Walk 4/7: Getting Good At Starting Over
Title: Walk
Author: safiyabat
Artist: chasingparallax
Characters & Pairing(s): Sam/Castiel; Sam, Castiel, Claire, Dean
Rating: M
Word Count: 32,417 / 5,416 (chapter)
Warnings: show-level violence, depression. Het sex.
Summary: Sam opens up and comes to a decision.
Don got back to Sam the next morning asking him for an email address. He had ideas about how to guard himself from Rowena’s little supernatural rabies spell, but they were too detailed to go into by phone. When Sam saw the instructions he understood why. Fortunately, he had grabbed the necessary components out of the bunker storeroom before leaving.
He’d have to figure out what to do about that now that he was staking his claim for independence, yet again.
He sent Claire a text checking in. He’d be available to her if she needed him, but people were dying and if he could, conceivably, put a stop to it then he had an obligation to do so. She texted him back letting him know that she was going to see this particular hunt through with “the guys,” which strongly suggested that she hadn’t composed the message by herself, but whatever. She was safe enough with them.
He got into his truck - miraculously left unscathed by his brother’s temper - and headed back east toward Ravenna. The drive took about four and a half hours, four and a half hours of time in which to regret the fact that he had no one with whom he could share the time. When had he last done any solo hunting - with his soul, that was? Well, he’d done some when he’d been newly freed from Gadreel, back in New Mexico; he guessed it hadn’t been that long after all. He’d hated it then, felt like someone was watching him the entire time while at the same time abhorring the endless silence.
Right now wasn’t substantially different. It took about half an hour of driving before the quiet pressed in on him like a physical thing, a car roof crushed in a rollover. Even when he and Dean had been fighting and hadn’t been speaking to one another there had been noise, Dean’s off-key singing or his “I’m pissed at you” music (or his punishment tapes, like “Ace of Spades” on repeat when he knew Sam had a migraine). Right now, there was nothing.
Sam would need to get an aftermarket jack to stream music to the ancient truck’s radio. He vowed to make the purchase a priority.
Just as terrible as the silence was the doubt. Sam knew, intellectually, that he was a reasonably capable hunter. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t heard everything Cas had said, about how he needed to leave the big hunts to Dean because he just wasn’t capable. Cas had known him longer than anyone alive at this point, except for Dean. If even the angel thought he was an incompetent ass, maybe his own faith in his abilities was misplaced.
After all, he hadn’t managed to save his brother from Hell, he hadn’t seen through Ruby’s manipulations, he hadn’t seen through the angels’ manipulations either and he’d let himself get railroaded right into freeing Lucifer. He’d let Castiel resurrect him without a soul, he’d let himself run around without a soul instead of putting a bullet right into his head as soon as he realized that something was wrong. He’d somehow managed to not defend himself against Castiel when Cas tore down his Hell wall and sent him catapulting into flashbacks and hallucinations, neurological discs spinning until he was nothing but a (bigger) burden on Dean. He’d failed to understand that Dean hadn’t meant their agreement to let each other stay dead next time to be taken literally, and he hadn’t managed to find out that Dean wasn’t dead in the first place. He hadn’t been strong enough to complete the Trials. He hadn’t been smart enough to overcome Gadreel’s brain cleansing, to save Kevin. He had let Dean get turned into a demon, hadn’t found a way to save him from the Mark until it was too late.
So what exactly did he think he was going to do against a witch? A witch was something that no one hunter should take on by themselves; even Dad would have brought in someone else as backup. Of course, backup wasn’t an option for Sam. The only person willing to work with Sam was Dean, and that was only if Sam stayed strictly in the background and turned his brain right off. Hunters were more likely to hunt a thing like Sam than the witch.
Of course, no hunter was willing to work with him. That didn’t mean that no one at all was willing to come out and lend a hand. Don Stark had been willing enough to lend his knowledge. Rowena had sounded friendly enough. Meg had been friendly and helpful and even supportive, by the end, and even in the beginning. The middle part had been the part that kind of sucked, the part where she wore him like a cheap suit.
Of course, Don giving him some research wasn’t exactly “backup.” He didn’t want to work with the woman who had raised Crowley, however friendly she might be. And Meg - well, she was dead and gone. Someone else he couldn’t save, another of his failures.
So he found himself a motel room, distinctly not the first motel in the phone book, and he checked himself in as C. Cornell and not as Jim Rockford, and he sat down to start his research. He plotted the attack sites on a map of West Branch State Park using ranger incident reports he hacked from the parks system and came up with a good idea of where the witch was holed up.
The next day he went for his usual run, and then he performed both of the rituals that Don Stark had sent him via email. He probably only technically needed one; Stark had said he only really needed one, but Sam had no one watching his back and no one would know or care if the witch killed him and turned him into one of the ravening beasts in the woods so he wanted as much of a defense as possible.
Then, Sam went into the park.
It wasn’t exactly an easy hunt. He saw two bespelled campers. Neither of them so much as sniffed in his direction, so he guessed that Don Stark had steered him right and maybe he should send the guy a fruit basket or something. Did old Romanian witches like fruit baskets? He supposed manners never really went out of style, and neither did gratitude. He’d have to survive this first.
The witch looked like a slender young man with long black hair and piercing blue eyes; Sam knew all too well how easily those kinds of looks could deceive. The man snarled when he saw Sam. “How did you get through my defenders?”
“You think you’re the only one who knows a little something?” He kept his voice even, but his palms sweated and his heart kept a samba like beat in his chest.
“Hunter,” the man spat.
“I guess,” Sam agreed with a shrug. He threw the knife he had been hiding in his hand.
The witch hurled that same spell, the one that was supposed to turn him into a snarling animal, at him. It had no effect, and Sam’s aim was true and sure. The knife sank into the witch’s neck, right up to the hilt. His blue eyes bulged and his mouth moved soundlessly. The wound was mortal, but he didn’t die immediately. He had time to get off another spell. Since he couldn’t turn Sam into a rabid beast, he brought a tree branch down.
Sam managed to jump most of the way out of the limb’s path, but it landed on his left leg with an agonizing thud. Sam grunted, falling to the ground. He’d had worse, sure, but that didn’t mean busting his leg didn’t hurt. He wasn’t looking forward to hiking out of here on the broken bone, either.
