I hold my breath (I pray thee not hear) - Mirathehera (2024)

Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Blackened sky Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 2: A pace of a lucid dream Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 3: At the divide Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 4: Your secrets keep you safe (your lies keep you alive) Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 5: Walking with eyes blind Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 6: Wake up (I am still yours) Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 7: A picture of me (without you) Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 8: I'll turn out the lights tonight Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 9: Close my eyes, and dream of you and I Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 10: You cry out to the sky Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 11: Nights long alone Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 12: The outcome of a revolution born to consume it's own Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 13: You are my home Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 14: Love brings you home Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 15: Hold my heart (when it still beats) Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 16: Don't let me go Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 17: Wine stains hide the tears Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 18: Step to the end Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 19: All for you Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 20: An hour for the wistful Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 21: The scratching grows so loud Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 22: Become the man you'll never know Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 23: Not enough Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Chapter 24: It's far from over Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 25: Come to a stand Summary: Chapter Text Chapter 26: The shadow you fear Summary: Chapter Text Chapter 27: A sense of family Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 28: Reminder of the watchers Summary: Chapter Text Chapter 29: Bound to take a life Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 30: A snowflake melts as quick as flesh Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 31: A way out Summary: Chapter Text Chapter 32: No time to die Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 33: Forever love Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 34: Demon King I Summary: Chapter Text Chapter 35: Demon King II Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 36: Demon King III Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes: Chapter 37: Nothing else matters Summary: Notes: Chapter Text Notes:

Chapter 1: Blackened sky

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"What a fucking dump."

"Dean." John chastised, but didn't disagree. After dropping his duffel by the door, Dean ventured further inside the small apartment. The small kitchenette had old cabinets with cracked paint, an oven which looked older than John, and something dark and sticky on the handle. The sink probably had been a silvery color, but now it was covered in rust. Dean turned it on, and a cracking rumble came from the pipes, causing him to quickly shut it off.

There were two doors, one presumably to the bedroom, other to the bathroom. A mattress which seemed to work as a couch was placed in the middle of the room, and on a small wooden couch table was a cracked TV. There were stains on the wallpaper, water stains or something else, Sam didn't want to imagine.

"No, but seriously Dad, this is a new low." Dean turned around, and Sam looked over to John, who didn't say anything, eyes locked with the old watch around his wrist. The Impala was rumbling outside, and it didn't seem that Dad was going to stay long.

"I'll be back in a week. Keep your heads down, boys, you're here just to wait, nothing more." An order, and John turned back to the door, Sam moving towards the kitchen, placing his duffel down by Dean's. He didn't register Dean's 'yes sir', but eyed what would be their home for a week or longer, since Dad's schedules seemed to always stretch 'a little longer'. Sam knew by the age of six not to expect his father back when he said he should be. He'd only be disappointed.

"Sam?" He hums, turning to face Dad, who hasn't left. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows risen, jaw locked.

"Oh, sorry. Yes sir." He says, monotone, and turns back around. He can see Dean eye him, but doesn't pay it attention, but starts to unpack his duffel, taking out their food supplies. He can hear his Dad sigh, but soon the door closes without goodbye, and he relaxes.

Dad's gone, he doesn't have a headache, and he's alone with Dean. Maybe this week won't be shitty.

"You know, Dad isn't asking you much. I know you gotta lot on your mind, but he just wants you to respect him." Cross that, this won't be a great week.

Sam sighs, already so done with the conversation. Yes, he's pissy, like Dean always remembers to remind him, but he's also tired and anxious. Usually with Dean time goes quickly and it's usually quite fun, except for when the older tries to solve the issue between Sam and John. He's become too tired of his dad to even care much anymore.

"And I just want him to listen to me for once. Just, drop it Dean, I'm tired and not in the mood." He says, stuffing the three convenience food packages he has into the cabinets, cringing at the way the handle jiggles, almost falling off. This place really isn't very great, but it could be worse. He hears Dean sigh, but gladly he drops it, moving over to start unpacking his own duffel. Leaving the rest of their shared food into the kitchen, Sam leaves to find the bedroom, which as he guessed was the door on the right.

It's a small room, a double bed, which great, he's sharing with Dean, who snores and hogs all the damn blankets. The frame seems intact after a quick check, and the mattress seems decent enough, not filled with holes or any other weird shit they've seen on the road. He digs into his duffel, rolling his shoulders, trying to get rid of the tension. He doesn't need any more encouragement for his headaches.

He's gotten better at it, has some kind of knowledge what feeling means what, and what type of headache means a vision, and what type means something bad happening soon.

It's partly the reason for the growing rift between him and John. As well as with Dean, who he's always shared everything with, and likewise. The older man thinks he's just being a teenager, but he's suspicious, and Sam can't fool him. He knows that Dean suspects he's hiding something from him.

What is he supposed to say?

“Hey Dean, so you know the headaches? Yeah, they're kind of because of my psychic powers, that came out of nowhere, oh and yeah, I get visions from the future, and can move things with my mind. Wanna go to movies?”

Hell no.

He hears the shower turn on, and shortly after, there's a yell of triumph.

"Sammy! We got hot water!" He huffs, because of course Dean finds something positive immediately. Guess it's always been like that. He finds something good to focus his own and Sam's attention on, aside from the fact their dad is pretty much abandoning them every chance he gets, and if not, then he's dragging them into life threatening situations.

It's a sensitive topic for him, now more than ever probably. It's the family business, hunting things, saving people. Killing monsters and all that shit. So with his new powers, or whatever you wanna call them, Sam's started to question the line between a monster and a human. Which one is he, huh? He's human, but he has visions of the future, can move things with his mind, and he's quite sure he can sense spirits, at some level. Proven by a couple of their previous hunts, where Sam's been able to sense the ghost coming before it appears, and somehow figure out what thing they're tied to, if he's close to the object.

A part of him is afraid, okay, a big part of him is afraid. He's afraid of the powers, the curse, or whatever it is. He's afraid of what Dean will think, and what John will do. Will he not hesitate, and behead Sam the way he's seen his father behead things that could be considered close to human? Will Dean follow him without a second thought?

He swallows the lump in his throat, and rubs his forehead. He should probably go join Dean, before the older grows suspicious. He'll test his powers again later this week, and hopefully he'll see some improvement with how tough his headaches are. Training should make them easier, Sam thinks logically. On the other hand, he doesn't know what applies to him anymore, and what doesn't.

°°°

It's warm, the first thing Sam acknowledges. He shifts on the mattress, and blinks his eyes slowly open. He stares at the ceiling, feeling a yawn break through. It's still dark out, and Sam briefly wonders what woke him. He moves to sit up, but the hand thrown over him stops him quickly. He recognizes Dean basically flush against his side, the older's whole arm thrown across Sam's chest. A warm feeling blossoms in his chest, and Sam smiles briefly. He does love his brother, which is why hiding something this big from him is so damn hard sometimes.

His eyebrows furrow, and he turns his attention to the weird feeling in his head. It doesn't take him long to recognize it, and he fights to get quickly out of bed without waking Dean up. He rushes into the bathroom, and locks the door behind him. The pulsing behind his eyes grows stronger, and Sam almost feels like crying, the pain coming quick and out of nowhere. He grips the edges of the sink, trying to breathe as he bites into his cheek to avoid making any sound.

The pain intensifies, and Sam doubles over, squeezing his eyes shut so hard it hurts. Just get it over with, please just get it over with-

It stops like slamming into a wall, and Sam tries to prepare, but fails. The images start appearing, flashes almost too quick to capture.

He's standing in the middle of a clearing, the woods surround him. He breathes, and turns around. Behind him he sees a figure, standing by the treeline. The scenario changes before he can see the figure better-

"Can you go check I didn't leave the keys in the car, Sammy?" Dean's voice, and Sam feels himself nod, and feel the outside air against him. A screech of tires, pain everywhere, and it goes black-

Sam gasps, leaning his head against the cool tile, trying to breathe. It's over, it's over, just breathe. Deep breaths, it's over. He can feel a trickle slide over his lip, and knows it's blood, but doesn't have the energy to care. He breathes, keeping his mind on hold, as the pulsing headache lessens, and he can slowly open his eyes.

The light blinds him slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut again as his head pulses dangerously. He hears something creak outside the door, and knows before the knock hits the door, that Dean's awake, for God knows what reason.

"Sammy? Y'alright?" He sounds tired, not properly awake yet, so he had probably woken up on his own, instead of being woken by some sound Sam could've made during the vision. He swallows, the taste of blood too familiar in his mouth, and straightens up, tilting his head back as he reaches to the side, clicking the door open. It creaks open, and Sam hears Dean softly curse. Dean squeezes between him and the counter, one hand comfortably on his neck, as the other tilts his head back even more. Dean replaces his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The hand on his neck rubs gently, carefully, and Sam wants to see Dean's expression, but doesn't dare to open his eyes. He doesn't want to worry his brother, who's supposed to work some little jobs during the week, which he won't do if he thinks something is wrong with Sam.

"Another headache?" Dean asks, quiet and rumbly, and Sam hums, not wanting to move his head at all from where it rests against the cold tiles. Dean doesn't say anything, but the hand on his neck tenses a bit, and Sam knows Dean's displeased and worried even before he opens his eyes.

Dean's forehead is furrowed, his eyes narrowed and lips pinched into a thin line, and it takes him a while to notice Sam watching him. The expression smooths out, and with his other hand Dean grabs some toilet paper, dabbing underneath Sam's nose and over his lips, taking some of the blood away.

"Hey, eyes closed. Don't want to make your headache any worse. I think your nosebleed is ending, you wanna go grab some pills, a cold rag, and get back under the covers?" Sam can't help it, he smiles a little bit, despite the pain. What would he do without his brother?

"Sure, rag's in my duffel somewhere." He says, taking over pinching his nose, and cleaning some of the blood off. Dean huffs, "No it isn't. It's in mine, since you almost forgot it before we left. I'll be right back."

Sam sighs, and thinks about his vision. It doesn't seem to threaten Dad's life, which is a relief, because getting Dad to stop in the middle of a hunt is harder than getting Dean to let him pick the music. It also doesn't seem to threaten Dean's life, which is an even bigger relief, even if it would be easier to avoid. So that leaves him in the danger zone, since there was no one else in his dream other than him and Dean.

But who was the figure in the clearing?

The sink by him turns on, and Sam flinches, not realizing Dean had come back. A hand rubs his arm, a quiet apology for scaring him, and Sam huffs. He should've heard him, hunter and all, no matter what state he's in. Maybe John's right, he should pay more attention. A hand grabs his, and Sam opens his eyes enough to see Dean, who has a glass in his other hand, and his pill bottle in the other.

"Thanks." He mumbles quietly, hands shaking as he takes the pills from the bottle, quickly taking the glass and swallowing them down. He hands the glass back to Dean, who places it on the counter.

"C'mon, let's go to bed." Dean yawns quietly, and Sam's reminded of waking up his brother. Dean needs his sleep, but Sam doesn't know why the older one wakes up, even if he doesn't make a sound.

"Don't feel bad, it's my Sammy-instict, you can't help it. Now get in the bed, and let me know if you need to throw up." Sam huffs. Sometimes he can get annoyed by how well Dean knows him, but at times like these, it's very useful. Makes it a lot easier. Makes everything a lot easier, in fact.

The covers are pulled back, and Sam climbs in, careful not to bang his head on the bedframe. He wraps the covers around him, and stays still as Dean places the cold rag on his forehead. Instantly, he feels a lot better, and he melts into the mattress. The pain isn't as bad, and Sam knows that it'll be mostly gone in the morning.

The mattress beside him dips, and Dean slides into the little tight burrito Sam's made around himself, his body radiating warmth that's quick to start lulling Sam to sleep. The arm returns to rest across his chest, and Sam doesn't mind it all. Even better, careful fingers start rubbing his scalp, an effective method to get Sam to sleep, which he also doesn't mind. Sleep sounds good right now.

"Get some sleep. Don't got school or anything tomorrow, I'll wake you up if you sleep too late." Dean says in a hushed tone, and Sam feels guilt bloom in the bottom of his stomach. He turns his head a bit, to where he knows Dean is, and the side of his head quickly touches Dean's chest. He sighs, relaxing.

"Thanks." He mumbles one last time, letting sleep pull him under. The fingers in his hair carry on, and the arm around him tightens, bringing him closer to Dean.

"Anytime, little brother." Sam slips off into sleep, and his last thought is,

He's grateful to have Dean, even if he'll lose him in the end.

Notes:

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters, or anything about Supernatural, and I make no profit of this.

Chapter 2: A pace of a lucid dream

Summary:

Carry me home there's no sorrow down in the ground
Carry me home don't you weep for I am freedom bound
Lay down my bones there is peace within the light I've found
Release my soul, carry me home

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sam stretched, feeling his shoulder quietly pop. He was comfortable, under the blankets, half asleep. He had no reason to get up, so he stayed in bed, and waited for Dean to drag him up, when needed.

He hadn't had any dreams, proper ones anyway, his headache was gone, leaving behind only a distant kink in his neck. The spot beside him was still warm, and Sam contently rolled over to his stomach, burying himself in Dean's pillow.

This was good.

He must have dozed back off, and returned to reality slowly after the mattress beside him dipped. He shifted, opening his other eye. It was Dean, of course, dressed in his favourite band shirt, and some sweatpants, grinning down at him. A hand rubbed his back, and Sam groaned, trying to get himself to get up. He didn't want to get up, but he probably should. Wouldn't want John to lecture Dean about letting him off the hook for early wake-up calls.

"Mornin, Sammy. Headache gone?" Dean asked, and Sam hummed, yawning into the pillow before he started to get up. Dean moved off the bed, giving him space to stretch.

"I made breakfast already, so come and get it when you're ready." Sam nodded happily, and Dean huffed, smiling, and left. Sam didn't bother changing out of his sleeping clothes, he could do that later. He felt good, which was surprising after having a vision like 5 hours ago. Maybe it had something to do with Dean, the older always made him feel better, no matter how sick or injured he was.

He followed after Dean, getting quickly reminded by their current living situation. He could see Dean had done some little jobs there and there, to make it look a little better, but it was still the same shithole it was yesterday when John left them. Dean was leaning against the counter, eating, and Sam didn't want to break their good moods by asking after Dad, even if he knew there would be nothing to tell. John was like that, he told you things when he wanted to, no matter was it in the middle of a hunt, or not. One of the things they had fought about. Sam liked knowing things before throwing himself and Dean into danger, so important details in his mind should be told before, but John did everything in his way.

"Made you a sandwich." Dean said, cutting his thought process. He tilted his head towards the small table, and Sam noticed the sandwich, quickly moving to pick it up. He was hungry, and happily started munching on it.

"Thanks, Dean."

"Just some bread and butter, nothing fancy. Whatdya wanna do today?" Dean asked, and Sam pondered. On the other hand, this would be the perfect opportunity to have some missed little-big-brother time, but he had no idea when his vision could be happening. Anywhere from under 24 hours to a few weeks. Damn brilliant powers, can't even tell when something is happening.

"Could go pick up some stuff from the store, we're running short on food packets." Dean nodded, and they continued to eat in silence. Sam eyed the room, and could feel Dean watching him, as usual. He had grown a little more alert about it, since Dean watching him carefully could lead to him seeing something weird. Not that Sam would ever risk using his powers willingly in front of anyone, especially Dean or Dad.

"I could go get some meds, the painkillers are starting to run out. Dad said to get some bandages anyway. Do you know when the stores close?" Sam felt a jab of guilt, for needing to use their limited stash of painkillers, and Dean must've noticed it on his face.

"Painkillers are for killing the pain, Sam, you know that. That's the point of us having them." Sam nodded, eyeing the floor for a second. Dean was frowning, he knew it, and quickly his plate hit the counter, and the older was walking over to him. Bumping their shoulders together gently, "We'll figure out what your headaches are about, don't worry."

Sam wanted to huff, because he knew what his headaches were about. He opened his mouth to say something, but after glancing at Dean he couldn't. The older was worried, he knew that, but he could see that Dean was tired too. Tired of having to watch out for Sam, and he was probably loosing sleep over this headache shit. It wasn't fair. Dean wasn't supposed to look that tired. He was supposed to be going out, partying and hooking up with girls, not having to keep an eye on Sam. But he knew Dean wouldn't leave him if he thought something was wrong.

But how could he make it seem okay, when he can't control the way his head seems to explode, and the blood pouring out basically from everywhere.

He couldn't.

Gone was the good mood, and Sam wrapped his arms around himself.

"I think the store with all the painkillers and stuff closes around one, so maybe if you go get them, and then we'll go shop for food later? I think I got couple bucks left somewhere." He forced himself to meet Dean's eyes, tired eyes. Had he lost weight? His cheekbones seemed to pop out more. He's been eating, hasn't he? They haven't been that short on money for a while.

"Sure, you got anything you wanna eat on mind?" Sam shrugged, biting out a smile, and Dean seemed to believe it, even if relucantly. The older stayed for a while, and Sam started to feel himself weaver under Dean's stare, but then with a pat on Sam's shoulder, Dean left him alone.

He grabbed his jacket, and the keys from the table before doing one look over of Sam. Sam chuckled, wanting to distract him, "Go on, before it closes. I'm gonna go change, and figure out what we're going to eat."

Dean swallowed it, and with a quick bye, he left, the Impala's rumbling starting soon enough. Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. He should probably let Dean cut it. Walking to the bedroom, he pulled a dark leather notebook out of his duffel, hidden under all of his stuff, and flicked it open.

He scrolled through the pages, stopping at a clean one. Grabbing a pencil, he started writing.

-Bayport, Minnesota

Another v. No weird feelings.
V: Dean, keys in 'pala, outside, wind, tires screeching. Possible accident? Nothing on Dad, or Dean. Might be a warning for me. Connection to self-protection? Something weird did happen before/during v. A clearing, lot of trees, and someone else. Seemed to be male, adult. Bad feeling about him. Connected to a hunt? The rest of the vision?

He clicked his pen, and closed the notebook. Hiding it away, he sat on the bed. There had never been something like that before, in his visions. It was always straight and forward, what was going to happen, who, and where. This time there was some additional, weird scenario, and even weirder feeling. He had no idea what to think. Every vision, weird feeling or new ability he had written down in that notebook, which is why he had to keep it secret. He had filled the first couple pages with some bullshit, to make it seem like a diary, to spook off Dean. Couldn't have them know about it.

At the same time, a part of him had thought of the notebook as his confession. A pre-written, entire development of his abilities, written down by him when it happened. Maybe, when he was going to be found out, Dean and John could read it, and maybe give him some leeway. A week, or even couple days, before they'd start hunting him down, would make running a lot easier. However, he doubts John will let him go, risk him hurting people.

He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he knew what was considered natural, and what supernatural.

And he fell into the supernatural category.

If he'd think about it too much, he'd spiral down into madness, or something worse, and that wasn't acceptable. He didn't think he was going to see his fifteenth birthday, so he had enjoyed, the little as ever, celebration they had for his fourteenth. Next year he wouldn't have Dean buying him a present with his already too tight money situation, a pat on the shoulder from John, or anything. If he would live to see another year, he'd probably spend his birthday alone in some dirty dark motel, running from everyone and everything.

Oh yes, he was quite sure every hunter in the USA was going to be after him. John Winchester's kid, little Sammy who you shouldn't fuck with unless you wanted Dean on your ass, after all was too different for this life, turned against his own family and became a monster. He could already hear the stories to be told to new hunter generations. The story of Winchesters, a fucked up family, whose youngest son turned into a monster, and his family was forced to kill him. 'Don't trust even your family, they can become monsters too', he could hear them say.

He exhaled, letting himself go. What went wrong, and when? When was it set in stone that Sam was going to become a monster, the very things he's been taught his entire life to hunt and kill. When did he become the freak? Why couldn't he just have been normal, with no stupid abilities, or senses for dead people, or weird visions of the future? Why couldn't he be normal?

He rubbed a hand over his face, he didn't have time for melodramatics. Pulling out the first clothes he found, he quickly changed, and started thinking about how to budget so they'll last this week.

°°°

Sam dried his hair, peeking his head out. Dean was going through his jacket's pockets, eyebrows furrowed huffing and puffing. Had he lost something? Wallet?

"All good?" He asked, entering the room. Dean spun around, nibbling on his lip, clearly distracted. Sam shifted, rubbing his hands together, starting to feel nervous.

"Can't find the keys." Okay, oh shit, calm down, we know what's going to happen, so we can avoid it. Calm, don't make Dean worry, it might change it. Can't endanger Dean-

"Can you go check I didn't leave the keys in the car, Sammy?" Act normal, act normal. Prepare, calm, you got this.

"Be right back." He says, trying to sound neutral, and pulls his shoes on. He tries to listen, to hear if something might be going on outside. Nothing. Plan is simple, avoid the damn cars. Not too much to ask. He slips outside, heart thumping loudly. No cars are moving, are parked neatly, and no one seems to be leaving. The Impala is parked maybe 30 feet away, not too far, not too close. Calm, and move.

He goes to cross the parking lot, eyeing the people around him. There's an older lady couple feet from him, going cross from Sam, apparently heading towards the motel's reception. Sam smiles at her, and she smiles back, kindly. Not a second or two later, something suddenly tightens in his chest. Quickly he looks around, and his heart jumps into his throat as he spots a car swerving into the parking lot, scaring a couple kids off the road. It's going way too fast, heading for the lady-

Sam doesn't think, he yells out a warning, and bursts into a sprint across the parking lot. The old lady panics, throwing her hands up to protect her, and Sam's sure it's going to hit her-

The car swerves left, tires screeching loudly, and suddenly the headlights are facing Sam-

He moves on autopilot, the years of hunter training happy to throw him out of danger's way. He rolls across the rough ground, barely avoiding the front of the sedan that instead hits the rear of a car parked. Sam stares at the grey sky above him, heart beating in his ears, his fingers tingling.

Is it over? Is it done? Was that it?

A car door is slamming, and a young guy is running around the car, quickly companied by the lady, and the receptionist of the motel. There are hands behind his head, one taking his pulse, and one holding his hand. The driver is panicking, not really sure what to panick more over, the fact that he almost hit someone, or the fact that he crashed against someone else's car.

While waving the people away, insisting his fine, Sam hears a door slam open. A lot of the motel's people are coming out, and the guy shouting seems to be the owner of the other car, but Sam's focus completely goes to Dean, whose sprinting out of their room, a look on his face Sam's more than familiar with. It's the look Dean has when something dares to attack Sam, a bit of a feral look that Sam knows is just fear and worry. It doesn't take long for Dean to reach them, shouldering past the people surrounding him, and Sam doesn't get to blink before he's right at front of him.

"Are you alright?" Hands cup his face, before quickly going around his body, checking his head and back, hands that are scraped from the ground.

"All good, just some scrapes." Dean doesn't seem to believe him, which Sam can't blame him for. He's been hiding too much stuff from Dean. Before he can start another interrogation, the old lady steps closer, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"He's quite alright, dear. I saw it, and he just avoided the car." Dean looks at the lady, a bit bewildered, and Sam feels like chuckling. Dean has a weird thing with old ladies, since some of them like to give him a earful, and some are just complete sweethearts.

"I'm alright. A little shaken, but fine. You alright?" He directs the question at the lady, who smiles. He can sense Dean not appreciating being brushed off, but he wants to make sure everyone is fine. He had felt pain in the vision, and there was no pain now, so had he done it? Was it fine again?

"All good, sweetheart. Thank you for asking. Now go get some food and water before your blood sugar drops, dear." And then she's walking away, the motel's receptionist going with her after casting an odd look at Dean and him.

"Sam?" He turns back to Dean, who is now done with panick, and only relieved. He smiles, and it works as usual, Dean answering it with a smile of his own. The older sighs, throwing an arm around Sam, and pulling him with him, towards their motel room that's door is still wide open from Dean's little sprint outside.

Walking back, Sam starts to relax. Another catastrophe avoided, and no one got hurt. Dean will smother him for a while, and make sure he's actually alright. He doubts they'll be going to the store today. Maybe, just maybe, he can live with the visions, and have Dean in his life.

Notes:

Going to have more chapters out now during winter break. Hope you'll all enjoy the holidays, if you have any!

Thanks for reading <3!

Chapter 3: At the divide

Summary:

We feel a coming strain
And now it's too late
To change
What you want is law
You crowd me with all that you stole
Oh, how the mighty fall

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Maybe he should start from the beginning.

It started with headaches. That's the simplest way to put it into words. Headaches that came out of nowhere, lasted anywhere between five to thirty minutes, and sometimes made his nose bleed.

The first few times it had happened, Dean had dragged him straight into ER, convinced there was something wrong with him. The doctors agreed, until all their test results came back completely normal. Then it was a different note, and John had lectured Dean about it for hours, for risking their cover for something meaningless, which of course resulted in a shouting match. And since Sam's headaches didn't disappear, Dean and John were fighting about it almost weekly.

It was headaches, and yes, maybe that should've been enough to ring all his alarm bells, hunter ones included, but Sam brushed it off as some puberty side-effects. After all, his head had been filled with lessons about what puberty does to your body, since every time he had to change schools, the teachers thought it was a important enough topic to teach him for the hundreth time.

Dean wasn't much support, only laughing at him every time he whined about it. Big brother rights be damned, it was starting to get on his nerves, which again if he mentioned to anyone, it would be another mention of puberty's affects on mindsets and emotions.

So, no thank you.

While under pretty much constant surveillance from Dean, who had started shifting blame from biological faults to something supernatural, which of course caught John's attention quite fast, he tried to hide most of his headaches the best he could, wanting everything to get back to normal, but it only got worse.

It only took one time for Sam to start thinking. One time, that afterwards started to happen more frequently. Instead of it being just a headache, which was very shitty by itself, Sam started to see things.

Yes, he knows how crazy it sounds, which is why it caught his attention.

The weird images and flashes of scenarios he had seen during the headaches previously, he had brushed off as his imagination acting out with his migraine, or it could be a dream he might be mixing with reality.

The concept of deja vu wasn't new to him. More frequently he'd get this feeling out of nowhere, like he had seen this, heard it, or felt it before, much like in a deja vu. So he didn't pay it much mind, he had better things to be doing that wondering if he was finally losing his mind, or if the supernatural world was getting to him.

The first time it rang his alarm bells, was during a hunt in Midland, Michigan. A ghost set on revenge on the people who more or less caused their death. A string of weird deaths had caught his attention while browsing in the library after school, and his dad had immediately zeroed on it, and two days later, they were on the move. After a quick research, some asking around the town, they came to the conclusion that the ghost was of a deceased Ann-Maria Johnson. A girl in her twenties, found murdered in a back alley after a night out with her friends, was now killing said friends for apparently leaving her with her murderer and letting them do their thing.

So they went on their usual way, figuring out she had been cremated, so they went to snoop on her old house, luckily that was abandoned, which was nearby where the murders had been happening, and oh boy were they in for action.

From the second they had entered the living room, no time to even seperate to search, the ghost had pretty much gone berserkers, throwing every possible thing at all of them. John yelling orders, Dean and him were trying to dodge the flying objects and tried to make their way out, to figure out a new plan, was when Ann-Maria decided it would be a good idea to slam their father into the kitchen wall, and pretty much flung the entire kitchen table straight towards Sam. He had managed to dodge it mostly, the edge slamming against his shoulder and tripping him to the ground, which immediately was a mistake.

Cold fingers had wrapped around his ankles, and suddenly he was being dragged, through the ringing in his head he heard Dean yelling after him, before the door behind him slammed shut, and he was able to scramble up. He was in what seemed to be a bedroom, perhaps even the ghost's room, which would've made sense. Before he could do anything however, the room had went freezing, frost appearing on the windows and soon he was shooting the ghost full of rock and salt, while shouting back at Dean who was trying to open the door.

His throat closed up, and instictly he started fighting back at the invisible force that got him suspended against the wall by the door. His boots were scraping against the floor, the door was budging but not giving in, and Sam was sure he was going to die.

Before he could send out last prayers for someone to keep Dean safe, his head exploded in pain, and the pressure around his throat disappeared. He could hear the door crack in finally, and he was being dragged out, his own feet barely carrying him. A trail of blood was running past his lip, his head was pounding, and he felt like throwing up.

Which he did. Thrice.

John had found the object the spirit was tied to, and after he stopped puking his guts out, they left the scene, Sam wrapped in blankets in the backseat, as bruises started appearing on his throat.

The headache lasted, stronger than any before, and he's had damn many concussions, and after three complete days, he felt finally normal. Physically, of course, mentally, not so. Something had happened back there. She was so close to killing him, what had happened that made her let go, and caused the headache?

A trip to the library, finally unsupervised by Dean, brought him to many answers.

Possessions, spiritual awakenings, out of body experience etc. He knew some of these things were possible, and while reading down the list he had made, his eyes stopped on one word. He got the feeling again, like this was the right thing, right word on this second.

Psychic powers.

°°°

"-am! Sam! You hearin' me?" He flinched, inhaling sharply as he returned to reality. They were in the Impala, his dad driving, radio playing in the background. He must've fallen asleep, or something. Damn headache.

"Sorry sir, what is it?" He tried to be respectful, even if whatever John was about to say would probably be another lecture. Pulling his head into the game he finally remembered what was going on.

Apparent werewolf, snatching their victims before full moon, later on for them to be found dead, and missing a heart. They had left the decently cozy little motel room they had only four days ago, and Sam was already sick of John. The werewolf had taken Dean, who Sam and John both had failed to realize fit into the profile way too well. Young people who tended to go to bars, in favour of the ladies or men of the town, usually an older sibling. Jacob Robinson was the name, a loner in his thirties that lived by the woods, and was rarely seen outside of his home. That's where they were headed, truck full of silver knives and machetes, which Sam wasn't so eager to use.

