Ancient Words: "Realizations", 17/?, PG13, Dean, Sam, OC's
Title/Chapter: Ancient Words - Ch. 17 - Realizations
Author: Supernatural Mommy
Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC, OMC (child), OMC ; no pairings
Spoilers: None really, unless you've not seen Season one, to Nightmare
Warnings: PG-13 now, R overall for adult themes. This chapter some religious references: Overall rated for language, violence (including non-con acts depicted with OC's and torture) hurt/comfort, religious references (seriously, this story uses lots of religious references, so if that bothers you, please don't read) I will try to label each chapter appropriately
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em *pity*, but new characters are my own creation.
Summary: Dean receives a word of advice as the others begin counting down to the ceremony.
Author's Notes: Sequel to Look Into His Eyes. Please read through my author's notes Here (from first chapter) and Here (Chapter listing and summary with some minor plot spoilers) if you need more information, explanations, etc.
Chapter 17 - Realizations
Looking at the map in his hands in disgust, Dean threw it into the passenger seat.
Finding the road he was looking for had been infuriating him for over an hour now. He felt like he was looking for a needle in a haystack. And the stupid map didn’t list all the streets like any decent map should. He rubbed a hand through his cruddy hair, thinking this was why Sammy always did the maps.
He looked back over at the file folder that started this street hunt.
The near run-in with the dump truck had caused it to slide free from underneath the seat. Dean had completely forgotten that they had grabbed the file in the first place. The files they had pulled from Larkin’s house days before had been shoved under the seat, forgotten, when they had found Sam and Bobby.
They listed properties Larkin had to pay taxes on, two of which they already knew about: his own house and the cabin he had used before. But another property was listed that they had missed before. It was on a separate piece of paper, having been acquired months before.
An old farmhouse outside of the town.
It was perfect.
It had to be the place. It had to be.
Only problem was, he would never find it at this rate. He stared at the map, frustrated. It stared back at him from the other seat, mocking him. He sighed.
Opening the door with a groan, he prepared to do what no man should ever have to.
He went to ask for directions.
Five minutes later, he was heading back toward the Impala. He stopped short as he neared the car, however. There was someone in the passenger seat. He stalked over to the door, wrenching it open and preparing to deal not-so-nicely with whoever had dared sit in Sam’s seat.
“What the he . . .” His voice trailed off as he recognized the passenger and he stood up fully, arms crossed. “I hope you don’t think you’re taking my car over, dude.”
Dean settled into the driver’s seat and glanced over at his angelic passenger; Studied him until those gray, fathomless, eyes turned back on him.
“I don’t really care what your game is, I just want to get to my brother and the others as fast as I can.” This was said as he started the engine. Mike shut his door with a soft click and met Dean’s eyes fully. Intense. Piercing. And suddenly Dean felt almost naked - And not in a good way.
“You must reach them quickly.” Well, duh. Dean looked at the angel like he had grown two heads. The expression faded from his face as he took in the intensity of the being’s gaze. “The time for sacrifice grows near. You must be in place to protect them all.”
Sacrifice?
Well, shit. That just sounded bad. Really bad. Dean stared at the angel’s stone-faced expression in shock, and then put the car in gear, tearing out of the small station.
According to the helpful clerk, the road he was looking for veered off from the main road on the other end of town, about twenty miles. But the address showed that the farm he was looking for was at least another ten miles or so down that road.
If he was lucky, he’d make it within a half hour. He glanced over at the angel, who was staring intently at him with a slight pull to one corner of his mouth.
“Luck has nothing to do with this, hunter.” His grim words just made Dean step on the pedal harder, pushing his black beast even faster.
When he next glanced over to the seat beside him, it was empty.
“Angels. There is no way Sammy is ever gonna believe this.” He shook his head as the irony punched him in the gut. He’d have to have a chance to tell him first.
******************************************
Sam looked over at Bobby and Annie and sighed. He’d attended to both of them. And in the process still hadn’t gotten his own wrists free.