First things first, though. He rolled the branch off of himself and hauled himself to his feet. Right now would be one of those times when having Cas around would be damn useful. Dean would tell him to heal Sam, and Sam would walk out of here without a problem. Of course, that was the last thing Sam wanted - if Cas was going to put his hands on Sam he wanted it to be because Cas wanted to put his hands on Sam, wanted to heal Sam or comfort Sam or just touch him, not because Dean ordered him to -
He wasn’t going to think about that. Dean was the only hunter in the world with his own angel on standby. Now that Sam wasn’t running with Dean anymore, he needed to be able to deal with normal injuries like a normal person. That meant scars and surgery and long recuperation times like everyone else. And absolutely, positively no thinking about Cas’ hands.
He found a sturdy stick to lean on while he set about salting and burning the witch’s remains. While that was happening, he splinted himself well enough to drag his body through the woods again. He went through the witch’s things, too, and helped himself to the man’s spell books and some components because it wasn’t like he had access to the bunker anymore. Waste not, want not after all. He might not ever use the spells, but he’d never found it anything but useful to know some background when dealing with witchcraft.
When the fire had burned down, he used the same sturdy stick as a crutch and limped his way down the path back to the truck. The way out took a lot longer than the way in; he had to bite his lip a lot of the time and sit and take rests. It could have been worse, he reminded himself. The witch could have gotten the better of him. He’d had worse. He’d fought a demon with a busted shoulder, more than one really; he could hike himself out of the woods with a busted leg.
Eventually he made it back to the truck; by that point he was shaking so hard that he could barely unlock the door or get the key into the ignition, but he got there. This wasn’t something he could deal with himself in the motel room. He needed the hospital. This was another way in which he’d been lucky - the break had happened to his left leg and not his right, and the truck was an automatic. He could drive himself there.
The ER was busy, but when they noticed that he’d splinted himself up in the woods they were more enthusiastic about getting him into treatment sooner rather than later. Several x-rays and a painful bone-setting later, the doctor was congratulating him on his field medical technique and asking where he’d served. He’d saved himself a lot of rehab time and surgery on the strength of his obvious training and experience.
Sam didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Instead he lied and thanked the doctor. Then he drove back to the motel.
He’d be in the cast for six to eight weeks which put a crimp in his plans for getting any kind of action up in Cleveland. Then again, maybe not. Either way, there was absolutely a case up there and he needed to get out of Ravenna before someone figured out that he’d been here, so he took his medication and went to bed. The next morning he’d start more research.
Claire texted him, much to his surprise. You okay?
Sure, why? he asked.
Haven’t heard from you in a little while. Got worried. Dean and Castiel are worried about you.
He was sure that they were worried. Not in any way that was useful, but whatever. I finished a case today. I’m a little banged up. How’s your case going?
Pretty much wrapping up. Poltergeists aren’t something to mess around with. You were right to say we couldn’t handle this one alone. There was a pause, and then Sam’s phone chimed again. You finished a case? I thought you were the one who said that hunting alone was a bad idea?
If you have the option, Claire. I didn’t. It’s not a big deal. Did you come through the case okay?
Yeah. Dean got a little banged up but I guess it’s helpful to have an angel around for that kind of thing.
He glanced at his cast and raised his eyebrows. It didn’t respond. I guess so. You want to stick with those guys or do you want me to bring you somewhere? From a purely selfish perspective, he would prefer that she stay with the others. He could only offer her so much protection or training right now, after all, and he wasn’t enthusiastic about picking her up while stuck in the cast. At the same time, he’d made her a promise and he’d stick with it.
I’ll keep you posted, she texted, and then went silent.
Sam made a face at his phone. Now that? That was just rude.
He took a couple of days to do some more research into the Cleveland case. On the one hand, no one was actually dying up there. On the other, someone was actually assaulting people, bleeding them dangerously dry and then leaving them for dead. Sam had endured that. He could still remember Alex’s brother declaring him to be an “empty keg,” his twangy voice cutting through the haze of hypovolemia. That and the knowledge, the sure knowledge, that Dean had been awake and aware the entire time that Sam had been silently buying him time. Awake and just… hanging out.
He shivered. He couldn’t in good conscience be the one hanging out. It was only a matter of time before someone didn’t find one of the victims. After two days of hanging around in Ravenna, he got into his truck and drove up to Cleveland. It wasn’t as though he could get much more research done remotely; not in a case like this.
He got a motel in the right part of town and got to work. All of the attacks had happened in the Warehouse district, near the bars and clubs. Sam knew that Dean would call the look he was giving the computer qualified as a bitchface, at least in Dean’s book, but he’d stick out like a sore thumb there. Well, maybe he could find a way to make that work out to his advantage.
He studied the victimology carefully when he got ready that night, and took a cab to one of the more mellow-looking bars down there. It was the kind of place he’d have chosen if he’d had the option anyway, not a pool table or dartboard in sight, just some low lighting and some televisions with the game running low in the background. The place carried some local craft beers, which Sam ordered, and the bartender gave a sympathetic grimace when she saw his crutches. “Busted leg, huh? That’s tough,” she told him.
Truth be told, the bartender was pretty. She had long, dark hair and an aristocratic nose; olive-toned skin and full, dark lips. He let his lips curve up a little bit, the most he really got these days. “It’s not so bad,” he told her, earning a smile and a little blush. “It’s not fun, but I’ve definitely had worse.” He blushed. She probably heard that kind of thing all the time, but really a broken leg wasn’t a big deal for him. “Slow night tonight?” he asked, glancing around the sparsely populated bar
She shrugged. “Little bit. Everyplace is kind of feeling it, you know? Ever since that maniac started up.”
After that it didn’t take long to get her to open up. He’d been good at this once, back before he’d just taken a back seat to… well, everything. Once upon a time dealing with witnesses had been his job almost entirely, and it had been so easy to tease out a few details without the witness ever realizing that they’d been interviewed at all. She told Sam all he could want to know. One of the victims had been a patron of this very bar, in fact, but no one else had been a suspect. No one had left at the same time, and it had been another slow night so she’d know. The attacks had only started up about a month ago.