"You should really start paying attention, some day it'll cost someone's life. Mine or Dean's." John lectured, and Sam almost winced. Biting his cheek, he decided he'd pop the rest of his meds by the time they get back, and then get a long sleep. Maybe this headache would pass by then.

"Yes sir, sorry." He muttered, and felt John side-eye him. The car fell silent, and Sam watched the houses pass by. It wouldn't be long now.

"There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Lord, I know."

Sam stared at the radio, another of his feelings making itself known. He felt uneasy, and the small hairs in his neck stood out. He couldn't have a vision now, he couldn't. Not in front of John. God knows what he'd do.

Maybe he wouldn't do anything bad?

Hah, good joke him.

Shifting in his seat, he blocked the music out, not wanting to hear it.

"Dean will be fine. In and out, just like you know it goes." Sam turned to look at his dad, who kept his eyes locked with the road. Perhaps he had thought Sam's nervousness was of Dean. Don't get him wrong, there's nothing in the world he loves and adores more than his big brother, but until now he had been confident that tonight would go well. However, the headache he has, and the song that is still bothering him, he doesn't feel as confident anymore.

"I know." He says, and John thinks nothing of it. He swallows the lump in his throat, fiddles with his thumbs, and thinks,

It's going to be fine.

°°°

The property is quiet when they arrive, the Impala's rumbling cutting off. The lights in the two story house are out, as well as in the other buildings in the yard. They survey for a while, and nothing seems to be happening inside. His dad exits the car, and Sam follows after, keeping his eyes locked with the windows, trying to spot any movement. Three windows left from the front door, a curtain moves aside, before sharply moving back.

"There's someone inside. Curtains moving on the left." He says, keeping his eyes locked with it for a while, before backing off to the trunk where John is.

"Probably our guy. Grab a knife and a machete, and keep an eye out." Sam nods, moving to grab said things. The silver knife he puts on his belt, feeling more secure with the machete, as much as he despises using it. He has a bad feeling, he can't help it. So his mission is to keep an eye out, find Dean as fast as possible, keep him and dad safe, and maybe not die himself. After the accident with the ghost two months back, he is quite sure his little thing will make sure he's alive, just gotta make sure no one sees it happen. He got lucky last time, but luck doesn't happen often with his family.

Checking the flashlight works, he jogs after John whose at the front door, seemingly already knocked, checking if Jacob would show himself. They don't want to behead the wrong guy, but they're at least 95 percent sure it's him. Guess they'll find out soon.

The door is open, and before entering John turns to him, "You check upstairs, I'll stay down here. Try to find Dean, and if you do, call me. Keep an eye out, he seems to like hiding." Sam nods, and the door creaks open. Their flashlights illuminate the hallway instantly in front of them, and Sam checks their surroundings, before slipping to the stairs next to the door. He watches his dad go, trying to get any feeling that would indicate he should stay with him, but gets nothing.

Breathing slowly, he starts going up the stairs, trying to step lightly to not make them creak. It's most likely he's downstairs, but werewolves can move fast and quickly, which is why he needs to be careful. Or then he ran, which would be the easiest option for now, but Sam doesn't really believe in it. He almost trips on the last step, keeping his eyes trained with the hallway front of him. It goes to the right, but there's another hallway to the left, and Sam starts with that.

Machete held tight, he listens carefully, every creak he's heard so far are from downstairs, which he doesn't know if it's a good or a bad thing. Dean will probably kill him, or Dad, for going after a werewolf, and seperating, but he and John have a shared need to find Dean first and foremost. He checks another closet, full of half empty boxes and clothes, the doors making sound at last. He starts moving a bit faster, checking through the bedrooms and what seems to be an office. He leaves the hallway, back to the stairs, and checks his surroundings again. All seems normal.

"Stat!" He hears his father yell from downstairs, and clears his throat, moving so his back isn't facing the unchecked corridor.

"Nothing yet, half to go!" He yells back, and continues down the hallway, his hands starting to sweat a bit. He flexes his fingers, checking the closets, and opens the door to another bedroom. Out of nowhere, his body freezes in the doorway. His headache pulses, and Sam breathes slowly, but the uneasy feeling doesn't go away. He scans the room, but he still can't see anything that would ring alarms. He grits his teeth, because his psychic thing hasn't always been right, and this is ridiculous. When did he start following his gut instead of his orders?

He steps in, nothing out of the ordinary, checks the closet by the bed, and moves to check the bathroom. All clear, no shower curtains that could spook him without a reason, and he turns to leave.

Instead of the door being open like he left it, it's closed. And more importantly, he isn't alone.

"DAD!"

He barely dodges the growling mass hurling at him, swinging his machete as he tries to unlock the door with another hand. Is it fucking locked?!

The footsteps from downstairs echo soundly, and Sam kicks the drawer by the door towards Jacob, who really doesn't seem to like it. He attacks Sam again, and he doesn't even get the time to curse, before his back is slammed against the door behind him, which seems to shatter, but the floor welcomes him happily. He kicks like mad, his boots seeming to hit something so solid that it won't budge, and the growling in his ear really isn't helping!

He moves his head out of the way of the sharp teeth, and thrusts his machete upwards with all the strength he has. He hears the squelch, the crackle of ribs, and rolls around, away from the teeth, swinging his machete down as quick as possible.

Straight through the neck.

Fuck.

He slumps against the wall, panting, his hands covered elbow deep in blood, his shirt stained as well. Before he can truly comprehend what happened, or the joy of killing his first werewolf hits him, his dad is nearly slamming into the wall after the stairs, machete in hand, when he spots Sam.

"Sam!" His dad is running to him, and Sam furrows his forehead, trying to ease his headache. His whole back feels like its burning, and he's going to bruise so badly again. He's probably also covered in splinters. There are arms under his suddenly, and he's pulled up, opening his eyes to John's stern face.

"Did he bite you?" He asks, loud, and for some reason, shakes him a bit, making his head flare up. He slaps the hands away, bringing his not so blood stained hand up against his forehead, cursing the headache.

"No, just gotta killer headache from that." He says, loud even as he wants to hear no sounds, loud the least. It's quiet for a while, and Sam is grateful it, and for that it's over and they can go find Dean.

"You killed your first werewolf, good job kiddo." Dad pats his shoulder, and even as the praise is welcome, the most he needs is some aspirin right now.

"Thanks." He gets out, trying not to throw up. Dean's going to fuzz so bad when he finds out, which is probably going to be very soon.

"Quite sure Dean's in the basement, heard some clanging from down there just before you called. Let's go." And the John is gone, and Sam let's his face fall. Fucking Jacob and damn doors. Sighing, he goes after his dad, wanting to get this over with finally. The stairs creak loudly, as he walks them down, his head pulses even louder, he can't almost hear anything else than the bumping of his own heart. He puts a hand on the closest wall, taking couple deep breaths.

"S-"

It's a warning yell, but too late. Something smashes against his shoulder, spinning him around, the machete flying from his hand. A gun goes off somewhere behind him, but misses and Sam is slammed into another wall, something sharp ripping into his side, as teeth shining bright appear front of him-

He hears his dad yell, and thrusts with his silver knife wildly, but the animal won't stop-

The teeth are there again, and Sam hears his heartbeat, and this is it-

White pain explodes behind his eyelids, the pressure on him is gone, as well as the beast. His hand is extended, and it drops to his side as he leans against the wall behind him, panting. The pain starts to dissolve, and he opens his eyes.

The second werewolf is on the floor, feets away from him, down the hallway. He doesn't know if it's dead or not. Realization settles in, and as the panic surges up and he turns to where he knows John is.

His father is standing, eyes wide, the barrel of his gun pointed straight at him.

Notes:

You knew I had to do it to 'em. We can't have decent kinda fluffy stuff for too long.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 4: Your secrets keep you safe (your lies keep you alive)

Summary:

It's like there's cancer in my blood
It's like there's water in my lungs
And I can't take another step
Please tell me I am not undone
It's like there's fire in my skin
And I'm drowning from within
I can't take another breath
Please tell me I am not undone

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It should've been quiet, the beating heart in his throat the only sound he heard. It was still, as if time was waiting for them, waiting for John to make a decision.

The sweat on his back, on his palms, was the result of pure fear, fear Sam had never felt because of someone. He had been afraid the multiple times his brother or father had nearly died, but never had they been the direct reason of his fear. He stared at John, at his father, and his throat tightened, eyes threatening to burn.

Through childhood, Sam had seen lots of hunts, lots of scary things and seen many hunters and their behaviour towards the supernatural. Dean's eyes burned, his face was pretty much stone, and he never hesitated. John, on the other hand. His eyes were cold, mouth set into a thin line and his hands were steady. There was no warmth, nothing Sam was used to seeing in his father's eyes. No visible thoughts, no mercy, no love.

"Where is he?" He couldn't help it, he flinched back. He had heard his dad angry, excited, stressed, proud and even happy. He had always known, always acknowledged the tone of voice his father used with supernatural, the somehow a little bitter, harsh, commanding tone. It was nothing compared to the tone they had heard during training, nothing compared to the drill sergeant his father could be. There was a clear line, for when John was talking to something human, and when he was talking to something supernatural.

Right now, the tone was the latter.

The gun moving snapped him out of his thoughts, John taking a step closer, bringing the gun higher and aimed straight at his forehead. He inhaled sharply, afraid to move, afraid to speak.

"I asked, where is he?" Sam felt shivers go down his spine, could feel something in his chest crack, start to crumble. There was no going back now. This was it.

"I-It's me- Just p-please listen it's me I swear-" The trigger clicked and Sam hiccuped a sob, almost squeezing his eyes shut, not wanting the last image he sees be the brutal, cold face of his father.

"My son isn't a monster." It cracked again, and Sam felt like screaming. Just please, God please, listen-

"Now, one last time. Where is he?" Tear slipped down his cheek, and Sam wanted to throw himself against John, to make him realize, to make him stop this before it'd all end. His heart was thumping, and it hurt.

"Did you kill him?" A little waver, and Sam should feel happy he means something to John, but he can only silently cry, and already grieve. The clanging noise from the basement starts again, Dean had probably heard the fight and was now worried.

God, Dean.

It almost breaks him, right there, and it'd cost his life. His stomach jolts, he wants to throw up, wants to go to sleep and wish it all away. He can't lose his family, he can't-

"No. It's me, please, Dad-" The finger twitches, and Sam snaps his eyes shut, ready for death. Time ticks and ticks, merciless, and the clanging gets louder. Please, please don't let Dean see his body-

"Don't. You're not my son." Something as if burning, and at the same time freezing surges around his body, and the pain disappears, enough for shock to break through. He knows he stumbled, but there is no mercy in his father's eyes. John won't see it, he will not want to see it, ever. It's over. He's lost his dad.

The gun goes away, but Sam doesn't relax. John uncaps the salt container on his belt, and with knife in other hand, a warning, he circles around Sam, trapping him into a salt circle. He straightens up, and something in Sam tells him this is it, this is goodbye.

"Don't even try to run. I will hunt you down, and kill you." With narrowed, angered eyes John leaves him, and Sam still feels like he can't breath. He stares at the doorway, swallows around the lump in his throat, and runs for his life.

°°°

His hands won't stop shaking. His vision is blurry, even as he tries to blink as much as possible, but he has to watch the road.

Driving the Impala should have been a milestone. Something he would've accomplished very soon, with Dean right there on the passanger seat, bright smile and giving instructions to him with never ending patience. His chest tightens, and Sam lets out a sob. The rumble of the engine, the sound that always meant home, meant Dean, doesn't spark anything but sorrow in him.

He doesn't know how much time he has, how soon Dean and John will be after him, so he keeps the pedal down, speeding back to their motel. He knows what he's doing, even as the world around him is shattering, and he knows everything will change. Everything he's known, everyone he's known, is gone.

He doesn't know how he'll cope.

He tries to calm his breathing, trying to look natural as he swerves into the parking lot. He tries to park with care, and to his blessing quickly sees no one around. There's no time for a goodbye, no time for hesitance. He runs his hand over the hood of the car, and whispers a quiet thank you.

He pretty much sprints inside, and somehow he manages to open the lock with ease, even as his hands feel cold and won't stop their shaking. He doesn't look around, he doesn't want to see the remains of the life he has to run from, and heads straight for the bedroom. There isn't much to pack, he steals one of the motel's blankets, and heads into the living room quickly.

He takes everything he can, leaving only little food for Dean and John. He takes the couple empty water bottles they have, and fills them with water, before taking the two full bottles of aspirin, leaving the half full one, if Dean is hurt after all. He can't afford to think about that now. Pushing his mind to work, he quickly thinks everything through, he should have the necessities for a while, so he won't starve or anything like that. He should go, he should run while he still has time.

Cursing under his breath he pulls the notebook from his duffel, clicking the pen as he scrolls through it all. His visions, weird feelings, and everything is written down. Every little thing he has done wrong in his life is there. The girl he knew back in Kansas, Jane, would call it a suicide note, and Sam banishes the thought quickly.

He starts writing, quicker than on any math test, and bites his lip. He has to keep his mind clear. He scribbles down the last lines, feeling his chest tighten almost unbearably, and leaves the notebook open on the table. There, he's done it. It's all out, and he won't be coming back ever again. To this place, or to the people he's leaving.

Tears in his eyes, he leaves the motel room, thanking himself for studying the map in the reception, so he knows exactly where to head. He doesn't look over his shoulder, or around him, and forces himself to stop crying. He has to look at least slightly normal for people to believe him. He can't look like this. Furiously, he rubs his face, swiping the snot and tears away, cringing as his side flares up in protest at the movement. He forgot all about the scratches, damn it.

He keeps on walking, keeps his head down and avoids looking at people. Thankfully, since it's pretty late, there's barely no one out. He should've checked the time before he left, fuck, what if he's late?

He starts jogging, and looks around him, trying to spot any sign that he might be already too late and should just accept the fact he is going to die. He can almost see the clock on the side of the building, and he picks up the pace.

Thank God.

He joins the small line, and luckily the people move quickly. He has some little spare time, maybe he can visit the bathroom before he goes. The closer he gets to the lady at the window, the stronger the smoke of smell grows. No surprise, since the lady is smoking one, and eyes Sam with the small suspicion he expected. Pulling a smile on, he shuffles on his feet a bit awkwardly, and tip toes so he can reach the height of the window.

"One ticket to Memphis, Tennessee please." The lady just huffs slightly, not smiling at all, and Sam feels a rock fall off his chest. He hands her the money, and quickly pockets his ticket. He looks around the small building, and walking to the side he spots the bathrooms. He still has some time left, and he heads into the bathrooms, hoping there won't be lot of people there.

The smell makes him scrunch his face up, urine and what else seems to smell everywhere, but there is no one, so Sam goes in and quickly pulls up his shirt, eyeing the smudged mirror. The scratches aren't deep, but they burn like a bitch, so they'll probably get infected since Sam can't treat them. He's hesitant to use the paper, but he takes the risk, wetting it under the sink before cleaning the area carefully. He throws the paper away, and carefully pulls his shirt back down, and exhales.

He looks at himself in the mirror, sees the evidence of his crying, his puffy eyes and rosy cheeks. His eyes burn again, and he looks away, breathing slowly. His chest aches, and his body hurts distantly, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of loosing his family. He shivers, and part of him screams to get back to Dean, to let the older wrap his arms around him, and promise him that everything will be alright, and that he'll never let anything hurt Sam.

The last time Sam saw him, he was a bit pissed off that Dean was ditching their free night to go see some girl, instead of spending it with Sam. He hadn't even told Dean bye, when he left. That was the last time he'll probably ever see Dean, his Dean at least. If he'll ever see his family again, it'll be when he dies, and he doesn't want to see Dean look at him, like the monster he is.

He shouldn't call them his family. They're normal, Sam isn't. He shouldn't bring the supernatural into their family name.

God, he doesn't know what he did to deserve this. What something so terrible did he do, that he deserves to have his family ripped away from him, have Dean ripped away from him? What did he do wrong? He has killed only supernatural creatures, and not even that many. Five, counting the two werewolves tonight, if the other one died as well. Is it some fucked up way of justice? He kills the supernatural, so the universe turns it around, and makes him the hunted instead of the hunter.

Does that mean he'll turn evil too? That he'll start killing people, with these, powers? That he'll actually become the things that deserve to be killed?

He'd rather die.

Swiping the tears off his face, Sam inhales and exhales, rolling his shoulders and straightening up. He has to go. He walks out of the bathroom, and the bus is already there. He steps in, hands his ticket and settles into his seat, away from other people and possible conversation makers. The bus hisses, as the doors close, and Sam watches the trees pass, as they leave Breitung, Michigan and his family behind.

Notes:

Hello everyone! Hope you're all having a great Christmas, if you celebrate it. Hope you're all well, and healthy. Sorry to give you the angst on Christmas lol.

If anyone ever needs to talk, you can message me in tumblr, I'll be more than happy to listen. @ithinkikindalikechocolate

Again, thank you for reading! Stay safe <3

Chapter 5: Walking with eyes blind

Summary:

Tremble for yourself, my man
You know that you have seen this all before
Tremble, little lion man
You'll never settle any of your scores
Your grace is wasted in your face
Your boldness stands alone among the wreck
Now learn from your mother or else
Spend your days biting your own neck
But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line
I really fucked it up this time
Didn't I, my dear?

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The door creaked open, the lights in the basement on. Gun in his hand, John hurried down the creaking stairs. Luckily it was a small place, void of any more supernaturals, and it didn't take him long to spot Dean.

Dean, who was tied to some kind of pipe, mouth muffled by some rag, eyes wide as John hurried to him. Not wanting to turn his back, in case the thing was coming after him, John kept his gun pointed towards the stairs, other one ripping the rag away from Dean's mouth, who spit it out with a disgusted sound.

"How many bloody things are there, Dad?" Was the first question Dean asked. God, he hated all the questions. He had enough of it with Sam, who wouldn't just shut up, babbling about some useless history facts he found out in school. Or the kid would keep bugging John about the hunt, asking him all these questions till he had to tell the kid to shut up, which caused Dean to frown at him.

"Listen, Dean. Sam's upstairs-"

"You brought Sam on a hunt with werewolves?!" Dean yelled immediately back, and John lost it.

"Shut it! Sam's upstairs and there's something wrong with him. I think he was possessed by some ghost back in Bayport. Did he seem any different?" He asked, Dean just blinking at him, mouth open. He shook him by the shoulders, and that seemed to snap him out of it.

"No, no uh, nothing at all. You sure he's possessed?" Dean asked, frowning as he gnawed on his lip. A habit John hadn't been able to teach out of him. When will they grow up, Mary?

He huffed, annoyed, "Yes, I'm sure Dean. The thing's upstairs, trapped in a salt circle, let's go." Dean shook his newly freed hands, and got up, seemingly fine. John was about to ask him, when a familiar engine burst to life outside the house.

"Trapped, huh?!" Dean yelled, as John cursed and sped up the stairs. How did the damn thing get out?! He ran through the house, gun in hand. The other werewolf was still down, apparently dead, and the salt circle was untouched as he sprinted out of the door, just quick enough to see the Impala's headlights curve onto the main road. He aimed, finger on the trigger, before he cursed, lowering his gun. It was too far, damn it!

Dean catched up to him, and of course started ringing his mouth. "What the fuck, Dad! You said he's possessed, but there they fucking go, in the 'pala for fuck's sake!"

"Get back in, and check if the werewolves are alive. I need to figure out what this damn thing is." He growled, and luckily Dean left him be, going back inside. John looked around, but there was nothing at all that could give him a clue. How had he missed Sam getting possessed right under his nose?! How had Dean missed it? Damn kid was too busy partying, Sam was his responsibility for Christ's sake. He'd have to talk about it later. Now they have to figure out where that thing is going, what it is, and how to kill it.

He walked back in, as Dean came back from upstairs, heading towards the other body. John checked the circle, and it was indeed untouched. Not a specle of salt in the wrong place. How had it got out? He didn't think it could've broken the circle, left it, and then pushed the salt back to it's place. The thing knew he was onto it, so it was probably running as far as possible.

"Dead, both of them. Now, want to explain to me what happened?" Dean approached him, and John grunted, trying to make sense of this all. They had to get after it, as soon as possible, but first they needed to know how to kill it. Silver should do, at least with most things.

"We have nothing to take care of the bodies with, go find a shovel so we can at least get them out of sight." He felt Dean's annoyance, but the boy could wait. He didn't have patience for the never-ending questions, they had a hunt to do.

°°°

It didn't take long, for once, to get rid of the bodies, and even less time for them to find a ride. A farmer from close by agreed to take them to the motel they were staying in, and didn't even want money. They thanked him, and John prepared for the mass of questions as they exited the car. He scanned the parking lot, and to his big surprise, found the Impala parked, engine off. Cutting off whatever Dean was about to ask, he pointed at the car, and slowly pulled out his gun, getting closer.

The driver seat seemed empty, but John didn't take the risk. Everything seemed clear, and John nodded towards the trunk of the car. Settling next to it, he checked they weren't being watched, and Dean popped the trunk open. It was empty.

"What is this thing? It returned the car, and then took off again. Why didn't it kill you, and why would it even come join you on a hunt instead of taking off?" John hummed, and they walked towards their room. At least they had a car now.

"Don't know Dean. Any ideas?" He asked back, not liking the tone of his oldest child. Dean narrowed his eyes,
"Well I could if you'd tell me what the hell happened. Sam hasn't been acting any weirder than usual, he's been crossing our salt lines, handled silver, everything. So what happened, huh?" John didn't bother to mind Dean on his tone. When he was set on something, his stubborness could outrun Sam's. He pushed away the small feel of worry, the kid was fine.

"Your brother and I figured out where the werewolves lived. Checked the house, and Sam killed the other one. We thought there was only one werewolf, so the other got a drop on us. It attacked him, and before it bit the thing pretending to be your brother launched it across the hallway. It didn't push it, or anything, so I thought it was a ghost. I pulled the gun on it, asked where Sam was and it wouldn't tell me. Made the salt circle around it and poof, the fucker was gone when we get back." John rubbed his forehead. Dean stayed quiet for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed. He was anxious, John knew that. Dean was still babying Sam, who needed to grow up and stop letting his brother mother hen him all the time.

"It didn't try to defend itself, or anything?"

"Oh it did, made a whole show about it. Tried to make me believe it was Sam. Hell, I don't know what the thing is, but the most important thing is that we find it, before it hurts anyone. I don't know why it didn't attack me or you, but we need to kill it before it changes it's mind. We have to figure out where Sam is, or if that thing is Sam but just possessed, and how to get rid of it. I know you worry for your brother, but he's old enough to take care of himself." Dean narrowed his eyes, jaw shifting and John knew he said the wrong thing.

"He's fourteen for Christ's sake! He's in the middle of a grow spurth, has migraines almost all the time, and the kid is a trouble magnet! I know he can take care of himself but he doesn't have to! We're supposed to have his back." Dean raised his voice, and John stood up from his seat, staring at the kid.

"Don't lecture me on how Sam is and how he isn't. He's my son, I know him. You have to stop babying him, or he won't ever grow up! He's in some dreamlands all the time, and he's going to get either of us killed with that!" Dean stood up too, eyes wide and angry.

"And you told him that, huh? Didn't you?! All the kid fucking wants is for you to listen to him! He's smart, he's a good hunter but you won't give him any credit for it!" John felt his anger rise, gritting his teeth.

"He isn't a good hunter if he gets one of us killed! I'll give him credit when he starts to act like one, instead of being a selfish brat!" The table croaked under Dean's fist, his body slightly shaking from anger.

"Sam's the farthest thing from selfish! The kid would do anything for either of us, without being asked to! How many times has he tried to talk to you about something Dad? It's no wonder he doesn't want to talk to you when you treat him like shit! Sam's different, and you know it. He needs words, not some beers and a pat on the shoulder, Dad." His anger didn't calm down. How dare Dean try and lecture him about how to raise his own son? Sam was just difficult, and he better grow out of it soon, or-

"Wait, Dad?" The complete U-turn in Dean's voice caught his attention. The kid was by the table, staring at some notebook splayed open. One of Sam's? He walked closer, but before he could read what was written on it, Dean backed off.

"What the fuck? What the fuck is that?" Panic. He rarely heard that in Dean's voice. The older didn't flinch from anything at all, even the most disgusting monsters.

John steps by the book, curious to know what could shake Dean. As his eyes trail through it, his gut clenches. This isn't possible.

°°°

The motel room's quiet. A rather big change from what it was only fifteen minutes ago. John left, probably to drink, or something as useless, leaving Dean by himself. He's sitting on the floor, staring up at the table, seeing the edge of the notebook. He hasn't got up from where he had to sit, after scrolling through the book.

He can't believe this. There's no way. This is just some stupid, prolonged nightmare he has to wake up from. He's going to wake up, Sam's going to be here, he's going to be alright, probably pissy about how long it took Dean to wake up. Maybe he hit his head, and is in a coma?

God, this can't be happening.

It all makes sense. Why does it all make sense? If he's dreaming, or whatever, it shouldn't make sense. So why is it making sense?!

The weirdness, the hiding, the headaches, the bleeding nose, the late-night-
'Am I a good person, Dean?

Why would you even ask that, Sammy?

Someone giving you trouble?

No, it's just... Forget it.

Kid, you're the greatest person I know, kay?

Sammy?

Okay, Dean. Thanks.

Don't mention it.'

It all made sense.

The dates were there, the towns were there. There were mentions of what they had done, what they were hunting. Every little thing was written down in Sam's handwriting, which Dean always annoyed him with. Dean had watched the barely straight, scrabbled lines that were supposed to be letters, turn into this smooth, kinda nice handwriting, and it still felt hilarious how the clumsy, pen-eating Sammy could write like that.

The things, visions, like Sam had called them, were all written down. Detailed telling of their hunt in Midland, Michigan, which Dean could remember all too clearly. He could remember Sam's face as the ghost dragged him away, his own fear that almost made him throw up later with Sam. He could remember the scraping of Sam's boots he could hear as the ghost strangled him, the odd look the kid had on his face after they got back, and how he'd locked himself into the bathroom, assuring Dean he was fine.

The near accident back in Bayport, which also could've cost him his baby brother's life, was too written down. However, it had been written down before it even happened, after the weird migraine Sam had had during the night. Dean had woken up to an empty bed, God knows how Sam manages to wiggle out of his grasp, or why he even does it, and had found his little brother in the bathroom, companied by a headache and a nosebleed. The note about the near accident had been continued, after it had nearly happened, with Sam reporting everything was fine, and that in fact it was him in danger, which was for some stupid reason underlined as a 'good' thing.

Where did they go wrong?

What had he done, to drive Sam away from him? Sam, who always told him everything, even if it sometimes needed some prying. The same kid who still made him birthday cards, and even cards for Father's and Mother's day, which Dean also had all stashed. John didn't know about those, and it was for the better. How could Dean have let this happen? How could he have let Sam slip through his fingers, make his kid believe they would kill him for something he had no power over? How could he have screwn up so fucking badly?

He pressed a fist against his forehead, willing the tears to stay in. Crying wouldn't help getting Sam back. He could be anywhere. And John spewing all that shit on him wouldn't help them at all. How could he let this happen?

"Fuck!" He cursed, trying to calm his anger down. It wouldn't help Sam either. Fuck, it even might be partly at fault with the kid leaving. With John only yelling at him, and Dean fighting with John, no wonder the kid felt bad. Sam took everything to heart, he wanted to fix everything, no matter how much pain it'd bring on himself. It was a trait Dean had tried to fiercely protect, to keep him safe from everyone who wanted to hurt him, but apparently he should've kept Sam safe from John and him.

He'll be better. He'll be better when he gets Sam back, he promises. He'll make this alright, and he'll never allow this to happen again.

"God, Sammy. If I had known things were this bad-" He cuts off. There's no use to apologise to thin air. There's no one here to hear him cry about how bad of a big brother he is. He's supposed to protect the kid, keep him safe till he's old and grey. How is this keeping him safe, huh? Driving him away, out into the world, alone, without anyone to have his back, when he's only fourteen?

Sam doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve to have John or Dean in his life. When he finds the kid, and if he hates him, Dean will have to let him go. But he'll make sure Sam won't be alone, even if it'll kill him to not have his brother with him. He loves the kid too much, but it's enough to let him go if he needs to go without him.

They'll have to start with bus stations, diners and truck stops. He doesn't think Sam would go with a stranger, not after what Dean has taught him, but the kid probably also has no money on him.

God, he's going to starve out there? He's alone, and he's going to starve by some road, and someone will find his body, and maybe Dean and John will find out or maybe he's already dead in some ditch and Dean will never know-

Stop it, stop it stop it stop it.

He leans against the table, stares at the goodbye in front of him. Tears blur his vision, and he let's himself cry for now. Can't do anything before John gets back.

Just, someone, keep his baby brother safe till Dean finds him.

Notes:

I really am starting to hate John...
So, another chapter out. John and Dean find the notebook, everything falls together, and Sam's still on the run. Next chapter will be Sam's POV again.

Thanks for reading, and for all the comments, they make my day. Hope you're all well <3

Chapter 6: Wake up (I am still yours)

Summary:

TW for depressive and suicidal thoughts

Plans of what our futures hold
Foolish lies of growing old
It seems we're so invincible
The truth is so cold
A final song, a last request
A perfect chapter laid to rest
Now and then I try to find a place in my mind
Where you can stay you can stay awake forever

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sam yawns, can't stop it in time. It's probably the seventh yawn in the past fifteen minutes, if the shifty look the waitress gives him is any clue. He can't help it, he's tired, end of the story. He continues eating, the plastic fork cutting into his hand almost uncomfortably.

