Fanfic - SPN: IDKMUIMY - Ch.6 - I Find You and Lose Myself
Title: I Didn't Know Me Until I Met You
Author: eboniorchid
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Chapter 6: I Find You and Lose Myself
[088.Shocked]
Before Sam knew it, several months had gone by and they'd settled into as much of a routine as was feasible, considering Dean's work and Sam's family drama. Everything was going along surprisingly well, under the circumstances, a few miscommunications, some close calls, the occasional argument, nothing really huge.
But then, Dean's work followed him home one night. Or, really, it just followed him … around … one night. And then decided to wander off to bother people, a situation for which Dean just wasn't really prepared. He'd just basically told Sam to stay with him and that he'd explain later. Theoretically, Dean could probably explain this whole situation without reference to the supernatural. But Sam was curious to see whether or not Dean would tell him the truth, come clean and all that.
It was just past nine o'clock and they were on a mostly empty street, in front of an apartment building with a few shops at ground level. When they looked up, though, there seemed to be something … something dark … eating away at, or maybe just bending the metal of, a balcony several stories above them.
It was an Equitis Umbria, a rather vicious variety of Shade. Sam recognized it almost immediately, but he'd certainly never destroyed one, and didn't really care to. He'd seen throughout his whole time growing up how most supernatural entities really only wreaked havoc in the lives of people who probably deserved it. Dean, though, as a Hunter, didn't really seem to get that same vibe from the supernatural or from the supposed innocents he was always trying to save. He was obviously worried about the girl on the teetering balcony above them, searching around frantically for a way to get to her or, perhaps, a way to repel the Shade. The handgun shoved in the back of Dean's jeans "for protection" wasn't going to do anything to a Shade, so for a minute, it almost looked like he was seriously considering scaling the drainpipe, which would have been heroic, though intensely stupid.
But then the balcony creaked, shifting again, and Sam had mere seconds to decide whether he would help the girl live or just let her die. He'd been in training all that morning, so his store of power was nearly drained, but he had strength enough to help if he really wanted to. He knew that she probably had some horrid secret in her past that drew the Shade to her and away from Dean, but he also knew that Dean would consider himself a failure if someone died a preventable death while he was working this case.
So as she fell, Sam's eyes followed her descent and his head inclined slowly to the left as she swung leftward, her fall eventually slowed by the fabric of an awning as she landed hard and probably injured, but certainly not dead, on the raised wooden porch of the restaurant next door. He thought it was pretty good work, actually. It had looked rather wind-like and he hadn't set her down on her feet wholly unharmed or anything, so it shouldn't arouse too many suspicions, but even so, Sam didn't really want to stick around for police questioning and whatnot.
He looked up at the broken balcony again and it seemed like the Shade had gone back into hiding for the moment. Then he looked at Dean, who was staring at him, eyes narrowed more than usual. Sam wished he could say for certain that there was nothing Dean could "detect" after he'd used his abilities, but he really didn't know how sensitive Dean's Hunter instincts were.
Thankfully, though, Dean didn't ask him any dangerous questions right then, he just motioned for Sam to head off into the side alley, which Sam did, Dean following close behind.
A few feet down the alley, though, Dean got chatty.
"You ever seen anything like that before?"
"Like what?"
"Like that black shape moving around that balcony."
"It was just some weird shadow, Dean." Sam knew he had to play it off like he didn't know anything about the supernatural, that he hadn't seen anything, and that Dean wouldn't need to explain anything. It was just easier that way.
"Yeah, you're probably right. But what about that girl's fall?"
Damnit. "What about it?"
"Falling from that height? No one lives through a freefall like that. But she somehow crashed through an awning and landed on wood and not cement or asphalt. She didn't even break the wood, which I'm guessing means that she didn't even end up landing that hard. It doesn't make any sense, ya know? Think it was a freak wind or something?"
"Maybe." Sam shrugged, continuing to walk beside and a little ahead of Dean, not looking at him, but still trying to seem more indifferent about the conversation than he felt.
There was a long pause and for a moment, Sam thought to heave a sigh of relief, thought the conversation was over. But Dean wasn't done with him.
"I don't believe that for a minute." He was probably hoping that Sam would just fess up and say he was a faerie prince or an alien or the next step in human evolution … or, of course, the obvious, something worse, something supernatural, something "evil".
"I don't understand." Sam scrunched his face up convincingly and kept walking, Dean only paces behind him.
"How'd you do that?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Keep walking.