He got a couple more beers, and a salad that he ate about half of. The waitress - Eleni - told him outright that she wouldn’t mind if he stuck around until her shift was over at one, and he considered. He wasn’t much of one for casual hook-ups, but it had been a damn long time since anyone had seriously looked at him that way. It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone to look at him at all. “I’ll come back,” he promised her. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do, but I’ll be back at one.”
She winked. “I’ll see you then.”
Sam eased himself out the door on his crutches.
He felt the eyes on him as he hobbled out the door and down the road. At the first opportunity, he ducked down a convenient alley. The vampire was probably expecting easy meat. After all, Sam was clearly injured and most people would have had a balance issue. Most people hadn’t spent eighteen years in John Winchester’s Army, and anyone who thought a broken leg got them out of training was in for some heavy punishment. And years of yoga after that had helped with the balance.
When he sensed his stalker come close enough behind him (a cold presence, and he’d long since ceased to be comfortable with anyone giving off that much of a chill behind him) he spun around and raised his machete to the creature’s neck.
The vampire raised his hands. The man stood about six feet tall, strawberry blond hair with a goatee and gray eyes. “Nice,” he said, eyes wide in a combination of fear and admiration. “I had no idea you even knew I was here. Your heart rate didn’t even twitch. You’re good, buddy.”
Sam snorted. He wasn’t good. Everyone knew that. “I’ve done this before,” he corrected, keeping the blade at the vampire’s throat. “What’s with the attacks?”
The vampire blinked, and then showed his fangs. “Look. That ain’t me. I’m here for the same reason you are.”
“I very much doubt that,” Sam scoffed.
The creature rolled his eyes. “You’re a friend of Lenore’s right?”
Sam hesitated. “You knew Lenore?”
“Yeah. She taught me a lot. Before, you know, Eve. After that whole thing, you know, I was able to get control over myself again. I live on bagged blood now. Entirely. Name’s Tom.”
Sam pressed his lips together. He’d made plenty of mistakes, trusting monsters. At the same time, trusting Lenore and her nest, that hadn’t been a mistake, and hadn’t been widely known. “How’d you recognize me?”
“Eli could draw.” Tom shrugged, as best he could without moving the machete. “They wanted to make sure we all knew which Winchester was the reasonable one if anything ever happened.”
Sam huffed out a little laugh. No one had ever thought of him as reasonable. He shouldn’t trust this guy. He should chop off his head and go about his merry way. At the same time, he’d proved that some monsters were okay. Were people. Besides, did it matter if this guy drank him dry? So he’d miss his last date. Logically, it seemed there wasn’t much risk here.. “Right,” he said, sheathing his machete. “So you’re here to hunt down someone who’s not playing by the rules?”
Tom shrugged. “He’s not exactly keeping a low profile, is he?” He rubbed at his neck. “Is the other one around here somewhere?”
“He’s working a job somewhere else. Come on, let’s keep moving.”
Tom nodded. “Figure you wouldn’t want to move more than you had to, what with the crutches and all. What happened?”
“A tree fell on me. And it’s best to keep moving.”
“A tree fell on you? Figure you’d be faster than that.”
“I was busy killing the witch who made it fall at the time.” Sam felt one corner of his mouth curl up.
“Right, that would do it. I guess. You kill a lot of witches?”
“Only if they’re killing people.” Sam sighed. “So. What do you know?”
“Well, our guy is careful.”
Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Dude. He’s ripping people’s throats out and leaving them to die in the middle of the street.”
Tom shook his head, laughing. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop once you’ve started?”
Sam closed his eyes against the memory. “You’d be surprised.”
Tom raised ruddy eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“What, you thought I was squeaky clean?” Sam gave a low chuckle. “I’m about as far from that as you can get. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s got to be stopped before he does kill someone outright, man.”
Tom nodded. “I agree. I’m just not sure that he needs his head taken off.”
Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. “Can you maybe explain that a little better?”
“So I’m not entirely sure,” Tom said, holding his hands up. “And if it turns out that the dude’s just one of the bad ones I’ll be right there with you, swinging for the fences. But the way this person’s doing it - leaving the vics out in public where they’re right there and could be found by anyone, are being found by anyone - makes it seem like they’re trying to avoid being caught. It’s almost like he’s trying to feed without killing. He could be a new vamp, a fledgling whose maker just kind of turned him and sent him out there without any information, any training.”
Sam nodded slowly. He could remember a blonde, a poor innocent victim who thought she’d just taken a new club drug. They hadn’t known enough then, couldn’t help her transition to animal blood or teach her to use blood bags. One more stain on his record. “So let’s say you’re right. I’ve met some other newly turned vampires. Trying to get through to them is, uh, challenging.”
Tom grinned, all teeth. “I’ve got ways, man. I might ask for a hand here and there. But I can do it.”
“You trying to build a nest?”
Tom shook his head. “If they want to, that’s one thing. I’m more of a loner myself, ever since Eve. Ever since Lenore. But I’m not the old school, Luther kind of vampire. We need to be more adaptable. We’re practically extinct, between the Leviathan and hunters. We need to be able to adapt and live with people instead of just feeding off of them.” He shrugged. “I want to help make that a reality, you know? No one wants to be the last living one of his species.”
“No, you don’t.” Sam, after all, was the last living abomination. “Do you have any ideas as to who your guy might be?” Tom didn’t, but he had a good idea of where the guy might be hunting. “Alright then. We’ve got some prime bait.”
“Woah. No way, dude. I’m not going to be the guy who used Dean Winchester’s little brother as vampire bait.” Tom crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Nothing doing.”
“First of all,” Sam said when he’d finished swallowing his frustration, “I’m going out there whether or not you want me to. Secondly, things are different now. Dean’s not going to be worried.” He could still hear Dean’s voice. I wish it was you up there instead of Charlie. “Besides. He’ll never even know.”
Tom sighed, but in the end Sam got his way. The pair agreed to meet up outside a bar called Boot the next night and took to a park bench to make plans until Sam needed to be back at the bar to meet up with Eleni.
Eleni seemed almost surprised to see him, but in the very best of ways. She offered him a ride back to his motel room, which he accepted. Once she’d passed through the salt line and the devil’s trap and the angel warding, he caught her into an embrace. She pulled him down and captured his mouth in a searing kiss, and he followed her lead. It had, after all, been a long time.