It was some kind of a sale day, there was no other way for Sam to afford eating in a diner. But now the foods were half price, and even if that was a bit suspicious, Sam wouldn't look into the gift horse's mouth, he could use some real food.

Arkansas was treating him well, for now at least. After traveling for couple of days, he felt safe enough to spend a night in a motel by the road, instead of sleeping his neck craned into a bad position in some bus. He had been hyper aware the first and second day, each rumble of engine or gruff voice almost giving him a heart attack. For now, he thinks he's remotely safe, after criss-crossing around the country to shake Dean and John off his tail.

The chicken turns bitter in his mouth, and he swallows dryly. He doesn't want to think about them, and he won't. He starts to pull the wallet from the duffel by his side, eyeing the snacks by the counter. He could use some crackers, they gave him enough of energy without being too expensive, and he will run out of money very soon. One of the reasons he's trying to stay around the middle of the country or the southern part, since there had been snowflakes back up in Minnesota a while back. Winter's coming, and Sam doesn't have the necessities to survive it.

He stands up, flinching a bit as the bell by the door rings, a couple of some truckers entering. He hurries to the desk, and the blonde waitress approaches him, a friendly smile on her face. Dean would hit on her, he knows for sure, and instead of the remind being familiar, it brings a pang of pain.

"Hi, uh, I'd like that bag of crackers, thanks." He shuffles, using his age for his advantage. He's gotten a bit of pity points through his wondering with some shuffling, avoiding eye contact, but ending with a bright smile. He feels only a bit bad, but why wouldn't he use his advantages when he's battling the world?

The waitress, Linda, picks up the bag, handing it over and Sam pays, saying goodbye with a big smile on his face. It falls, as he steps outside, looking around. He isn't far from the city, and he heads on to the road, careful. Some people just can't follow the speed limits, and it's been a bit of a close call couple of times. The rocks under his feet crackle, and Sam hoists his duffel a bit higher up his shoulder. He tries to make some kind of a budget for the rest of his money. The motel is going to cost him, as well as next morning's bus ride. By the time he arrives in Louisiana's almost too familiar Lafayette, he'll still have some time to search for some odd jobs to get him a bit more money. He can't do anything too big, he has to avoid being noticed, more even as Lafayette has been a bit of a hunter's passthrough, and right now he fears hunters more than the other supernaturals.

He kicks a rock, and tries to ignore the growing pain in his chest.

°°°

It's a relief, more than a relief, to actually get to lie in a proper bed. The room had cost him less than he had expected, which is always a pleasant surprise. The man at the desk had swallowed his lie of waiting for his dad to arrive, and gave him the keys. The man had said that if he needed anything till his dad comes, he can come ask him, which was a bit suspiciously nice.

Otherwise, the place seems decent. The salt he had stolen from the diner he's lined by the door, can't afford to line the window too, and there's already an existing padlock on the door. He has nothing to do a devil trap with, so he'll just have to cross his fingers and hope no demons come knocking. He has some food he'll probably cook in the morning and take with him for the trip, and now he'll have to start thinking about a job.

He can't be a cashier, too public and he's too young as well. Mowing the lawn could be a job, but it's already near winter, so he doesn't think there's much lawns to mow. Shit, what's he going to do?

He'll figure something out, he can do this.

He can do this.

°°°

"You're a monster, Sam."

"You're one of the things we hunt, no different from a damn vampire."

He's shaking his head, the pain in his chest suffocating him, something trailing down the side of his head. He stares up at those green eyes, feels his heart break as they stare at him with no love. His mouth is open, but no words are coming out, and he tries to scream-

"No one will hear you."

"You deserve this."

A hand is over his mouth, something pressing against him and Sam pushes with all he can, kicking and screaming but no sound comes out, his kicks loosing their power, his body starting to go limp. He falls against the wall, tears streaming down his face.

Dean stands over him, gun in hand, and the click of a trigger is a sound that welcomes him with open arms.

Sam gasps awake, his body flunging out of the bed. The air is cold against his cold sweat body, and he can't breathe, the walls around him moving and getting closer-

His knees scrape against the floor, and he scrambles away from where the other bed should be, and stares at the dark room front of him. Goosebumps run up his arms, hair standing up as he stares the vacant space. There is no other bed. There is no Dean.

He slumps, a puppet with it's strings cut. A sob breaks out, and he shivers, wrapping his arms around himself as he rocks back and forth. The tears that burn in his eyes now run free, dripping down from his jaw to his chest, and on the knees pulled against him. He tries to breathe, but he can't forget the pressure around him, the suffocating air that won't let him breathe, and he can't stop hyperventilating.

He pushes himself up, trying to move his hyperventilating away, and with trembling hands he puts on the lamp on his nightstand. He leans against the bed, muffling his sobs and shaking inhales into it. He grips the sheets, his head buzzing from the panic, the fear, the agony. He bites down to muffle the sound that breaks out of his throat, his whole body in pain as he fights to get air into his body.

"You deserve this."

"You're a monster."

He shakes his head, desperate and cries as his head buzzes louder, his arms starting to tingle as he tries to calm himself, the scratches on his side flaring up in pain.

He's a monster.

He deserves this.

He deserves to die like a monster.

The cry breaks out of his heaving chest, and the buzz in his head disappears at the same time as a sharp cracking noise breaks out, and the light from the room is gone. He flinches, jumping a bit, and raises his head. Heart beating in his throat, he stares at the lamp on his nightstand, the bulb now broken into small, sharp pieces. He inhales a shaky breath, and moves closer to the lamp. Turning it off, he leans back against the bed, staring at the broken bulb, at the pieces.

That had never happened before.

He stares at his hands, shifting his jaw around.

They were right.

He isn't normal, he isn't alright. He's a monster, supernatural, and he's dangerous. He'll get someone killed, just like John always told him. He deserves it, all of it. He'll end up bad, evil, tainted like he always knew he was. He knew there was something wrong, something twisted in his very own body. God, if he had known, this all could've been avoided. There had been so many opportunities, so many close calls with Death Sam could've used. If only he had known sooner, he could've taken the burden off his family.

Dean doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve Sam. The freak, the too sensitive kid that never listened, never was Daddy's perfect little soldier, always too strange, too passionate about everything but hunting. The sacrifices Dean has done for him, the older is probably full of glee now, that he can finally kill him without having to come up with an excuse.

Dean never had a childhood, because of him. He got into trouble, because of him. He'll never be happy, as long as Sam is there to drag him down.

Tears slide down his cheeks, and Sam wonders what else is wrong with him. What else he has done wrong, screwed up left and right? Just how many lives he's ruined? He thinks that John's life might've been ruined the second their Mom died, in Sam's nursery when he was only six months old.

His mind stops it's whirring, like into a wall. The breath in his throat gets caught, and he feels the edge of desperation hit. No, it can't actually, it can't be his doing as well. It can't be.

Mom, Dean's mom, John's wife, burned up in Sam's nursery when he was six months old. The small things he knows, is that it was a yellow eyed demon, in Sam's nursery, and Mom had been pinned above him, bleeding and frozen in place. Dad had got him, given him to Dean and God how big of a mistake that was, before he had tried to save Mom one last time. The fire had spread, and in the end all they were left with was a bunch of ashes that had fallen down from the ceiling, above Sam, above Sam, and a bunch of officers who could explain nothing, who could only give their condolences.

Why had the demon been there? Why had he been in Sam's room? Why was it there, why exactly when he was six months old, why did it kill Mom?

The only answer that he has, is the one that brings more pain than any gut punch he's ever received. He doubles even more over, digging his teeth into his bare knee, hugging his knees so tight his arms hurt from where his bones press against each other.

He hears his own pulse in his ears, traitorous, deceiving, evil, and wonders how he ever thought Dean could love him, when he got his mother killed. Dean's mom, when he was only four years old. He's responsible for all of this, and the guilt hits him all at once, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut, willing his powers to end themselves, even if it means taking his life in the process.

°°°

"You got the ticket, kid?" He flinches, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket with a forced, apologetic smile. He finds a seat close, the bus slightly more crowded than usual. His leg bounces up and down quickly, but he tries to keep it quiet, eyes locked with the back of another seat front of him.

He didn't sleep any more, the realization leaving him hollow. He hadn't even cooked as he had planned, since he wasn't so sure anymore that he should carry on running. He should maybe just call someone, and get them to finish the job. It'd be easier, to get it over with before anything bad happens.

There's a buzz in his head, a start of a headache, and he feels shivers go down his spine, again. A part of him is screaming that something is wrong, something is so terribly wrong, and he needs to move this instant. The other part of him is drowning from guilt, and simply doesn't care any more. The bus doors close, and with a hiss they start moving, Lafayette only hours away. He can deal with couple of hours, maybe. Only if his head would shut up.

Sam sighs, and closes his eyes, he might as well catch some shut-eye.

°°°

The phone rings, Dean immediately flunging his head up from where it was fixated on a map. John stands up, walking over to the kitchen counter, and picks up his phone, hope in his chest making him giddy. It's quickly to dim, and he sighs, and Dean takes that as another no, focusing back on the map.

He accepts the call from Joshua, maybe the hunter has some info on Sam, he wouldn't probably be calling at this hour otherwise.

"John?"

"Yep, you got anything?"

It's quiet for a while, and John frowns. He shifts, and Dean looks at him, eyebrow up.

"Joshua?"

"God, John... It's Sam."

He straightens up, his chest unclenching.

"You know where he's headed? Give me the town and we'll meet you there, maybe we can find him before-"

"Stop- just stop."

He stares at Dean, who has walked closer, arms crossed and eyes filled with what John thinks is uneasiness. It doesn't calm his own nerves, the blood rushing into his head. His gut is clenching, and he feels a cold grip around his heart.

"I tracked- I tracked Sam to Arkansas, Bryant. He had stayed a night, and took the morning bus to Louisiana. He's-"

"...John, they got a 911 call ten minutes ago, the bus was hit by a truck, and it sled down a cliff. There's- there's no survivors-"

His knees buckle, and the phone clatters to the ground. He sees Dean rush forward, and the gut wrenching pain that makes him want to throw up, hits him all at once.

Notes:

Ehhhh, sorry?
The warnings on this book are still accurate.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 7: A picture of me (without you)

Summary:

TW for suicidal thoughts

The preacher came by Sunday
Said he missed me at the service
He told me Jesus loves me
But I'm not sure I deserve it
'Cause the faithful man that you loved
Is nowhere to be found
Since they took all that he believed
And laid it in the ground
You left my heart as empty
As a Monday morning church
It used to be so full of faith and now it only hurts
And I can hear the devil whisper
"Things are only getting worse"
You left my heart as empty
As a Monday morning church
I still believe in Heaven
And I'm sure you've made it there
But as for me without your love, dear
I don't have a prayer

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It's not ending. It's supposed to end, supposed to stop at some point. It's supposed to disappear, leave him alone, but it isn't. It isn't, and Dean can't understand. He knows how nightmares work, he knows that at some point you wake up, and it'll all be gone. He isn't waking up, and this isn't leaving him.

It's never going to end, a part of him reminds, and Dean closes his eyes again. He doesn't know what the time is, nor cares. He doesn't know where John went, and doesn't care.

The only thing he knows, is that Sam is dead.

The tears slip past his eyelids, joining the countless others staining their sheets. He feels worse than when he got torn by a werewolf, worse than when Mom died. He can't, won't lift his head, he just wants to wake up, because this can't be his reality. The rest of his life won't be this, God, please it can't be this. His hand is still trembling, the other one digging still into his side from where it's wrapped around his body. He can't sleep, because there is no body next to him, and no one to keep close, keep safe.

He was supposed to keep him safe.

Dean was supposed to protect him, keep him safe and happy, and more importantly alive. He's seen countless nightmares of it happening, but it had always been brushed aside by how many nightmares Sam had of him dying. He could remember the nights, especially when the kid was younger, below ten, Dean waking up to a small bundle of shaking and loudly crying Sam, soothe him for hours till he'd fall asleep again, wrapped around Dean tightly. He'd keep him close, against his chest from where he could feel his heartbeat, head tucked beneath his chin so he can watch over both of them. Their legs would be tangled into a mess, accidentally kicking each other but neither of them ever cared. He'd keep his arms around the kid, keep him as close as possible, and he would feel at peace, knowing he had Sam in his arms.

It feels like something is clawing his throat, ripping his rib cage out and squeezing every inch of life he had out of him. He's loosing his mind, can't stop the tears, doesn't know how he can ever feel alright again. It feels like he's the one dying. Except Sam is already dead, and the reminder makes more blood flood his mouth as he digs into his already bleeding lip.

Sam is already dead, he's already gone, cold, unmoving, as dead as the people in the cemeteries. He's already dead, and there were no goodbyes, no words Dean never said enough, no comfort, because he knows Sam is afraid, and God he must've been afraid. Dean won't ever be able to tell him he's sorry, it's going to be alright, or that he loves him more than anything and anything he ever will. He can't tell him that he means more than the world to him, that he's so proud of him, or that he'll see him soon again.

He can't do it without Sam, he's known this ever since he was seven, and Sam who still occasionally stumbled when walking had found him in the bathroom, crying. He had settled onto Dean's lap, taken the bottle of rattling pills away from his hands, hugged him till Dean hugged back. Then he had realized that there won't be a world without Sam. He can't do it without Sam, with his never-ending love and nerdy facts, passionate ramblings about some new book, and bravery Dean has never seen in anyone else. The kid could face down the scariest thing and still pull through, still be the same bright-eyed kid Dean fell in love with.

The same kid who would defend him at any chance, who would fight Dad even more if it meant easing Dean's life in any possible way. Sacrifice his own money, clothes, food, anything, to make Dean happier. He'd use the money he earned from odd jobs to buying Dean a ticket to some concert, and always turned him down when Dean begged him to come with in return, claiming the concerts were too loud and would destroy his brain, aside from Dean who apparently had no left. He would lie to Dad, which was one of the bravest things anyone can ever do, to get Dean off the hook for training so he can go see some girl he might like, or he can go out and party like everyone else in his age. He didn't know how Sam could feel guilt for that, guilt for 'forcing' Dean to stay instead of going partying, when Sam couldn't convince Dad that he can manage on his own. As if having some good alone time with his baby brother wasn't the greatest way to spend time. As if seeing Sam smile and laugh wasn't as good as getting drunk or fucking some girl. He wouldn't pick anything, anyone, over Sam, over his brother and his other half.

And Dean drove him away. He drove him away just like he promised he never would. He picked some girl over Sam, who he knew was upset about it, even if he tried to hide it. They hadn't even exchanged byes, nothing at all, and the last time Dean had seen Sam he had driven him away for the last time. Because he could never make this right. He could never tell how sorry he is, how much he loves him, and how nothing in the world could ever make him hate him. He'd rather doom the entire world to die, than kill Sam.

And still, he did just that.

It wouldn't have mattered any more or less if Dean had been the one driving the truck, sending Sam down a cliff, away and down down down, out of Dean's reach and to his death. He might've as well been the one to break his brother's bones, back, skull, neck, everything the crash broke, with his own hands while staring at the life leaving those eyes Dean could never deny, never hate, never stop loving.

Dean sent him down that path, sent him away without any love or guilt, forced his fourteen-year-old brother to run away from everything he had known, everything that was familiar and safe, because Sam thought they wanted him dead.

Well now he's dead and Dean will never see him again. Not that he would probably even want to, from what Joshua had described when the victim's loved ones had gone to identify, most hadn't been able to not throw up. It was brutal, terrible and would make the newspapers for a couple of days, maybe even some weeks, before it'd all disappear, as if it didn't happen, as if Dean didn't lose everything in that crash.

He can never make it right, can never fix things, will never see Sam's smile that brought him to life, ever again. He won't feel the happiness he gets whenever the kid makes something totally awesome for him, the fondness of their too rare serious conversations, the warmth that could keep him warm at the bottom of the ocean, when he has Sam in his arms. He won't feel the moments of proudness when the kid aces another test he was stressed about, proves Dad wrong again, solves some big mystery or shows again how much better Sam is than the world around him. He'll never have someone understand him the way Sam does, know each and every of his little quirks, triggers or sore spots. No one will ever know what to say to make him laugh while crying, stop yelling in anger, pull him back from when he wants to kill someone for touching his little brother, how to make him happy.

God, he wants to make it all go away. He wants it to end, wants the reality to leave him alone before he looses it for good.

He wants Sam alive.

It doesn't matter if he hates him, doesn't matter if he wants to kill him for what he's done, if he never wants to see him again, if he crushes Dean's little heart he's held in his hands into small pieces and burns them. He wants Sam alive, because then he'd still be a big brother, he'd have someone he can brag about, someone he can talk about for hours, someone he will always love unconditionally, and someone who has loved him for who he is, even if it would be in the past.

Sam would be alive, he would grow up to be the best person Dean knows, would even maybe go to college, get that damn degree he's quietly dreamed about with Dean. He would find friends, someone to have his back, someone he can mother hen over. He would astonish people, no matter where he goes, with his kindness, loyalty, bravery, intelligence, and ability to make it all better. Everyone would love him, he'd be the talk of the town and of the girls, he'd ace every single test or project in his school, like everything he does with passion. Maybe he'd find someone to spend his life with, someone he can be happy with, stay safe and love. Have someone love him the way he deserves to be loved. And even, maybe, just maybe, some day he'd remember his big brother, who had sworn to take care of him, but who let him down every single time.

What's he supposed to do? There is no need for him to try and make the world a better place, it can't be without Sam in it. If he'd hunt, Dean knows it wouldn't be hunting, he'd let himself get torn into pieces just so that he doesn't have to live in a world without Sam. There's nothing for him. Even if he drank all of the world's beer and whiskey, he can never forget what he's done, can never escape the life he's made for himself, can never forgive himself for taking a life that mattered more than anything else, more than his could ever. Sam made him better, made him someone even somewhat decent, gave him a purpose, something he can do and never let himself down. He gave him a job, but a job is something people associate with tiredness, and something they're forced to do. Sam was never a job.

He was a gift that kept on giving every single second. He'd keep on giving love and life everywhere around him, would dig his own heart out and hand it over, to make someone happy. He would remind Dean of what living meant, just by existing when Dean considered who would look after Sam when he was gone. He showed him how to live, and now he showed him how to die.

There is a weight against his chest he wants to rip off, wants to throw away, bury into the ocean and never see again. He wants to burn the memory away of his mind, doesn't want to see it play in his memories, in his dreams he wishes he could live again. Doesn't want to hold the token of love and appreciation from his baby brother he killed.

"He isn't going to come, is he?" Dean sighs, hearing the defeat. He gathers himself, turns around to smile at Sam, whose eyes that had been glowing happy only an hour ago, now look at him with defeat and sadness. His smile wavers, and he walks to the kid, sitting down by his side.

"He's just late, Sammy, he'll show up." He tries, knowing he's only repeating himself, which Sam quickly points out.

"You've been saying that for the entire night, Dean. He said he'd come." Dean feels his own chest tighten at hearing Sam's voice, hearing the sadness in it. He wraps an arm around the kid's shoulders, pulling him close. He's used to Dad's empty promises, but he had thought that for once the man would keep his word, just for Sam's sake. The kid had been really hyped about this year's Christmas, for some reason, and to see him so defeated now really makes his heart tug.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm sure he tried his best. You want some eggnog?" He asks, tries to get Sam's mind off it. It only does so little, but Sam's lips twitch, which is as close to victory he can now get.

"Yeah, thanks Dean. Sorry I'm being all mopey." He's already walking to the table, pouring both of them a glass of the a little more expensive eggnog he had got them, putting his odd job money finally to good work, even if Sam tried to protest. He didn't want the kid worrying about money, he didn't want Sammy to worry about anything, just wanted him to get a childhood as normal as possible.

"I'm used to it, squirt. I'm your big brother, aren't I?" Sam laughs, not the usual bright and happy sound, but a little better, and Dean hands him the eggnog. It's alright, even if Dad failed again. He'll take Sam's mind off it, maybe they'll watch some Christmas movies till it's way too late, and Sam will probably fall asleep on the couch again, but Dean doesn't mind. The kid is too light still, even if Dean tries to stuff him full of food every chance he gets. They money's tight, has always been, but it shouldn't be so tight that Sam doesn't get enough food.

Sam puts the glass down, little shit downed the entire thing in one go, but before Dean can comment on it, Sam leans back, bumping their shoulders together.

"Yeah, and you're the best big brother there is." He almost swallows wrong, the way Sam says it so casually, without any strain or any idea of how he just made Dean's day, hell, probably even his whole year, and next year as well. He knows he's smiling a bit too bright, but Sam doesn't judge, just chuckles a bit, before he suddenly bolts off the couch and into their bedroom. Dean places his glass down, prepared to go after him, check what's wrong. Had Dad not showing up been a bigger hit than Dean thought? Shit, he has to fix this.

He stands up, but before he can move, Sam is coming back, hands hidden behind his back, a little anxious, small smile on his face. Dean's instantly suspicious, because Sam doesn't get anxious around him, he shouldn't get anxious around him. He opens his mouth, but again Sam beats him to it, eyes locked with the floor as if it's the most interesting thing he's ever seen.

"I uh, couldn't get anything special since, you know, I don't have that much money but, uh... Uncle Bobby offered to help me out, and don't worry I'll help him with some yard work when we get to see him again.... But yeah, uh, this is for you." He brings his hands out, opens his palms. Dean leans in closer, curious as he is astounded, and feels his throat tighten. Inside Sammy's little hands is a necklace, black cord and what looks like a little humanoid head made out of what he guesses is brass. His mouth is hanging open, a bit too overwhelmed by this kid who he doesn't deserve to have.

"It's an amulet, well, you can probably see that. Bobby found it in some store, it should be good to go and uh, it's apparently some African tribal adornment... I know it's not much-" Dean physically jumps closer, and Sam's eyes snap to him, wide open.

"No, no no, it's, it's the greatest thing I've ever gotten" The words threaten to choke up, and tries to pull through, he can think about how much he loves this kid later.

"Thank you, Sammy." And there's the smile, the smile that lits up Dean's world and life. God, he really doesn't deserve this kid and his love. He wraps his arms around Sam, who hugs him back, even if a bit awkwardly. He smells of the shampoo from the last motel, the distant smell Dean knows is coming from one of his own old shirts Sam is 'borrowing'. He tucks the kid under his chin, and he smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. He pulls back before it gets too chick-flick, but doesn't stop smiling as Sam loops the cord around his neck, that small, shy but still happy smile on his face. Dean promises right there and then, he'll never stop loving that smile, his kid.

The tears have ran out, again, and Dean only feels hollow. He feels empty, even with the memory playing in his mind. He can remember that evening clearer than anything else, can remember the great time they had watching movies, before Sam had fallen asleep, drooling on Dean's shoulder. He had carried the kid to bed, checked the salt, doors and windows, before joined him in the bed, not taking his amulet off.

The amulet that still lies against his chest, one of the few things he has of Sam. With how much he loves the kid, he sure doesn't have much evidence of it, does he?

Dean wraps his aching hand around the amulet, feels it's familiar thorns prickle his palm, and closes his eyes. He imagines Sam in his arms, right here and right now, the kid's puffy breaths one of the few sounds in the night. He imagines he still has his brother, who he loves more than life, and promises to himself, come tomorrow, he'd fix this. One last tear slides down his cheek against his damp pillow, as Dean's breathing evens out, the eighteen-year-old falling into a quiet, calm sleep.

Notes:

....it's probably bad that this is the easiest kind of chapters for me.... Yeah, sad shit, sorry for that.

Thanks for reading! Love you all.

Chapter 8: I'll turn out the lights tonight

Summary:

Are you god or devil, ghost disheveled
Childhood friend or drunken revel
I cannot stop I'm bleeding out for you
You angel heart you monster oh
Some godforsaken Prospero
Your feathers and your paws
Your hell for leather applause
You dance on tables, endless labels
Are you Cain cos I'm not Abel
Your bastard lasting night bus asking
What's the everlasting fable

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The whiskey burned his throat, and he swallowed, but it did nothing to remove the tightness. He didn't know what to do, rage or cry. He knew that Dean was in the next room, he knew his kid was crying, and there was nothing he could do.

God, he had failed, he had failed so badly.

Sammy, little ball of stubborness, passion and drive was gone. Little Sammy, with his mother's characteristics, his stubborness, and those big hazel eyes that were always thirsty for knowledge. Was it about a hunt, about a myth, about math, it didn't matter.

He brushed a hand across his face, hiding his face from the world. He had let them down, he had let his family down. His throat burned, and the choked sobs from the bedroom did nothing but hurt him even more. Dean wasn't going to bounce back from this, after all John's forced his kids to go through, this just might be enough to break his oldest. His only child, now.

Oh Mary, it went all wrong, so wrong.

He knew he wasn't the best father, but he did his best. He did his best, but sometimes the only thing that kept him going was that he was going to kill the demon, that took everything from him. He would kill it, and he could die happy. It was the only thing that kept him going, and he knew that as much as Dean shared his need to kill it, Dean had something else. He could grow, maybe even find someone to hunt with, someone to settle down with. John, he couldn't imagine anyone could fill the hole Mary left behind in his heart.

Sammy had been different. He hadn't known Mary, didn't feel the same hatred against the demon. He wanted a normal life, and it didn't matter how many times John tried to explain that this was their life, they couldn't run from it, Sam didn't change his opinion. Or hadn't, guess he's supposed to start thinking about him in past tense.

Dean was right, Sam had been different, had always been, and maybe John had failed from the start. Maybe he was at the fault, hiding what he knew from Sam.

Could he have prevented it? If he had told Sam, hadn't driven him away from him, could he have kept him? Would he still have Sam with them, if he had only told him about his suspicions. That they weren't the only family destroyed, that there were others similar, and it might be something bigger than John could've ever imagined. On the other hand, John hasn't heard a peep that any other kids have started developing any kind of powers, so maybe he couldn't have prevented it. Maybe Sam was always damned for this, maybe he could live with himself after all.

But God, his heart still hurt. Even if he knew Sam was in Heaven, with Mary, who would look after him like he failed to do, it hurt. It didn't hurt as much as with Mary, but it dug a hole right beside the one she left behind, and it hurt far more than any injury he's ever gotten. He ached everywhere, his kid was gone.

The tears burned in his eyes, his chest tight, and he quickly downed his glass, pretending the tears were from the burn of the whiskey, instead of his dead son. His smart, full of life, son. How could he had let this happen? Damn the hunt, damn everything, Sam was gone and he was never going to see him again. The car rides would be quiet, there would be no fighting, no additional costs from school. Isn't this what he had wanted? For Sam to shut up for once, to grow up, and let go of his dreams.

The last time he saw him, the kid was crying, trying to prove he was real, and John had shut him down without a second thought. He had disowned him, called him a monster-

He didn't mean it. God, he didn't mean any of it.

The bedroom door creaked, and his heart flared up in more pain, as he looked at Dean, his only son.

"Dean-" He didn't let him go on, just raised a slightly shaking hand.

"Don't. I don't even wanna see you right now." He moved towards the bathroom, and John stood up, trying to approach him.

"I know how you feel-"

"No, you don't." Dean's answer was sharp, void of warmth or respect. Maybe he should let him cool off.

"Listen, Sam was my son-"

"And he's dead!" Dean exploded, and John flinched a bit. His eyes were red rimmed, filled with grief but his anger was there, something Dean could hold on to, rage would keep him alive.

"Sam's dead, and it's our fault." Dean grit his teeth, the fight trying to leave him, and he moved to go to the bathroom, and John stopped him again.

"It's not our fault, Dean-".

"It is!"

"Would you just let me finish?!" He yelled back, feeling a bit bad as Dean took a slight step back. He understood the kid was in pain, but blaming each other without reason was no use.

"Sam was my son, I know how you feel. But all we can do right now is carry on. The world doesn't end here, even if it feels like it. We have to keep on hunting, we have to find the demon-"

Dean snorted, but it was empty of any humor. He stared back at John, and the complete change took him off guard. Gone was the anger, now it was replaced by disgust, disappointment, and the same grief. He couldn't help but feel like something was wrong, very wrong.

"Sam asked me," Dean choked on the name, but kept his voice steady, "the first time, when he was four, when you had again failed to come when you were supposed to, that which one was more important to you, the hunt or us. I guess he knew the answer even back then." John felt anger cloud his vision, because that was not true at all-

"Don't you dare accuse me that the hunt was ever more important than you! You are the most important thing in my life-"

"Are we?!" Dean screamed back, and the rage was back hundred percent.

"Are we?! You dragged us across the country without a damn care in the world about what we thought! What we wanted! You left us each chance you got, never gave us enough money so Sam had to learn how to budget when he was six! Six, Dad! You put Sam in constant danger and then got angry when he got hurt because you weren't there! You got mad whenever he needed something, something as simple as some fucking boots because the old ones didn't have the bottom on any more! You never cared how he did in school, how many times the teachers praised him to moon and back, how he gave everything he had so that you'd be proud of him!" Dean was panting in the end, tears glimmering in his eyes, but his lips were pulled into a snarl. John felt like he was punched in the gut, and stared at Dean, who wasn't done.

"He loved you, Dad. He loved us both with everything he had, and we drove him away. But you lost him a long time ago, so don't try to tell me you know how I feel, when I raised the kid. We were never one of your priorities, the hunt was."

Dean left, and John sat down. He didn't know if it was the whiskey, or Dean's words, but he was overwhelmed, ripped apart.