Now he was stuck using his teeth to try dislodging the impossibly tight rope. Usually, a little rope wasn’t an issue. But he’d scoured their cell intently looking for anything he could saw through the ropes with. And come up empty.
He looked at the tight bonds with frustration. And went back to flexing his wrists, trying to work a little give into the ropes. A sudden noise behind him stopped his movements and he cocked his head, listening intently.
He spun awkwardly to face the door of their prison when he heard a shuffling sign that signified moving feet. He pushed himself around, and over, until he was in between the door and the other two in the cell.
Looking up he found himself being studied intently.
He glared at the man.
The guy’s impassive face did nothing but infuriate him more. But Sam didn’t want to say anything that might anger the man. His position was abundantly clear, as he looked up to the man and the gun he was holding loosely with one hand.
He thought he imagined a look of gentleness cross over the big man’s features as his gaze passed over both Annie and Bobby. His eyes lingered on Bobby, and Sam couldn’t help the protective need that arose in him. It wasn’t even right that the asshole could look at Bobby.
“Make you feel good beating up a women and kid?” He spoke through clenched teeth, unable to stem his fury as the man just studied them all, impassively.
“I didn’t . . .” The man cut off his own statement and glared at Sam. “You don’t need to be talking at all, boy. I’m the one that saved your life.”
That took Sam by surprise. Huh? The man must have registered his confusion.
“The little guy came running out ‘cause you weren’t breathing.” Sam hung his head. Man. It had been his fault they had been caught again. Stupid freakin’ seizures. “Was about ready to check the building out again anyway.”
The man offered the last statement quietly, then turned away, about to walk away.
“Wait . . .” Sam waited for the man to turn back around. “You’re George, aren’t you. I remember hearing your name before.” A cautious nod. “Thank you. But . . . why?”
“Larkin wants you alive. For now.” The man’s voice hardened and Sam figured it was now or never.
“Could you get some water or something for us? Something that can cover her.” He inclined his head towards Annie, catching the way the man’s gaze shifted down and shoulders slouched slightly. Whatever else the man was, he was uncomfortable about what was happening, at least to Annie and Bobby.
The man walked away without answering and Sam started flexing his wrists again. He thought about it, wondering what Larkin’s plans really were. He glanced over at Bobby and Annie and hated the helplessness that overwhelmed him.
He needed to help them.
His hands fisted of their own volition and he threw himself into trying to get the ropes off. He suddenly found small hands on his. He looked up, into a small pale face.
“Bobby hep’. Bobby hep’ Sam-mie.” He sounded serious, except for the slight tremor in his voice. The small fingers slipped into the small holes made as the ropes overlapped each other, and soon Bobby was starting to ease one of the ropes up slightly. Sam watched him.
The boy bit his lip in concentration as he stared intently at the ropes, and moved his little fingers deftly over and around them. Soon, though, he was stopping every minute or two to rub his chaffed fingertips against his mouth. Absentmindedly kissing his own little fingers lightly and then rubbing them over the fragmented remains of his shirt. Sam had to finally pull his wrists away, afraid that Bobby might actually rub his fingers too raw trying to help him. He offered the boy a grin.
“It’s tough rope, kiddo. But you helped a lot. You really did.” Bobby had looked crestfallen until Sam added the praise, his bruised face brightening slightly when Sam added the words. As if to accentuate his point, the ropes gave as he started flexing his hands again.
A few minutes later, he was back to pulling at the ropes with his teeth, it was so close. Almost there. He sighed in relief as the ropes fell away and immediately started rubbing his chaffed wrists, grinning at
Bobby slightly.
“See there kiddo. Without your help I wouldn’t have gotten those off. Thanks, buddy.” Bobby offered him a slight grin and a secondary glimpse of his deep eyes, then swiftly turned around and started toward his sister. Sam stood, swaying and on shaky legs, and stretched carefully. He whipped around again at a noise behind him.