It didn’t take long before they were both naked, and just the sight and smell of her got him sweaty. Her dark eyes drank him in, hungry and eager, and she soon let him explore her body with fingers and tongue.
This, more than the actual moment of his own release, was what he enjoyed about sex. It was an objective measure of his own skill and talent. If he rolled a nipple gently between his fingers, like this, it earned him a moan of delight. If he then gathered that same nipple into his mouth and sickled gently, while at the same time paying the same amount of attention to the opposite with his other hand, then the moan was twice as loud and appreciative. And then, later, if he moved his head lower and lapped at the cleft between those muscular legs of hers with his tongue, and maybe did a little more exploring with his fingers -
Yes, just like that. He felt her clench around his fingers even as she cried out in her ecstasy. “Holy shit,” she gasped as she came down, the last aftershocks finally leaving her.
Sam smiled for the first time in what felt like months. This, at least, he could do. Dean had hated the very idea of Sam and sexual activity, but that wasn’t a problem anymore.
After a few seconds, Eleni glanced at him and blushed. “Let me take care of you, Sam.”
“You don’t have to,” he told her. “It’s okay.” And it was. He was already perfectly satisfied anyway, more than he’d expected to get out of the trip to Cleveland in the first place.
“I want to,” she said, stroking his face. He flinched before he leaned into the touch. “Is it that weird for someone to want to give you some attention too?” She laid him gently on his back and kissed him before grabbing the condom and unrolling it onto his cock and then slowly, tantalizingly mounting him.
Eleni felt incredible on top of him, around him. He kept his hands on her hips at first, more for someplace to put them than anything else, and just hung on for the ride for a minute.
Then he sought out her clit. She’d been enjoying herself plenty, but now she cried out, clawing at his arms. He grinned as she rode him to completion, only then allowing himself to spill into the condom. He caught Eleni as she fell forward and helped her dismount, then carefully discarded the condom.
She stayed for about an hour, dozing happily in his arms, before she regretfully told him that she needed to back home. He thanked her for the night; she’d made him feel better than he had in years, since before Hell, before Dean’s death, before his own death really. Maybe he hadn’t felt that good since Madison.
She’d had a good time, or at least she said she had, and they exchanged numbers at her insistence “in case you stick around in town, or pass through here again.” Still, she didn’t really know him. She wouldn’t want to, if he called. If he tried to build something more than a roll in the hay or two.
He walked her to her car and made sure she drove away okay before retreating to a room that reeked of sex to take a shower. Then he checked his phone. Claire had texted him when he’d just been in the middle of things. What are you working on?
Vampire case, he told her. There was no reason to lie about it.
Should you be doing that? I thought you said you were hurt in the last hunt.
Sam grinned a little. I said I got a little banged up. It’s not a problem. I found a hunting partner for this one anyway.
She paused. For real? Anyone I know?
Sam chuckled. Like Claire knew anyone. No. No one either of them knows either. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this one covered.
We could come and help out. Should be done with the Poltergeist by now.
I’m all set. I can come and pick you up, if you want to move on from them, as soon as this one’s over. It shouldn’t be long.
She didn’t reply, and he went to sleep in his sweatpants.
Morning found him when someone started banging on the door, fast and furious. Sat up in bed, bolt upright, angel blade at the ready. “Who’s there?” he shouted. It wouldn’t be Tom, it was too early.
“Sam, it’s me,” came Cas’ terse voice. “I cannot enter your room, Sam. You must let me in.”
Sam closed his eyes and flopped back down onto the mediocre pillows. He counted to ten. The pounding didn’t stop. “Sam?” yelled Cas.
Sam reached out and grabbed his phone. He dialed Cas’ number and waited patiently for the angel to pick up. “Sam,” his occasional ally said, in exactly the same tone. “You have warded the room against angels and I cannot enter. You must break the wards so I can get in.”
Sam let out a long, slow breath. “Is Dean hurt?”
The angel paused and Sam could almost see him blinking. “No, Dean is not hurt. Why -?“
“Is Claire hurt?”
“No, she’s with me, right here. Sam -“
“Are you hurt?”
“I am an angel of the Lord, very few -“
“Then why are you here?”
That shut Castiel up pretty damn quickly. “I’m here to see you, Sam. We need to talk about your latest bid for independence. We are worried. Your -“ He cut himself off and Sam could hear Claire’s insistent murmuring in the background. “Claire and I wished to see you.”
Sam closed his eyes again. He could just hunker down in here, but Claire might use a brick to break the door down or something. He sighed and struggled to his feet, then made his way over to the door.
Both Claire and Castiel blinked when they saw Sam. He remembered, after a moment, that he hadn’t put a shirt on. “Um,” Claire said, jaw hanging open. “Nice abs.”
Sam knew his face had turned scarlet; he could tell just from how hot it felt. “My eyes are up here, Cas,” Sam pointed out, gesturing to the angel. “What’s going on?”
“You said ‘a little banged up, Sam,” Cas accused, squinting at him. “You have a contraption on your leg meant to immobilize a broken bone. That is not a ‘little’ banged up! And there are all kinds of bruises on your collarbone!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s just a broken leg, Cas,” he said, wishing that they’d at least brought him some coffee. “In Winchester terms this is basically a scraped knee.”
“Not when you were alone!”
“Actually yeah,” Sam told him. “Also when I was alone. I did survive four years at Stanford, you know. It’s just a break. It’s fine.”
“And the bruises?” Cas pointed at Sam’s collarbone.
Claire snickered. “Those are hickies, moron.”
“Oh. Oh!” Cas looked around the room and sniffed. “You’ve had a woman in this room! A human woman!” His eyes narrowed and he looked back at Sam.
“Are we really here to talk about my sex life?” Sam asked, leaning against the door and wishing he could go back to sleep or at least brush his teeth.
“I… I was not aware that you were seeking such things…”
“They’re women, Cas. Not ‘things.’ And bisexual. So yeah. I like men. I like women. I like other genders, too. Why are we standing in my motel room doorway at seven thirty in the morning talking about who I want to sleep with? Aren’t you supposed to be working on a poltergeist?”
But Castiel had wandered back to his dreadful Cadillac, leaving Sam alone with a vaguely apologetic Claire.