Was Dean right? He couldn't be-

"I-It's me- Just p-please listen it's me I swear-"

Sam had pleaded with him, tears burning in his eyes. He remembered the shattered look, the glassed eyes and the kid had looked so small, so fragile in that moment, and John had shattered him like a crystal glass. He could've stayed, could've let him explain, and he could've believed him for once.

Maybe Dean was right, maybe he had lost Sam a long time ago, and maybe he had really screwed up this time, and it cost him his son's life. He stared at the golden liquid in the bottle, and let the tears go.

°°°

The semi's engine rumbled loudly, a bit too loudly, but luckily his headache had left a while ago. The radio was quiet, playing some old country songs, and Sam was decent, if you'd ask him. He wasn't dying of thirst, hunger or anything else.

His headache hadn't easened during the bus ride, and somewhere around the half way of their journey, Sam was forced to ask the driver to stop, so he could leave. The driver had left him with a bit worried look, but Sam assured he would be alright, and as the bus was out of sight, he ventured a bit deeper into the forest, and prepared for a vision.

A vision that never came, which he wasn't sure about if that was good or bad. His headache had started to ease quite quickly after leaving the bus, and maybe it was some smell or just weird psychic feeling, since he was fine now. He wasn't complaining, the visions were ruthless and he was glad it wasn't that.

Afterwards, he had guessed he needed to walk the rest of the trip, and before he could've started to worry it any more, he had gotten idea. If he's supposed to run around the country mindless, might as well start hitching now. The road had been rarely quiet, so Sam had walked instead of waiting, only stopping when he heard someone approach. The one that approached, and actually stopped was a semi-truck, and a older guy named Robert had picked him up.

Robert was nice, he guessed. He got no bad vibes for him, the man wasn't asking questions, or too many at least, and hadn't tried anything fishy yet. He had asked his name, where he was headed, and that was pretty much it. Sam was glad for the ride, it was still rather early and he hadn't felt like walking the entire day. He hoped the man wouldn't want anything as a thank you, he had heard enough stories meant to spook him off from Dean.

He had been picked up just before Alexandria, and since Sam had no clear direction, they were going towards Lake Charles now. It actually was a better choice than Lafayette, since Lake Charles wasn't as big of a hunter hole as Lafayette. And if he were to be a pessimist, he could say that every place was a hunter hole, because they were everywhere and no where at the same time, so it didn't matter that much where he was. Maybe he should start reading the news, scan for possible hunts, and based on that he could avoid others. But could he turn his back, if he knew something bad was about to happen, and people were going to die? Probably not, damn.

"You got someone in Charles to pick you up, kid?" Robert had a thick accent, probably from Texas, and Sam thought if he should lie or not. He was underage, so maybe lying was the best option.

"Yeah, my aunt lives there. We're going road tripping, but I missed the bus to there." It should feel alarming how easy lying was to him, but that was the hunter life. He had been lying since he knew what it was, for Dad, for Dean, who knows. CPS were a constant risk, every well meaning teacher's concerns put a damper on their plans, and usually resulted in angry John.

Robert stayed quiet for a while, and Sam risked a glance. He couldn't read the older man, but at least he didn't look like he was about to call the cops on him. Sam was about to relax again into the silence, when the older man spoke,

"I'm 63 years old kiddo, spare me the bullshite. My sister ran away from home when we were 16, and she was as crooked as a barrel of fish hooks. And I ain't judging, you seem like a good kid." Sam swallowed, shifting in his seat. Should he make him stop the truck, and make a run for it? Robert didn't seem like he would lie to him, and call the CPS without him knowing, but he couldn't trust people.

"Listen, we don't know each other, but you seem down, kid. I'd take a wild guess it's about your family. I don't have any kids, so I can't really give you any fatherly advice, but I can give ye something." Robert took a break, and Sam watched the line of cars front of them, waiting for the man to continue.

"Family is a thing that can tie you down, burden ye, or it can be one of the greatest things in your life. But that's biological family, son. The people you get around ye, the people that fit with you, can be your family. You'll always feel some kind of a bond towards your biological family, but it doesn't have to mean anything." Robert finished, and Sam didn't know how he felt. A bit warm maybe, touched that the man cared enough of a stranger to give him advice, even when he didn't ask for it. It warmed a part of him, but the void next to it was too big when compared. He didn't have a family, and maybe Robert was right, he'd always feel a pull towards Dean, like he felt now.

"Thanks." He didn't know what else to say, but Robert seemed to get it, his lips quirking up a bit. Sam watched the trees pass by, his mind elsewhere as Rober turned the radio up, calm country music filling the truck. He wondered where Dean was, and if he was happy without Sam in his life.

Notes:

John is honestly giving me a headache. Sorry for the late chapter, got a bit of a writer's block threat on. School's gonna start again soon, and with a week full of exams, so updates might become less scheduled and more 'idk what im doing here u go have a chapter' like.

Thanks for reading! Hope you're all well, and Happy New Year!

Chapter 9: Close my eyes, and dream of you and I

Summary:

I'll let you go
I'll let you fly
Why do I keep on asking why
I'll let you go
Now that I found
A way to keep somehow
More than a broken vow
Tell me the words I never said
Show me the tears you never shed
Give me the touch
That one you promised to be mine
Or has it vanished for all time

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The air conditioning is rather loud, but Dean pays it no mind. His eyes are focused on the computer screen, his dull eyes following the lines. He had a stack of books piled next to him, and the librarian had finally given up trying to talk to him. Good, he could finally focus.

He was in Hollandale, Mississippi. John hadn't called him after their fight, and Dean had only left him a note saying he needed some time to grieve. It hadn't taken a long time to figure out the best locations, best crossroads, and the one in Clarksdale seemed okay, and might even work. The thing with the supernatural claims was that it was always claims, nothing set in stone, could be myths or just rumours that had taken off. Which is why he needed to research before committing, behold the stack of books.

He was fine, fine with dying. The pain had started fading into plain numbness, the void in Dean's chest screaming it's emptiness. He knew he probably looked like shit, he hadn't been able to sleep. Nightmares would plague him if he even dared to close his eyes, not that reality was much better. In his dreams, he could at least see Sam, ignore the words his dead body would end up saying, ignore the self-loathing that followed afterwards. He bared the nightmares, he didn't want to forget. Didn't want to forget the hazel eyes that could be green, yellow, brown or black, always depending on lighting. In the morning, they'd be a mix of yellow and green, the sun reflecting on them. On a hunt, in the middle of nowhere they'd be dark, a mix of brown with only small speckles of light.

He didn't want to forget the mole next to his nose, could still remember the confusion on Sam's face when he had urgently called him, staring the mirror in the bathroom. Dean had been barely awake, alert in case Sam had been in trouble, only to find the kid confused about some mole on his face that had 'appeared out of nowhere, I swear De'. He had chuckled, and listened to Sam babble about it as the kid figured out in school how moles appeared. He could never understand just exactly what drove Sam so passionate about knowledge, but damn, he loved seeing the kid's eyes light up whenever he talked about something the nerd found interesting or cool.

He didn't want to forget that. He didn't want to forget Sam's favourite Nirvana song, his favourite ACDC song from Dean's collection, the sassy remarks, his wit, and how he never failed to make Dean smile. He didn't want to forget how Sam smelled, the mix of shampoo and the woods, or the hints of old paper, when the kid just couldn't get his head out of some old book Uncle Bobby got them. He didn't want to forget how Sam felt, still tucked under his chin, and how had Dean feared the day Sam would grow, and he couldn't tuck the kid under his chin anymore.

He takes a deep breath, shifting his jaw. The pain makes itself known again, rips back into his heart and tears out whatever it can, and Dean fights the tears, the lump in his throat. Sam will be back, he'll get him back. The kid will have the world, everything he deserves, even if Dean won't be there to see it.

John already showed how 'deeply' hurt he was by Sam dying, so he figures it won't shake the old man much when he follows. For Bobby, he feels bad. The man's been trying to call him, multiple times a day, leaving voicemails Dean doesn't want to hear. It's nothing new, nothing else he gets from others he knows, other hunters he's sometimes passed by. They're all the same. 'Sorry for your loss', 'he was a great kid', 'I know how much he meant to you'. It was all bullshit, none of them knew jackshit, so Dean didn't bother to answer. He'll be gone soon, anyway.

The librarian clears her throat, and Dean flinches out of his thoughts. She's at one of the bookshelves, close to Dean, and clearly she wants his attention. She's pretty, Dean guesses, brown hair, green eyes and dimples, but he doesn't care. He could care less.

He focuses back on the computer, scrolls through couple of the pages. The seat next to him is empty, there's no one to stop him from scrolling, no one to point out something that could be a important detail for the hunt, and Dean deletes the browser history. He has somewhere to be. Now he only needs the bone of a black cat, and there's a store in town for that kind of shit. It won't be long.

Won't be long anymore, Sammy.

°°°

The old truck under him huffs and puffs, he really needs to go to Bobby's to find a new ride. This one is starting to fall apart. It's been a good ride, hasn't left him stranded in some slimey banks, and it might be good to check on Bobby. The news of Sam, had hit the old hunter hard, Joshua knew that. If the distant pain he felt was from knowing the kid a little bit, he could only imagine what Bobby was feeling. Or what Dean was.

Damn Dean. The kid hadn't been answering any of his calls, after he had delivered the news to John. The older Winchester isn't answering his texts either, not that it's anything new. Lad could make you think he was dead in some forest, when he was too busy drinking.

The Winchesters had always been different. John hadn't brought the kids, or himself for that matter, into any hunter gatherings, or other events, but pretty much everyone knew them. John was a bloody good hunter, but a shit team player. However his sons had been a deadly duo, and after Johnson's kid had made some remark about Sam, pretty much the whole hunter community knew not to fuck with them. For a twelve-year-old, Dean had got a nasty fiver, and Joshua was glad he never got on the hunter's bad side. To be honest, there wasn't a lot you could do to piss Dean off, if you counted out messing with Sam in any way.

He must be feeling quite terrible. More than terrible, probably. But John would handle it, and maybe some day Dean would answer his calls and they could go for a couple of beers. He had been talking with Caleb, and he had been none better taking in the news of what happened to Sam than, well, anyone he had called about it. Caleb had been closer with the kids, and Joshua had promised to pop by when he went by Nebraska.

Right now he was heading to Houston, damn the town, but he couldn't stay in Lafaeytte. Apparently a nasty poltergeist, snatching on some kids from age four to seven, without a reason. He'll go sort that out, and maybe take a small break after that, go see some people. Bobby, Caleb, Pastor Jim, for starters at least. His daddy would call him a damn goody-two-shoes, but Joshua didn't mind checking in on people he considers at least friends, when something so fucked up has happened.

Sam was interesting. He was so unlike Dean, unlike John, with his own interests, liking to school, and preference to research against beheading things. Most of all, Sam had been a kid, and it always scrapes something in the bottom of his gut, when an innocent kid dies, especially in such a terrible way. He really feels for Dean, and hopes the kid will keep his head up, and not drown in grief like John did.

His stomach gurgles, and Joshua huffs. He ate a damn dinner before he left. Guess he has to pull over for some food soon, before continuing the trip. He'll drive overnight, he doesn't want any more kids to be taken if he can prevent it. He has to figure out if it's actually a poltergeist, maybe he should call someone to come help, if it gets too nasty. For now, he'll continue driving, and figure out where to stop to eat, maybe Lake Charles has some good diners.

°°°

Sam plays with his hands on his lap, waiting for Robert to come back. They've stopped for a pee break, the semi still going, his seat vibrating slightly from the engine. He has no idea where they are, but Robert had told him that his final destination is Athens, and Sam is welcome to join him. He thinks he'll still carry on his own trip after Lake Charles, can't afford staying with the same person for too long. He needs to blend in with the crowd, not become friends with a trucker who knows nothing about his world.

They haven't talked, Robert had clearly sensed Sam was bothered, or otherwise disturbed, and hasn't made any conversation. He's right, Sam is bothered. His chest feels heavy, there's a distant ache in his head, like something bad is about to happen soon, but not necessarily to him. He doesn't know, nothing seems to make sense. Robert should be back soon, and Sam doesn't think his powers would react on a stranger being in danger. His lips quirk up, and he can practically hear Dean making a joke about 'stranger danger'.

The door opening brings him back to reality, and Robert climbs back to his seat, shooting him a look. Sam just smiles lightly, rubbing his chest as the feeling comes back, stronger. He wonders if he's able to sense emotions on the people close to him, if the ache is him feeling Dean's anger or bloodlust. He guesses that even if him and Dean aren't together anymore, they still have some kind of a bond, Dean took care of him for his whole life, after all. The truck roars back to the road, and soon they're back on their way, the trees passing by Sam again.

He'll have to start training again, his body and the powers. He still needs to be able to run faster than anyone in his school, and it wouldn't hurt testing just what exactly he can do, so he can avoid doing it. He knows about the visions, and the some kind of shield that keeps him alive, but is there something else? He has some kind of a grip on people, supernatural ability or not, and he can at least somehow pinpoint a person's nature. Robert for an example, he seems rather neutral, and Sam knows he's a good guy, even if he has a feeling Robert has some darker demons hidden. He hasn't met anyone he knows bad yet, so on the other hand it might not be anything at all.

The thing, if he's honest, he's most scared about, is what he can do to people. Is he able to control minds? Force someone to do something against their will? Can he cause some kind of spiritual pain to someone? What exactly is he capable of? Another thing he's worried about how his powers will change. When it started, it wore him out completely to throw a spirit off of him, but later throwing a werewolf off of him only made him a little tired, and exploding a lightbulb, however under strong emotions, he didn't even notice. Will he get stronger? Will there be more powers? Will he change?

How supernatural will he be in the end? Will there be twenty percent Sam left, or five, or none?

He's scared, okay, he's fucking scared. He's scared of everything around him, everyone around him, he's scared of himself, of what he'll become, of how he'll end. The fear for his life is an annoying feeling he can't get rid of. On some day, he fears for his life, and on some other day, he feels like it'd be just for the best if he were dead.

What will his visions become like? Will his headaches get worse? And whatever it is, that keeps him alive, will it become stronger? Will he be able to throw people around without a strain?

God, this is so mad. Last year, his biggest problem was dealing with John who was getting on his nerves, and how to keep Dean happy, how to talk to the girl he might like, now it's the opposite. Now his biggest problem is hunters, and his powers. He needs to know, needs to figure out a way to know why this is happening, how is it happening, and will it ever stop? What if his powers kill him, somehow overwhelm him so that he can't take it anymore? If his head becomes too full of the dead and not the living, will he loose his mind? If his visions become stronger, more like reality, and Sam starts to forget the line between a vision and reality?

Fuck, he's screwed. He's alone, and how on Earth is he supposed to figure something out when every hunter is on his ass? And when his kind, the supernatural, hear the name Winchester, and either rip him into pieces or run as far as possible. He can't ask anyone for help, no one at all. He's pretty sure he's the only one this has happened to, he would've heard or read about it otherwise. Just his luck, isn't it? Dean called him a trouble magnet, and wasn't he right?

He runs a hand across his face, and leans against his seat, closing his eyes. Maybe he can sleep, and the fate of his world can wait for later.

°°°

The sun still peeking over the treeline, when Sam and Robert pull up to the diner. Robert told him the place has the greatest mashed potatoes he's ever had, and Sam trusts the old trucker's word. He's hungry, and Robert had shut down any protest he had had for the older buying his food as well. Not that he had money, he was running dangerously thin on it, and he really needed a way to make more. He'll get some jobs when he can stop again and not get offed within a day.

He stays close to the older man, doesn't trust the gang of some teenagers by the diner's corner at all, their loud voices and whistles at some girl making him uncomfortable. He can't imagine how the girl feels, being harrassed by some teenagers who can't keep it in their pants. He so isn't looking forward to more hormones.

"Don't walk against the darn door kid." Robert's huffed warning just and just saves him from walking into the diner door, and he ducks his head down, embarrassed as they enter. Only when Robert nudges him, he looks back up, eyes trailing on the menu. His stomach makes a small sound, but Robert apparently hears it, since he chuckles.

The waiter is slowly making her way back to the counter, it's a busy day apparently. Sam scans the people, some truckers, couple families and a smaller group of teenagers. It's until his eyes meet familiar ones, does fear grip his gut.

He's backing off, eyes locked with Joshua who's standing up, making his way through the people. Robert is saying his name, but all he can hear is his own heartbeat, and the voice in his head that yells him to move, to run.

He bolts, straight out of the diner.

Notes:

Damn Joshua and his damn stomach. I'm going to apologise now, because there will be a noticeable delay in chapters for a while.

Thanks for reading, hope you are all well!

Chapter 10: You cry out to the sky

Summary:

TW for implied near sexual assault

When your seams have come unknitted
And you cry out to the sky
I've run out of my words, my song
Just let me die, me die
The rockrose and the thistle
Will whistle as you moan
I could try to calm you down
But I know you won't
All the pins inside your fretted head
And your muttered whens and hows
All your mother's weaves and your father's threads
Let me rob them of you now

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The ground under him was cold, the breeze would be making him freeze, if it wasn't for the fire. The sun had set down, and the only light right now was the blazing semi-truck. His hands, not shaking the slightest, were covered in still liquid blood that dripped down his fingers to the ground. His head was bleeding, his collarbone probably fractured, and even as his legs were fine, Sam couldn't move. He could only sit by the road, and watch the truck burn, knowing he had to leave soon. There was a body inside that car, a dead person, and Sam was responsible for it.

He pushes himself up, continuing to stagger along the tree line, ready to hide when people start showing up. He can't forget, can't get the words out of his head. Can't forget the pitch black eyes he has only ever heard of. A shiver runs down his spine, and Sam considers himself a dead man walking.

"You can run from us all you want, sweetheart, but we're the closest thing to family you got."

°°°

Couple hours earlier

To say Joshua was surprised, would be the answer from some therapist. He was fucking bewildered, shook out of his mind, tree fell on his head, cows started flying, surprised. Because Sam Winchester, the kid he called about to John and Dean, the dead kid, had just walked into the diner.

Everything he had thought, flirting with the waiter, the deaths in Houston, flew out of the window. He had stared, and wondered if this was a dream, if he was so desperate to see the kid alive he was imagining it.

He could not recognize the shaggy hair, the still a bit too big clothes on him, and the eyes Dean had babbled about when drunk, that had turned towards him, and had been filled with fear. Fear that sent the kid running before Joshua could realize, the trucker Sam had arrived with bolting after the kid quickly, and Joshua hadn't hesitated a second. He had broken into a full sprint after the duo, not caring how it looked to others.

Sam looked like he was hyperventilating, eyes flying everywhere, as he leaned against the truck, his current guardian or whatever right next to him, seemingly trying to calm him down. Joshua hesitated for a moment, should he approach or wait a bit? However the memory of a drunk Dean mumbling how much he loves his kid, forces him to move. He needs Dean to know Sam's alive.

He starts approaching, but gets only slightly closer, when Sam, seemingly a bit more calmed down spots him again, sending the kid down to another spiral. He feels a bit sick, the kid should never be afraid of him for Christ's sake. He's their friend, not enemy and it hurts to see the kid he's known for years look at him with nothing but pure fear. Sam's spiral alerts the man he seems to be with, who turns around, spotting him. He's sporting a beard with hints of grey in it, and those eyes narrow at him, and soon the old trucker is approaching, and Joshua doesn't know what to do.

Hand ready to reach for a weapon, he keeps his eyes on Sam, who's watching them with alarm. The man gets a bit too close, and Joshua tooks a step back, holding his hand out.

"Hey, hey hey, easy there. No need to get close and personal, man."

"You better keep yer ass right here and not go any closer to that kid, or it's gonna get messy." A low tone, seemingly the man seems even a bit protective, which, who can blame him? Sam's a sweetheart, everyone loves him to be honest.

"Listen, I know him, and I really need to talk to him-" He doesn't get to finish, hopping backwards as the man clenches his fist, preparing to hit him. He throws his hands up, he can't afford having the cops called, and a fight over some underage kid who ran away from him in fear would not look good at all. Fucking fuck, he needs to talk to Sam! He needs to get the kid back to Dean before God knows what happens.

"Back off, kid." And then the trucker is going back to Sam, throwing glances over his shoulder, and Joshua doesn't dare to move. There's enough crowd already, and Joshua is helpless to watch Sam climb into the truck, the kid peeking out of the window to watch him. With the trucker inside, he makes one last effort, and sprints to his car. He can tail them, keep an eye on them and he'll snatch Sam the moment he has a chance. The truck is backing out of it's spot, and Joshua slams the car door closed, turning the key in the ignition, but nothing happens.

He snaps out of the quick shock, turning the key again and again, because this can't be happening, this can't be happening right now! The engine just wheezes before dying again, no matter how many times he turns the key. He looks up, and the truck is pulling up to the highway, Sam's eyes still locked with him. There's a furrow on his face, as if he's concentrating, but Joshua doesn't have time to think, he needs to get his car to work.

By the time the engine turns on, the truck is long out of sight.

°°°

"Fuck!" He slams his hand against the wheel in frustration. He's lost them. He's fucking lost a damn semi-truck on a highway out of all places. There isn't many turns they could've taken, but apparently they took a different turn than Joshua, and he has no idea where the truck, or Sam for that matter is. He curses again under his breath, trying to figure out a plan. He knows Sam is alive, because no spirit or shifter or demon would've acted like that. Had it been any supernatural creature, Sam wouldn't have been afraid, because he wouldn't have a reason to. From what he got out from Dean, Sam has some psychic thing going on out of nowhere, and the kid's convinced his family and every hunter on this planet wants him dead.

Which, let him say, if Bobby or Caleb knew anything about, John Winchester would not have his balls for long. Because there is no one else, that could make the kid so fucked in the head, than John. If Dean had to cut off a hair from that bush that was growing on his kid brother's head, he would probably instead kill whoever would dare to even suggest that. Dean, no way. There is no way that Dean would be at fault here, and he'll believe that to his grave. From what he's gathered amongst the years, Dean loves the kid more than probably life, and Sam feels the same way. They're a weird duo, but no one can judge. They all do what they need to to be able to live the life they do.

So he understands Sam's reaction, even as the fear in his eyes will probably haunt him for a while, he'll figure it out. He has new info, and there's a lot of hunters out there looking for the youngest Winchester, someone has to spot him sooner or later, now that Joshua knows that he's travelling with a trucker. For how long, probably not too long, the kid is too damn smart sometimes for his own good.

The kid could be anywhere. He knows how to stay out of sight, avoid authorities, stay alive with little money. Wait, how does the kid have any money? He's been criss-crossing through like five states, most in one go. How does he have any money left? Damn, he hopes the kid isn't in trouble. Sam knows how to take care of himself, he knows that, but the kid's fourteen for Christ's sake. The worst thing he did when fourteen was steal his dad's old truck, and this damn kid is avoiding every damn hunter in the country while staying alive, alone, with some god awful psychic powers.

Is that how he's alive? Because he's as sure as he's about poltergeists being douchebags that Sam entered the bus. The bus that ended in crashing off a cliff, killing everyone. Did Sam somehow save himself from that? There's no way he was in the bus, so he must've gotten off at some point, in the middle of nowhere. A lightbulb lits in his mind. That's probably why the kid is with a trucker! He had no other choice than to wait someone to pick him up. Does he know about the crash, though? Sam would've gotten off before even halfway to Lafayette, so it's totally possible he and his trucker friend avoided the entire crash site!

So the kid doesn't know that his brother-

Fuck, Dean!

He scrambles to find his phone, simultaneously trying to find a place where he can pull over to. Fuck it, he'll put emergency lights on, he needs to call Dean now. Pulling over, he quickly shifts the gears, other hand already clicking down to Dean's number, pressing call without hesitation. Now he doesn't have to think about how to word this, he's bringing the good news, turning Dean's world back on instead of turning it off. If the damn fucker would just answer his phone for once! He can't leave another voicemail, there's no way Dean has listened to the previous ones, why would he listen to this.

The line clicks, and Joshua jumps immediately in,

"Dean! Stop whatever in God's name you're doing and sit down!" An exasperated sigh comes through, and Joshua is dying to just scream it out, the joy hitting him full power.

"Listen man, you can't change my mi-"

"Okay I'm done! Listen, and listen closely. You better be sitting down, I don't want your ass in a hospital." He swallows, the smile on his lips probably making him look like a maniac.

"Your brother's alive, he's alive. Sam's alive, not dead, he's alright-" He stops, because the line stays quiet. Did he hang up?

"I swear Joshua, if this is-"

"I swear on my mother's grave, Dean. Sam's alive." There are three promises he has made, three swears on his mother, God rest her soul. Dean has to know he's serious. The line is quiet, but Joshua knows he hasn't hung up. He's probably shaken his entire world over and around again, dropping the news like this. He gives him a while to reorganize himself and everything, before he continues in a gentle tone.

"He must've gotten off the bus before the accident for some reason. He's hitching with what seems to be a perfectly normal human being, a trucker, nothing too suspicious. He probably doesn't even know about the crash at all, Dean. I'm sure if Sam knew, he would've contacted you somehow, the kid loves you." There's no answer for a while, but Joshua hears shaky breathing.

"He's alive, Dean. God, that little shit is alive." He chuckles in relief, because in the end he hadn't doomed Dean as well. He hadn't failed his friend.

"Is- Is he with you?"

There's a tiny bit of hope, and it sounds so unlike Dean. He knows the confident, sassy and brilliant Dean, but this version is a run down. It sounds like he had lost his hope, for everything, and Joshua hates to crush the new try of it.

"I'm sorry, man. The trucker got real close and I couldn't risk the cops being called. I'm actually pretty sure that Sam, the damn fucker, had something to do with my car not being able to go after them." He hears a weak laugh, and even with a small disappointment it sounds legit, and relieved. Dean doesn't ask anything else, so Joshua does it for him, he must still be in shock, Joshua is at least.

"I can give a detailed description of the trucker, and they can't be far. Have to stop at some point. There's no way Sam can avoid every hunter in the states." A part of him disagrees, but he needs to give Dean hope.

"Pretty sure you know that he can."

A little choked up, but that's fine. Dean will be alright now, and they'll get that little man back to his brother soon, and they'll start healing again. They'll be fine. And God, is it a relief.

He hums his agreement, before continuing, "I'm in just outside Lake Charles right now. I know there's some big truck stations in Oklahoma and Texas, so they're probably heading towards one of them, if the kid stayes with the same guy. Can't be sure though, but it's the best we got. Are you and John where-"

"I'm outside Clarksdale." It's the tone that gets his attention. He stays quiet, wondering why Dean would be in Clarksdale, before it hits him.

"Dean-" He knows his voice is strained, but his heart dropped into his stomach the second he realized just what could attract a grieving brother to that shit hole known for it's crossroads.

"I didn't-" The line goes quiet, before Dean sighs heavily, and Joshua feels his blood rush.

"I was going to, but you were faster, man. I don't know where John is, but not a word about this to him, alright?"

Joshua sighs, because God, the Winchesters will be the death of him. He should've known something was up with Dean, bloody hell that was too close.

"I'm not judging, Dean, honestly. I got you man. I'm gonna call John next and tell him about Sam, though. He can ask around or organise some search method-"

A bitter laugh breaks through, and Joshua gets a bad feeling.

"I doubt John will lift a finger."

"Dea-"

"No. He said the demon was more important than Sam, day after he was fucking dead and-" Dean cuts off. God, there's more shit going on than he thought. John was never the greatest, but fuck,

"Shit. I'm sorry man. I need to let him know still, I don't give a shit if he helps or not. We'll probably deal with this easier without him. But, do give Bobby a call, alright? The man's grieving, both of you, and I'm sure he's been trying to reach you. I'll call you later, let me know when you're closer, kay?"

"I will... And Joshua? I can't thank you enough."

He smiles, "Buy me a beer and we'll see." Dean chuckles, and Joshua ends the call with a decent feeling. But damn, he's going to Florida after they get Sam home, this is too much drama for him. He looks at his phone, he knows Dean isn't going to call Bobby right now, probably is speeding here as quickly as possible without a care for speed limits. He also doesn't feel like talking to John after what he heard. The decision is easy, and he clicks Bobby's name, ready to deliver some damn good news again. The line clicks, and he's smiling even before he hears him.

"This better be important."

°°°

The phone is thrown to the passenger seat, and Dean is probably breaking so many laws right now, but he couldn't care less. There's a warmth, a light in his chest he thought was gone forever. He's alive, he feels alive again, and most importantly, Sam is alive. He tightens his hold of the steering wheel, determination settling in. He can fix things now, and he will. He just has to find the kid, but luckily Dean knows him better than anyone.

He'll find his kid, and he'll never let him go again.

He pushes down the pedestal, and the Impala rumbles with him, and he has hope.

°°°

The sirens have left, a while ago. An hour, twenty minutes, Sam isn't sure. He doesn't know how long it has been. He's cold, can't feel his hands anymore, and maybe this is it. Maybe he won't have to run from everyone anymore, if this is it. Coldness, takes out Sam Winchester, and if that isn't irony he doesn't know what is. Fire was his begin, cold his end, it's poetic almost.

His jacket burned with the truck, and he can still feel the hands on him, pushing him down, and he chokes. The tears spill out, and Sam feels like he's drowning. His face hurts, there are scratches on his arms, and with the button ripped off of his jeans, they are only hanging on to his hips. Fuck, this can't be happening-

His eyes stare at his blood covered hands, the hands that took an innocent life. He's a murderer, and he's tainted. He's a monster, and he doesn't know if he can live with all that. The Taurus John gave him is in his duffel he somehow managed to grab, while escaping a soon exploding truck, his head still ringing from the hit. He has a choice, but it feels like these hands aren't his anymore. He's a pawn of something bigger, and who knows what'll happen if he grabs that gun.

