. “Is that paint?” Jo asked as she climbed the stairs, peered at it with troubled eyes.
“No,” Sam said. “It’s blood.”
<< END CHAPTER >>
[MASTER POST]
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Author: revenant_scribe
Chapter Fourteen: FOOTHOLD
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, wincest, semi-spoilers for 1.18 'Something Wicked'. Violence!
A/N: There is no new Winchester being added into the mix here. This is definitely not one of those fics. Please leave a review! It keeps my muse happy and makes my day!!
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 fourteen | FOOTHOLD
“I’m okay,” Sam said, although after Ellen had narrowed her look into a frown and held-out the water and the painkillers further, Sam gave-in. “Hey, no,” he said, when Jo passed, carrying blankets and pillows and disappearing out the door of the room Sam always slept-in when he stayed at the Roadhouse. “Dean’s gotta stay close. There’s trouble following us and Gordon wasn’t it.”
Jo glanced first at Dean and then at her mother, who nodded and gestured to the bare bed that had always sat collecting dust as a reminder to Sam of the brother who should have been sleeping there. Jo dropped the clean blankets on it and started to make the bed, smiling brightly when Dean - a silent spectre since they’d left Gordon - began to help. “Sam?” Ellen asked, tilting her head toward the hallway and he followed her out, walked down far enough that their whispered voices wouldn’t drift to the bedroom where Jo and Dean were working. “What did he do back there? Do to Gordon?”
Sam glanced back toward the door and then shrugged. “Dean’s gifts, they’re kind of difficult to explain. As far as I can tell, he pushed his own memories into Gordon’s head - sort of flooded him, maybe, so it was painful. But nothing damaging…”
“I’m not mad,” Ellen said, and Sam immediately stopped building his defence of Dean. “I need to know what to expect. Gordon, he’s got friends, is all. Not close friends,” she said thoughtfully. “But people who would stand-up and take notice if you really mess with the man.”
“Dean said that he doesn’t think Gordon will be anymore trouble, and I believe him."
“Okay, then,” Ellen said, and then gestured back towards the bedroom. “I reckon you two should get some sleep, you both look like absolute hell.”
“Thanks, Ellen,” Sam said.
“No need to thank me, Kiddo,” she said, nodded at him with a fond smile and disappeared down to the bar. When Sam returned to the bedroom, Dean was sprawled half-on the bed with his feet firmly planted on the ground. His shirt was riding-up, exposing just a hint of jutting hipbone, and Jo caught Sam’s eye because she hadn’t been able to avoid jumping back like she was a kid who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It was fleeting, Jo was nothing if not confident and self-assured, she winked at Sam and said goodnight to Dean and was gone just as easy as that.
“You shouldn’t tease people like that,” Sam said, unable to mask the fond smirk.
“Who’s teasing?” Dean kicked his shoes off and then shucked his clothes off before climbing into his bed, his back pointedly to Sam and the other side of the room where Sam's bed was.
“Are you okay?” Sam said.
“I’m tired.” There was no way to miss the pointed nature of the comment, or pick-up the meaning of Dean’s body language. Sam sighed and changed quickly, flipped the light off and crawled into his bed, watching Dean’s back in the faint glow of the half-moon, the silence between them speaking more than words.
………………………………………..
Sam woke the next morning with bruised wrists and aching arms and an empty bed beside him. It wasn't the best way to wake-up in the morning, but it was pretty late -- closer to the afternoon -- so he figured he had brought it on himself. It took some effort to break-free of the warm cocoon he had made of his blankets in the night, but he managed and threw-on his clothes quickly and without much thought, making a quick venture to the bathroom to clean-up before heading-down the stairs to the bar.
The Roadhouse made most of its money off of hunters passing-through the area, or stopping-by to speak with Ellen and to see if there was a hunt somewhere to set-off to. Though it was open from eleven until early in the morning, the fact that it was primarily a stop for hunters meant that most of its business came at night. When Sam entered the bar, Ash was sacked-out on the pool table and Ellen was behind the counter cleaning-out glasses and speaking with two men, both of whom had the rough look of a hunter and who spoke in gruff whispers. He was already heading outside, not wanting to disturb when Ellen called, "Out back!" and he knew where to find Dean.