George again.
He opened the cell with the clang of keys and stepped inside. He pointed a gun steadily at Sam, and motioned him closer with the gun.
“Here, put this over the girl, give them the water and get back over here.” Sam studied him, but reached out for the items, going over to place the blanket gently over Annie’s still sleeping form. He handed a bottle of water to Bobby after cracking the seal on it and placed the other two bottles near Annie on the floor.
He turned to face George, glanced at Bobby once more, and then walked over to the older man. He tensed when the gun rose, placing his hands up submissively.
“You need to come with me.” Sam narrowed his eyes, assessing the man in front of him, but the steady gun trumped all thoughts of taking on the big guy and he sighed, walking slowly towards the door. A sudden weight wrapped around his leg almost brought him to his knees. Bobby.
Apparently he had been carefully watching the exchange and his fury was now directed at George.
“You ba’ ma’. No go Sam-mie. No go! Peas!” He directed his first words to George and sobbed as he desperately clawed and wrapped himself around Sam’s leg. Sam met George’s eyes with raised eyebrows and a small nod toward Bobby, silently asking permission to address the little guy. George nodded, still steadily pointing the gun.
But before Sam could disengage Bobby’s arms and legs to crouch down, a soft voice stopped Bobby’s frantic cries.
“Bobby.” Annie. Sam watched as she carefully reached out towards her brother, wincing as the pain hit her. Bobby stilled all movements, turning his head to consider his sister. “Honey, come sit . . .with. . .me.”
The effort to speak hit her and winded, she panted for a moment before she tried to sit up more fully. She looked almost ready to pass out. Bobby looked up at Sam, biting his lip. Tears streaked down his dirty face, leaving wet trails of sadness behind. Then he looked again at his sister and slowly disengaged his body from Sam’s leg.
He started to walk toward his sister then stopped suddenly, and with speed ran over to George, pounding his little fists against the man’s leg frantically.
“No! No! No! No!” His one word litany might have gone on indefinitely, except that Sam stepped forward. He reached for Bobby, and as he made contact the little guy stopped yelling . His eyes seared Sam’s once again, then flicked away. “Sam-mie.” One word, and then he turned and walked dejectedly back to his sister, who gathered him close despite her small gasp of pain.
“Come on, kid.” George opened the door, motioning Sam through the door. Bobby’s soft sobs broke his heart as they followed him down the hallway.
**********************************************
George was rethinking his involvement in all this crap.
It was one thing to kill another man. Cold blooded, but he could do that. But the girl and the little boy especially. He was having a hard time with that. This kid, too. There was something about him. Kind of reminded him of his kid brother. He had his orders, though. And he also knew Larkin would have no qualms about putting a bullet through his head, if he were to catch him.
The kid moved in front of him slowly. George weighed his options. And he came up short. There was no way he could help right now without getting caught. Jabbing the gun into the young man’s back he propelled him through the doors.
*******************************************
Coming into what must have once been a main part of the barn, Sam’s mouth hung open. Instead of hay, or straw or whatever else was supposed to be in a barn, he was looking at a huge room with candles and symbols on the floor and on tapestries hanging on the walls. In the center of the room stood two tables, one small and to the side a much larger one. Both were low to the ground.
Sam stopped walking, not really caring as the gun poked him painfully in the back.
He looked from one table to the other. They both had symbols on them. He thought they looked familiar, but couldn’t figure out where he’d seen them before. He etched them into his memory, trying to remember.
And the symbols, around the room . . . they looked familiar. Some of them were the same and suddenly Sam recognized at least that one: it was a sigil. But he couldn’t remember which demon had been associated with this particular sigil. So Larkin was wanting to summon a specific demon. Not a huge surprise, but looking around Sam was not comforted by the level of preparations the man had gone to.