Back to Chapter Three -- On to Chapter Five
Author: safiyabat
Artist: chasingparallax
Characters & Pairing(s): Sam/Castiel; Sam, Castiel, Claire, Dean
Rating: M
Word Count: 32,417 / 5,416 (chapter)
Warnings: show-level violence, depression. Het sex.
Summary: Sam opens up and comes to a decision.
Don got back to Sam the next morning asking him for an email address. He had ideas about how to guard himself from Rowena’s little supernatural rabies spell, but they were too detailed to go into by phone. When Sam saw the instructions he understood why. Fortunately, he had grabbed the necessary components out of the bunker storeroom before leaving.
He’d have to figure out what to do about that now that he was staking his claim for independence, yet again.
He sent Claire a text checking in. He’d be available to her if she needed him, but people were dying and if he could, conceivably, put a stop to it then he had an obligation to do so. She texted him back letting him know that she was going to see this particular hunt through with “the guys,” which strongly suggested that she hadn’t composed the message by herself, but whatever. She was safe enough with them.
He got into his truck - miraculously left unscathed by his brother’s temper - and headed back east toward Ravenna. The drive took about four and a half hours, four and a half hours of time in which to regret the fact that he had no one with whom he could share the time. When had he last done any solo hunting - with his soul, that was? Well, he’d done some when he’d been newly freed from Gadreel, back in New Mexico; he guessed it hadn’t been that long after all. He’d hated it then, felt like someone was watching him the entire time while at the same time abhorring the endless silence.
Right now wasn’t substantially different. It took about half an hour of driving before the quiet pressed in on him like a physical thing, a car roof crushed in a rollover. Even when he and Dean had been fighting and hadn’t been speaking to one another there had been noise, Dean’s off-key singing or his “I’m pissed at you” music (or his punishment tapes, like “Ace of Spades” on repeat when he knew Sam had a migraine). Right now, there was nothing.
Sam would need to get an aftermarket jack to stream music to the ancient truck’s radio. He vowed to make the purchase a priority.
Just as terrible as the silence was the doubt. Sam knew, intellectually, that he was a reasonably capable hunter. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t heard everything Cas had said, about how he needed to leave the big hunts to Dean because he just wasn’t capable. Cas had known him longer than anyone alive at this point, except for Dean. If even the angel thought he was an incompetent ass, maybe his own faith in his abilities was misplaced.
After all, he hadn’t managed to save his brother from Hell, he hadn’t seen through Ruby’s manipulations, he hadn’t seen through the angels’ manipulations either and he’d let himself get railroaded right into freeing Lucifer. He’d let Castiel resurrect him without a soul, he’d let himself run around without a soul instead of putting a bullet right into his head as soon as he realized that something was wrong. He’d somehow managed to not defend himself against Castiel when Cas tore down his Hell wall and sent him catapulting into flashbacks and hallucinations, neurological discs spinning until he was nothing but a (bigger) burden on Dean. He’d failed to understand that Dean hadn’t meant their agreement to let each other stay dead next time to be taken literally, and he hadn’t managed to find out that Dean wasn’t dead in the first place. He hadn’t been strong enough to complete the Trials. He hadn’t been smart enough to overcome Gadreel’s brain cleansing, to save Kevin. He had let Dean get turned into a demon, hadn’t found a way to save him from the Mark until it was too late.
So what exactly did he think he was going to do against a witch? A witch was something that no one hunter should take on by themselves; even Dad would have brought in someone else as backup. Of course, backup wasn’t an option for Sam. The only person willing to work with Sam was Dean, and that was only if Sam stayed strictly in the background and turned his brain right off. Hunters were more likely to hunt a thing like Sam than the witch.
Of course, no hunter was willing to work with him. That didn’t mean that no one at all was willing to come out and lend a hand. Don Stark had been willing enough to lend his knowledge. Rowena had sounded friendly enough. Meg had been friendly and helpful and even supportive, by the end, and even in the beginning. The middle part had been the part that kind of sucked, the part where she wore him like a cheap suit.
Of course, Don giving him some research wasn’t exactly “backup.” He didn’t want to work with the woman who had raised Crowley, however friendly she might be. And Meg - well, she was dead and gone. Someone else he couldn’t save, another of his failures.
So he found himself a motel room, distinctly not the first motel in the phone book, and he checked himself in as C. Cornell and not as Jim Rockford, and he sat down to start his research. He plotted the attack sites on a map of West Branch State Park using ranger incident reports he hacked from the parks system and came up with a good idea of where the witch was holed up.
The next day he went for his usual run, and then he performed both of the rituals that Don Stark had sent him via email. He probably only technically needed one; Stark had said he only really needed one, but Sam had no one watching his back and no one would know or care if the witch killed him and turned him into one of the ravening beasts in the woods so he wanted as much of a defense as possible.
Then, Sam went into the park.
It wasn’t exactly an easy hunt. He saw two bespelled campers. Neither of them so much as sniffed in his direction, so he guessed that Don Stark had steered him right and maybe he should send the guy a fruit basket or something. Did old Romanian witches like fruit baskets? He supposed manners never really went out of style, and neither did gratitude. He’d have to survive this first.
The witch looked like a slender young man with long black hair and piercing blue eyes; Sam knew all too well how easily those kinds of looks could deceive. The man snarled when he saw Sam. “How did you get through my defenders?”
“You think you’re the only one who knows a little something?” He kept his voice even, but his palms sweated and his heart kept a samba like beat in his chest.
“Hunter,” the man spat.
“I guess,” Sam agreed with a shrug. He threw the knife he had been hiding in his hand.
The witch hurled that same spell, the one that was supposed to turn him into a snarling animal, at him. It had no effect, and Sam’s aim was true and sure. The knife sank into the witch’s neck, right up to the hilt. His blue eyes bulged and his mouth moved soundlessly. The wound was mortal, but he didn’t die immediately. He had time to get off another spell. Since he couldn’t turn Sam into a rabid beast, he brought a tree branch down.
Sam managed to jump most of the way out of the limb’s path, but it landed on his left leg with an agonizing thud. Sam grunted, falling to the ground. He’d had worse, sure, but that didn’t mean busting his leg didn’t hurt. He wasn’t looking forward to hiking out of here on the broken bone, either.