Dean had his head and half of his body in the hood of a beat-up Bronco, affording Sam a pretty magnificent view of tight faded jeans stretched over a sublime rear. Of course, Jo was standing right beside the truck and noticed him almost as soon as he bounced out of the door, which had Dean standing-up and nodding and destroying Sam's view. "Hey," Sam said, smiling at Dean. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"
"I'm helping Jo fix this piece of crap."
"Don't let my mom hear you say that, she loves this thing," Jo teased, then turned to grin at Sam. "Dean told my mom that he'd have her up and running in no time. I don't think she believes him."
"She doesn't have to, this thing purring in her parking lot will show that people need to have a little more faith in me." Sam frowned, because the second part of Dean's statement had been said with an edge that the teasing hadn't exactly warranted -- and had been directed towards Sam.
"Can I help?" Sam offered, he stepped down from the door and headed to the Bronco.
"Oh my god," Jo said. "You're going to try and fix a car? Remember what happened the last time?"
"What happened?" Dean asked her, ignoring Sam who stood beside him (blushing a little at the statement).
"Nothing," Sam cut Jo off before she could retell the entire embarassing story that Bobby had sworn he'd repeat to no one. "Are you feeling more rested?" Sam asked pointedly.
Dean looked blandly back at him. "I have a headache."
"Is that what happens when you use your powers?" Jo asked, oblivious to the undertones of the conversation. "My mom told me what happened. I have painkillers back inside."
"Naw," Dean said. "Working helps take my mind of things. It'll be gone in no time."
"You know what might also work?" Sam said.
"Not now, Sam," Dean said, his tone harsh, and he grabbed a wrench and went back to work. Sam stared for a minute, unable to understand Dean's shift in attitude or how to get him to open up about it. After a minute, when Jo started to wonder what was wrong with him, Sam turned on his heel and went back into the bar.
"Sit your butt down!” Ellen said, and Sam complied before he had even fully registered the command. The two men that had been sitting at the bar earlier were absent, and Ellen handed him a bottle of beer and eyed him critically as she wiped-down the counter. “Trouble?”
“It’s nothing,” Sam dismissed, wondered if he actually convinced her because he hadn’t managed to convince himself.
She made a noncommittal, non-believing grunt and continued to watch him. “So, that boy’s a bartender, huh?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, smiling as he remembered his first glimpse of Dean behind the bar, of his work clothes and how naturally he had moved about in that space. Then the question completely registered and he gulped down the swig of beer he’d just taken and frowned. “He tell you that?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Right about the time he asked for work here.”
“What?” He cleared his throat and the shock turned to anger. “What?” The door was slamming behind him as he strode back out of the bar, his beer forgotten and Ellen watching him with a bemused expression. Sam didn’t care, he rounded the wood building and dragged Dean up and out from the hood of the Bronco by his belt-loops.
“I swear to god, Sam,” Dean started almost at once. “If you say something about having a talk one more time I’m gonna…”
“No,” Sam said, still partially dragging Dean, not paying any heed to Jo’s confused and worried frown as he paced further away. “No. This isn’t how it’s gonna play.”
“Games now, is it?”
“You’re the only one who’s playing any games, Dean!” Sam snarled. “You’re working for Ellen? Since when?”
“Since now! And it’s funny what you say about games because the last I checked I wasn’t the one withholding important information!”
That statement struck the wind out of Sam’s sails. He had no idea what Dean was suddenly talking about. “What information?”
“I dunno, Sam. Why don’t you think real hard? It has something to do with a bunch of demons and a weapon and me going darkside or something!”
“Dean…”
“You didn’t think that maybe you should tell me something like that?”
“Dean, I didn’t-“
“You didn’t think that I had a right to know? That I was endangering people around me? Endangering you and Sophia and - and my dad?”
“You didn’t kill your father,” Sam said, tried to sound absolutely certain because although he hated lying and keeping secrets, the involvement of the demons in Paul’s death was something Sam wanted to keep from Dean forever.
“Are you sure about that, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you,” Dean said. “I don’t believe you! - How far would you go, Sam? You’ve been driving helter skelter across this damn country keeping those things from me. Where does it stop?”
“If you’re so scared about hurting someone, then why stay here?” Sam said, desperate to calm Dean down, make him see what Sam had really been trying to accomplish - although at that point, Sam wasn’t even sure himself. Dean’s barely masked panic, invisible to anyone who didn’t know how to look, was making Sam feel ten kinds of shitty for putting-off one difficult conversation. It hadn’t been worth it, but Sam had made his choice and now he had to suck it up and deal with it. He was staring at the consequences of his poor judgement and it was breaking him to pieces.