“You need to get on the larger table, kid.” Sam tensed. Like hell. He wouldn’t meekly climb up to be a willing participant in a demon summoning ritual. Making a sudden decision, he whirled quickly on George, grabbing the gun hand and ramming the forearm above it into his knee. The gun spun away and Sam shifted into a defensive stance, eying George warily.
George wasn’t looking too concerned though. He eyed Sam lazily, barely shifting his own weight in preparation.
“That was a mistake kid.” Just as he shifted his feet into a more defensive position, Sam realized he’d overlooked an important detail. There were others in the room with them. Unseen, behind him as they were, stuck in the shadows. But his instincts were on overdrive as he felt them come nearer.
He backed up, inadvertently right into the table he was trying to avoid. George pounced as he righted himself against the cool surface of the table behind him, pushing him backwards and onto the table.
Sam wasn’t done fighting, though, and threw a punch that landed hard across George’s right jaw. The big man grunted, but didn’t shift his weight. George looked up, over Sam’s head as Sam felt his left hand dragged backwards. He tried to buck George off him, but he was situated firmly and would not budge. He drew a leg up awkwardly behind George’s back, landing a glancing blow to the man’s shoulder. But all that did was push him into Sam’s chest, forcing the breath out with a sharp pain there. The audible cracking sound didn’t bode well.
His left arm was now attached to the table with something heavy and course. Rope. Again. Attached underneath this table somewhere. Not good.
Sam stared at George as he panted painfully. This really sucked.
George didn’t ease his weight, and another man came into his peripheral vision as his right wrist was grabbed and pulled, despite his attempts to pull away. That wrist as well was wrapped and tied to the table with the course rope, tightly.
At this point, George finally eased up and off the table, leaving Sam to glare after him. He lifted his head, pulling against the ropes as the big man stepped over and back until he was at the foot of the table. He was joined by another man. Before Sam could blink, each man had captured one of his ankles, binding them also to the table with course rope. Man, he was so sick of rope.
He stared at the men. They stared back for just a moment. He saw a flicker of something pass over George’s eyes as he met them briefly. And then they walked out of the room.
Sam fell back on the table with a sigh. This was so not good.
Looking around at the sigil that was replicated all over room, he frowned. He had seen that before. He knew it.
He didn’t have long to ponder it, as soon another walked into the chamber, footsteps echoing dully. They entered from behind him, so he couldn’t see him until he was just to the side of him. He craned his neck up and around to meet the piercing blue eyes.
He really hated this man.
He’d stared at the man as he grinned, before he walked over to the far wall, lighting several more candles in a pattern there. Then he glanced over at Sam and came forward with a sneer on his face.
“I have everything in place. And it won’t be long now. Are you ready?” By now he close to Sam’s right arm and he leaned over, close to Sam’s face, whispering. “Soon you will die. My new master will appreciate the very special sacrifice and meal I have planned for him, I’m sure.”
“I’m really not much of a sacrifice. Too much of a geek. Just ask my brother.” He silently added: Come on
Dean, you can show up anytime.
“Oh, Sammy, you won’t be a sacrifice so much as a meal.” Sam’s eyes flew to meet his. What? “I read it. He’ll be able to feed from you, grow stronger. Because of your powers he’ll grow stronger still.”
Sam stared at him. The man had gone mad. He looked away. But the man’s next comment had him straining at his bonds.
“No, the real sacrifice will be the most innocent. The little one. He’s perfect.” Larkin almost shuddered as he spoke. “I’ll sacrifice him within the summoning circle. His innocence will show Asmodai how dedicated I truly am.”
He stopped straining at his bonds - it was useless anyway. Instead, he glared at the man in front of him.
“You’re an asshole and a coward, you know that? Trying to summon a demon and you have to use a little kid as bait. Didn’t you read Demons for Dummies?” His voice shook with anger. There was no way he wanted that prick to know how badly he’d shaken him. “You don’t have to have a sacrifice to summon a demon.”