He'll have to start moving, without being heard, ever again. He isn't only running from hunters now, he's running from demons.

And no one can outrun a demon.

Notes:

Eek, this is getting dark now. But yay, Dean's okay, something positive, right?

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 11: Nights long alone

Summary:

If today I woke up with you right beside me
Like all of this was just some twisted dream
I'd hold you closer than I ever did before
And you'd never slip away
You'd never hear me say
I remember the day you told me you were leaving
I remember the makeup runnin' down your face
And the dreams you left behind, you didn't need them
Like every-single wish we ever made.
I wish that I could wake up with amnesia
And forget about the stupid little things
Like the way if felt to fall asleep next to you
And the memories I never can escape
'Cause I'm not fine at all

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Agents Ford and Collins." They flash the badges, cutting off whatever Sheriff Williams was about to say. The young man, young to be a Sheriff more like, leans closer to inspect them, and they give him couple of seconds, before they pocket them. No one has ever in their history of doing this actually properly examined their badges, which should be kinda worrying. For them, it's just easier.

"FBI, huh? Didn't know you did basic cases these days." Caleb flashes him his iconic smile, and Joshua looks around them. He can smell sulfur even from here, the whole area around the toasted semi-truck practically oozing of it. His chest tightens, Dean was not going to be happy about this.

"Nothing is basic anymore, the last case we worked was a simple homocide done by a jealous husband, and in the end we discovered the man was a sex cultist that had planned assassinating the mayor." Williams whistles, impressed, and Joshua wants to chuckle under his breath, he never figured out where Caleb pulls these stories from.

"So, what do we got?" He interrupts their chatting, casting Caleb a look. He knows the other wants to find Sam as badly as him, if not more, but he'd like to get back to Caleb's little base, where Dean is probably already breaking shit. Bobby should be there soon, driving the entire way from Sioux Falls to Jasper. He's so damn grateful that Caleb still had the old little hut, they had quickly cleaned it into a working base for tracking the young Winchester down.

"Seems to be a crash. Driver lost control of the truck and crashed into that tree, engine lit on fire and exploded, burning the whole thing." It's a relief, that nothing is standing out of the ordinary to the local Sheriff, they don't need anyone suspecting the trucker wasn't driving alone. Joshua remembers the license plate of the truck Sam left in, and the bent metallic plate has the same numbers and letters on it. The question is, what in God's name happened, and where was Sam?

"Have you identified the driver yet?" Joshua wonders closer to the truck, avoiding the other officers who just nod at him as he passes. The tree is basically dug into the front of the semi, and with that speed and force, the tree probably should've fallen over. Guess it's a bit stronger than it looks, or Sam has something to do with it. Did the truck actually get toasted into a crisp by the crash, or did it get lit by Sam?

He climbs in from the passenger seat, eyes tracking the inside. There's clear marks of where the body was, and the sulfur smells so bad it almost makes him choke. Eager to get away, he scans the inside quickly. What seems to have been a piece of clothing lies on the floor, and Joshua surveys it. It could be Sam's, could be the driver's. He doubts that the cloth can work as an evidence against the young Winchester, but he shouldn't count on it. He checks no one is around, and tramples the clothing, the already crisped fabric tearing into smaller pieces. That should be fine now, no way they can get something off of it.

The insides seem clear otherwise, and Joshua steps out. He doesn't spot Caleb with the Sheriff, probably doing some of his own investigation, and decides to go talk to the man. The Sheriff is talking to an officer who quickly leaves after he gets closer, and Joshua rises an eyebrow.

"Don't mind James, he's new and a bit spooked by this. He's local, so he might know the lad. Ye spot anything interesting?" Williams asks, and Joshua shakes his head. This should be clear, if Caleb comes back with nothing as well, they'll go back to the base. To be honest, they're both pretty worried about Dean. He had shown up, probably had driven like a madman, and he looked like shit. Honestly, it had been a while since he had seen someone looking so terrible, and he's seen a lot of aftermaths of hunts gone wrong. The kid had lost weight, hadn't probably eaten properly after the news, had lost all of his humor, the usual sass and pretty much everything that made Dean Winchester, well, Dean Winchester. He wouldn't talk, didn't do any small talk, wouldn't look you into the eyes unless you had some info about Sam. And God, the nights. The little hut didn't give them much privacy, so no matter how hard Dean fought to keep them away, they still woke up to him having nightmares, and Caleb had taken the job mostly to keep Dean company after getting him out of his dream. They didn't talk about it, course they didn't, but they all knew this couldn't go on much longer. Dean was ripping himself into pieces to find Sam, and maybe when they find the kid eventually, there won't be any Dean left.

"We'll get the lad identified soon, and we can let the family know. Don't know much of your feds business, but the locals are gonna be on edge, we're a tight community, so mind keeping the questioning down a notch?" That's a tone if Joshua knows one, apparently they've had some bad experience with feds, wonder if they were actual feds or some other hunters. He hasn't heard about anyone pissing off some townies here, but you never know. He knows a few who don't got no consideration for their cover as long as it works, or for any feelings the victim's family or others might have.

The eldest Winchester pops into his mind. He has called him, but John, the usual, hasn't bothered picking up the damn phone.

"If my partner there won't find anything interesting, I think we're all done." He won't try to clear any reputations, not his job. As if on cue, Caleb climbs from the ditch by the semi, and Joshua instantly knows he has something. Excusing himself, he hurries to Caleb, who gives him a meaningful look. He doesn't know if it's hope or uneasiness that grows in his gut, as he follows Caleb to their car, waving bye to the Sheriff who watches them go with narrowed eyes. Way to not look suspicious, Joshua.

The second the door closes, Caleb turns to him as he turns the key.

"There's tracks, and I'm quite sure they came from the truck. Someone was down in the forest, there was a little drop after the ditch, and it must've been around when the crash happened."

"Think it's Sam?" Caleb huffs, rubbing his forehead as Joshua focuses on the road, heading straight towards their little base. It's not a long drive, thank God, and they need to call Dean soon.

"Course it's fucking Sam. The kid knows how to cover his tracks, they led to nowhere. The shit news is, I'm ninety percent sure the kid's injured in some way, no idea how badly." Joshua looks at him, and Caleb is worried. Worried isn't good, that means they have actual evidence that something is wrong. Damn it. He sighs, this is not good at all. They might need some extra hands with this.

"A demon, a toasted truck, just what the Hell is going on with that kid?"

"Something bad, I bet. I think we're in deeper than we thought." Caleb says, tired, and Joshua is reminded by how tired they all are. They're basically tracking Sam down all the time, every bus stop that the kid might've went to is being called, every gas station, train station, weird activities, everything. Every hunter on this piece of land is keeping an eye out, but so far no one has seen anything.

"Mind giving Dean a call, before he destroys the rest of your beer collection." Caleb doesn't laugh, and it wasn't a joke. They'd be worried about how much Dean drinks, if they didn't know how much John drank compared to. Sometimes, he thinks he might hate John, for all he's done, but he won't say that, he wants to keep Sam and Dean both in his life as long he can, and the man is still their father, no matter how shitty.

°°°

He's pacing, back and forwards between the limited space of the kitchen and the living room. He looks like shit, and damn is this the last time Bobby believes John can take care of his kids. This is the last mess he'll solve, and won't let John create any more of them. Bastard isn't even here.

"Dean, wouldya mind sitting your ass down? They ain't getting here any sooner despite how much you run the old floors down." The kid huffs, sound that would usually lead to a sassy comment, but nothing. He's been here for thirty minutes, and he's growing more and more alarmed of the kid the longer he is here. Instead of listening to him, Dean goes to hover over the table they had gathered from what looks like old coffee tables. Filled with mostly the map they got, red lines going over, mimicking Sam's great escape. It's a mess, and he stopped counting how long Dean has spent perched over that table after it hit twenty.

"Dean," He doesn't know what to say, he's damn angry with John and his bullshit and for letting this happen, but the kid needs help. He isn't going to last.

"No need for a fatherly talk, Bobby, I had one already with John. It was mostly him belittling this entire shitshow, and cursing Sammy out as if this was in any way his fault." It's a rare jab from Dean, but Bobby grabs onto it. At least the kid wants to talk about that.

"Listen, your old man can be an arsehole, but he's coming here still ain't he?" Dean huffs, it seems to be the only sound he can make aside from frustrated little grunts. He stays leaned over the map, clearly thinking hard, trying to figure out some masterplan his kid has as if he isn't running from pure fear. He's zigzagging from state to another, trying to loose someone off his tail, and Bobby knows the fact they got nothing on the kid is worse. He stayed on radar, barely yes, and now, after meeting a demon, he drops off completely. It can't be good.

"The only reason I'm letting him anywhere near Sam is because he's a good tracker, nothing else. The second we find Sam, John is out." Feeling alarmed, Bobby tries to get a read on Dean. There's bitterness and anger towards John, and even as shit of a person he is, Dean rarely never shows any distate towards him. What had he done now?

"Dean, I don't know what the Hell John did to make you that mad, but if that's what you want, we'll go with that. Now, what can you tell about what could be going on in that little bugger's head?" He comes to stand next to Dean, watch the red lines around the map, the small notes written next to the cities Sam's known to been at. Dean stays quiet, thinking, and Bobby glances at his bruised knuckles. They don't seem broken, but bruised as hell.

"He's scared." Dean starts, quiet and a little choked. He's staring at the map, fingers gripped around the edges of the map. He exhales, rubbing his forehead quickly. He points at Breitung, where the lines start, and continues,

"See, here he was trying to loose us off his tail. He avoided big towns, didn't stay for long, used cash and somehow avoided all cameras. At some point, probably around West Plains, he must've realized Joshua was on his tail, and did this little circle to throw him off. Now, before Arkansas, he calms down a bit. Takes a breather, spends a night in the same place. He knew Joshua was off his tail for now at least, and then after avoiding the crash," Dean's voice tightens, and he takes a moment to swallow, before carrying on, "he continues moving, still as if someone was on his tail. He didn't know about the crash, so he kept on running, and this trucker guy must've been possessed from the start, or during some time when he was with Sam. I know the kid wouldn't hop on to ride with someone he doubts the slightest, since at this point he wasn't too desperate."

He has to marvel, how Dean can stay professional, as if he isn't talking about his own brother, who Bobby knows he loves more than probably anything. But, it is Dean after all, if someone can pull through something like this without going nuts, it's Dean. The engine outside cuts off what he was planning to stay, and Dean moves towards the door like a dog waiting for it's owner to return. Bobby leans against the table, trying to get more sense to whatever is going on in Sam's head. God, he knew the kid was something else, not meant for hunting, but it was something else in the end, wasn't it? Just had to be Sam, the kid who's torn between what he wants from life and the family business, Sam who he knows has some dark thoughts, and doubts of his own part in Mary's death.

The door opens, and Joshua and Caleb step in. Their tired faces light up a bit, and damn it's good to see them. Caleb pushes against Joshua, to get in front of him, and splayes his arms wide open, grinning like the idjit he is. He doesn't complain, pats Caleb's back, and it does feel good to see him. With Caleb running around the country and Bobby in Sioux Falls, they don't get to see often.

"Old man! Good to see ya!" Joshua is next, and damn, has he grown again.

"Be careful who ye call old, I can still beat you in shooting, and you know that." He warns, and Joshua laughs. It's almost as if nothing was wrong, but their faces loose the smile too quick, replaced by a worried frown.

"Wish we could see in better times, man. Now, clean your ears, we need to do some serious planning." Dean, who's stayed quiet so far, joins them around the table, and Bobby doesn't miss the look Joshua and Caleb cast at each other. He knows the kid looks like shit, but he also knows he isn't gonna get any better till he knows Sam's fine. That little fucked up instinct John beat into him doesn't give up easy.

"Pretty sure I got Sam's jacket in the semi, apparently left behind. Nothing more, and the cops don't think anyone else was in the crash, so on that side we're clear." They nod, even as Dean looks suddenly distant for a second, before focusing as Caleb speaks up.

"Now, I found some tracks near the edge of the forest. No one else got em, and I cleaned whatever I found, but I'd bet my ASP it was Sam." Caleb looks pointedly at Dean, and darn, that isn't a good look.

"I also came across some blood, and remains of what looks like a first aid kit. Not much blood, and I covered it all so there's no evidence of Sam being there left, and we had to expect he was going to be hurt in some way after that kind of a crash. What I think we need to figure out, is that where is he heading, and why haven't we got a bloody thing on him?" Joshua humms his agreement, and Dean stays quiet, Bobby keeping an eye on him.

"I don't think he's planning on becoming a hermit, so I guess bus stations are still our best bet. Might want to check in on some hospitals, just in case, cause if the kid's there, he's gonna need backup like yesterday." Caleb nods, studying the map, as Joshua ponders.

"Something went south." Dean says it like it solves everything, wide eyes coming up from the table to stare at them. Caleb side-eyes him, clearly unsure of what he's talking, but luckily he continues.

"I don't mean just a demon. Hell, that'd spook me into hiding as well, but this is something else. Sam gets afraid, sure, but he's also the bravest person I know. A demon trying to kill him wouldn't spook him off the radar, there's something else in this shit." They frown, because damn, Dean is right. What happened? And do they want to even know?

"Let's say this demon possessed the trucker before he crossed paths with Sam. Why would he let him off the hook, and only later try and nail him? I think, that the trucker was fine when Sam got to him, and that he got possessed during their time. So, what would make a demon jump into a body in the middle of nowhere, traveling with a Winchester, if it wasn't something bad?" His hands shake, and Dean grips the edge of the table, his gut churning.

"What would a demon want with Sam?" Caleb asks, and none of them say it outloud, even if they're all thinking of the same thing. Demons and Winchesters went back a decade, it wasn't hard math. Another engine rumbles outside, and all eyes fly to Dean. The kid's face hardens, he shifts his jaw and stands up straight. Bad timing, Johnny, bad timing.

The door opens, and if looks could kill, John Winchester would be dead at the doorstep. Face of stone, as usual, no regard to the fact everyone looks like they want to embowel him, and he steps in, door closing behind.

"Demons and Sam's abilities, share with the class before someone looses their cool, John."

Notes:

A bit of a filler chapter, but I tried. Now, John's screwed, and Dean't won't be happy. Thank you for reading as always, I'll try get some chapters out as soon as possible, school's being a little fecker and it's gonna be -40 C here, so I'm gonna be stuck in school, and freezing my fecking ass off. Hope you're all doing well, I'll see you hopefully soon!

Chapter 12: The outcome of a revolution born to consume it's own

Summary:

Oh, you're a loaded gun, yeah
Oh, there's nowhere to run
No one can save me
The damage is done
Shot through the heart
And you're to blame
You give love a bad name (bad name)
I play my part and you play your game
You give love a bad name (bad name)
You give love, a bad name

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

John didn't move, didn't change his expression. Standing in the doorway, not bothering to answer, and God sometimes Dean could understand why that annoyed Sam so much. Was it so hard to just give a simple answer?

"Don't know what you're talking about, Caleb. Have you-"

"The history between Sam and demons, now." It was Dean who spoke up, with this way too calm voice, that still gave away that he was about to lose his cool. John narrowed his eyes, and Dean crossed his arms, not backing off. They needed answers, and they were going to get them, one way or another.

When John still didn't answer, continuing to try to get Dean to back off with his attitude, Joshua stepped in. The tall man was usually calm, collected, didn't give any of the bursts of anger Dean had, so seeing him, standing in his full height and set jaw would put anyone even a bit on edge.

"You can tell us, or then you can get the fuck out, John. Simple as that." The tensed silence continued, John now eyeing all of them, trying to get an idea of how serious they were. Slowly, his posture started to fall, starting from the tensed shoulders and tightened jaw. He let out a long sigh, throwing his duffel in the corner.

He leaned against the wall, and Dean could see he was pondering just how much to tell. Feeling his anger rise, he was so done with all the fucking secrets, they needed to find Sam!

"Spill it all, from the beginning." Dean glared at John, shoving his determination against John's, he wasn't playing around, and God help the older if he wouldn't spill it all. He needed to know, he needed to figure out what these fuckers wanted from his little brother, get them to back the fuck off, and get his brother safe. Preferably, first get his brother safe. He doesn't have any idea how Sam is doing, and it's killing him.

"A demon killed your mother, as you know." The men settled down, all eyes set on John who only hesitated to continue for a couple of seconds, Dean's glare enough inspiration.

"I started hunting that thing, and it didn't take long to figure out a pattern. The demon would visit families, with a baby six months old, and usually kill the mother, if not the whole family." Dean shifted, he had a bad feeling about this.

"No idea how it chooses the victims, all over the country, if there's an older kid, they can be two years or thirteen years, no matter. Then it's gone, and moves on to another family. I still don't got a clue about why it's doing it, what the ultimate plan actually is." John does look a little bothered by it, mostly angered that he doesn't know everything. Dean shifts his stance, getting impatient.

"We know all this shit already. What's it got to do with Sammy?" Bobby moves closer to the boy, John is playing the long game on purpose, withholding information to get Dean riled up, and leave the questioning. However, Bobby knows that isn't happening, Dean is too close to the thing. Withholding information about a case, he could let that pass, but not when it comes to Sam.

"I didn't tell you, because you'd just overreact. It's nothing big, it doesn't matter, Dean. Let it be, Sam can-"

"Sam is fourteen! He's alone, with no money, no one to help him, with fucking demons on his ass! It's something big, and I swear if you fucking don't spill it, I'm gonna do something about it. This is Sam, John." He spits the name out, and John's face hardens. The tense silence is back, with Dean fuming, and John sulking. Caleb and Joshua are eyeing the situation, ready to jump in if it gets physical. Both on edge, John's habit of withholding information has always been annoying, but with this kind of shit, it's unacceptable.

John grits his teeth, and finally, spits out, "The demon feeds the kids demon blood."

It doesn't take long. A moment of stunned, shocked silence, Dean staring at John, without seeing, mouth hanging open. He's the quickest to snap out of the gut punch induced by John, practically throwing himself towards the man, eyes burning. A crack, and the rest of the hunters are pulling Dean back, not one of them helping John, who's holding his nose, blood pouring out of it.

"You son of a bitch! Now- Now you fucking tell us!" Dean's screaming his head off, fighting against the hands holding him back from beating John to a pulp. "He's your fucking son! He's your fucking son and you let this all happen! You could've fucking told us! We could've stopped it, stopped all of this fucking shit!" John's getting up from crouch he was in, glaring right back at Dean, silent.

"He would be here! Sam would be here, not out in who knows where, hunted by fucking demons!" Dean's panting, finally relenting. Caleb and Joshua back off, ready to go again if needed. He stares at John, at the man who was supposed to be his father, their father, and have their best interests in mind. Fucking bullshit. His shoulders shake, the rage is making him shiver where he stands. He doesn't know what to think, except that John needs to be gone. He's done, they're done with his secrets, he needs to draw the line.

"Sam's fucking gone, out there on his own. You could've just told us, could've for once in your fucking time let us know. But of course you didn't." A bitter chuckle, and God he wishes he could tear the man apart. Fuck him over like he fucked them over.

"I'm done." He can see it sink, can finally see a reaction out of him. He lets it sink, lets it start hurting, feeling his fists shake. He won't beat him up, unless he asks for it, and this is the line. This is the end of this shit.

"I'm fucking done. I want you out. Out of this building and out of our fucking lives. This is the fucking line. You fucked up, well congrats, Dad, you fucked up for the last time. I'm gonna find my kid, without you, and I swear on Mom's grave-" His voice shakes, emotion threatening to clog.

"I swear on Mom's grave, I get a whiff that you're trying to find Sam, I'll fucking kill you." He spits the words out, doesn't wait to see what happens, and walks out of the backdoor. He needs to beat something up.

°°°

The wood splitters next to his head, the broken pieces flying around, Sam barely dodging them. His shoes squeaking, he turns around the corner, sprinting as fast as his burning legs can, ignoring the ache in his chest and the swimming vision. What a great way to wake up.

"Don't be a tease, Sammy! Come here darling!" The woman's voice sing-songs, and Christ why did they have to be so damn fast too! Opening the door he quickly runs down the stairs, halting for a second. He can go out, try to hide again, or fight a demon. The door slams open, and the grin that almost like splits the woman's face in two is horrifying. Heart beating in his chest, he backs off, trying to think. He needs to go, he needs to go-

With all the strength he has, he flungs the nearby cabinet up towards the chairs, turning to sprint out of the old building, not looking back. That might hurt her a bit, why is warding so damn hard! He sprints down the street, the pain in his side flaring up with each breath. Patting the pocket of his slightly fixed jeans, to his relief he finds the notebook there. The panic starts to get off his chest, and Sam slows down, trying to get control of his breathing. His duffel is long gone, he can't risk going back there, and he can survive without it. He can, if he just belives. Fuck the remains of his food in there, the remainings of his little home-made first aid kit, and his clothes. Yeah he doesn't need them.

Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sammy.

He's fucked, again. Couldn't he catch a damn break? Ducking into an alley, he looks around. There's a couple of bins, no clothes he could use however. All his meds were in the bag, and his shoulder is starting to make itself known. He's quite sure he had broken it in the crash, so he had tried his best to keep it stable, but running from everything kinda didn't keep that an option for long. He doesn't want the bone twisting and causing further damage, and so far he thinks it's fine, just painful. He can handle it.

But what on Earth is he gonna do now? No money, no change of clothes, nothing but this damn warding book. He had gotten that, and the necklace hanging around his neck for a fair price, the red headed cashier had probably given him a lesser price because of how shit he looked. She had been nice, unlike the rest. It's interesting how much things change when you can't keep your own hygiene up, or have clean clothes. How different people treat you. And yeah, they haven't had the greatest money situation ever, but this was a new level.

At least his head doesn't hurt, a payoff from all the training. Instead of sleeping, which he's too on edge to do, he's been spending his time training. Nothing big, he started with making some small object fly for a period of time, and then made the time longer and longer. Then he moved on to bigger objects, his duffel was a damn good training equipment, so another minus for him and plus for the demons. If he would count, there'd be hella more pluses for the demons than him.

He pulls the book out of his pocket, continuing the walk. Escaping usually had meant hopping into the Impala and speeding off, now he really can't just venture into the nature and hope for the best, so he's stuck wondering on the streets.

He's tired, okay. But if he'd sit down and actually admit how tired and desperate he is, he wouldn't get up anymore. He'd sit there, till the demons would come, and do whatever their business with him is. Probably torture him, kill him, possess him, all that jazz. And to be honest, Sam isn't sure anymore how long he can avoid that fate. He's out of resources, out of the necessities he had been so glad to have, to survive. He's fucked six ways to Sunday, no money, nowhere to go, alone with demons. Demons who he can't fight. He has a knife, and not even his gun anymore. The Taurus had been in the duffel, the knife's in his boot as always. Another minus.

He can't run, he's stuck with demons. They'll kill him. He stops by the end of the alley. He's going to die this way. There's no way out. It's either them or him, and even with his weird powers, they won't work against a demon. He could try to trap them, but again he doesn't have anything to trap them with, no spray paint they usually use. He can't trap them really, can he? Which means trying to exorcise them is meaningless, he won't stand a chance. His death will become a weird event, and some hunter will come snoop around to realize it's the crazy Winchester's kid, the one with the fucked up powers, and let the demon go. Usually it takes up to five hunters to take down a demon, and that's still rare. Rarer for it to work without anyone dying.

Feeling desperate isn't anything new, but now, he thinks he might be running out of options.

°°°

The backdoor creaks open, the gravel cracking under the footsteps. It only took one completely destroyed pile of firewood that will now last probably two winters, an axe dug into a tree, and a heavily panting, though a bit more calm, Dean. Caleb proceeds with caution, he knows Dean's temper, and he has no idea how mad the gal is now. Bit better probably, but after the yelling twenty minutes backwards, he ain't sure.

"He's gone." Neutral tone, and he steps around the pile of firewood, already counting how many years they'll last if they don't get soaked in the rain. To that, Dean's shoulders relax only a bit, a lot less than what Caleb hoped for. Joshua was too mad to come talk to Dean, and Bobby was trying to figure out things too hard, so that had left Caleb. Probably the best option, he knows Dean well, way better than he ever knew Sam, and he knows his friend's temper. He's basically watched it lessen by the years, probably worn down by his family fighting, John's great actions, as they all witnessed today, and overall the hunting life.

Dean stays quiet, and that's pretty much what he expected. It's better, the man could be threatening to cut his balls of if he didn't leave him alone, or try and behead him with the axe. God, he's mad as well. For John to hide something like that, especially still now after all that has happened, there ain't words to describe how shitty move that was. And he had usually respected the man for being strategic, guess that only worked on a battlefield, not with family. But now, he shared Dean's point of view, he didn't want John anywhere near them, or their investigation for at least a while.

"Listen, Sam's still Sam. It's not like the demon fed him gallons of it's blood-" Dean turns around, huffing, void of humour. His face is tired, betrayed, worried, and Caleb shifts on his feet.

"I know it's Sam. It's fucking Sam, some demon blood forcefed to him isn't going to change a thing. I'm just damn done with John, I mean, how could he hold something like this from us?" Caleb nods his agreement, and Dean sighs, lowering his head. In moments like this, Caleb is reminded of how much younger Dean is from him. He's eighteen, and Caleb tends to forget that. And the kid is tired, and he can't blame him. He takes a few step closer, goes to lean next to Dean, against the wall of the weak attempt of a cover for the firewood, he had built a while back.

"It's fucked, man. It just is. But, John is gone now, and we can focus on getting that kid brother of yours home." It brings back a piece of the determination in Dean's eyes, and that's a win. He lets out another sigh, straightening against the wall, and that is a very easy mission accomplished for him. Dean is stronger than he could ever be, and damn is he glad to be the gal's friend. A pat on the shoulder, and they start making their way back inside. It's only around 6 PM, but the world looks darker. The coming winter is something Caleb really isn't looking forward to, and it's already November. It might even snow this year, they'll see. At least the wind is a bastard, and as the door closes, he's glad for the warmth.

Eyes come off the table, Joshua's stern expression melting off. He gives them a small smile, before focusing back to the map. Bobby's on the couch, seemingly thinking rather hard, not acknowledging their entrance at all.

"Whatdya thinkin, old man?" Bobby snaps out of his haze, and there's a mysterious look in his eyes. The gruff hunter spots Dean, and stands up, ignoring Caleb's question. He moves to Joshua, giving the two even a slight illusion of privacy in this way too small cabin. He checks his phone, and there's no new calls or messages about Sam, which dulls him a bit. How hard is it to find a fourteen-year-old kid? He could find a damn Jersey Devil faster than this. He can hear Bobby talking a bit quieter, something about how much of an idiot John is, which makes his lips twitch. At least Dean has Bobby, who's close with both of the boys.

"I'm thinking Iowa, depending how much money the kid has on him. Could stop to work, or then he's already on his way to Washington or something." Joshua mutters, torn between impressed and annoyed. Caleb has to agree, Sam is giving them all a headache, but he has never seen anyone criss-cross as well as this kid. He needs to praise him about it, when they get him back, it's honestly impressive.

His phone buzzing cuts off whatever he was about to say, and Joshua focuses back on the map as Caleb pulls his phone out. Probably one of the hunters around, asking if they needed help. For barely knowing the kid, the hunters have been rather vocal with their ability to help find the kid, which does make his chest ease.

"Caleb, hello?" Couple moments pass, before everything comes crashing down, again. An audible gasp gets their attention, and Caleb breathes out an incredilous breath, before uttering,

"Sam?"

Notes:

So, that was intense. John's a dick, Dean's mad, and Sam's calling Caleb. Whatever for?

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 13: You are my home

Summary:

I've seen your face a hundred times
Everyday we've been apart
I don't care about the sunshine, yeah
You made me cry, you told me lies
But, I can't stand to say goodbye
Mama, I'm coming home
I could be right, I could be wrong
It hurts so bad, it's been so long
Mama, I'm coming home

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He watches the people pass, so caught up in their lives they wouldn't probably notice something odd. Something out of place, like him. The stairs are cold under him, and he knows he needs to start heading towards their meeting point. He really hopes Caleb will come alone, whether it is to kill him or something else. He doesn't want anyone else there, to witness his anticlimatic end. Probably a gun, if Caleb feels merciful. He won't put faith in it, he's lost it already.

It puts things in perspective, the upcoming death. You start to look around, actually see everything you're surrounded by, and Sam can't help but think if there is Heaven for him. There's something wrong with him, something else than these powers, something else than this life, something else than the feelings he has for his brother. There's something else wrong, something that feels so rooted in his chest he doesn't know where to begin.

He doesn't know when he started to see things, see the faint lines, hazes of something in people's bodies, if he focused enough. The color scheme is simple, white, black or something in between. The flash of pure black he had seen in the last demon's chest, had been enough for him. It was something more, and deep down, Sam was terrified. This was just what he had imagined, something else starting to develop, something else starting to raise it's ugly head, and screw him over. It wasn't normal, it wasn't natural, and he'd never be. It would be a fitting end.

He'd miss Dean, he already did. But the knowledge that he wouldn't even be in the same world anymore with him, it solified the feeling of loss. He'd be loosing Dean forever, but if he were to be honest, he'd probably lost him the second he became this way. Whenever it was, it had been the end Sam hadn't realized. John pulling a gun on him had solified that end, dug a grave for any of his hope of fixing things, of renunion. He'd never see John again, and he would always remember the hate, the disgust, in the eyes he once remembered held love for him. It didn't matter anymore.