"What are you?"
Sam scoffed, but made no move to stop. "Dean, I'm a boy. I think you established that when you checked my pants this afternoon." Just keep walking.
Behind him, Sam heard the rustle of Dean's jacket and the click-release of the safety on his handgun. "Turn around and talk to me."
Fuck. Sam turned around slowly, looking directly into Dean's eyes, before indicating the gun with a quick nod of his head. "Do you really need that?"
"I don't know. Do I?"
"Well, if what you're implying is true, couldn't I just whisk the gun away from you?"
Dean twitched, eyes widening a little, and licked his lips. "Maybe, but I always like to be prepared."
"Right. Well. What are you hoping to accomplish here? No one can control the wind, Dean. Unless you know something I don't." Sam was trying to be as innocent as would seem reasonable in this kind of situation. Especially since he wasn't sure he had enough focus right now to do much of anything beyond the mere basics with his abilities without ending up with a bleeding-from-his-ears kind of migraine. But it was hard for him to be outwardly scared about getting shot when inwardly he was cursing himself for fucking everything up just to save some random woman so he didn't have to watch Dean beat himself up over her death.
If Dean found out he was half Grigori, absolutely everything would be ruined. There was no way Dean would want to be with someone who wasn't fully human, Dean would be able to warn John about him being spied on, and, realistically, even if Dean didn't gun him down right now, he would probably end up Hunting him down, which just meant that Father would have them both killed to keep the sickness of their union from staining the stories of his lineage.
"So, what are you?"
"I'm human." Dean's finger slid tight against the trigger. He knew it was a lie. "Mostly. I'm mostly human, but yes, there are other things that are part of who I am … things that give me certain abilities. But I just used those abilities to save someone's life today, Dean. So why do you want to shoot me?"
"You lied to me."
"Oh, and you've been totally honest with me, Dean? 'Contract work,' my ass! I know what's out there and I know you think you're Hunting evil, but again, I just used my powers for the forces of good, so why don't you put the gun down. Then, maybe we can really talk."
"No, Sam. We're gonna talk just like this."
Sam shrugged. If this was the way things were going to go down, then fine. He'd just have to suck it up and hope that he could get Dean to see reason. Not like he had much choice in the matter. "Okay."
"What else are you, other than human?"
"Grigori. As in Fallen Angel."
"Fallen Angel? Are you shitting me? You can't be serious."
"It seems like an odd thing to lie about, Dean."
"The symbols on your back … I thought I recognized a few, but …" But you didn't want your boyfriend to be a badguy. I totally understand. "They were demonic, right? Fallen Angel as in kicked out of Heaven eons ago? Fallen Angel as in corrupted? As in death and destruction? As in demon?"
"Our histories have been distorted, Dean, just like every other group of people who live outside the mainstream. We're not evil. We just want humanity to have options. And we just want to protect our own."
"God! Do you believe your own bullshit? Demons are evil. Period. If you're part-demon, then you're evil. Period. And if I had my handy Latin phrasebook on me, I'd have already sent you back to hell. Christo!"
Nothing happened, of course, because holy relics and words rarely had a negative effect on Nephilim. The blend of human and demon bloodlines wasn't a literal mixing, so it wasn't as if Sam had the strengths or weaknesses of either race in accordance with some predetermined formula. Nephilim were something else entirely. "It doesn't work like that. I am, as I said, mostly human. I'm not possessed, Dean. There's nothing to exorcise out of me."
"I don't fucking care, Sam! Or whoever you are. I want answers … or this bullet goes into your head. So … what's your mission?"
"I was supposed to watch you."
"Why?"
"To find your Father."
"What?!"
"Yeah."
"I should shoot you right-the-fuck-now."
"You don't even know why I was looking for him, Dean. It's a good reason. You don't want to know?"
"Did he exorcize one of your cousins or something? Because that's not a good reason. Sorry." Even in the midst of crisis, Dean was terribly entertaining. The problem was, though, that this wasn't remotely funny.
"He killed my mother, Dean. My human mother."
"What?! She was possessed?"
"No. She was just caring for me. She didn't even know what my father was. Her only crime was wanting me to live. Your father burned her alive, like a witch at trial. In my nursery, no less."
Dean blinked at him, then laughed, bitter. "Are you trying to fuck with me? Are you the one that killed my mom?"
"Huh?" What on Earth was Dean talking about? "No, Dean. I didn't kill your mom. I didn't even know she was dead."