“You know nothing, boy! The sacrifice isn’t to summon Asmodai, it’s to show my dedication to him, and to allow him to stay with us for a while.” Larkin laughed darkly. He leaned even closer, his breath hot upon Sam’s face as he whispered. “The boy’s sacrifice is a gift for my master. As are you.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide, and at Larkin’s light laughter he decided enough was enough. With only a glare for warning, he shoved his head forward as fast as he could, connecting with what looked like an already sore nose on Larkin’s disgusting face. He howled. Sam smiled. And then he showed Sam something with a sickening smile even as his nose dripped blood.
“You and your knives, Larkin. You know, you’re really boring me.” Sam looked away, hoping he looked a lot more sarcastic then he felt right now.
“I wonder, how much would it take to make you scream?” Larkin studied him coldly, considering. And, lightning fast, he reached up with the knife. Before Sam could react, he’d sliced his cheek. It was a flesh wound. Probably wouldn’t even leave a scar. But he sure had Sam’s attention now. He could feel the slight tickle of blood against his cheekbone.
“Hell, I’ve scratched myself worse than that.” He couldn’t help himself. The attitude was an easy response to Larkin’s predatory smile and gleaming eyes.
The man’s smile deepened and the knife was almost caressed within his hands as he looked from the silver object and back over again to Sam. Almost lazily, he reached over with the knife and traced an unknown design on Sam’s chest.
“Pain is relative, Sam. I wonder . . .” He met Sam’s eyes and then looked intently at Sam’s chest. The sharp sting and slicing pain trailed in a short line on Sam’s chest as Larkin pressed the knife through skin. “I wonder if it might hurt more now?”
Breathing deeply against the sudden pain, Sam pushed it away. He focused once again on the man in front of him.
“No? Maybe as we go on then . . .” Over the next several minutes, he sliced carefully on Sam’s chest. Concentrating fully on his fun, he didn’t bother checking to see if Sam was enjoying his wicked ministrations.
Several cuts into his fun, Sam felt a shift. The lines were different, curved. It almost felt like Larkin was following a pattern of some kind. The intricacy of the design was lost on Sam. By the time Larkin was finished with his design, Sam was breathing deeply and carefully to try and keep the pain at bay. His chest felt like it was on fire. And the pain! It wasn’t so bad at first, but the cumulative effect was unnerving in its painfulness.
Larkin ended with a flourish, stabbing the middle of his design with a sneer. By now Sam was starting to lose his fight to keep the pain under control. He felt like he was one mass of pain and hurt.
“There now, Sammy boy. A pretty little symbol to make you stand out for my master, and . . .” He stopped now to probe the middle of Sam’s chest, where the pain was the most intense. “A little more pain to pass the time.”
He reached up, and then swiftly brought his fist down on the wound, inadvertently also jarring the cracked ribs from Sam’s earlier fight. He couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.
“Doesn’t feel like such a little scratch anymore, does it, boy?” He leaned over, sneering in Sam’s face. But by now, Sam was looking up at him through a pain-induced haze, trying desperately not to cry or whimper from the agony.
Larkin brought out a very short knife, its silver gleaming in the flickering lights of the chamber. It was tiny, really. Sam caught sight of it, aware only of the blur of silver in his hazy vision.
“Now, this won’t kill you, but it might sting a little . . .” He leaned in close to whisper almost intimately in Sam’s ear. Sam followed his movements through heavily lidded eyes as he stepped to the side and brought his small knife up high.
His eyes widened, vision sharpening on the small gleaming knife. Larkin brought it down with swiftness, impaling the center of his design in Sam’s chest. Sam’s eyes followed the arc of the knife; knew the moment it broke the skin; felt as it remained imbedded within his chest.
Sam screamed. He couldn’t help it. Tears of pain and shame at his weakness broke free, rolling down the side of his face. The pain was horrible, and that damn little knife was stuck inside him. He could feel its slight weight as he breathed, panting in his pain.