First things first, though. He rolled the branch off of himself and hauled himself to his feet. Right now would be one of those times when having Cas around would be damn useful. Dean would tell him to heal Sam, and Sam would walk out of here without a problem. Of course, that was the last thing Sam wanted - if Cas was going to put his hands on Sam he wanted it to be because Cas wanted to put his hands on Sam, wanted to heal Sam or comfort Sam or just touch him, not because Dean ordered him to -
He wasn’t going to think about that. Dean was the only hunter in the world with his own angel on standby. Now that Sam wasn’t running with Dean anymore, he needed to be able to deal with normal injuries like a normal person. That meant scars and surgery and long recuperation times like everyone else. And absolutely, positively no thinking about Cas’ hands.
He found a sturdy stick to lean on while he set about salting and burning the witch’s remains. While that was happening, he splinted himself well enough to drag his body through the woods again. He went through the witch’s things, too, and helped himself to the man’s spell books and some components because it wasn’t like he had access to the bunker anymore. Waste not, want not after all. He might not ever use the spells, but he’d never found it anything but useful to know some background when dealing with witchcraft.
When the fire had burned down, he used the same sturdy stick as a crutch and limped his way down the path back to the truck. The way out took a lot longer than the way in; he had to bite his lip a lot of the time and sit and take rests. It could have been worse, he reminded himself. The witch could have gotten the better of him. He’d had worse. He’d fought a demon with a busted shoulder, more than one really; he could hike himself out of the woods with a busted leg.
Eventually he made it back to the truck; by that point he was shaking so hard that he could barely unlock the door or get the key into the ignition, but he got there. This wasn’t something he could deal with himself in the motel room. He needed the hospital. This was another way in which he’d been lucky - the break had happened to his left leg and not his right, and the truck was an automatic. He could drive himself there.
The ER was busy, but when they noticed that he’d splinted himself up in the woods they were more enthusiastic about getting him into treatment sooner rather than later. Several x-rays and a painful bone-setting later, the doctor was congratulating him on his field medical technique and asking where he’d served. He’d saved himself a lot of rehab time and surgery on the strength of his obvious training and experience.
Sam didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Instead he lied and thanked the doctor. Then he drove back to the motel.
He’d be in the cast for six to eight weeks which put a crimp in his plans for getting any kind of action up in Cleveland. Then again, maybe not. Either way, there was absolutely a case up there and he needed to get out of Ravenna before someone figured out that he’d been here, so he took his medication and went to bed. The next morning he’d start more research.
Claire texted him, much to his surprise. You okay?
Sure, why? he asked.
Haven’t heard from you in a little while. Got worried. Dean and Castiel are worried about you.
He was sure that they were worried. Not in any way that was useful, but whatever. I finished a case today. I’m a little banged up. How’s your case going?
Pretty much wrapping up. Poltergeists aren’t something to mess around with. You were right to say we couldn’t handle this one alone. There was a pause, and then Sam’s phone chimed again. You finished a case? I thought you were the one who said that hunting alone was a bad idea?
If you have the option, Claire. I didn’t. It’s not a big deal. Did you come through the case okay?
Yeah. Dean got a little banged up but I guess it’s helpful to have an angel around for that kind of thing.
He glanced at his cast and raised his eyebrows. It didn’t respond. I guess so. You want to stick with those guys or do you want me to bring you somewhere? From a purely selfish perspective, he would prefer that she stay with the others. He could only offer her so much protection or training right now, after all, and he wasn’t enthusiastic about picking her up while stuck in the cast. At the same time, he’d made her a promise and he’d stick with it.
I’ll keep you posted, she texted, and then went silent.
Sam made a face at his phone. Now that? That was just rude.
He took a couple of days to do some more research into the Cleveland case. On the one hand, no one was actually dying up there. On the other, someone was actually assaulting people, bleeding them dangerously dry and then leaving them for dead. Sam had endured that. He could still remember Alex’s brother declaring him to be an “empty keg,” his twangy voice cutting through the haze of hypovolemia. That and the knowledge, the sure knowledge, that Dean had been awake and aware the entire time that Sam had been silently buying him time. Awake and just… hanging out.
He shivered. He couldn’t in good conscience be the one hanging out. It was only a matter of time before someone didn’t find one of the victims. After two days of hanging around in Ravenna, he got into his truck and drove up to Cleveland. It wasn’t as though he could get much more research done remotely; not in a case like this.
He got a motel in the right part of town and got to work. All of the attacks had happened in the Warehouse district, near the bars and clubs. Sam knew that Dean would call the look he was giving the computer qualified as a bitchface, at least in Dean’s book, but he’d stick out like a sore thumb there. Well, maybe he could find a way to make that work out to his advantage.
He studied the victimology carefully when he got ready that night, and took a cab to one of the more mellow-looking bars down there. It was the kind of place he’d have chosen if he’d had the option anyway, not a pool table or dartboard in sight, just some low lighting and some televisions with the game running low in the background. The place carried some local craft beers, which Sam ordered, and the bartender gave a sympathetic grimace when she saw his crutches. “Busted leg, huh? That’s tough,” she told him.
Truth be told, the bartender was pretty. She had long, dark hair and an aristocratic nose; olive-toned skin and full, dark lips. He let his lips curve up a little bit, the most he really got these days. “It’s not so bad,” he told her, earning a smile and a little blush. “It’s not fun, but I’ve definitely had worse.” He blushed. She probably heard that kind of thing all the time, but really a broken leg wasn’t a big deal for him. “Slow night tonight?” he asked, glancing around the sparsely populated bar
She shrugged. “Little bit. Everyplace is kind of feeling it, you know? Ever since that maniac started up.”
After that it didn’t take long to get her to open up. He’d been good at this once, back before he’d just taken a back seat to… well, everything. Once upon a time dealing with witnesses had been his job almost entirely, and it had been so easy to tease out a few details without the witness ever realizing that they’d been interviewed at all. She told Sam all he could want to know. One of the victims had been a patron of this very bar, in fact, but no one else had been a suspect. No one had left at the same time, and it had been another slow night so she’d know. The attacks had only started up about a month ago.