"You're a fucking liar. Because what you just said? About the way your mom supposedly died? That's the way my mother died. She died on fire, on the ceiling of my little brother's nursery. She died and Sammy died." He shook his head, then, and scoffed. "Sam … Sammy. Is that even your fucking name?! Have you just been fucking with me from the start?!"
"What?! No. I didn't even know about your mom, Dean. I didn't know about your brother. That is not what they told me. I thought that she left … because of the Hunting … because your dad wouldn't give it up. That's what they told me, Dean, I swear." What the fuck was going on?
"Like your word means anything, you fucking hellspawn." Dean spat the word out and it stung, somehow, because Sam knew that only sixty minutes ago, they'd been snug in each other's arms and now he was nothing to Dean, not fit to live.
"What do you want, Dean? You want me dead? Even though I just saved that girl? Why would I do that if I was evil, Dean? And I swear, you don't have to believe it, but I didn't know about your mom's death or your brother's. All I know is that your father murdered my mother when I was six months old, because he found out that she was a Guardian, someone who protects children with mixed heritage like mine, human and Grigori. She didn't even know she was a Guardian. She just knew she had a child, that she loved him, and that she needed to nurture and protect him."
"Stop saying that! Dad didn't kill anybody! Certainly not some innocent, some new mom. And when you were six months that was what, like-"
"Twenty-three years ago on the second of next month."
"What?! Can't you give me just one straight answer?"
"I just did, Dean. I'm just trying to help you understand why this is so important. Even if you kill me, it won't make the facts any different."
Dean's eyes were too bright, their sheen visible even in the mottled darkness of the alley. "I don't know what your game is, but it doesn't make any sense. Why don't you just tell me the fucking truth and we can get this all over with?"
"I. Just. Did!" It was a yell brought on by exasperation more than anger, but it didn't matter.
Dean shot, then, without warning, but not at Sam's head. He aimed down and right, the bullet grazing the outer flesh of Sam's left arm, rocking Sam back a step before his hand rose instinctively to cover the wound.
"One more time. The truth. Now."
Dean's voice was cold, void of the heat of anger or any other emotion that might make his gun arm waver. Sam knew the next shot would be fatal, even though he couldn't see where Dean was aiming. Sam was looking down at the blood seeping between his fingers as he tried to remember how to breathe. Saving the girl had taken a lot out of him. Too much. He was too slow tonight, so slow when Dean was so fast. He'd saved that girl for Dean, because that's what Dean wanted most right then. He'd wanted the girl to live.
And now he wanted Sam to die.
When he turned his eyes to meet Dean's, Sam knew they didn't have the intensity of attitude he'd like them to have had, knowing that he was telling the truth and that Dean was going to kill him anyway. But he tried to keep his voice calm, his hands steady. If he was going to die tonight, it wouldn't be as a weakling, pleading on his knees. He'd stand strong and before Dean's finger squeezed the trigger, Sam would draw up whatever power he could muster.
And he'd do his damnedest to make John the last of the Winchesters.
He spoke slowly, his words deliberate and sincere, a recounting of his father's stories, of his father's care for him and his father's hatred for the Hunter Dean called Dad. "My mother, Mary Gregory, gave birth to me on May 2, 1983, and she gave me a good Christian name, not knowing what I was - Samuel Elijah. When I was six months old, on Nov. 2, 1983, my mother was burned alive in my nursery. My father only barely made it out with me, and he didn't go back for a long time, because he thought the Hunter who had taken my mother's life would come back to end mine. Your father was that Hunter, Dean. I'm sorry if that's hard to hear, but it's just the truth."
Dean's head was cocked to the side, eyelids blinking rapidly. "Whoever told you that, must have gotten their wires crossed. My father only became a Hunter after, well after, my mother, Mary Winchester, and baby brother, Samuel Elijah Winchester died on Nov. 2, 1983, in a supernatural fire, which he later figured out was the work of a demon. Maybe one of your friends."
"What?!" Sam's brow creased. He'd heard his own origin story so many times it just seemed right and true. And he'd like to think his father told him everything and always truths. But he knew there were times when his father would keep things from him, shield him from things. Why would he put this story in his head, though, if it was a lie, when it was so like that of the family he was charged to destroy? It just made no sense.
Dean's voice had a trace amount of astonishment. "You really do believe what you're saying, don't you?"
"Yeah! That's what I've been trying to tell you! That's the story that was always told to me."