“Because that’s a bar full of hunters,” Dean said, gesturing behind him to where the Roadhouse stood. “Every last one of them more than capable of taking me out if I can’t do it myself.”
Sam hadn’t meant to grab Dean, or to hurt him, but the anger and fear and panic that had been simmering inside him was over-boiling and he seized Dean by the shirt and slammed him hard against the side of the metal shed, heard the whole thing creak and didn’t care. “Don’t you say that.”
“I’m being realistic, Sam,” Dean said coolly, his expression blank and his eyes determined. “Are you?”
“Uh, Boys?” Jo said, taking a hesitant step forward and waving a hand. “Maybe you want to cool off a second?”
“You son of a bitch,” Sam said, his voice quiet so only Dean could hear him. “You don’t get to make that call.”
“Right,” Dean scoffed. “I’m just supposed to keep my head down, do what you say and hope things work-out. I’m not keeping my head down anymore, Sam. This isn’t like before. If those things killed my dad, I want to find them and I want to waste them. But if I’m some sort of demon pawn? Maybe it’s time to rethink this whole duck-and-weave strategy.” Dean pushed Sam back and walked off.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Dean,” Sam said.
“Yeah? Well, neither do you.” Sam banged a clenched fist against the shed and walked-off in the opposite direction. Whether Dean believed it or not, their strategy had been working fine - they hadn’t run into anyone but Gordon Walker, and Sam was pretty sure Gordon wasn’t part of any demon’s plan. Staying in one place was asking for trouble, just like letting any hunters know that Dean had - for some reason that had yet to be explained - been picked for some kind of demonic weapon was an even worse idea. There was no way that Sam would walk away and let Dean face whatever was coming on his own, but he really would have preferred if they could just keep moving and put-off any showdown, at least for a few more days.
………………………………………………….
Sam walked to clear his head, but there was really nothing he could do to change how things had gone down. Dean was still grieving, even if he didn’t show it, and it had been one thing after another since Paul had been buried. Of course it had been stupid to keep the full story from Dean, but Sam had thought that with a bit of time, it might have been less of a shock. There was no way around it, Dean knew and was reacting exactly how Sam had predicted - except Dean was running off of information given to him from Gordon Walker, and that son of a bitch had likely coloured his dark tidings to inflict the maximum amount of doubt and confusion. The very least Sam could do now that all the cards were on the table, was to explain it so that Dean could see it rationally. Really, there was no conclusive description about what the demons were planning - it didn’t necessarily entail Dean turning evil and killing people.
“Ah,” Ellen said when Sam walked through the front entrance and let the door bang closed behind him. “Back I see.”
He nodded his head and glanced around. “Where’s Dean?”
She shook her head and smiled, propped a fist on her hip and quirked an eyebrow. “Hon, I know you don’t like hearing this, but you can suck it up and listen because it’s important. You and you’re father - you’re a lot more alike than either of you pretend. Those things John does that drive you crazy? Maybe you should ease-up on that with Dean.”
“Ellen, I appreciate it, but Dean’s not a hunter. There are things that you learn from experience, that he just doesn’t understand.”
She laughed. “You know your father sat right there on that stool and said the exact same thing to me about you once?” she gestured to a seat by the bar. Sam gazed at the chair and sighed. “I always figured hunters worked best in a real team. A full-on partnership between complete equals. You don’t need to take responsibility for everything, Sam. I haven’t known him very long, but when you went missing? That was all Dean. I haven’t known a hunter who could put together something like that so quick and with complete strangers - and it had nothing to do with the fact that the man is psychic - or not everything to do with it at least. Hunters over-think sometimes, it ain’t good for ‘em.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, her words running over in his head. “Okay.” She nodded at him, grabbed-up some empty bottles and disappeared into the back. Sam hadn’t seen Dean out back by the Bronco when he’d been returning, so he headed towards the room they had shared.
“Sam,” Jo called, stopping Sam mid-step on the staircase. “Can I talk to you?” He glanced up the stairs toward the bedroom and then turned and headed back towards Jo. She led him back to the empty kitchen and paced back-and-forth a bit before placing her hands down on the table. “I’ve heard bits and pieces about what’s coming after you. It’s demons?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “More than one, at least.”