He got a couple more beers, and a salad that he ate about half of. The waitress - Eleni - told him outright that she wouldn’t mind if he stuck around until her shift was over at one, and he considered. He wasn’t much of one for casual hook-ups, but it had been a damn long time since anyone had seriously looked at him that way. It had been a long time since he’d wanted anyone to look at him at all. “I’ll come back,” he promised her. “I’ve got some stuff I need to do, but I’ll be back at one.”
She winked. “I’ll see you then.”
Sam eased himself out the door on his crutches.
He felt the eyes on him as he hobbled out the door and down the road. At the first opportunity, he ducked down a convenient alley. The vampire was probably expecting easy meat. After all, Sam was clearly injured and most people would have had a balance issue. Most people hadn’t spent eighteen years in John Winchester’s Army, and anyone who thought a broken leg got them out of training was in for some heavy punishment. And years of yoga after that had helped with the balance.
When he sensed his stalker come close enough behind him (a cold presence, and he’d long since ceased to be comfortable with anyone giving off that much of a chill behind him) he spun around and raised his machete to the creature’s neck.
The vampire raised his hands. The man stood about six feet tall, strawberry blond hair with a goatee and gray eyes. “Nice,” he said, eyes wide in a combination of fear and admiration. “I had no idea you even knew I was here. Your heart rate didn’t even twitch. You’re good, buddy.”
Sam snorted. He wasn’t good. Everyone knew that. “I’ve done this before,” he corrected, keeping the blade at the vampire’s throat. “What’s with the attacks?”
The vampire blinked, and then showed his fangs. “Look. That ain’t me. I’m here for the same reason you are.”
“I very much doubt that,” Sam scoffed.
The creature rolled his eyes. “You’re a friend of Lenore’s right?”
Sam hesitated. “You knew Lenore?”
“Yeah. She taught me a lot. Before, you know, Eve. After that whole thing, you know, I was able to get control over myself again. I live on bagged blood now. Entirely. Name’s Tom.”
Sam pressed his lips together. He’d made plenty of mistakes, trusting monsters. At the same time, trusting Lenore and her nest, that hadn’t been a mistake, and hadn’t been widely known. “How’d you recognize me?”
“Eli could draw.” Tom shrugged, as best he could without moving the machete. “They wanted to make sure we all knew which Winchester was the reasonable one if anything ever happened.”
Sam huffed out a little laugh. No one had ever thought of him as reasonable. He shouldn’t trust this guy. He should chop off his head and go about his merry way. At the same time, he’d proved that some monsters were okay. Were people. Besides, did it matter if this guy drank him dry? So he’d miss his last date. Logically, it seemed there wasn’t much risk here.. “Right,” he said, sheathing his machete. “So you’re here to hunt down someone who’s not playing by the rules?”
Tom shrugged. “He’s not exactly keeping a low profile, is he?” He rubbed at his neck. “Is the other one around here somewhere?”
“He’s working a job somewhere else. Come on, let’s keep moving.”
Tom nodded. “Figure you wouldn’t want to move more than you had to, what with the crutches and all. What happened?”
“A tree fell on me. And it’s best to keep moving.”
“A tree fell on you? Figure you’d be faster than that.”
“I was busy killing the witch who made it fall at the time.” Sam felt one corner of his mouth curl up.
“Right, that would do it. I guess. You kill a lot of witches?”
“Only if they’re killing people.” Sam sighed. “So. What do you know?”
“Well, our guy is careful.”
Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Dude. He’s ripping people’s throats out and leaving them to die in the middle of the street.”
Tom shook his head, laughing. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop once you’ve started?”
Sam closed his eyes against the memory. “You’d be surprised.”
Tom raised ruddy eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“What, you thought I was squeaky clean?” Sam gave a low chuckle. “I’m about as far from that as you can get. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s got to be stopped before he does kill someone outright, man.”
Tom nodded. “I agree. I’m just not sure that he needs his head taken off.”
Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. “Can you maybe explain that a little better?”
“So I’m not entirely sure,” Tom said, holding his hands up. “And if it turns out that the dude’s just one of the bad ones I’ll be right there with you, swinging for the fences. But the way this person’s doing it - leaving the vics out in public where they’re right there and could be found by anyone, are being found by anyone - makes it seem like they’re trying to avoid being caught. It’s almost like he’s trying to feed without killing. He could be a new vamp, a fledgling whose maker just kind of turned him and sent him out there without any information, any training.”
Sam nodded slowly. He could remember a blonde, a poor innocent victim who thought she’d just taken a new club drug. They hadn’t known enough then, couldn’t help her transition to animal blood or teach her to use blood bags. One more stain on his record. “So let’s say you’re right. I’ve met some other newly turned vampires. Trying to get through to them is, uh, challenging.”
Tom grinned, all teeth. “I’ve got ways, man. I might ask for a hand here and there. But I can do it.”
“You trying to build a nest?”
Tom shook his head. “If they want to, that’s one thing. I’m more of a loner myself, ever since Eve. Ever since Lenore. But I’m not the old school, Luther kind of vampire. We need to be more adaptable. We’re practically extinct, between the Leviathan and hunters. We need to be able to adapt and live with people instead of just feeding off of them.” He shrugged. “I want to help make that a reality, you know? No one wants to be the last living one of his species.”
“No, you don’t.” Sam, after all, was the last living abomination. “Do you have any ideas as to who your guy might be?” Tom didn’t, but he had a good idea of where the guy might be hunting. “Alright then. We’ve got some prime bait.”
“Woah. No way, dude. I’m not going to be the guy who used Dean Winchester’s little brother as vampire bait.” Tom crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Nothing doing.”
“First of all,” Sam said when he’d finished swallowing his frustration, “I’m going out there whether or not you want me to. Secondly, things are different now. Dean’s not going to be worried.” He could still hear Dean’s voice. I wish it was you up there instead of Charlie. “Besides. He’ll never even know.”
Tom sighed, but in the end Sam got his way. The pair agreed to meet up outside a bar called Boot the next night and took to a park bench to make plans until Sam needed to be back at the bar to meet up with Eleni.
Eleni seemed almost surprised to see him, but in the very best of ways. She offered him a ride back to his motel room, which he accepted. Once she’d passed through the salt line and the devil’s trap and the angel warding, he caught her into an embrace. She pulled him down and captured his mouth in a searing kiss, and he followed her lead. It had, after all, been a long time.