"And I have my own story. The two are way too similar to ignore. But I know mine's the truth. What about you? Are you still sure you have the story straight? That it's totally true? That no one held anything back from you?"
Sam wasn't sure. It felt like there was something heavy sinking in his stomach. "You think your father tells you everything? That there aren't any things in his past that maybe he's not proud of? Things that he doesn't want you to know?"
Dean gave a half-nod, half-shrug. "I'm sure he has some secrets, but he didn't have to invent this, Sam. I was there. And I was four, old enough to remember. I remember hearing my mother scream. I remember hearing my father run up the stairs. I remember him yelling for her and for Sammy. I remember leaving my room because it was all so loud. And I remember the heat of the fire as he carried me out and away from that house. I was there Sam and I remember. You were a baby, so you don't really know what happened, do you? You only know what you've heard, what people have told you. So tell me, Sam, these sources of yours, are they … good people? Do you think they're trustworthy? Would they feed you bullshit if it worked for their agenda?"
He felt sick to his stomach, deeply ill. He wasn't sure if it was more from bloodloss or from starting to think that maybe … maybe Dean was right, that maybe he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. He just really wasn't sure of anything anymore. "I don't know, Dean. I mean … why would they tell me this lie? This way? It doesn't make any sense for them to lie about this. Not really. I mean … I don't think."
"If my mother was your mother, that might explain why they'd want to keep the truth from you, wouldn't it? If you were my brother, that might explain why they wouldn't want you to know. Might make your mission a little more difficult, right?"
"You and me? Brothers? No."
"No? How do you know, Sam? How do you even know that you're part-demon? How can you trust anything they've ever said to you?"
So he might not know for sure how his mom died, but he was Grigori. It wasn't something anyone could really fake or just explain away. "I can feel it, Dean. I can feel it in me. And you could feel it too. I'm pretty sure that's why you started pointing that gun at me in the first place."
"Well, fine. So maybe you're one of them. That doesn't mean that maybe you're not also one of us, Sam."
"No? You're telling me I've been fucking my brother for the past half year?" Both of them? He shivered, suddenly cold.
"I don't know, but … the stories just overlap too much. There's too much that's the same about this, too much that's a setup, maybe for both of us. Maybe they want us to kill each other. I don't know, Sam. But if there's a chance … a chance that you're him … that you're our Sammy … don't you want to find out?"
"You're crazy. I can't be. That wouldn't make any sense."
"Oh, and all the dates? And all the names? They just happen to all be the same, Sam?! That makes sense?!"
"I don't know, Dean, but-"
"What have they ever given you that was good? That was more than head games, more than cutting you up, more than beating you down … more than rape?"
Sam looked down and away from Dean, and he could feel his breath pushing in and out of his lungs faster than it had only a moment before.
"Nothing, Sam! They've given you nothing but pain, a lifetime of pain. Why not a lifetime of lies? Why not use you as a weapon against the family who could give you more than that, who would give you more than that? They've used you anyway, haven't they? Every month, every year, since you were old enough to stand it, right? They've used you every other way, why not this one? And if you failed? If you died? Would they miss you? Would they care?"
His stomach was threatening to do a serious flip, then, his throat felt raw, and the ache in his chest was beginning to rival the press of cotton seemingly stuffed into his head. He looked up, though, slowly, his voice broken, but his words deliberate.
"If what I am is true, though, would you? Would you care if I died, Dean? Or would you just be in line, waiting for your shot, just like everyone else?"
He watched Dean's jaw tighten, letting the silence hang between them, and he might as well have said his "no" out loud, might as well have given his "if you're part-demon, you're evil" speech again, might as well have pulled the fucking trigger again, aimed a little higher and slightly to the left.
Sam tugged at the bit of power he could reach and felt it rush upward, but it made his head explode with pain, and his stomach flipped for real. He brought his hand up to his mouth to stem the tide of sickness, but there was blood there and the stink of it made him gag and he doubled over, shaking, and threw up allover the concrete.
Even through the throbbing behind his eyes and the repeated rip of his stomach up and out, Sam could hear the quick taps of Dean's footsteps approaching and he closed his eyes, hoping it would be over fast. The gun clicked near his ear and he wondered, perversely if his death would be messy, if Dean would have to burn those clothes when he was through. But instead of the cool metal of a gun against the back of his head, Sam felt the warmth of Dean's hand stroking over his back, calming, in big slow circles, until he stopped heaving, stopped shaking.
Sam was still too drained and unsteady to lift his head just yet, but he heard it, because he was meant to, even if it was only a whisper.