The world around him tilted and Larkin stepped away from him. Sam almost closed his eyes. A spasm of pain caused him to see black spots. His body just couldn’t take much more in it’s already weakened state.
“Dean.”
Oh God, how he wanted his brother.
“You’re brother can’t be here right now, Sammy boy.” Larkin’s face again loomed in front of his. He didn’t realize he had whispered his brother’s name. “He’s dead, remember?”
Did he remember that? No. Sam weakly shook his head. He was pretty sure he had already determined that Dean had to be alive, somewhere. But where was he?
“He would have been here by now if he had lived. And that bullet wound was bad.” Larkin shook his head in mock sympathy, eyes gleaming at Sam’s confusion. “Don’t you remember? Doesn’t matter. I’m afraid you can’t make the funeral. You’ve got a previous engagement.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide and he struggled weakly, glaring at Larkin. He didn’t want to believe him. He had seen Dean shot, and the blood around his brother’s body remained a nagging memory. But, the angel before . . . maybe it was all in his mind.
Tears leaked from his eyes as the emotions washed over him.
“Don’t worry, Sammy.” The blue eyes pierced him as Larkin leaned close to speak just above a whisper.
“You’ll be joining him soon enough.”
Was it true? Could Dean really be dead? Sam’s eyes drifted shut with the nagging possibility weighing him down. As blackness pulled him in, he writhed in silent agony.
Dean!
****************************
Free temporarily from the pain in his body, Sam floated in between awareness and the safety of
unconsciousness.
He couldn’t handle that out there. The pain was one thing. But his brother? And what Larkin had planned . . .
If Dean was really dead, then how could he hope for rescue here? He was screwed, and royally. He couldn’t help Bobby or Annie or himself. Larkin was going to kill them and enjoy doing it in the name of demon love. Sick. Twisted.
“You would allow the evil one this victory so easily then?” The question came from nowhere. Confused, Sam looked at the angelic being standing beside him dumbly.
Angels weren’t real, were they?
“We have already established that I and my wings are, in fact, quite real. Have we not?” The being looked remarkably amused for some reason. Sam continued to stare. He finally found his voice.
“What are you doing here?”
“I have come to remind you, hunter. Things are not always as they appear.”
“Things? Like angels maybe?” He smirked, and then felt stupid for being sarcastic with his hallucination. “Sorry.”
“I am very real, young one. You must believe, and attend to what I say.” The being walked closer, a large hand snaking out to lay gently, heavily, upon Sam’s shoulder. That felt real enough. Solid. Real. Kind of. He stared.
“Our time is short. The battle is upon us.” The angel shimmered and drew up to his full height. Sam couldn’t help but be impressed. “Remember you are a part of the whole. The smallest is the key. But you, and your power, along with the power of the other, they are parts of the whole. The holy one, and the other protector will see that you have that chance. You must take it, or all will be lost.”
Sam was already trying to pin the angel’s vagueness down, to make sense of his words. The holy one had to be Andy. The power of the other: Annie had psychic powers too, so maybe that was her. The smallest was most surely Bobby. Who did that make the protector? Sam’s eyes studied the angel as he sought to make the connections.
“My brother?”
“You doubted what was said before. But yes, he is a protector.” He studied the heavenly being. He still wasn’t entirely convinced. But faced with this or another kind of reality - He’d rather believe in angels than have no hope at all. It would make sense for Dean to be alive - he always cheated death. And of course his brother was the protector . . . whatever that meant. Dean was always the protector. But the angel’s next words stopped his train of thought. “As are you.”
Sam laughed, the sound echoing in his mind with a craziness that matched his thoughts.
“How the hell am I supposed to protect anyone? In case you haven’t noticed I’m a little tied up at the moment, not exactly able to protect anyone.” He glared at the angel. The being leaned forward, and down, to rest his face inches from Sam’s.