“And Dean is some kind of - what? Some kind of demonic A-bomb or something?”
“Something like that,” he answered, tightly.
“So, he could go all Carrie or something.”
“Dean’s not evil,” Sam snapped. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on, okay? My dad doesn’t know, nobody knows, except the demons! My dad’s out there and he’s supposed to be getting information and he’ll call as soon as he knows something. For me, I’m just trying to keep Dean the hell away from demons. That’s it. Now, maybe the demons have a plan to turn him into some kind of psycho, but that doesn’t seem like a very unique weapon to me. Demons possess people and do that all the time. But who knows, right? Frankly, it would be more helpful if you would spend less time freaking out about him maybe-possibly-turning evil and more time convincing him that a moving target is harder to hit.”
She blinked at him, slightly hurt, slightly petulant, and he knew at once that she had a crush on Dean, and also, that she had just been worried about the both of them. He’d known Jo since they were both kids, and he immediately felt bad for snapping. “I’m sorry,” he said, pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Look, I’m just not comfortable being in one place so long with what I know could be following, okay? He’s being unreasonable and it’s driving me crazy.”
She smiled. “You’re worried.”
“I’m not worried,” he dismissed instinctually, immediately picking-up an age-old game they shared.
“You know, you two bicker like an old married couple.”
“Not quite,” he said, laughing it off. “We’re not finishing each other’s sentences, at least.”
“Well, let me know when you do. Because then I can say that you, Sam Winchester, are totally whipped.” He replied in the most mature fashion he knew - by scrunching his face and sticking his tongue out at her. Then he left to track-down Dean.
The bedroom was empty; both the beds left exactly how they had been when Sam had woken that morning. The impala had still be outside and the keys were in Sam’s pocket. Dean’s bag was sitting at the foot of his bed.
Back in the bar area - already filling with the nightly customers - Sam scanned booths and benches and found no sign of Dean. “Hey, Ellen. Have you seen Dean anywhere?”
“Well, he walked out of here about an hour back, said he needed to clear his head some. He looked like he had a headache so I figured that was probably the best place for him. Bar gets noisy.” Sam tried to stay calm but the sense of foreboding was growing in the pit of his stomach. He crossed through the back and ran across Jo again, ignoring her as he headed to the back doors, although she followed him, asking him what was wrong, why he looked the way he did. Sam wondered how he looked, thought that if it resembled at all how he felt then it wasn’t pretty.
“Dean’s gone.”
“What?” Jo asked.
“Your mom said he walked out of here about an hour ago - to clear his head.”
“Well, then it’s fine,” Jo said. “You were gone for hours doing just that.” He gave her a look, but acknowledged that she had a point. She flicked-on the back lights to the property and they settled down at the kitchen table. “You really do have a control-thing, you know that?”
“It’s not a control thing,” Sam said. “I’m trying to keeping him safe.”
“I get it,” she said. “But maybe he’s trying to keep you safe too.”
“He doesn’t have to. There isn’t a legion of demons after me.”
“You’re worrying over nothing,” Jo said with a confidence that Sam felt was entirely and only for his benefit. “He has that mark, right? That protection sigil you made.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, finally feeling some of his worry ebb.
“See? There’s no way around that.”
And then a cold clutch of fear went through him. “Unless he wants to.”
“What?” Jo’s tone was sharp and she was suddenly sitting upright, no longer balancing her chair on two legs. “Why would he do that? Why would he willingly break the protection?”
“Dean?” Sam called, rose from the chair and headed towards the door. He didn’t have space in his head to curse Dean’s stupidity, or his stubbornness, or anything. He was entirely composed of panic and fear and the most pressing thing in his head besides “Dean” was “No!” The door slammed behind him as he ran out to the back of the house, banging again a second later when Jo followed him. “Dean!” He came to a stop by the Bronco, but there was no sign of Dean anywhere.
Jo let out a breath and squeezed his arm in reassurance. And then she screamed. Sam turned in the direction she was facing and saw it immediately, illuminated in the warm orange glow of the porch lights, on the back of the door that had swung closed behind them was the slanted F with the line. “Is that paint?” Jo asked as she climbed the stairs, peered at it with troubled eyes.
“No,” Sam said. “It’s blood.”
<< END CHAPTER >>
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