"I'd care, Sammy. I would."
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12
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Author: eboniorchid
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Chapter 6: I Find You and Lose Myself
[088.Shocked]
Before Sam knew it, several months had gone by and they'd settled into as much of a routine as was feasible, considering Dean's work and Sam's family drama. Everything was going along surprisingly well, under the circumstances, a few miscommunications, some close calls, the occasional argument, nothing really huge.
But then, Dean's work followed him home one night. Or, really, it just followed him … around … one night. And then decided to wander off to bother people, a situation for which Dean just wasn't really prepared. He'd just basically told Sam to stay with him and that he'd explain later. Theoretically, Dean could probably explain this whole situation without reference to the supernatural. But Sam was curious to see whether or not Dean would tell him the truth, come clean and all that.
It was just past nine o'clock and they were on a mostly empty street, in front of an apartment building with a few shops at ground level. When they looked up, though, there seemed to be something … something dark … eating away at, or maybe just bending the metal of, a balcony several stories above them.
It was an Equitis Umbria, a rather vicious variety of Shade. Sam recognized it almost immediately, but he'd certainly never destroyed one, and didn't really care to. He'd seen throughout his whole time growing up how most supernatural entities really only wreaked havoc in the lives of people who probably deserved it. Dean, though, as a Hunter, didn't really seem to get that same vibe from the supernatural or from the supposed innocents he was always trying to save. He was obviously worried about the girl on the teetering balcony above them, searching around frantically for a way to get to her or, perhaps, a way to repel the Shade. The handgun shoved in the back of Dean's jeans "for protection" wasn't going to do anything to a Shade, so for a minute, it almost looked like he was seriously considering scaling the drainpipe, which would have been heroic, though intensely stupid.
But then the balcony creaked, shifting again, and Sam had mere seconds to decide whether he would help the girl live or just let her die. He'd been in training all that morning, so his store of power was nearly drained, but he had strength enough to help if he really wanted to. He knew that she probably had some horrid secret in her past that drew the Shade to her and away from Dean, but he also knew that Dean would consider himself a failure if someone died a preventable death while he was working this case.
So as she fell, Sam's eyes followed her descent and his head inclined slowly to the left as she swung leftward, her fall eventually slowed by the fabric of an awning as she landed hard and probably injured, but certainly not dead, on the raised wooden porch of the restaurant next door. He thought it was pretty good work, actually. It had looked rather wind-like and he hadn't set her down on her feet wholly unharmed or anything, so it shouldn't arouse too many suspicions, but even so, Sam didn't really want to stick around for police questioning and whatnot.
He looked up at the broken balcony again and it seemed like the Shade had gone back into hiding for the moment. Then he looked at Dean, who was staring at him, eyes narrowed more than usual. Sam wished he could say for certain that there was nothing Dean could "detect" after he'd used his abilities, but he really didn't know how sensitive Dean's Hunter instincts were.
Thankfully, though, Dean didn't ask him any dangerous questions right then, he just motioned for Sam to head off into the side alley, which Sam did, Dean following close behind.
A few feet down the alley, though, Dean got chatty.
"You ever seen anything like that before?"
"Like what?"
"Like that black shape moving around that balcony."
"It was just some weird shadow, Dean." Sam knew he had to play it off like he didn't know anything about the supernatural, that he hadn't seen anything, and that Dean wouldn't need to explain anything. It was just easier that way.
"Yeah, you're probably right. But what about that girl's fall?"
Damnit. "What about it?"
"Falling from that height? No one lives through a freefall like that. But she somehow crashed through an awning and landed on wood and not cement or asphalt. She didn't even break the wood, which I'm guessing means that she didn't even end up landing that hard. It doesn't make any sense, ya know? Think it was a freak wind or something?"
"Maybe." Sam shrugged, continuing to walk beside and a little ahead of Dean, not looking at him, but still trying to seem more indifferent about the conversation than he felt.
There was a long pause and for a moment, Sam thought to heave a sigh of relief, thought the conversation was over. But Dean wasn't done with him.
"I don't believe that for a minute." He was probably hoping that Sam would just fess up and say he was a faerie prince or an alien or the next step in human evolution … or, of course, the obvious, something worse, something supernatural, something "evil".
"I don't understand." Sam scrunched his face up convincingly and kept walking, Dean only paces behind him.
"How'd you do that?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Keep walking.
"What are you?"