It didn’t take long before they were both naked, and just the sight and smell of her got him sweaty. Her dark eyes drank him in, hungry and eager, and she soon let him explore her body with fingers and tongue.
This, more than the actual moment of his own release, was what he enjoyed about sex. It was an objective measure of his own skill and talent. If he rolled a nipple gently between his fingers, like this, it earned him a moan of delight. If he then gathered that same nipple into his mouth and sickled gently, while at the same time paying the same amount of attention to the opposite with his other hand, then the moan was twice as loud and appreciative. And then, later, if he moved his head lower and lapped at the cleft between those muscular legs of hers with his tongue, and maybe did a little more exploring with his fingers -
Yes, just like that. He felt her clench around his fingers even as she cried out in her ecstasy. “Holy shit,” she gasped as she came down, the last aftershocks finally leaving her.
Sam smiled for the first time in what felt like months. This, at least, he could do. Dean had hated the very idea of Sam and sexual activity, but that wasn’t a problem anymore.
After a few seconds, Eleni glanced at him and blushed. “Let me take care of you, Sam.”
“You don’t have to,” he told her. “It’s okay.” And it was. He was already perfectly satisfied anyway, more than he’d expected to get out of the trip to Cleveland in the first place.
“I want to,” she said, stroking his face. He flinched before he leaned into the touch. “Is it that weird for someone to want to give you some attention too?” She laid him gently on his back and kissed him before grabbing the condom and unrolling it onto his cock and then slowly, tantalizingly mounting him.
Eleni felt incredible on top of him, around him. He kept his hands on her hips at first, more for someplace to put them than anything else, and just hung on for the ride for a minute.
Then he sought out her clit. She’d been enjoying herself plenty, but now she cried out, clawing at his arms. He grinned as she rode him to completion, only then allowing himself to spill into the condom. He caught Eleni as she fell forward and helped her dismount, then carefully discarded the condom.
She stayed for about an hour, dozing happily in his arms, before she regretfully told him that she needed to back home. He thanked her for the night; she’d made him feel better than he had in years, since before Hell, before Dean’s death, before his own death really. Maybe he hadn’t felt that good since Madison.
She’d had a good time, or at least she said she had, and they exchanged numbers at her insistence “in case you stick around in town, or pass through here again.” Still, she didn’t really know him. She wouldn’t want to, if he called. If he tried to build something more than a roll in the hay or two.
He walked her to her car and made sure she drove away okay before retreating to a room that reeked of sex to take a shower. Then he checked his phone. Claire had texted him when he’d just been in the middle of things. What are you working on?
Vampire case, he told her. There was no reason to lie about it.
Should you be doing that? I thought you said you were hurt in the last hunt.
Sam grinned a little. I said I got a little banged up. It’s not a problem. I found a hunting partner for this one anyway.
She paused. For real? Anyone I know?
Sam chuckled. Like Claire knew anyone. No. No one either of them knows either. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this one covered.
We could come and help out. Should be done with the Poltergeist by now.
I’m all set. I can come and pick you up, if you want to move on from them, as soon as this one’s over. It shouldn’t be long.
She didn’t reply, and he went to sleep in his sweatpants.
Morning found him when someone started banging on the door, fast and furious. Sat up in bed, bolt upright, angel blade at the ready. “Who’s there?” he shouted. It wouldn’t be Tom, it was too early.
“Sam, it’s me,” came Cas’ terse voice. “I cannot enter your room, Sam. You must let me in.”
Sam closed his eyes and flopped back down onto the mediocre pillows. He counted to ten. The pounding didn’t stop. “Sam?” yelled Cas.
Sam reached out and grabbed his phone. He dialed Cas’ number and waited patiently for the angel to pick up. “Sam,” his occasional ally said, in exactly the same tone. “You have warded the room against angels and I cannot enter. You must break the wards so I can get in.”
Sam let out a long, slow breath. “Is Dean hurt?”
The angel paused and Sam could almost see him blinking. “No, Dean is not hurt. Why -?“
“Is Claire hurt?”
“No, she’s with me, right here. Sam -“
“Are you hurt?”
“I am an angel of the Lord, very few -“
“Then why are you here?”
That shut Castiel up pretty damn quickly. “I’m here to see you, Sam. We need to talk about your latest bid for independence. We are worried. Your -“ He cut himself off and Sam could hear Claire’s insistent murmuring in the background. “Claire and I wished to see you.”
Sam closed his eyes again. He could just hunker down in here, but Claire might use a brick to break the door down or something. He sighed and struggled to his feet, then made his way over to the door.
Both Claire and Castiel blinked when they saw Sam. He remembered, after a moment, that he hadn’t put a shirt on. “Um,” Claire said, jaw hanging open. “Nice abs.”
Sam knew his face had turned scarlet; he could tell just from how hot it felt. “My eyes are up here, Cas,” Sam pointed out, gesturing to the angel. “What’s going on?”
“You said ‘a little banged up, Sam,” Cas accused, squinting at him. “You have a contraption on your leg meant to immobilize a broken bone. That is not a ‘little’ banged up! And there are all kinds of bruises on your collarbone!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s just a broken leg, Cas,” he said, wishing that they’d at least brought him some coffee. “In Winchester terms this is basically a scraped knee.”
“Not when you were alone!”
“Actually yeah,” Sam told him. “Also when I was alone. I did survive four years at Stanford, you know. It’s just a break. It’s fine.”
“And the bruises?” Cas pointed at Sam’s collarbone.
Claire snickered. “Those are hickies, moron.”
“Oh. Oh!” Cas looked around the room and sniffed. “You’ve had a woman in this room! A human woman!” His eyes narrowed and he looked back at Sam.
“Are we really here to talk about my sex life?” Sam asked, leaning against the door and wishing he could go back to sleep or at least brush his teeth.
“I… I was not aware that you were seeking such things…”
“They’re women, Cas. Not ‘things.’ And bisexual. So yeah. I like men. I like women. I like other genders, too. Why are we standing in my motel room doorway at seven thirty in the morning talking about who I want to sleep with? Aren’t you supposed to be working on a poltergeist?”
But Castiel had wandered back to his dreadful Cadillac, leaving Sam alone with a vaguely apologetic Claire.
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