“Protection is not always about strength, little one. Sometimes it can be done with the power of words. Sometimes with the power of the mind.” The angel whispered knowingly, his gaze piercing Sam with a blazing intensity. “Believe that it can be, as you believe in your brother, you must also believe in yourself.”
Sam stared into the impossibly intense eyes, unflinching.
“I don’t have control over my powers.” He said it carefully, slowly, just in case the heavenly helper missed the underlying issue. “So how can I possibly use them?"
“Believe, child. And in absence of raw power, use the words.” The angel smiled a small smile. “A little faith can go a long way as well.”
Sam couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. Faith was not a word the Winchesters used or believed in. Their recent experience with the faith healer had cemented that healthy skepticism. He wasn’t sure what
he believed in; Could believe in.
“You have seen much evil, how can you not believe that good exists as well?” It was a twist on his own words from long ago. The irony was not lost on him: An angel telling him to believe that “good” exists; what next?
But still, it was something. He looked up at the figure.
The angel stepped back and gathered himself fully, extending shimmering wings to a full width that was breathtaking.
“Our time is done, remember what was said, hunter. Be brave. Be strong. Do not give up.” And with that, he was gone. Sam blinked.
Icy cold permeated his safe zone and he found himself ruthlessly jerked away from his oasis.
His eyes opened blearily, blinking away wetness. A grinning Larkin stood by with yet another dripping bucket. Sam shivered. The cold water had brought a really sucky fact into clear focus.
He hurt really bad. And things really weren’t looking too peachy right now.
“We’ll have a little company here in a minute, and I wanted you awake for the show.” He said it with a sneer and Sam really wished he could hurt the man, badly. Larkin rubbed his slender hands together almost gleefully. “Once everyone is in place, we can begin.”
Company?
“Sam-mie!” That was Bobby’s voice, echoing from just outside the door. He sounded scared. His gaze narrowed on Larkin’s grinning face.
“You son of a b**ch! You hurt him and I’ll kill you? You hear me?”He spoke low, forcefully, despite the pain any slight movement caused. He would find a way to take care of Larkin, so help him God. He would.
“Don’t you hurt him!”
He was pulled from glaring at Larkin’s still-grinning face as the sounds of scuffling came inside the room.
He turned his head to see the small boy straining against large hands. Wresting his small body away, he flung himself across the space toward Sam. He scrambled to the side, eyes wide when he finally saw Sam.
“Sam-mie hur’. No. No.” His small head shook back and forth and he pulled his glittering eyes from Sam’s chest to meet his eyes. Their eyes locked and unspoken words passed between them.
“I’m okay, Bobby. I’ll be fine, kiddo . . .” His whispered words sounded raspy and weak, and he grimaced, quickly covering it with a small smile. “Be brave kiddo. You gotta be brave. And, Bobby . . .”
The small child leaned closer, straining to hear Sam’s now small voice.
“Use those special words kiddo. Okay?” The nod was punctuated by Bobby’s tears as they fell, littering the table beside Sam.
“Sam-mie?” Bobby was studying him now, biting his lip. He leaned ever closer. “Sam-mie be bra’ ‘kay? Sam-mie be bra’ an’ Bobby be bra’.”
He nestled his head briefly at the juncture of Sam’s neck and shoulder. The soft hair felt impossibly sweet against his neck, and Sam felt tears prick his eyes at the hell this poor boy was going through. He felt the absence before he heard Bobby’s soft cry. “No!”
“No!” Sam couldn’t help tensing at Bobby’s strangled cry. The big man, George, looked at Sam regretfully before tugging the child fully into his arms, the kicking and hitting calmly ignored.
Sam glared at the man as he walked slowly with Bobby over to the other table. His hold tightened for a moment and it looked like he whispered something to the boy, before setting him gently on the smaller table.
The child backed away from the man, looking up at him with a trembling lip. His brown eyes were deep, stricken with fear and something else. His gaze flickered across the room and met Sam’s eyes, holding the gaze as a tear slid down his cheek.