Sam scoffed, but made no move to stop. "Dean, I'm a boy. I think you established that when you checked my pants this afternoon." Just keep walking.
Behind him, Sam heard the rustle of Dean's jacket and the click-release of the safety on his handgun. "Turn around and talk to me."
Fuck. Sam turned around slowly, looking directly into Dean's eyes, before indicating the gun with a quick nod of his head. "Do you really need that?"
"I don't know. Do I?"
"Well, if what you're implying is true, couldn't I just whisk the gun away from you?"
Dean twitched, eyes widening a little, and licked his lips. "Maybe, but I always like to be prepared."
"Right. Well. What are you hoping to accomplish here? No one can control the wind, Dean. Unless you know something I don't." Sam was trying to be as innocent as would seem reasonable in this kind of situation. Especially since he wasn't sure he had enough focus right now to do much of anything beyond the mere basics with his abilities without ending up with a bleeding-from-his-ears kind of migraine. But it was hard for him to be outwardly scared about getting shot when inwardly he was cursing himself for fucking everything up just to save some random woman so he didn't have to watch Dean beat himself up over her death.
If Dean found out he was half Grigori, absolutely everything would be ruined. There was no way Dean would want to be with someone who wasn't fully human, Dean would be able to warn John about him being spied on, and, realistically, even if Dean didn't gun him down right now, he would probably end up Hunting him down, which just meant that Father would have them both killed to keep the sickness of their union from staining the stories of his lineage.
"So, what are you?"
"I'm human." Dean's finger slid tight against the trigger. He knew it was a lie. "Mostly. I'm mostly human, but yes, there are other things that are part of who I am … things that give me certain abilities. But I just used those abilities to save someone's life today, Dean. So why do you want to shoot me?"
"You lied to me."
"Oh, and you've been totally honest with me, Dean? 'Contract work,' my ass! I know what's out there and I know you think you're Hunting evil, but again, I just used my powers for the forces of good, so why don't you put the gun down. Then, maybe we can really talk."
"No, Sam. We're gonna talk just like this."
Sam shrugged. If this was the way things were going to go down, then fine. He'd just have to suck it up and hope that he could get Dean to see reason. Not like he had much choice in the matter. "Okay."
"What else are you, other than human?"
"Grigori. As in Fallen Angel."
"Fallen Angel? Are you shitting me? You can't be serious."
"It seems like an odd thing to lie about, Dean."
"The symbols on your back … I thought I recognized a few, but …" But you didn't want your boyfriend to be a badguy. I totally understand. "They were demonic, right? Fallen Angel as in kicked out of Heaven eons ago? Fallen Angel as in corrupted? As in death and destruction? As in demon?"
"Our histories have been distorted, Dean, just like every other group of people who live outside the mainstream. We're not evil. We just want humanity to have options. And we just want to protect our own."
"God! Do you believe your own bullshit? Demons are evil. Period. If you're part-demon, then you're evil. Period. And if I had my handy Latin phrasebook on me, I'd have already sent you back to hell. Christo!"
Nothing happened, of course, because holy relics and words rarely had a negative effect on Nephilim. The blend of human and demon bloodlines wasn't a literal mixing, so it wasn't as if Sam had the strengths or weaknesses of either race in accordance with some predetermined formula. Nephilim were something else entirely. "It doesn't work like that. I am, as I said, mostly human. I'm not possessed, Dean. There's nothing to exorcise out of me."
"I don't fucking care, Sam! Or whoever you are. I want answers … or this bullet goes into your head. So … what's your mission?"
"I was supposed to watch you."
"Why?"
"To find your Father."
"What?!"
"Yeah."
"I should shoot you right-the-fuck-now."
"You don't even know why I was looking for him, Dean. It's a good reason. You don't want to know?"
"Did he exorcize one of your cousins or something? Because that's not a good reason. Sorry." Even in the midst of crisis, Dean was terribly entertaining. The problem was, though, that this wasn't remotely funny.
"He killed my mother, Dean. My human mother."
"What?! She was possessed?"
"No. She was just caring for me. She didn't even know what my father was. Her only crime was wanting me to live. Your father burned her alive, like a witch at trial. In my nursery, no less."
Dean blinked at him, then laughed, bitter. "Are you trying to fuck with me? Are you the one that killed my mom?"
"Huh?" What on Earth was Dean talking about? "No, Dean. I didn't kill your mom. I didn't even know she was dead."