Maybe he'd see Mary, in Hell. After all this, the powers, the connection to demons, the way Mary died in the hands of demons, Sam couldn't pretend. He had killed Mary, and maybe she'd be a memory, downstairs, of what he had taken away from Dean. Even if he didn't want it, God, he didn't want any of this-

He inhaled sharply, pushing the fear down. It'd be alright. He just had to believe, it'd be alright. Standing up from the stairs, he starts making his way towards the edge of the town, where the high school is located. It had been a landmark for Sam, so it'd be a fitting place. He let his mind wonder, let himself have this, the moment of grief for what could've been. And what had been.

The moments of happiness Sam hadn't felt with anyone else, the content buzz in his chest, the smile he couldn't deny with Dean. The love he felt in his heart. He'd never love anyone else like he has grown to love Dean, grown with time to realize just how his big brother is. With Sam, he's a protector, a caretaker, a teacher, a mother, a father, and a big brother. He's everything he would ever need. Dean taught him how to tie his shoes, how to pronounce those big words he teases him about, how to deal with bullies, how to make sure the 'pala's tires aren't overheated, how to cook himself some food, keep himself warm, how to solve those damn math problems that sometimes give him a headache, how to hold a gun, how to hold a knife, and how to use both of them. How to avoid someone who might want to harm him in any way, how to reach Dean if there's an emergency, how to keep himself safe from all the monsters in this world, human or supernatural, how to keep himself from bleeding out while waiting for Dean, but most importantly. With all the care, the protection, the patience and unconditional love, he learnt what love meant. What it felt to look at someone, have your heartbeat pick up, your chest feel lighter, and know there wasn't anything you wouldn't do for them, to keep them happy, keep them safe.

He learnt love from Dean,

"It's alright, it's alright, I got you." Dean's shushing him, but he can't stop crying. His hand is starting to hurt with how hard he's holding his brother's shirt, with how hard he's shaking. He feels like he can't breathe, like any second now the werewolf in his dream is coming to show up, and rip Dean apart.

John would be mad if he saw them, he's been trying to get them to seperate, and it's been hell. Sam doesn't care, he holds on to Dean, his tears probably soaking through the front of his shirt, as the older keeps on rubbing his back, brushing his fingers through his hair. Dean's coaxing him to breathe, but his breaths are shaky, uneven and short from the nightmare, but Dean's patient. He's always patient, with however long Sam needs. He's starting to calm down, his breaths turning into little huffs in between the hiccups, but he still trembles, no matter how tight Dean's arms are wrapped around him, a lot more relaxed than when the older woke up. He'd scared Dean, he knows that, knows it from the way the older's tone is a bit strained, tight of worry.

When would the nightmares end, God?

"It's okay Sammy, you're safe, I got you." He wants to laugh, because it's not him he's afraid for. He's afraid for Dean, for his wonderful, brilliant big brother who follows Dad too blindly into hunts. He's scared, that one day, when Dean and Dad leave for a hunt, only Dad returns back to him. He'll be forced to bury his brother, the only constant in his life, someone he loves more than anything. Without Dean, God, he can't even think about it.

He tightens his hold on the older, pressing closer even if they're mushed together pretty much from head to toe. Dean stays quiet, doesn't ask, and Sam doesn't know if he'd even be able to tell the older how he saw him get ripped apart, hear his screams as if they were right here, right in front of him, and how he could do nothing but watch.

They both stay quiet, Sam's shaking starting to lessen, but neither of them make a move to seperate. Sam's comfortable like this, no matter if John says he's too old to sleep with his brother, Dean says it's fine, he's only ten. Dean's still rubbing his back, gentle circles from the small of his back, up to his shoulder blades. It's ridiculous how it makes Sam feel, how it warms his chest to be like this with Dean. The jaw that's resting on top of his head nudges him, and Sam backs off just enough so he can tilt his head back, give Dean a view of his face. He can't see the older properly in this lighting, but he sees the twitch of lips, the usual, sunshine smile that Dean has, and the hand in his hair stops, cupping his head for a moment.

"You wanna talk about it?" He could never deny him. More gentle than any other voice he's ever heard, that just wants the best for him. Just wants him okay, safe. Quiet, ready to divert his attention if he'd answer negatively, ready to listen for hours, for however long Sam needs to talk, if he'd answer positively. His heart feels tight, as he stares back at Dean, but he doesn't take long to answer.

"A hunt gone wrong." He says, quiet, not quiet wanting to face his nightmare again. Dean makes an understanding sound, brushing some of the leftover tears off his cheeks, still holding him close. Keeping him safe.

"Sammy?" He looks back up, a lump in his throat almost making him cry again.

"I'll do anything, anything at all, to keep you safe, kay? You're my little brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you." A tear slips down, but he smiles. Dean smiles back, his chest doesn't feel as tight, and when he burrows back down underneath Dean's chin, listening to the calm, constant beating of Dean's heart, he knows there isn't anything that he wouldn't do for Dean, as well. He'll just have to make the older believe it.

"Get some sleep." They wouldn't mention the forehead kiss, like always. It would leave Sam feeling loved, comforted, and happy, and he couldn't understand how he sometimes managed to forget how much Dean loves him, even if he doesn't say it. He nods his head slightly, closing his eyes as Dean starts a familiar tune, quiet in the still of their night.

"Hey Jude,"

He doesn't swipe away the tear that slides down his cheek. He sits on the steps of the high school's football stadium. It's quiet, the sun has went down and there's only maybe an hour worth of light. He watches the sun go down, the shivering has left him, and even if the weight in his chest is as heavy as before, he smiles.

His throat rattles, his humming the only sound around, as he continues the song that makes him feel comforted, Dean isn't here to sing it.

"Don't make it bad. Take a sad song-"

°°°

The line stays quiet, he feels shocked, out of place, is this a dream? Everyone stopped what they were doing, and wide anxious eyes stare at him, but he doesn't have the answers they need.

"Hey, Caleb."

Something snaps in his chest, and he breaths out shakingly, leaning against the table. Dean's moving towards him, but Joshua holds him back, giving him a meaningful look. They need to use their head. He swallows, trying to figure out what to say, because why on Earth is Sam calling him?

"You wouldn't mind, uh, meeting me in Henderson?"

He feels like a fish out of the water, trying to figure out what the right words are to say, and figure out just what in the Hell is going on in the kid's head!

"Uh, Henderson in Texas?" He looks at them, Dean's expression the worst. Or greatest, but Caleb can't join in the fun, he fears Sam has a plan none of them expected. His voice is quiet, it's not shaking, but if Caleb can hear just how shittily the kid is doing through a phone call, it's nothing compared to what it is in reality. Fear makes itself known, and he knows everyone can see it, from how their expressions morph.

"Yeah. Meet me at the high school field, and please come alone." Before he can utter another word, the line cuts off. Still shaken, Caleb lowers the phone down, and immediately Dean jumps the gun.

"Henderson, Texas? That's only a few hours away! I'll take the Impala, Bobby maybe you should stay-"

"Just hold on, Dean. Caleb?" Joshua shuts Dean down, even if that's the most positive they've seen him in God knows how long. He breathes out, trying to understand. The answer is standing right in front of him, because he doesn't want to see it. God, please don't let it be that. Dread is pooling in his gut, and he feels like throwing up. A hand comes to his shoulder, and he forces himself together. How could Sam think he'd be able to kill-

He inhales, straightening up. He doesn't look at them, especially Dean. He doesn't want to say it outloud, but they need to plan this out.

"Sam wants me to come alone. We're supposed to meet at the high school, that's located near the swamp." Joshua moves like he was struck, backing off from where he was standing by his side. They both know just what that swamp can do, what it can hide. And if Sam's thinking- God no, this can't be it.

"What is it?" Dean, his voice tight with what probably is dread, if not fear. He doesn't know what's going on, how deep in shit Sam is. He still sometimes dreams of the mass of bodies he and the Henderson's polices dug out from that swamp. A supernatural monster turned up to be a mass murderer, and the swamp hid the bodies for decades. Sam knows it, he had been adamant to know what had happened, and just how the bodies had been hidden so well. The kid had been shaken after the talk, and he knows Dean probably carries some hatred to them for it.

"He's thinking I'll kill him, and he's making it easy for me to hide his-" He can't finish, he needs to go out. He heads to the back door, the air quick to hit him.

"The swamp where, where the uh, bodies were hidden?" Dean asks, and there's an edge of hysteria to it. They all know the case, every hunter on this piece of land knows it, knows just how terrifying humans can be. Joshua can't blame him for being scared, but he forces his head to work. They need to analyze this, and work out a plan.

"God." Bobby breaths out, and the man goes for the whiskey on the living room's table. He pours each of them a shot, even one to Caleb who left to get some fresh air, can't blame him. They all down theirs, and simultaneously pull their heart out of the game, and replace it with their head. They can't afford to fuck this up.

"Caleb has to go alone, we don't know if Sam has a way to figure out if he ain't alone, and we can't risk him running off. He's been in Henderson this entire time, and we haven't got a peep about it, and we've had people cross the town." Bobby's the one to break the silence, and Joshua keeps glancing at Dean, who looks even paler than Caleb did before leaving, his eyes looking haunted. He looks at Bobby, and sees he's looking at the same thing. Maybe this isn't the greatest time to talk about it, they should maybe wait. They need Dean's head in the game.

"Could it be a trap?" That catches Dean's attention, and the warning in those green eyes is enough confirmation that the man isn't going to fall apart.

"It's Sam. He isn't gonna fucking kill Caleb when he gets there-"

"I meant, a demon one. A demon has Sam, and is using him as a hostage for something." It's a poor idea, which is why he said it. They need to know Dean can do this, and if the man can gather so much underlying anger ready to explode in seconds, he can do this. More importantly, they'll have Sam here soon, and the boys will work everything out. They'll have a laughing, smiling, decently happy Dean again, and Dean will make sure to dig Sam out of this hole. They have a lot to fix, but Joshua's certain they'll be able to work it out.

"Why would it only want Caleb, then? And Sam wouldn't risk getting someone else hurt. I don't think it's demon related." Bobby confirms it, and Dean settles. He can see a glint in the old hunter's eyes, he knows Joshua's little sneaky plan. What can he say, he's been called a little shit since he was four, might as well live up to the name, even if he ain't so little anymore. The back door opens, and Caleb's back, looking less haunted and fearful. He eyes them all, and Joshua gives him a smile, easing whatever worries he had.

"Take your shot boy, and only one, you have a loose kid to pick up." Caleb blinks, and the tight atmosphere goes away, they got some job to do.

It's ten minutes later that Caleb leaves, promise to return in under five hours, and Joshua knows he'll be breaking speed limits. They watch him leave, and Bobby wonders off to the bedroom, muttering something about needing a break from all this drama, and he's left alone with Dean.

Heart tight, he can't help but voice his concerns.

"Dean..."

"I know," There's a determined glint in his eyes, as he turns to look at Joshua. His chest looses the tightness, but the worry gnaws in his stomach, even as the next words sound like an oath,

"I'll fix him."

Notes:

Heeeello everyone! Seems like it's been forever. Hope you're all doing well!

To the chapter, you know it, you wished for it. The reunion. Next chapter my lads, buckle in because I am going to make myself cry writing it. Can't promise when I'll update it, but I've been talking about the book on my tumblr, I'll mention probably at some point where I'm with it. Again, thank you for reading, the response to this book has blown my mind, I can't thank you all enough. All the sweet comments, the kudos, I never thought someone would like it this much. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you all. Stay safe loves, I'll see you soon.

Chapter 14: Love brings you home

Summary:

She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain
I'd hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by
Whoa, oh, oh
Sweet child o' mine
Whoa whoa, oh, oh, oh
Sweet love of mine

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Welcome to Henderson

He passes the sign, he had barely even noticed it. Driving for around two hours straight, he's had time to talk on the phone with everyone, and make some kind of a plan. Not that having a plan is making Caleb any less nervous. He's more nervous than when he lost his virginity to that Stacey girl who thought he was as well twenty-one-years. He shouldn't be nervous, it's Sam after all. The same kid he's known for years, who he has watched grow from a little toddler with a very protective big brother, to a teenager with still a very protective big brother. He doesn't know how they managed to convince Dean to stay, and not bolt after them, or meet them halfway or anything.

Deep breaths, no pressure Caleb. Only that you're handling a emotionally unstable teenager with psychic powers who you'd never want to hurt, and who has been through a lot of shit all by himself and can bolt any second. No pressure at all, huh. Dean would fry his ass if he came back without Sam.

The call had ended roughly five minutes ago, and Caleb already feels like he can't do this. Everyone's rooting for him, expecting him to bring Sammy back, and what if he fails? What if he scares the kid off? What if Sam's hurt? What if when he refuses to- to kill the kid, Sam will take matters to his own hands?

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, that's not happening. He's getting the kid back to his brother, even if he'll have to drag his ass there. Sam needs Dean by his side, and Caleb doesn't want to imagine what has driven one of the strongest people he knows into the brink of such deep desperation. He doesn't want to imagine, but he can't stop. He needs the kid with Dean, he'll fix it. They'll all help. Damn, he'll stop hunting for however long it takes to get Sam to his feet. He can do this. It's Sam, he can do this.

Plan is simple, don't scare Sam off, and get him back to Jasper in one piece. Hopefully alive, and healthy. But with the math Joshua had done during the call, it seems like the kid's been without food for days, and without proper food this entire time. They don't have any info that he would've been working, but well, they were searching the entire country for Sam just for the kid to be basically next town. He hopes, from the bottom of his heart, that Joshua is wrong, Sam is healthy, and whatever injuries he got from the crash were just some scratches, nothing more.

The sun is down, pretty much no light left except for the traffic lights. He's heard there's snow coming up North, it is November after all, but they shouldn't get snow in Texas for a while at least. Not that Caleb cares for snow, he hates that his good ol' shoes can't handle the weather, but he still isn't buying new ones. That's his problem, but he just likes the boots, okay?

He pulls up to the gravel road, eyeing the high school up ahead. He drums his fingers against the wheel, trying to spot a sign of the young Winchester. He pulls up to the football stadium's parking lot, apparently the only one they have. It's Saturday, so there's no other cars, or people for that matter around, probably something Sam had thought about as well. He looks around in the dark, but he doesn't spot anything. Could it be something else, after all? He checks his boot, makes sure the silver knife is in there, not that it helps a lot with demons, but he's still betting on it being just Sam. The kid will probably find him, not the other way around. Can't have missed him coming.

He closes the door, not bothering to make it quiet, the crispy air around him a good reminder for why he should've taken the other jacket. Well, being cold keeps him alert. It's dark, after all, and he can't rule out the possibility of this being something else. He takes a deep breath, and moves to head towards the school. Could the kid have broken inside? It would be warmer, and if the kid has no-

"Hey Caleb." He jumps, spinning around. Breathing quickly, he takes a second to look at the person in front of him, because this can't be-

He takes a sharp breath, forcing himself to calm down even if something crawls under his skin. His heart isn't calming down, and the kid really shouldn't be scaring an old man like him.

"Heya, Sammy." He breaths the worlds out, watching as the kid squirms a little, stepping a little more into the light. If he thought he looked bad in darkness, fucking Christ, what the hell happened?

The first thing he can see is that the kid is pale, and the more he looks the more he sees a yellow undertone, immediately alerting him that something isn't right. Sam's still in the same clothes, he supposes from what Dean had told them, his shirt looks like it has been ripped from couple of places, for bandages, or from fighting, he doesn't know. And the shirt looks way, way too big on him. The jeans are barely hanging onto him, and Caleb notices that the button has been ripped off, bringing a feeling of dread. Sam's hair is a mess, past the point of being greasy, now just a matted mess. It's all tangled, and it looks strange on the spot by the kid's temple.

There's some dried blood around the hairline, and whatever hope Caleb had for the kid to be unharmed, flies straight out of the window. His face is sunken, in no way Caleb has ever seen anyone's face be, a little grey from around the cheekbones that pop out way too easily. His eyes are rimmed, and surrounded by evidence that the kid has not been sleeping. The bags are so dark, that if Sam would tilt his head downwards, they'd look near black in the light. The hazel eyes aren't bright, aren't curious of what stories Caleb has this time to tell, aren't eagerly waiting for him to tell them, but are just blank, vacant. It looks like the kid might've been crying, with the little puffiness, but Caleb can't think, can't draw conclusions of what has happened. He's staring at Sam, this kid that's his family, and he starts to realize just how badly they've failed him.

Before he can come out of the shock, Sam speaks, quiet again, "I uh, I have a book in my jeans for wardings, for demons and some malignant ghosts, and uh," Sam shuffles on his feet, and Caleb takes a while to realize the kid is letting him know what he has, that could be useful for them, for the people he thinks are going to kill him, and God, how is this for a reminder that this half dead looking kid is their Sam?

"I have a necklace, that, prevents you from being possessed by, uh, demons, and yeah... Dean could maybe use it." His heart breaks little by little, started from the second he saw the kid, and keeps on cracking. He's still looking out for his big brother, who for all he knows hates him, wants him dead. How could they have let this happen?

Sam's clearly waiting for him to say something, or point blank shoot him already, and Caleb feels his throat clog. Fuck, he needs his head clear, he needs to nail this, deep breaths.

"I'm not going to kill you, kiddo." Sam physically falters, his eyes widening a bit, and he already looks like he might bolt. He isn't playing by his plan, and that must scare the kid. He's afraid, God, he needs to be careful. He keeps his hands visible, and crouches a little, coming a little more face to face with Sam, who's now torn between looking distrustful, and afraid.

"Sam, do you know-" He breaks off, needing to swallow around the emotion. He needs to nail this, c'mon Caleb don't let your emotions ruin this. He takes a deep breath, burying the raging sadness and stress from all this time, and tries again,

"Kid, I'm not here to kill you, or anything you think I might. I don't know how badly John screw up, to make you think-" He shifts his jaw, this isn't the time, "To make you think that you're some kind of a monster, that deserves to be killed. Sam, God, we don't want you dead, it's the farthest from it!" Sam stays quiet, unmoving, and Caleb doesn't know what to do suddenly, desperation threatening to kick in. The kid's staring at him, and for the first time since he got here, there seems to be something going on behind those puppy eyes.

"We... When you took that bus to Lafayette," Sam's eyes narrow, and Caleb hurries to continue, "The bus you left in the middle of the trip, it crashed." The tense shoulders tighten even more, before with a quiet wince Sam loosens them, and Caleb doesn't dare to ask even if worry bubbles in his gut.

"It crashed with another vehicle, and it fell off a cliff. There were no survivors." He gives the kid a second to process, sees it all happen, and even if he hates himself for it, he prepares to tackle the kid, if he were to bolt now. He can't let him get away, not when they're so close. He sees the second Sam pulls the strings together, his eyes snapping to Caleb, wide and with a urgent desperation in them.

"Is Dean-"

"Dean is alright, well, as alright as he can be." It lessens some of the worry, and it seems like Sam can't understand just why his big brother would suffer from this. They're both bullheads, ain't them?

"Sam, you need to understand this, when you disappeared, and when we found out just what had been going on, it fucked Dean over." And now there's worry, even if it's mixed with confusion.

"When he called me, the first time to let me know what had happened, he sounded like shit. He'd call me later, drunk off his ass, and he'd cry," Sam's eyes sharpen, maybe he can actually understand how much he means to Dean, to them all. Feeling his own emotions come up, he bottles only little of them down, feeling his eyes start to burn as he remembers.

"We talked for hours, or mostly he. He'd keep on telling me how shitty brother he is, how he should've known, how he would've never let it happen, and just how badly he wanted you back. He was shit, Sam." There are tears starting to form, but he needs the kid to understand.

"And when we thought you were dead-" He stops for a second, letting the singular tear down his cheek, remembering the bone deep pain, everywhere. How it broke him to have Joshua call him, and let him know they didn't need to search for Sam, that he had found the kid, that the kid he has known for half of his life, was dead in a ditch, thinking there was no one that would grieve him, no one that loved him.

"We thought you were dead." He barely gets the words out, the tremble in his voice getting a bit too noticeable. He's overwhelming the kid, he needs to calm down, he can't scare him off. To his slight relief, Sam doesn't look like he's planning to bolt. His head is tilted as he watches Caleb, his eyes empathic as if he isn't listening to his own story, but it looks like he might be understanding just what they've been through.

"Kid, we'd never want you dead. Dean would never want you dead. He'd rather cut his own head off than break a hair on your head, I know that. You need to know it too, because it's been Hell, knowing you're out there and some fucking demons are onto you, and that we can't do shit about it." He's desperate, practically begging for the kid to understand, to let them take care of him, because he doesn't have to do this alone.

"You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to fight everything and everyone, if you'll just let us help you." There's a vulnerable glint, and Caleb knows he's broken through. For a while, but that's all he needs.

"Please." He adds, staring at Sam, trying to somehow show, let him know just how fucking desperate they are. He doesn't know if the kid can see it, or feel it, but he tries to hang onto it, tries to make him understand, as he watches the conflict happen. The minutes, could be hours, that he waits, feel like probably the longest in his life. He's half ready to leap, but he wants the kid on their side. Sam moves, his eyes shifting from the ground, back to him, and Caleb is reminded of how young he is.

He's scared, Caleb can see it now that Sam lets him, basically shivering on his spot. Sam swallows, tears brimming in his eyes,

"I think I need help." And they're moving, Caleb quickly closing their distance as he draws Sam against him, wrapping his arms around the kid who's still only tall enough to reach his chest. He shakes, with small, mute sobs, and Caleb closes his own eyes, letting the tears go as relief washes over him. He can feel a makeshift bandage around the kid's collarbone, and eases his hold, figuring out there's something wrong there as well. Sam's here, Caleb has him, he's safe, and maybe Caleb can let go of the guilt now, he might not be responsible for breaking the Winchester family after all.

"Let's get you home, kiddo."

°°°

If Sam had known-

No, he can't afford to go down that road. He's already tired, hurting, and just emotionally so exhausted. Caleb had come, and pretty much wrecked everything he had forced himself to believe. He didn't know what to think, how to act, and he pretended that it was the only reason he went to sit down in the back seat, not the nauseous feeling he got when Caleb opened the passenger door for him. He could pretend he was just confused and tired, but it was also true. But there was too many things wrong right now, and he couldn't make them right.

Maybe I won't have to.

Caleb had said he didn't need to be alone anymore. Didn't need to do this alone. God, he wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe, that the house that was only ten minutes away now according to Caleb, held people that loved him, instead of people who would destroy him. He could feel comforted by how Caleb had gently asked him just what was wrong, in the physical sense, and how he had given him the first aid kit, ready to help but not pushing himself onto Sam. He appreciated it. Already the antiseptic was working, from the way it was burning on his still bugging wounds, and how the ice pack he now held against his collar had numbed the pain. Caleb had promised they'd fix him up properly when they'd get home, and Sam hadn't missed the way Caleb had watched him work, eyes fixated with his boney hands. He was thin, he knew it. The breakfast bar Caleb had for him he would've eaten in seconds, if Caleb hadn't warned him about the possibility of throwing up. He didn't want to mess up Caleb's car, so he ate it slowly.

Shit, he was starting to get real nervous. Caleb was noticing it, with how he was checking his mirrors, and it was only a matter of time before the older might ask something. But how on Earth is he supposed to face Dean? The older might not hate him for his freakiness, but killing his mother? Their entire lives have been dedicated to hunting the thing that killed Mom, and Sam is the thing, so how could he face Dean, knowing he killed his mother?

The car slowing down stopped his thinking, and before he could panick, he noticed that Caleb was pulling over. The older turned on his seat, Sam barely seeing him in the darkness.

"Wanna tell me what's bugging you?" Immediately he couldn't shut his mouth, and without a second of hesitation he blurted it out.

"I killed Mom." Caleb stayed quiet, probably shocked from his sudden burst as well as the info. Would he change his mind now? Now that he knows? Is he gonna kill him?

"Sam, Sam, Sam!" His shoulder is screaming out in pain as his chest heaves, but he can't stop panicking. Caleb is climbing over, and Sam wants to double over, the car suddenly feeling so small and so restraining, he can't breathe he can't breathe-

"Sam, c'mon, deep breaths. It's okay, c'mon, I got you kiddo, deep breaths." He tries to follow Caleb's breathing, the older holding his injured shoulder, trying to keep it still as Sam panicks. He killed Mom, Dean's gonna hate him he's gonna kill him-

"Kiddo, please-" Caleb's starting to sound panicked too, and fuck, Sam doesn't want to make him worry he doesn't want any of them to worry God he's a burden isn't he. He tries to breathe, but the pain and the panic mixed aren't making it easy at all. There's tears pooling, he can't make it stop please someone make it stop-

"Sam! Sam, baby brother, listen to me!"

Dean?

"Listen to me, listen to my voice. I'm here, I'm here Sammy, you're alright."

He opens his eyes, but he can't see Dean anywhere. Is he hallucinating? He turns to look at Caleb, who's holding his phone towards Sam. The shock stopped the panic, he just stares at the phone, unable to react. Dean's on the phone. Dean's right there.

"Dean?" He asks, voice so tight he almost can't get it out. There's butterflies in his stomach, his heart is beating loud in his ears, and the anxiety is driving him crazy.

"I'm here, Sammy. God, I'm right here kiddo."

He's choked up, and Sam's eyes start to well up at the sound. He takes a shaky breath, and doesn't hesitate as Caleb hands the phone over, grabbing it and bringing it to his ear.

"De?" He gets it out, a raw sound that makes his throat hurt, makes the tears break out, slide down his face but he doesn't care. He's holding his breath, his hands shaking even as Caleb grabs them, and Sam feels a flash of gratefulness, before he forgets it again.

"Right here, I'm not leaving, ever again. God, I'm here now kiddo, I'm so sorry."

Dean makes a sound, almost like a sob, and Sam feels his heart twist. No, no, no, Dean's alright, he's alright, he's sorry, wait what?

"T-there's no need to be sorry." Why would he be sorry?

"I love you, I'm sorry I didn't say it enough-"

Sam chokes on his own sob, but he feels a smile try to break through. Dean sounds like shit, but he's alright, he's gonna be alright, he doesn't hate him not now maybe not ever-

"I love you too." He chokes the words out, tears blurring his vision again before he blinks. Something is easing in his chest, the tightness starting to leave, and Sam let's out a long breath. His mind is screaming Dean Dean Dean and his heart feels like it might explode. Does he have Dean back? Does he have him back?

He clutches to the phone the rest of the trip, neither of them able to say anything new, both whispering quiet, tearful apologies, and as Caleb pulls to the yard of the small house, Dean's already flying out of the door. Sam doesn't know where the phone goes from his hand, he only knows he can't get to Dean fast enough.

The second they collide, everything snaps back. Sam can't get enough air, Dean's suddenly everywhere. He's wrapped around him, pressed against his aching body. He still fits under Dean's chin, still can manage to grip at Dean's back without hurting their arms. He's digging his fingers in, can't help it as desperation kicks in. He wants to melt into Dean, wants to make sure he can never leave, he'll never be gone again. The hands around his back are familiar, with the same rough edges, and it's as if they haven't been apart for eternity. It feels like an eternity, but Dean's here, God, he's here he's here-

He breaths in the familiar smell, eyes full of tears as his heart screams in joy. He can't get close enough, and he's squirming against Dean, never wanting to part but wanting to be closer. It isn't an issue for long, Dean takes a second to heave Sam to the air, wrap his arms around him again before Sam can realize what happened, closing his legs around Dean's waist. He's higher now, able to nest straight into Dean's neck, finally have him close enough.

By the time his heart rate goes down, he's warmer than he's been in weeks, completely snug against Dean, who's breathing into his neck, the warm air had stopped tickling him at some point. The relief, everything, is taking everything off his shoulders, and for the first time in days, Sam feels good. He brings his hand up, the giddy warmth in his chest something he hopes that never leaves, and brushes his hand through Dean's hair, trying to bring his head closer. He is gushing over the limits, the love he's always had for his brother threatening to overflow everything else, and Sam was fine with it.

He could feel Dean huff into his neck, and before he could break the moment, a hand carded through his own hair, and he physically melted. Now Dean was laughing, probably the most beautiful sound Sam's ever heard, and then he's laughing as well, and finally they pull their faces back. Their noses almost brush, and Sam can't stop smiling. Dean stares at him, in some sort of awe, the green eyes so full of love and fondness it sends another hot jolt into his heart.

Dean looks the same, again as if eternity hasn't passed. Sam knows it's been merely couple months, but it feels like years, decades. The freckles Sam used to count when he couldn't sleep are still all there, there's not a wrinkle anywhere, even in the corners of his eyes as Dean smiles, wide and purely happy. His cheeks seem a little more sharper, he's probably lost a bit of weight, but that's alright, Sam will handle it. His lips are bitten from what Sam assumes is the reason for his own bitten lips, and he quickly moves his eyes, forced to look at the green eyes he could recognize from thousands of green eyes. The inner ring is more yellowish, and the rest is close to a green apple, but they were full of emotion. His face morphs, and as the deep grief he's never seen in Dean's eyes suddenly appears, and the older wraps him back closer, he remembers what Caleb said.

He can't stand Dean sad, and immediately his chest tightens again, and he tightens his hold around Dean's neck. He doesn't know what to do, usually it's the other way around, but it's Dean, he'd do anything for Dean.