"You're a fucking liar. Because what you just said? About the way your mom supposedly died? That's the way my mother died. She died on fire, on the ceiling of my little brother's nursery. She died and Sammy died." He shook his head, then, and scoffed. "Sam … Sammy. Is that even your fucking name?! Have you just been fucking with me from the start?!"
"What?! No. I didn't even know about your mom, Dean. I didn't know about your brother. That is not what they told me. I thought that she left … because of the Hunting … because your dad wouldn't give it up. That's what they told me, Dean, I swear." What the fuck was going on?
"Like your word means anything, you fucking hellspawn." Dean spat the word out and it stung, somehow, because Sam knew that only sixty minutes ago, they'd been snug in each other's arms and now he was nothing to Dean, not fit to live.
"What do you want, Dean? You want me dead? Even though I just saved that girl? Why would I do that if I was evil, Dean? And I swear, you don't have to believe it, but I didn't know about your mom's death or your brother's. All I know is that your father murdered my mother when I was six months old, because he found out that she was a Guardian, someone who protects children with mixed heritage like mine, human and Grigori. She didn't even know she was a Guardian. She just knew she had a child, that she loved him, and that she needed to nurture and protect him."
"Stop saying that! Dad didn't kill anybody! Certainly not some innocent, some new mom. And when you were six months that was what, like-"
"Twenty-three years ago on the second of next month."
"What?! Can't you give me just one straight answer?"
"I just did, Dean. I'm just trying to help you understand why this is so important. Even if you kill me, it won't make the facts any different."
Dean's eyes were too bright, their sheen visible even in the mottled darkness of the alley. "I don't know what your game is, but it doesn't make any sense. Why don't you just tell me the fucking truth and we can get this all over with?"
"I. Just. Did!" It was a yell brought on by exasperation more than anger, but it didn't matter.
Dean shot, then, without warning, but not at Sam's head. He aimed down and right, the bullet grazing the outer flesh of Sam's left arm, rocking Sam back a step before his hand rose instinctively to cover the wound.
"One more time. The truth. Now."
Dean's voice was cold, void of the heat of anger or any other emotion that might make his gun arm waver. Sam knew the next shot would be fatal, even though he couldn't see where Dean was aiming. Sam was looking down at the blood seeping between his fingers as he tried to remember how to breathe. Saving the girl had taken a lot out of him. Too much. He was too slow tonight, so slow when Dean was so fast. He'd saved that girl for Dean, because that's what Dean wanted most right then. He'd wanted the girl to live.
And now he wanted Sam to die.
When he turned his eyes to meet Dean's, Sam knew they didn't have the intensity of attitude he'd like them to have had, knowing that he was telling the truth and that Dean was going to kill him anyway. But he tried to keep his voice calm, his hands steady. If he was going to die tonight, it wouldn't be as a weakling, pleading on his knees. He'd stand strong and before Dean's finger squeezed the trigger, Sam would draw up whatever power he could muster.
And he'd do his damnedest to make John the last of the Winchesters.
He spoke slowly, his words deliberate and sincere, a recounting of his father's stories, of his father's care for him and his father's hatred for the Hunter Dean called Dad. "My mother, Mary Gregory, gave birth to me on May 2, 1983, and she gave me a good Christian name, not knowing what I was - Samuel Elijah. When I was six months old, on Nov. 2, 1983, my mother was burned alive in my nursery. My father only barely made it out with me, and he didn't go back for a long time, because he thought the Hunter who had taken my mother's life would come back to end mine. Your father was that Hunter, Dean. I'm sorry if that's hard to hear, but it's just the truth."
Dean's head was cocked to the side, eyelids blinking rapidly. "Whoever told you that, must have gotten their wires crossed. My father only became a Hunter after, well after, my mother, Mary Winchester, and baby brother, Samuel Elijah Winchester died on Nov. 2, 1983, in a supernatural fire, which he later figured out was the work of a demon. Maybe one of your friends."
"What?!" Sam's brow creased. He'd heard his own origin story so many times it just seemed right and true. And he'd like to think his father told him everything and always truths. But he knew there were times when his father would keep things from him, shield him from things. Why would he put this story in his head, though, if it was a lie, when it was so like that of the family he was charged to destroy? It just made no sense.
Dean's voice had a trace amount of astonishment. "You really do believe what you're saying, don't you?"
"Yeah! That's what I've been trying to tell you! That's the story that was always told to me."
"And I have my own story. The two are way too similar to ignore. But I know mine's the truth. What about you? Are you still sure you have the story straight? That it's totally true? That no one held anything back from you?"
Sam wasn't sure. It felt like there was something heavy sinking in his stomach. "You think your father tells you everything? That there aren't any things in his past that maybe he's not proud of? Things that he doesn't want you to know?"
Dean gave a half-nod, half-shrug. "I'm sure he has some secrets, but he didn't have to invent this, Sam. I was there. And I was four, old enough to remember. I remember hearing my mother scream. I remember hearing my father run up the stairs. I remember him yelling for her and for Sammy. I remember leaving my room because it was all so loud. And I remember the heat of the fire as he carried me out and away from that house. I was there Sam and I remember. You were a baby, so you don't really know what happened, do you? You only know what you've heard, what people have told you. So tell me, Sam, these sources of yours, are they … good people? Do you think they're trustworthy? Would they feed you bullshit if it worked for their agenda?"
He felt sick to his stomach, deeply ill. He wasn't sure if it was more from bloodloss or from starting to think that maybe … maybe Dean was right, that maybe he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about. He just really wasn't sure of anything anymore. "I don't know, Dean. I mean … why would they tell me this lie? This way? It doesn't make any sense for them to lie about this. Not really. I mean … I don't think."
"If my mother was your mother, that might explain why they'd want to keep the truth from you, wouldn't it? If you were my brother, that might explain why they wouldn't want you to know. Might make your mission a little more difficult, right?"
"You and me? Brothers? No."
"No? How do you know, Sam? How do you even know that you're part-demon? How can you trust anything they've ever said to you?"
So he might not know for sure how his mom died, but he was Grigori. It wasn't something anyone could really fake or just explain away. "I can feel it, Dean. I can feel it in me. And you could feel it too. I'm pretty sure that's why you started pointing that gun at me in the first place."
"Well, fine. So maybe you're one of them. That doesn't mean that maybe you're not also one of us, Sam."
"No? You're telling me I've been fucking my brother for the past half year?" Both of them? He shivered, suddenly cold.
"I don't know, but … the stories just overlap too much. There's too much that's the same about this, too much that's a setup, maybe for both of us. Maybe they want us to kill each other. I don't know, Sam. But if there's a chance … a chance that you're him … that you're our Sammy … don't you want to find out?"
"You're crazy. I can't be. That wouldn't make any sense."
"Oh, and all the dates? And all the names? They just happen to all be the same, Sam?! That makes sense?!"
"I don't know, Dean, but-"
"What have they ever given you that was good? That was more than head games, more than cutting you up, more than beating you down … more than rape?"
Sam looked down and away from Dean, and he could feel his breath pushing in and out of his lungs faster than it had only a moment before.
"Nothing, Sam! They've given you nothing but pain, a lifetime of pain. Why not a lifetime of lies? Why not use you as a weapon against the family who could give you more than that, who would give you more than that? They've used you anyway, haven't they? Every month, every year, since you were old enough to stand it, right? They've used you every other way, why not this one? And if you failed? If you died? Would they miss you? Would they care?"
His stomach was threatening to do a serious flip, then, his throat felt raw, and the ache in his chest was beginning to rival the press of cotton seemingly stuffed into his head. He looked up, though, slowly, his voice broken, but his words deliberate.
"If what I am is true, though, would you? Would you care if I died, Dean? Or would you just be in line, waiting for your shot, just like everyone else?"
He watched Dean's jaw tighten, letting the silence hang between them, and he might as well have said his "no" out loud, might as well have given his "if you're part-demon, you're evil" speech again, might as well have pulled the fucking trigger again, aimed a little higher and slightly to the left.
Sam tugged at the bit of power he could reach and felt it rush upward, but it made his head explode with pain, and his stomach flipped for real. He brought his hand up to his mouth to stem the tide of sickness, but there was blood there and the stink of it made him gag and he doubled over, shaking, and threw up allover the concrete.
Even through the throbbing behind his eyes and the repeated rip of his stomach up and out, Sam could hear the quick taps of Dean's footsteps approaching and he closed his eyes, hoping it would be over fast. The gun clicked near his ear and he wondered, perversely if his death would be messy, if Dean would have to burn those clothes when he was through. But instead of the cool metal of a gun against the back of his head, Sam felt the warmth of Dean's hand stroking over his back, calming, in big slow circles, until he stopped heaving, stopped shaking.
Sam was still too drained and unsteady to lift his head just yet, but he heard it, because he was meant to, even if it was only a whisper.
"I'd care, Sammy. I would."
Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12
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