"I'm here. It's alright." He repeats what Dean has told him for years, and it seems to work. Dean has a hand on his head, keeping him impossibly close, and Sam's neck should be cramping up from this position, but he doesn't care. He snuggles as close as he can, keeps on whispering the words that have become a mantra for him, during their time apart. He closes his eyes, letting himself soak in this, soak in Dean, and breathe easy for the first time in months. He has Dean. There's nothing else he'd need.

Notes:

Or then it takes me a day. Well, there you have it. A bit longer than usual, but I really really hope you like it. Do give me some feedback, I want to improve as much as I can to give you guys the best. Thank you for reading, and for all the comments, they mean a lot.

Chapter 15: Hold my heart (when it still beats)

Summary:

Just close your eyes
The sun is going down
You'll be alright
No one can hurt you now
Come morning light
You and I'll be safe and sound
Don't you dare look out your window darling
Everything's on fire
The war outside our door keeps raging on
Hold on to this lullaby
Even when the music's gone

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Slamming the door closed behind her, she looked around. It didn't take long to locate the reason she was here, and seriously, was the old, victorian house necessary? As if they didn't have enough trouble trying to stay under the radar of the winged egoistical dickbags. But well, she had to trust that they knew what they were doing.

If she had known yesterday where, and more importantly who she was meeting, she would've gladly switched into the crossroad section. Messing with angels, Azazel himself, she didn't get paid enough for this, in fact she didn't get paid at all.

All the clocks had stopped, and most of the electronics she noticed had been unplugged, well, guess the electronics constantly going haywire would get on your nerves. She walked through the old, creaky, and disturbingly silent house, heading towards the bone-chilling mass of energy. Swallowing tightly, she felt her hands start to clammy up. If only Lisa would see her now, she'd laugh herself back to grave.

Turning in the last corner, she halted, eyeing the demon by the door. He turned to look at her, scanning her up and down with a bit unnerving glance. She suppressed a shiver, keeping her head high and approached.

"He's busy. Been there for hours, you might as well tell me what such a pretty lady like you are, is doing here." Even with the disgusting tone, there was impatience and she didn't dare to play.

"Name's Aubree. Got a message from that sister of yours." Tom huffed, clearly not appreciating the title, and Aubree bit her tongue. She better not play, if Tom is anything like his sister said he is, she better be careful. She shifted on her feet, and Tom looked back at her, eyes narrowing, and she hurried to continue through the lump in her throat.

"She says that Sam's back with Dean, and they're piled up in some old shack in Jasper. John ain't far, he's been staying in the local motel for the couple of days, and he's trying to figure out the same as him." She inclined towards the door that seperated them and Azazel. The room has been nerve-wrackingly quiet and she maybe even doesn't want to know, does she?

As if on cue, a loud booming shakes the entire house, Aubree shrieking and jumping away from the door. The pots and pans are making awful lot of noise, her ears are starting to ring, what the fuck is going on!

And then it stops, just like that. She pants through the fear, eyes locked with the door. He's gonna come out isn't he, he's gonna send her back to Hell like everyone says-

Nothing happens, the room carries on dead silent as if it didn't just break sound walls. Calming down, she glances at Tom who had moved as well, standing next to her by the wall across. His eyes are locked with the door, seemingly focused, Aubree doesn't know on what and doesn't care. This is the last time she works as a messenger, this is fucking horrifying. She thought being a demon meant screwing people over, not getting screwed over by some freaky ass bigger demons. And nobody even tells her shit, and she goes here to risk her fucking neck to just deliver some message about some wimpy Winchester kid. Couldn't they just nail him off the board if he's being such a troublemaker.

"Finish up." He says, not even looking at her, and Aubree wants to wave her hands and scream. Did he not fucking see what just happened?! Taking a deep breath she recalls what she came here for, promising herself a nice little vacation in the Bahamas after this shit. Oh yeah, the Winchesters.

"So, uh, they don't think John is gonna show his face soon, so he'd be an easy target. But wait, they said something about the kid having some kind of a warding book, which could cause some issues. The lads back there just want to know whether to snatch the kid now, or if there's some bigger plans." Tom doesn't get to answer, as the ominous, terrifying energy inside the room starts moving, and a scream almost makes it through her throat as the door slams open, glowing yellow eyes staring right at her. Her heart plummets in her chest, and fear freezes her, her breath catching.

The power is practically oozing from him, and Aubree feels suffocated by it. It's everywhere, seems to soak in the walls, in the floors, in her. She's biting her tongue so hard it bleeds, standing completely still, terrified to move. The glowing doesn't leave the eyes, and they stay locked on her as Azazel straightens up, a way too familiar and terrifying grin splitting his face. She sees the edge of yellow teeth, the old man he's possessing is dead, which explains the lack of heart beat. A distant sound, washing machine across the house starts making noise, this awful screeching sound as it breaks itself, the room temperature seemingly dropping. The door now open, she can see inside. Nothing unusual, but bowl on the table that oozes of something big and dark. The door slams closed, and she jumps, ready to bolt if she needs to.

"So, little Sammy is back with Dean, huh?" It's a question, Aubree too stuck in the tone that sends shivers down her spine, making her slightly tremble. Trying to find her voice, she clears her throat, a high-pitched sound getting out.

"Y-yes." She stammers out, eyes wide as she stares at Azazel, a Prince of Hell, that's at least hundreds of thousands years older than her, and damn, so much more powerful. The man who she knows is behind thousands of murders, varying from barely born babies to some old priests, the man who just tilts his head now, the terrible grin not leaving his face.

"Sweetheart, be a dear and tell everyone back in Jasper that-" The smile drops, as drops Aubree's heart, the change in the mood suddenly even more terrifying than before, as those terribly calculated eyes stare down at her. She feels like shrinking under that gaze, and even Hell feels more welcoming now.

"-no one, will touch the kid. Don't let him know you're there, don't let anyone know you're there. Focus on Johnny boy, I want to know just exactly what he knows. And do remind the morons, we don't know what the kid can see, so they better stay hidden and keep their mouths shut before we know what's happening." The last words were hissed, nearly leaving her to pee her pants. Inhale, one, two, exhale, one two, don't pee your pants, don't pee your pants. She's suffocating, the air is cold and it's wrapping around her throat, she can't breathe fuck she can't breathe-

"G-got it!" She squeaks out, and the pressure is gone, leaving her panting as cold sweat forms everywhere. Her heart is pounding, she feels dizzy but the fear is keeping her up from falling to the floor. This is the last time, never fucking again will she do this. Azazel's grin is back and she takes a step back as he turns to Tom. She leans against the wall, trying to breathe and not focus on the energy that almost killed her, floating just a feet away.

"Get in." Tom only glances at her, an enjoying smile on his face. Motherfucking sadists, all of them.

"Off you go, little dove." She doesn't wait another second, practically scrambling towards the nearest exit, heart pounding as her ears echo from the two men's laughter. She shoulders against the door, almost falling over as the air welcomes her. It's warmer than it is inside the house, and fuck, is it actually cold in there. She breathes deeply, the tight feeling in her chest starting to leave. She needs to get out of here for real.

She heads for the old Mustang parked by the road, cursing under her breath as the adrenaline starts to wear off. The last time she's doing something like this, fuckers can figure out their own message system, she's done with this. Opening the door she slides in, revving the engine as she turns to Jasper.

She's so going to Bahamas after this shit is done. Stupid demons and their stupid master plans.

°°°

It takes them a while to untangle. Long enough, that Sam had fallen into some level of sleep, coming back to reality as Dean's hands moved to his back, and he realized how badly his legs were starting to cramp. Feeling awkward, still overwhelmed, and exhausted to the bone, he carefully untangled his feet, falling back to his ground level. Thank God his legs held his weight, and Dean's arms stayed around him as an additional comfort. It felt right, to be back, to be with Dean, even if he doesn't know how long it's for. It could be for today, this week, or God knows how long. Before anything else can happen, Dean is cupping his face, crouching down at his level, and Sam feels warmth explode in his face.

But Dean isn't focusing on that, his eyes are critical, scanning Sam's face, pausing at the blood near his hairline and swallowing while looking at something on his cheek. Feeling a little self-conscious, he moves to rub his cheek, to make sure there's no dirt on it or something, when his shoulder explodes in pain. He can't help the wince as he stumbles a bit, gritting his teeth as he takes small breaths. How had he forgotten about his fucking collarbone?

There are hands on his body he recognizes are Dean's, the only reason he lets them touch him. He can hear them talk, but focuses on the flaring pain, and how to dull it down. He tries to straighten up, coming face to face with Dean who's face is nothing but worry, and tries to smile. It does barely nothing, Dean only huffs with a temporary fond look, before focusing back on Sam, eyeing his shoulder with worry.

"Sam," Dean swallows around the word, and his voice is raspier than what Sam had realized, from dehydration or something else, doesn't matter, he'll figure out what it is, and how to fix it. He probably hasn't been drinking enough.

"Can you tell me where you're hurt, little brother?" To be called 'little brother', and have someone ask how he is, almost brings tears to his eyes. A part of him that he thought died as he left Dean comes back soaring, aching for someone to care for him and love him. Feeling childish, he forces it down, swallowing as he tries to comprehend what's happening. He knows this all will hit much harder later, when he actually realizes Dean is here, he isn't a hallucination, a figment from a dream, or a vision. Which now mentioned, brings dread to his gut. How much does Dean know?

"Sammy?" He blinks, remembering to breathe. He's doing nothing to ease Dean's worries, who knows why the older even worries, and notices they're being surrounded. Dean's glancing to his right, and Sam turns his head. He's hit with another gut punch, the people standing a couple feet away something he hadn't thought about. Bobby, Joshua and Caleb are all here, all watching them, watching him with something he can't understand. Feeling a tingle of worry, he shifts on his feet, moving a bit closer to Dean as he gets the urge to bolt. Bobby's shoulders sag, he doesn't know why, and a familiar hand rubs his back, and Sam relaxes immediately at the still familiar touch.

"They're okay, I mean, they know Sammy, and they don't care. We won't hurt you." The last sentence has an odd sound to it, and Sam glances at Dean, who looks a bit torn, and a bit sad. He brushes against the older, forcing him to come out of his head, and really, Sam needs to work on Dean, the older is seemingly stressed or something. Maybe because he's here now. They don't know what he can do.

Swallowing, he shifts on his feet, offering a weak, "Hey," to the people watching. It makes Caleb and Bobby make a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a huff, but Joshua doesn't say anything. Is he mad about Sam running from him? Had he accidentally broken his car, when he held him back? He didn't mean it, fuck, he needs to apologise to him when he can. No one says anything back to him, and Dean nudges him again. Turning to look at him, still feeling so weirded out that he can do that, he can see his brother, talk to him, touch him. Feels kind of weird. He remembers what Dean asked as the older rises an eyebrow, something a bit humorous in his small smile. At least he's smiling, that's good.

"Oh, yeah, uh.." He starts to think, where exactly is he hurt? Collarbone for fact, then there's still the old marks from the werewolf that just don't want to close, couple scratches, he's hit his head a couple of times. Something else? Oh, ribs! Probably not broken but they hurt, should probably mention that as well, so no one has a reason to get mad at him for withholding information.

"Well, I think I broke my collarbone, probably. Then the werewolf clawed me up back when.." He trails off, but Dean nods, giving him an encouraging smile. He tries to smile back, feeling again out of place, and continues.

"I've hit my head, so there's probably some old bleeding but I think that's fine now, and then just some scratches. Nothing big." He makes the last part sound a bit cheerier, it's still a list of some little injuries that could worry Dean. The older doesn't seem to care for his try for a lighter atmosphere, tightening his lips and glancing back at the rest.

"We got the good stuff, wanna get inside?" Joshua talks to him with kind of the same tone Dean had used. Kind of wary, a bit like the tone you use when you talk to a kid, unsure of their reaction, not wanting to spook them off. Well, can't blame them, he's been running a lot. Coward move, he knows.

He glances at Dean, doesn't even know why he does it, but the smile eases his worries, and he nods back at Joshua, who gives him a little smile, before they head towards the little house. It's humble, to say, with a little porch on front. Painted white, the paint has cracked over the years, the windows are dirty, but it feels good. It feels decent, he gets no weird vibes from it, so he guesses it's fine. Dean's hand on his back, they walk towards the door, Sam looking around. It's mostly woods around them, the road they've came here on had lasted probably a mile or more from the highway, so they were a bit far, which was fine.

Stepping inside, he immediately feels immense gratefulness, the air conditioning filling the small living area with warm air. Warm air Sam hasn't felt like in weeks, bless it. The kitchen is to the left from the door, a simple, normal looking one with a bit older equipment. The thing that catches his attention however, is the table, more importantly the map laid on it, spanning from edge to edge. It's a map of the USA, with lines drawn, and he leaves Dean's side to look closer.

"Sam-" It's a tight sound, unsure and bit hesitant, and he understands the reason why pretty soon. The red lines around it start from Breitung, and it feels a bit odd to see his whole travel now front of him. Each town he checks, and there's small notes next to each one of them. Mostly, 'cash, bus stop, one night' or 'no night, cash' and 'motel two nights, cash, bus'. He frowns around Arkansas, trying to read the small letters that seem to be written in hurry, about Lafayette, the crash.

His throat tightens, and the calm, comforting feeling on his shoulders disappear, replaced by cold he should be used to. He swallows, aware that people are moving to his vision, but he stares at the word 'trucker', feeling his heart ache. God, Robert.

"Sam, hey, kiddo. It's alright." Caleb's voice is familiar, and has always had that lulling sense to it, and gently he's being guided away from the table, the map closed. He snaps out of the haze, startling Caleb in the process. He flashes a smile, "Sorry," and feels a bit bad when he steps out of Caleb's hold, and the other's face saddens a bit.

"You wanna come to the bedroom, so I could take a look at the stuff?" Alone, goes unsaid, and Sam should feel glad he and Dean still have that communication. He doesn't know what the older caught on, but he should be grateful that it's only going to be Dean who sees it all. He nods, with a small smile, trying to shake the feeling off, and Christ, he needs to get used to that grin Dean now uses a lot. It's just so much brighter, suddenly so much happier. Dean moves towards the hallway by the living room, and Sam follows, giving an apologetic smile to everyone, promising himself to talk to all of them seperately come tomorrow. He hesitates with Uncle Bobby, who's smile to him differs from others. It's sadder, maybe he feels a bit more bad being excluded than Joshua or Caleb. He's going to talk to them, tomorrow. Or today, it's already one AM, he should catch some shut-eye.

He follows Dean past four doors, one slightly ajar, so he knows that one is the bathroom. The others are probably bedrooms or offices then. Dean keeps glancing over his shoulder, to make sure he hasn't bolted, and Sam gives him a smile each time. It takes seconds to reach the door, last one on the right, and they step into a decently sized bedroom. With only a twin bed, some old cabinet that seems to work as a place for clothes and pretty much everything else. It's good, and Sam gazes longingly at the bed that looks so warm, so cozy. Dean sits by the end of the bed, patting the spot beside him, and Sam comes along, feeling a little out of place, once again. Dean gives him a smile, leaning over to grab something out of the bed, and never has Sam been happier to see a classic Winchester home-made med stash.

"I know you're probably exhausted, so I'll be quick. I don't think sling now is a good idea, since you'll be horizontal soon, but in the morning sure. Now, what was that about some werewolf?" He blinks at Dean, feeling a little gooey as the older looks back with that fond look. He needs to get used to that, really, it's ridiculous.

"Uh, yeah. It's on my side, didn't get the chance to ever wrap them properly, or disinfect, which is why they're still being annoying." He tugs at his shirt, feeling again a little self-conscious. Careful with his shoulder, Dean jumps in to help him, tugging his shirt up carefully. The edge of his necklace dangles out, and Dean notices it after the scratches, but doesn't say anything, yet. He inspects the wounds in silence, careful hands prodding the area around them, making sure they aren't deeply infected at least. Sam shifts a little, and Dean drops his hand, Sam immediately feeling a bit worse. His hands are warm, okay, nothing else.

Dean says something about disinfecting, and wrapping them up, and Sam focuses on just looking at the other. Dean's focused on his little wounds, now he can actually look at the older. At first glance, he hadn't seemed to have aged, but now, when he's letting his face relax, Sam can see tiredness even more evidently. His brother is tired, at least physically if not mentally, and Sam shifts his jaw. He's gotta make sure Dean eats and sleeps. Before he even notices, stuck in staring at the freckled face, Dean's pulling the bandages out, making it to properly fit, and again with way too gentle touches, fixes it up. Dean's always been able to do that, fix everything with a simple touch. God, he loves him.

"You sure your head is fine?" He asks, snapping Sam out of his haze. He blushes a little, feeling caught, before actually realizing the question.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt any different, aside from-" He snaps his mouth shut, gut clenching as he feels fear soar. Dean's smile drops immediately, and his brows furrow back down to that worried look, slowly placing a hand on Sam's boney knee, keeping eye contact. A small smile, "It's alright Sammy, it's alright, I promise. Your head doesn't hurt, aside from what?"

He swallows, not sure if he should say it. What if Dean's stuck in some haze of just having Sam back, and completely forgot about his freak abilities? What if he's gonna hate him now, when he says it outloud?

"Hey, Sammy, look at me." Dean moves closer, his hip bumping against Sam's, and there's nothing but worry and care in the green eyes, easing something deep down. He looks at Dean, scared to break this, again.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hate you, I could never hate you, kiddo. You getting headaches from what? Watching porn? I wasn't that young when I started-" He breaks into a laugh, God he's missed him. Still smiling, he looks down at his hands, still able to see the blood on them, and averts his eyes. A hand wraps around his shoulders, and Sam exhales.

"I get headaches whenever, you know, I get a vision or overextend myself..." He mumbles, and against his belief, the hand around him doesn't tighten from shock, or pull away in disgust. After a moment of silence, he risks a glance at Dean, who has this sad look, before he wipes it off.

"But nothing that would mean a concussion or something else?" A gentle question, like he's a child, and Sam doesn't know if he hates it or likes it. It's been a while since he's had someone care for his wellbeing, he had gotten used to it.

"No." He says, and Dean doesn't say anything else. As if Sam didn't talk about his freak abilities, of these unwanted powers that teared them apart. He just rubs Sam's back quickly, turning to pack everything away.

"You got a new necklace?" Seemingly so normal, Sam takes a minute to realize what Dean's talking about.

"Uh, yeah. Bought it from this shop, supposed to keep you from getting possessed." Dean gives an interested sound, and Sam's lips twitch. Talking about necklaces, where was the amulet? Had Dean thrown it away?

Suddenly it feels like everything crashes back down. Dean's thrown it away. He's thrown it away, like he'll throw Sam. Like it was nothing. Like it didn't mean everything to him, to know Dean had it, Dean loved him. Like it wasn't theirs. Meaningless, useless, unloved.

"Sammy?" He doesn't realize there's tears in his eyes, and he feels hurt, but what did he expect? He ruined everything, he isn't a Winchester, he's a monster, a freak, not good enough, never good enough, God, why is he-

A hand on his shoulder startles him, almost jumping out of his skin. He stares at Dean, with still that kind look he isn't used to, with still that worry, that underlining love. An ugly idea pops into his head, what if he's being played? What if-

"Christo." He breathes out, but nothing happens. Dean doesn't flinch back, his eyes don't turn that haunting black. Nothing. The older only looks now hurt, that he masks quickly, but the worry doesn't leave.

"Sammy, c'mere baby brother, c'mere." Tears blurring his vision, Sam hesitates, but not for long. If this is when he dies, he's fine with it. At least he can believe this was real. Again he's cradled against Dean, and he buries himself straight into the hold, hiding his tears, hiding his face from the world. He's stupid, so damn stupid, how could he not notice the press against his chest, the familiar outline of the amulet before. He's tired, everything seems to be piling up, and he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do, please, he doesn't know.

It all seems to boil down, and after months, Sam cracks. He physically falls into a ball, his tears turning into body-shaking sobs that come from somewhere Sam doesn't even know. He cries for everything. He cries for himself, cries for being this way, for always fucking up. He cries for his family, for John he knows he lost, for Dean he doesn't know how to help, for the bond he ruined, burnt down. He cries for Robert, for someone who only wanted to help him, only wanted to ease his baggage, and for how Sam repaid. He cries for the things he lost that night, for the life Robert lost, and for the people who were left behind.

He cries, and feels like he can never stop.

It takes probably tens of minutes for Sam's sobs to finally stop, for the crying that felt like bullets to Dean's heart, to stop, and for the kid to fall asleep. His shirt is soaked in Sam's tears, and Dean swipes his own away quickly. He's left staring, watching Sam's chest rise and fall, left staring at the thing he thought he'd never see again. Even now, with all he's been through, Sam's the same, worries for others before himself, loves unconditionally, even when Dean doesn't deserve it. When Caleb called to say Sam was having a panick attack, he dropped everything. And when he finally heard his voice, everything came together and fell apart at the same time.

He exhales, thank you to whoever is up there, for bringing Sam home, even if it's like this. He can fix him, he always could. Moving up, trying to keep Sam as stable as possible in his arms, he pulls the blankets down, carefully placing Sam down. Making sure the kid's arm is alright, he pulls the blankets up to his neck, feeling his heartstrings tighten as he stares down at his kid. His kid he never thought he'd see again, who he was sure was dead. And who's more broken than Dean could've imagined. God, this would be a great time to make him a believer. Help Sam, he doesn't know if he can help the kid enough.

He leans down, overwhelmed, pressing a kiss to Sam's forehead, and watches the kid breathe for a while. Checking everything is in order, locked and lined with salt, Devil's Trap intact, he slips out of the room, intend on coming back soon. As expected, Bobby's there, and Dean doesn't have to say anything, just wraps his arms around the old man, and exhales, closing his eyes.

Notes:

Oopsie doopsie, you thought the angst was done, didn't you?

Chapter 16: Don't let me go

Summary:

And you'll be gone in the morning
And you'll be over this
Just one more night
So I can forget
Stay here and lay here right in my arms
It's only a moment before you're gone
And I
Am keeping you warm
Act like you love me
So I can go on

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Bringing the cool edge of the beer to his lips, Dean took a swig. Thanks to Joshua they even had alcohol, and right now the taste and the burn in his throat was exactly what he needed. Leaning against the wall, Bobby sitting on the couch, tending his own beer, they were quiet. Bobby was waiting for him to talk, he knew it, but if he'd start, Dean feared he might never stop. There wasn't enough words or time for him to explain just how he felt, just what was going on in his head. To have Sam back, never has Dean felt joy like this, and at the same time, this terrible, gut-wrenching sadness. Because he might have Sam back, and God is he grateful for that, but the kid isn't alright.

He knows Sam has seen him as a protector his entire time, has shared his secrets and dark thoughts with him, when did that change?, and now the kid believes he's a demon, because he's giving him the care and love he needs, something the kid doesn't think he deserves. He's being nice, doing everything in his power to help the kid, and he thinks him a demon. He thinks Dean is one of those fuckers who want him dead, who only want to hurt him and ruin his life, because Dean was being nice. And if that doesn't show something ain't right, he can start counting others. The way Sam keeps quiet, avoids eye contact, places himself in rooms so he's as close to the door as possible, tries to hide behind him when faced with people he's known his entire time, question everyone's motives for him, nearly have a panick attack looking at the map, don't think Dean didn't see that. He saw, but he can't think about it, otherwise the tight spiraling feeling in his stomach will result with him throwing up.

He banishes the thought, he can't risk not being hundred percent in now, he needs to be ready for everything, and more importantly, he needs to get his kid better. He's damn near anorexic, and Dean's seen enough people like that to know, that might be the quickest and most important thing to fix right now. He knows it'll take a while to fix whatever is going on in Sam's head, and even if it takes decades, Dean's ready. Bring it on, there's nothing he won't do.

"Caleb said the lights in his bedroom are older, so that might be why they're the only ones that broke." Pulled from his thoughts, Dean looks at Bobby in confusion. Lights? Why would lights be breaking? The older hunter notices his confusion.

"You didn't notice?" Dean shakes his head, utterly confused and starting to get concerned. Were they being attacked? Is there some trouble out? Bobby shuffles on his seat, and Dean's worry skyrockets. How's he supposed to get Sam out if they're surrounded, shit, are the Devil Traps in place?

"Dean, we could all hear Sam. We ain't prying, I know you got him, but during that, the lights broke. Did the book say anything about his emotions affecting things?" Bobby asks, and Dean waits for the edge that isn't there. There's no judgement, and he knows from Bobby's look he was searching for it, but the hunter doesn't say anything. It's not that he doesn't trust Bobby, he just can't afford to risk Sam, the man knows it probably. Thinking about the question, he tries to remember, but comes up with nothing. He's sure there was nothing like that, he's read the damn thing through probably thousand times.

"No. Maybe it's a new development." He shrugs it off, he knows Sam will tell him when he wants, and with the reaction he had today from with just the vision thing, he's sure the kid might not be talking for weeks. He'll wait, even if he aches to know.

"Dean, you know that we need to talk about it." He narrows his eyes. They can't force Sam to talk, the kid will bolt.

"He had a freakout from just mentioning the visions, he'll fucking bolt if we make him say anything." He hisses, taking a gulp to drown the start of anger. He knows Bobby means well. Said man gives him a look, as if he's the dumb one. They can't force Sam to talk. They just can't, and they won't. He won't push the kid away, not now, not ever.

"Talking about it might help, Hell, you saw how the kid looked at us. He's ready for us to pull a damn gun on him, and he wouldn't be surprised." There's a rising volume in Bobby's voice, that he dims down as Dean casts a worried look to the hallway. There seems to be no sounds, but the kid can move like a ghost, who knows how quiet he can be now. He exhales, looking back at Bobby who looks a little apologetic. He thinks about what he's saying, and even if there's truth in there, he doesn't want to. Not wanting to risk anything, not wanting to risk loosing Sam, not again, never again. Bobby sighs, figuring out what Dean's thinking, damn him.

"I know you don't want to risk it, I know, not like we do. But how long do you think it'll work if he thinks we're about to kill him? If we know about the kid's abilities, and act normal, the kid might realize we don't want him dead." Dean didn't want to admit it, but Bobby was right. It was the only thing they could do to win Sam over. The kid considered himself supernatural, and only by treating him normal could he understand it too. And yeah, Dean had to admit, it could be cool. Could Sam lit stuff on fire? Could he banish ghosts? That'd be hella cool, or pretty much anything his little brother will do, is gonna be cool as fuck.

Mind set, he downed the rest of the beer. Putting it away, he checked the clock. A little over two in the morning, Sam would sleep at least till afternoon, and Dean could catch some sleep as well. He gave a tight nod to Bobby, who saluted him with his own beer, seemingly staying here to think. He turned and walked to their room, carefully opening the door and peeking in. Sam was still in bed, under the covers, chest falling in a slow pace, still asleep. Dean smiled lightly, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. Sam shifted, and he froze. Damn, the kid was a light sleeper now, previously he could sleep through an earthquake. Guess being on the run had it's cost. He tossed his flannel off, and slowly rose the covers, trying to get in without waking Sam up. He didn't want to cross any borders, even if he wanted nothing more than to pull Sam against him, and if someone would call it cuddling, Dean would behead them.

So he settled with lying on his side, watching the kid sleep. Lips parted, Dean could hear him breathe, and even Mom's lullabies hadn't been as good with getting him to sleep. To hear Sam, alive, safe by his side, was more than enough. With how thin the kid was, Dean could see his cheekbones way too easily, his hair had grown a little, hanging over his eyes. Feeling a little fond, Dean carefully brushed his hair back, off his face. Settling down, keeping his hand close to Sam, without touching him, in case he needed to protect the kid. The house was wired against anything supernatural, Devil Traps pretty much in every room, salt around all doors and windows, iron door handles and all. They should be safe. Should, being the key word.

Before he could close his eyes and chase after sleep, he was startled by Sam. Suddenly awake, or half-awake, the kid was looking at him in the dark, eyes half closed.

"Ge' in here." He mumbled, and Dean choked a little. Huffing a little laugh, he shifted closer, his shoulder brushing against Sam's. The younger let out an annoyed sound, and before Dean could blink, he was being pulled closer, Sam draping himself over him. The kid attached himself to his side with a heavy sigh, nestling against Dean's shoulder, and God, was he overwhelmed with love. Shifting his arm around Sam, wrapped around the too thin shoulders, he placed his other hand on the kid's leg, expecting to be kicked off, but the kid stayed quiet, his lashes tickling Dean. Feeling his eyes suddenly water, he exhaled, leaning down to press a kiss on that mop of hair. Staying there, he closed his eyes, Sam shuffling a little closer, and vowed to never let this go again.

°°°

If sleeping was a game in the Olympics, Sam would beat everyone with ease. The clock ticking around five PM, the kid still had yet to wake. Not that Dean was exactly complaining, he only left to go take a piss, and would find Sam squinting at him, not properly awake and offended that he had left. He'd slide back in, and the kid would be asleep in seconds. Caleb had been bringing him little snacks, grinning at them, but he could see a try of tears in the man's eyes once, and he couldn't blame him. He had been overwhelmed with just Sam being back so many times it wasn't cool anymore. He could shed couple tears for Sam, sure, but this was no romance movie. He had to draw a line somewhere.

That didn't mean he'd stop running his fingers through Sam's hair. He was nudging the kid awake, brushing his hair back, trying to rouse him. He could sleep more later, he needed to eat and Dean wanted to check him properly. Against his expectations, Sam woke up calm. No shotting up, smacking Dean or anything he expected. He woke up slowly, eyelashes fluttering as he gazed up at Dean, clearly still sleepy. And damn those puppy eyes, he was probably the first one to fall for them. Sam shifted his mouth, letting out a little sound as he stretched his legs against Dean. He made little huffs, puffing air against Dean's chest before yawning. He couldn't stop smiling, watching the kid.

"Time to get up, kiddo." So many times he's said that, and it never gets old how Sam looks at him, a little squinted, trying to figure out if he really needs to get up or not. Dean grins, and Sam's lips twitch, and it feels natural again, everything alright. He expects for it to change, but as Sam slowly starts getting up, the hazel eyes opening up a little more, it doesn't happen. Maybe getting everything off his chest yesterday helped that much?

Standing by the edge of the bed, hair tousled, clothes wrinkly and clinging awkwardly to his body, his baby brother was the most adorable thing. Rubbing his eyes, he looked around as Dean buttoned his flannel, watching his kid. He was looking for something apparently. Sam turned back to him, and there was some easiness in him, his eyes weren't so vacant, hopeless anymore. And if that didn't make Dean's day, he didn't know what else could. Until, Sam opened his mouth.

"I uh, don't got any clothes. Had to leave my duffel behind." It was too good, too good to be true. Sure, it was shit that Sam had to leave his duffel behind, but luckily there was nothing too valuable there. Dean had everything Sam left behind in a bag, in the Impala, but he wasn't telling the kid that, not yet. Let him enjoy this.

"I'll get you some sweats and a shirt, any preference, princess?" He asked with a wide grin, and was rewarded with a little laugh, a squinty eye for the show. He was smiling, and Dean has no idea how he survived this long without this kid. Swallowing the emotion, he goes through his own clothes, picking the smallest sweats he has, throwing them somewhere towards the Sam, who lets out a small yelp. Looking over his shoulder, he catches Sam frowning at him, not appreciating being thrown stuff at. He grins again, and pulls out a red flannel. It'll keep the kid warm. That one he hands the kid, and from the way Sam starts shuffling, he knows he needs to go.

"Come out when you're ready, I'll go check what food we got." And just because he can, he pulls the kid to a side hug, breaking it off too soon for his own liking. Sam gives him a shy smile, and the difference from yesterday is huge, but damn, does it feel good. They have a long journey ahead, but now, Dean feels like they can make it. He smiles, and heads for the door, closing it behind him. Immediately in the hallway he smells food, and goes to peek at the end.

"Well look who's up. The kid awake?" Joshua asks, sauntering around the kitchen as Caleb stands in a corner, seemingly keeping an eye on him. Bobby's by the table, studying the map probably, for what reason, Dean doesn't know yet.

"Awake and ready to be stuffed full of food. Whatcha making?" He asks, taking another sniff. Some meat, and probably potatoes, if he's right. They better have a lot, Sam can eat a lot or little, but they still got five mouths to feed.

"Potatoes and beef, Caleb thinks I'll burn his kitchen down." Joshua grins at him, and it seems everyone is in a better mood. Caleb huffs, but his mouth twitches.

"Don't think I've forgotten Grantsville." Joshua makes an offended sound, and Dean tunes the bickering off as the door opens behind him. He turns around, Sam peeking his head out. Looking a little anxious, Dean gives him a small smile, walking closer. The door opens, and maybe Dean has a thing for Sam in his clothes. He doesn't think it's connected to the school girl crush he has, more like having the kid in his clothes means he's with Dean, and that he's safe and alright. He doesn't know, the point is, Sam looks like the greatest thing, even if he's thinner than anything Dean's seen, and the clothes are too big on him.

"Joshua's making some food, you wanna come out?" He asks quietly, ready to compromise if Sam doesn't want to go. The kid's still anxious about them, he needs to win him over, and forcing him out there isn't the way. Sam looks towards the kitchen, they can hear Joshua and Caleb bickering still, and it eases something in the kid. He looks back at Dean, a small smile on his pale lips, and gives a small nod. Dean smiles, and snakes a hand around the kid, guiding him down the hallway.

Caleb glances at them, in the middle of a sentence, and cuts off as he spots Sam, who might or might not be hiding a little behind him. Joshua turns to look at Caleb, then at Sam, but he acts quicker than Caleb, who's just staring at the kid with a dumb smile.

"Sam! You will not believe this kiddo, Caleb thinks that boiling the bigger potatoes in a another pot would make the food be done faster." Sam blinks, a little caught off guard, and Dean gets what Joshua is trying. He appreciates it, if it gets the kid out of the shell. Again, the kid surprises him, instead of staying quiet, he shuffles, brushing against Dean, and says,

"Well, you can have the other pot on a higher heat, so they can cook as fast as the smaller ones, so kind of, Caleb's right." Everyone in the room pauses for a second, all staring at Sam with awe, happiness or smugness, the latter coming from Caleb. Before the kid can feel awkward, it snaps, and Joshua lets out a indulgent huff, throwing his hand dramatically up, and even Sam chuckles a little at the dramatics.

"Traitors, you all! If we take the weaker ones away from the quicker ones, they won't have anyone cheering for them, how are they supposed to boil happily then?" Dean laughs, Bobby shakes his head while smiling, and Caleb goes to Joshua, pushing him away from the stove, and the two start bickering again.

"Why are you using the left one, you could-" They tune it out, Sam making a small movement towards Bobby, who pretends not to notice, to let the kid think what he wants to do. Dean gives him a little nudge that he hopes is encouraging, and with a little worried smile Sam quietly moves to the table, Bobby lifting his gaze up. Leaning against the wall, Dean crosses his arms, keeping an eye on them.

"Did you decide about the dog yet?" Unsure of what else to talk about, Sam takes a shot in the dark. Bobby looks a little confused first, he probably didn't expect him to ask that. When the older man realizes, he gives Sam a rare grin, that makes him relax a little more. It's a thing they had talked about before everything, Bobby wanting a dog for company and for guarding the house, and Sam hadn't been able to hide his love for dogs. So they had talked about it, last time Bobby was still considering the whole thing.

"Probably getting one in a couple years, gotta make sure everything is ready. You wanna take care of the bastard, when I'm away sometimes?" Sam can't stop the smile, and Bobby smiles back. He reaches to probably pat him on the shoulder, giving him time to back off, but Sam doesn't. The hand settles on his shoulder, and there's a little pass of fondness in Bobby's eyes,

"It's good to have you back, kiddo." The moment is over soon, Bobby turning to talk to the two bickering hunters as Sam hangs on to the small wave of happiness.

"Hey married couple, we getting some food today, or when I'm too old to stand here and wait?" Sam turns to go back to Dean who gives him a little smile, as he hears Joshua smack Caleb with what he suspects is a kitchen towel, the younger letting out a shriek. Feeling like a little kid, giddied up, he takes the risk of pressing against Dean's side. Now that Dean's here, and he actually starts to realize it, he wants to be close to the older. He can pretend Dean loves him in the same way he does, but even this is more than he could ever ask for.

"Clean the table then, will ye, old man?" Dean chuckles at Joshua, and Sam smiles, his heart beating faster again as Dean ruffles his hair, wrapping an arm around him. Suddenly he flinches back, and before Sam can start panicking, the older curses under his breath.

"The sling. Stay there." And he's taking big steps away, down the hallway into their bedroom, Sam looking after him. He knows someone else is watching him as well, probably wondering where Dean went. To be honest, he's been too busy being decently happy to even notice his aching shoulder, even if it does ache quite bad, if the thinks about it. Soon, Dean's back, a sling in hands. Sam cringes at it a little, not really looking forward to using that thing. At least it's his left hand, not right.

"Kay, now-" He turns his hand before Dean finishes, and the older grins, and soon they're both making sure the sling is in place. It keeps his arm stable, even if it feels a bit weird to have his hand stuck like that. He'll have to get it out after a while, so it won't cramp up.

"Just for a while, when you feel like it. It'll help with the healing. We'll get you some painkillers with the dinner." Dean smiles, that comforting 'you'll be alright' smile he always gives when Sam is hurt in some way. Was it a paper cut, or having his ribs cracked by a werewolf. They stay still for a while, Dean seemingly stuck in his mind as he stares at Sam, with that smile, and Sam can't help but smile back. A hand brushes his other arm, and Sam shuffles on his feet, being cut off with Bobby clearing his throat.

"Food's ready, there should be a bottle left in the bathroom, in one of my bags at least." Dean gives him an awkward smile, and Sam averts his eyes, moving to the table, giving everyone a little smile. Sitting down, his stomach makes a loud rumbling sound, that makes Caleb snort. Everyone else already has food on their plate, and God, how long did he and Dean stay like that? Feeling his cheeks heat up a little, he starts piling up his plate, not taking too much. As much as he's used to eating little, he knows Dean wants him to eat more, and he could use a proper meal. It's been a while since he ate something else than a protein bar or crackers. Dean's back, rattling the pill of bottles in his hand that he puts down on the edge of the table, pulling to sit down next to Sam, taking a loud audible sniff.

"Don't be so excited yet, gal. Joshua always puts too much salt in the food." Caleb laughs, even more as Joshua turns to give him a stink eye. Dean laughs, and Sam doesn't miss the way his brother glances at his plate, a little calculating.

"I could eat ten boxes of instant noodles, I bet he got anything on their saltiness." Sam has to agree, they've eaten probably like ten boxes of instant noodles in their lives, just because they're so salty. Joshua makes a happy sound, and Sam picks up a fork, taking the first mouthful. The second it hits his taste buds, his stomach makes another rumbling sound. It's good, shit, it's actually good. There's just enough seasoning, without making it too salty or not salty enough. He takes another bite, happily eating as his stomach feels endless. Focused on eating, he misses the look the hunters exchange, a mix of happiness and bewilderment.

They eat in silence, Sam taking another plateful of food, that makes Dean so giddy he can't hide it. Sam gives him a little grin, and he drinks the glass of milk happily, finishing up himself. Bobby's still eating, Caleb's gathering the dishes as Joshua rambles about some hunt back when he was a kid. As the scraping noise from the fork stops, Dean casts Sam a look, to see if he's finished. The kid has a bit odd look on his face, he isn't getting sick, is he?

"Joshua, give me your plate, I don't want to waste all the hot water, I want a shower."

"You and your boiling showers, here-" Before Joshua can grab his plate, it picks itself up. They all freeze, and Sam shifts his jaw, focusing. It doesn't need a lot from him, and this is how he can figure out what they really think of his powers, right? He floats the plate to Caleb, who he doesn't know how to read, and the man takes the plate from him, and Sam lets out a little breath. He starts checking everyone's faces, leaving Dean's for last, he doesn't want to see maybe.

"Shit, that's so cool!" Before he can even get to looking at Dean, the older is letting out this tight sound, almost chirpy, and Dean's never chirpy. As he looks at him, Dean actually looks a bit in awe, a smile on his parted lips, as he looks to Caleb, who's pulling out from his shock. Even Bobby looks interested, and in a good way, while Joshua looks at Caleb, both of them looking a little odd. Before Sam can delve on it, they both break into huge grins. Feeling mixed, happy, confused, scared, suspicious, he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. The mood changes instantly, he knows everyone is watching, everyone is ready to move, ready to kill. He bites his lip, forcing it out, no use dragging this on.

"I know you all want to know just what I can do." He looks at the table, playing with his hands. Forcing himself to do this, he gathers his courage, speaking with a little shake.

"I can move things, break, and throw stuff around. I know when there's something supernatural here, at least with ghosts, didn't work on a werewolf though. I uh, I get visions, from the future, which sounds crazy I know, they're shit to be honest. Sometimes they're something I can work with, help save someone, or then they're just colors and flashes." He wouldn't mention the ominous clearing ones, he didn't know what they were yet. Could be nothing.

"And uh, I can tell if someone is a demon." He keeps his head down, almost shaking. He digs his nails to his palm, to keep them from shaking, waiting for something to happen, anything. A bullet to the head, a slit throat, anything. Nothing happens, and he doesn't dare to lift his head up. It's out now, everything he's scared of, they know now. Everyone knows he's a monster. The tears gather even if he doesn't want them to.

"Sammy." It's Dean who speaks, and he shakes his head. It's a request, a 'please, look at me', and Sam can't. The tears want to get out, and he feels embarrased, vulnerable, hurt, just someone please get on with it. He can't stand the silence. The chair makes a sound, scraping against the floor, and Sam prepares, squeezing his eyes shut. This is it. At least he had a good day, he got to have Dean as a parting gift. He got to have one last time, one last brush of happiness, and it was enough. It's okay. His chair is being moved, turned left, and he stays still, they're probably going to cut his throat and don't want him bleeding on the table. He doesn't breathe, not until familiar, calloused hands cup his face. His face is being lifted, and Sam opens his eyes, letting the tears fall.

Dean's eyes are sad, his lips are pulled into a sad smile. Sam feels his chin wobble, feeling himself crack again. He's a freak, a monster, he knows it. Why is Dean doing this? Rubbing salt to the wound.

"Sammy, can you listen to me for a second, baby?" His heart tightens, and something on his face must say yes, as Dean continues.

"We don't hate you, kiddo. These powers you got, they're what you have now, and that's alright. They ain't some curse, something that makes you a bad person, or anything else you've convinced yourself you are. We'll figure out why you have them, and it'll work out, I promise. I'll always keep an eye on you, I'll always make sure you're alright, because you're my baby brother. So, listen to me. You aren't wrong, you aren't fucked up, you're Sam, and you're the greatest person I know. And if you ask me, it's kinda fucking cool to be able to move shit, imagine, you can steal so many pies for me without anyone noticing." He lets out a small laugh through the tears, the emotions threatening to drown him as he stares at Dean, wanting to believe he's telling the truth. A thumb keeps wiping his tears away, and Sam chokes on a sob, standing up from the chair and into Dean's arms. His tears soaking against the other, the arms that could keep him away from any danger, keep him safe, wrap around him, and Sam doesn't want to ever let this go. More hands settle on him, on his healthy shoulder, and he lets himself cry.

Maybe he isn't a monster surrounded by hunters. Maybe he still has a family.

Notes:

You know I couldn't have an entire chapter without some angst. But well, now it's out, everyone's cool, Sam might get better. Yippee? Thank you for reading as always, and for the comments.

Edited note, I posted on my tumblr (@ithinkikindalikechocolate) about the book and the series, I'd love for you to check it out.

Chapter 17: Wine stains hide the tears

Summary:

Come on love, please don’t start
Sing your notes, play your part
Then we’ll leave. We were gods
With you I could summon the gods and the stars
Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart
And we’d laugh at the ghosts of our fears. We were kids

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It isn't awkward, like Sam expected, when he stops crying. He can't tell if part of them were from joy, or part from just sadness, but something finally is settling in his chest, and he feels like he can trust them. Or, trust them to not put a bullet in his head, otherwise the people gathered around him have his entire trust.

For a group that mostly consists of old school men who dodge emotions and hate crying, they handle it well. Dean's kept him plastered against him, and Sam doesn't think there's anything else on this planet that makes him calm down like the older's heartbeat. None of them had said anything, and even when Sam shuffles awkwardly, Caleb and Joshua just smile at him, while Bobby's hand is still on his shoulder.

It feels good, to get it out, to finally be able to tell someone, and not have them freak out or pull a gun at him. He glances at Dean, who's watching him with a small smile, and he ruffles his hair, making Sam grin.

"I'm glad you told us, kiddo. We ain't judging you, but I'm pretty sure Dean's gonna judge us if we don't pump you full of these meds soon." Caleb rattles the bottle in his hand, and the tension disappears. Sam lets out a relieved smile, and grabs the bottle, handing it to Dean who brushes their hands together, swallowing as he turns his attention to take the glass full of water from Caleb. Bobby rubs his shoulder, before patting it gently, and Sam gives the old man a little smile as he steps back. Dean's handing him three white pills, and they're the size Sam just despises. His brother gives him a knowing look, and Sam just sighs, taking the pills and downing them quick, eager to get rid of the pain in his shoulder.

Caleb takes the glass from him, taking it to where Joshua is continuing to wash the dishes.

"Sammy, do you... Would you-" Dean smacks his mouth closes, frowning and he shifts, uneasy. Sam pushes down the start of panick and another breakdown, instead waiting patiently as Dean searches for the right words. The older sighs, looking back at Sam and there's so much Sam could read from those eyes, but doesn't get the chance to.

"Is it okay if I ask something about the- the powers?" It's unusual for Dean to be this careful, especially around him, who he knows the triggers of, but Sam guesses his playing safe. The uneasiness is back in his gut, but he pushes it down. This is Dean.

"Yeah, sure." He tries to look as sincere as possible, not wanting Dean to feel bad about asking. He'll answer anything, if it makes the older feel any better about this all. Dean gives him a little smile, and Sam notices everyone else gathering back close, seemingly interested as well. Hopefully he knows what to answer.

"The nosebleeds, they're connected, right? You had them whenever you had a vision, how bad are they actually?" There's genuine curiousity, and a edge of worry Sam's surprised by. It's not like they hurt him, the powers, or, well... He frowns, quickly forming an honest answer.

"I get them with visions, yeah. I also had them when I used the other stuff, moved stuff or something like that."

This time, it's Joshua who speaks.

"You didn't get a nosebleed when you stopped my car from turning on, did you?" Again, just curiousity, no judging, but Sam still feels bad. He didn't break the car, did he? He just wanted to buy them time.

"Uh, no. I've been like, training, I guess? So I don't get nosebleeds about doing something anymore, unless I do too much... Sorry about the car." He shifts, Dean's hand on his back helping a little. Joshua doesn't look mad, but what does he know, huh?

"It's a car, kiddo, and it's not like you broke it. Hell, it's quite damn neat, if you ask me." Joshua smiles, and Sam's deflates, feeling better. Maybe he doesn't hate him.

"So you can interact with things? Like in Patrick, without the whole, you know, out of body travelling?" Sam blinks in confusion at Caleb, he has never heard about what he assumes is a book, or a movie, that Caleb's talking about. Luckily, Joshua comes to the rescue.

"You actually watched that mess of a movie? I can't believe you Caleb." Bobby chuckles, and Caleb crosses his arms, looking offended as he mumbles quietly, "It had Susan Penhaligon."

"What he's trying to ask, is how much can you do? Break things, whatsoever."

"Well, I could just float things, barely, in the start. I threw a cabinet at this demon, and I've broken a few lamps. I haven't properly like, tested if I can break something." They look impressed as he mentions the cabinet, and yeah it was heavy and all, but he also got a good nosebleed out of it. Nothing worth to brag about.

"When you say training, what do you do?" This time it's Bobby who asks, and Sam's surprised. Out of all of them, he expected Bobby to avoid the topic the most, being older and more in the same thinking that all supernatural should die, like John thinks. Talking about him, maybe he should ask where he is, he can't keep Dean away from spending even the little time with his father that he can, even with him being the black sheep of the family now. He won't become an obstacle between Dean and John, Dean deserves to have a father. He shuffles a little closer to Dean, and he should feel bad how childish he's being, Dean can't be stuck to him all the time.

"I just used to try and lift my duffle, it was heavy enough that it gave me a challenge." Shit work equipment, he knows, but what else could he have worked with, the streetlamps? As if that wouldn't have attracted dozens of hunters. Bobby gives him a little nod, clearly thinking. That wasn't so bad now, was it?

"What about the demon thing? You can see them?" There's disbelief in it, but Sam doesn't take it personally. He knows it sounds mad, all of this does. He thinks, wondering how to put it into words without sounding like a lunatic.

"Well, yeah. With the ghosts I just get the feeling, but demons got this-" He plays with his hands, trying to mimic what he's trying to say, but how can he mimic a fucking fog?

Sighing, he drops his hands, "It's like a fog, pretty much." He feels bad, not being able to explain it better. He just sounds crazy, plain and simple. The others don't look like it, but knows it was a shit explanation, and he starts to feel frustrated.

"How often do you get the visions? You said they hurt, you got any trick for making them easier?" Sam stops for a second, because he's pretty sure he hasn't said that they hurt. Did he? Oh wait, Dean probably had the book he wrote it all down in, the one he left behind. Ah, fuck.

"It's just random. Had five days straight without one, and then had one twice in the same day, it has no pattern. And yeah, they hurt, but it's nothing too bad." They hurt, more than any other physical pain Sam has felt, but he isn't telling Dean that. Something passes in Dean's eyes, so he's pretty sure the older knows that as well. He won't make Dean worry about something that's nothing meaningful.

"When did you have the last one?" Caleb asks, and he actually looks worried. Why, Sam has no idea. It's just a vision, that ninety percent of the time is nothing, means nothing, and is nothing he can do about.

"A while back, it was nothing, just flashes of lights and all that." It was, except it was also the same stupid clearing Sam has no idea about, but mostly yeah, nothing coherent. He'll let them know if something pops up about it, otherwise, it's just a weird scenario, nothing else.

"Alright, well, let me know when you get one, kay?" Unfair, for Dean to use that tone with him, and that look. He knows Sam can't deny him with that. He nods, and Dean doesn't look sheepish at all.

"Caleb, I'm gonna go move the firewood, they're sayin' it's gonna rain in a couple of days." Sam doesn't pay attention to what Joshua is saying, till he realizes with a snap. He has a chance now, time to go. Pulling away from Dean he stumbles a little, Joshua stopping on his way to the back door.

"I'll come help." Joshua looks ready to argue, but closes his mouth, apparently realizing quickly what Sam wants.

"Sam, you can't lift the woods, you might be cool as hell, but you still got a broken collarbone." Before Sam can say anything back to Dean, Joshua speaks.

"I'll make sure he doesn't do anything at all, Deano, don't worry." He winks, and Dean gets the memo, pursing his lips for a second before exhaling. Again, a hand goes around him, bringing him to side hug, and Dean grips the back of his neck, before letting him go with a smile, and a nod at Joshua he thinks Sam doesn't see. He moves after Joshua, grabbing a jacket he guesses is Dean's, giving a small grin to everyone, closing the door behind them as the outdoors greet him like an old friend.

Bobby hums, uncrossing his arms. Watching through the window how Sam trailed behind Joshua, who seemed to be babbling away, keeping the kid entertained.

"He doesn't know about the demon blood." He says, voicing what probably everyone was thinking. Sam doesn't know where his powers came from. Damn, Bobby has a feeling this might be trouble.

"No. How are we supposed to keep it from him?" Caleb asks, following Bobby's gaze outside. He doesn't know if Joshua went outside with the intention of getting Sam with him, he seemed surprised when Sam offered to come. Maybe the kid has something to talk to him about. He'll ask Joshua later.

"We can't. He might bolt if he thinks we're keeping stuff from him, especially about this. We need to tell him." Bobby sighs, because there is no version in his head that this goes well.

"No." They look at Dean, whose eyes have that familiar glow that shows itself whenever Sam is concerned. His face is tight, so unlike what they've seen now that Sam has been back, Dean has been mostly smiles and grins.

"We ain't telling him. He thinks himself a freak already, supernatural, you think he'll handle well knowing that he got demon blood in him?" Dean's drawing a line, making sure nobody steps over it, his tone stern and leaving no arguing. Caleb has no idea where Dean has learnt that from, because it ain't from their military daddy, that's for sure. John's all yelling, Dean's more words with just a slicing edge.

"And if we don't tell him, and he finds out from a demon, or worse, your Daddy, then what? He's barely starting to trust us not to put a bullet in his head." Dean's eyes darken at the mention of John, and seriously, Bobby needs to call the idjit so he'll fix things with his kids.

"John isn't coming anywhere near Sam. He made it clear just where he stands, and that ain't with me and Sammy. We ain't telling Sam, period." It's the end of conversation, and Dean turns to look out of the window. Bobby bites his cheek, he had no use fighting with Dean about this, the kid won't budge. He looks at Caleb, who's as torn as he is, wanting to tell Sam to keep the trust, and not wanting to hurt the kid when he's just starting to open up to them. All was supposed to be well, now that Sam's back, and yet Bobby feels like the kid is still as far away from them, as he was when he dropped off the map.

°°°

"- and let me tell you, if I thought the horror movies were bad, the supernatural stuff is even shittier!" Joshua exclaims, throwing his arms up, and Sam laughs, following the man with a smile. Joshua is great, honestly, the man has gotten them out of so many tight situations, and he has some wide strategic viewing of things that even John doesn't have. The air is cold, thankfully he had grabbed a jacket that he's certain is Dean's, which makes it just better. It's big on him, warm, and smells like Dean, keeping him a bit calmer as he can't help but eye the edge of the woods. The insides are safer, sure, but Sam should be safe here, as well. Caleb wouldn't have brought him here if he thought there was a danger, right?

With a grunt Joshua starts grabbing the firewoods, heaving them easily up, or at least it looks like it. Sam could maybe carry two, if he were healthy, and Joshua's carrying five. With him being taller than Dean, he does have some advantage over Sam who's head barely reaches the man's chest. He'll grow, Dean had always said. And he has, a couple inches at least.

"Now," Joshua exhales as he drops the pile in the shelter, away from the rain's reach, turning to him.

"Let's chaw the rag. You been itching to talk to me, so let it out." Of course Joshua picked up on it, not that Sam was very subtle about it. The man continues moving the firewood as Sam gathers his courage. It's time for him to stop running away from everything.

"You sure we're cool?" He asks as Joshua drops the woods, turning to give him a incredulous look.

"You still stuck up with that? Kid, you're as smart as a hooty owl, you can't think I give a flying penny about you shutting my car down. Hell, I bet it was good for the old fucker, can't seem to run even without anyone poking it." Joshua gives him a look, making sure he gets it, he's not one to give you a real big emotional talking. A welcome change, everyone's been so eager to have all those talks with him it's starting to be concerning.

"Got it, Sam? I ain't holding a grudge on you for doing what you had to." Joshua stops, really staring him down hard, it makes Sam shift. He's a big man, okay? A little scary, even if Joshua wouldn't hurt a ladybug if he saw one.

"Got it, loud and clear." He nods with a small smile. Joshua looks at him a second longer, before seemingly satisfied and relaxes, going back to gathering the wood. Sam's tired, and his mind is going around in circles, playing scenarios as words hang on the tip of his tongue. He needs to know, needs to say-

Ah, fuck it.

"I think I killed Mom."

Joshua freezes, back turned to him, and Sam can see him tense up. His heart picks up, throat starting to clog, his mind making a plan where to sprint if this is the moment it all breaks, he watches and waits. He isn't straight up denying it, he was right wasn't he? He was fucking right! They knew!

"John knows, right? He told you." Joshua turns around, mindlessly throwing the firewoods down. He doesn't look mad, doesn't look like a person who's plan just failed, and is preparing to kill. There's no way they'd know, if John didn't know. John knew, and now they know. Does Dean know? Sam shifts his leg back, heart churning at the thought, trying to think how long it'll take him to get around the corner of the house. Should he go for the woods?

"Does Dean know?" His voice cracks, he can't keep the desperation out of it. If Dean knows-

No, he can't think about that. It'd end it all, for good.

"We need to talk, kiddo." Joshua says it, crouching at his level, keeping his distance. Voice low, a bit unnaturally calm, some part of his brain tells him to make a run for it. So he does.

Notes:

I swear I had a different ending planned for this. But well, there you have it, sorry it took so long, my hand didn't appreciate all the school work I had. Thank you for reading, and you can't imagine how happy, and touched I feel right now, because we hit 2k! An insane number, and I want to thank all of you, I never thought people would like this. So thank you, again.

Chapter 18: Step to the end

Summary:

Can I clear my conscience
If I'm different from the rest
Do I have to run and hide? (Oh, oh, oh, oh)
I never said that I want this
This burden came to me
And it's made it's home inside (oh, oh, oh, oh)
If I told you what I was
Would you turn your back on me?
And if I seem dangerous
Would you be scared?
I get the feeling just because
Everything I touch isn't dark enough
If this problem lies in me

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Sam!" Joshua's yell echoes through the forest, the three hunters inside the cabin snapping into action, quickly spotting the kid running past the house, Joshua on his heels. They all scramble through the front door, the door bashing against the wall, nearly coming off it's hinges.

"Sammy!" Dean yells, a crack of desperation, before sprinting faster than they've seen him, after the kid who's running down the road, towards the main road that's miles off. Bobby, the only one not sprinting after the kid curses loudly, damning his bad knee as his mind runs, trying to come up with an idea. Caleb's the closest to Sam, as far as he can see, Dean on his heels and Joshua starting to slow down, holding his side. Damn, the kid can run like hell.

His blood is thrumming with adrenaline, his ears buzzing as he runs, ignoring the ache in his shoulder and the growing exhaustion. He can hear them on his heels, he can't slow down. Even if Dean's yelling for him to slow down, trying to make him stay but Sam can't- he can't God he can't he killed mom-

It all snaps. Before he can realize what even is happening, his shoes dig to the ground, almost toppling him over. The cold air bites into his skin, his heart tightening as his head starts to pulse with pain. Who he assumes is Caleb, smashes against his back, arms around him and Sam can't breathe. His mind is empty, he can't hear what Caleb is saying, only feel the thump, thump, thump.

It comes back in a second, everything hitting him at the same time and he gasps, ears ringing, "Sam- Sam what happened- You're alright, you're alright, breathe-"

He moves, spinning around in Caleb's arms, his trembling hands going for the gun in the man's pocket, and then he pushes with his hands, the buzz in his head sending his friend almost down to the ground. He spots Dean, eyes wide and afraid, why is he afraid-

Something pulls in his head, through the panic, and he doesn't waste a second, spinning back around, gun aimed at the person front of him. More guns are pulled with a curse, and Dean's desperate "Sam, get back!"

Hands steady, he keeps his eyes trained on the man, on the black fog he sees floating around him. His gun is loaded, he knows, but bullets don't hurt a demon. Shivers go down his spine, and he pulls his mind together, taking a slow breath to calm the adrenaline. The air could be cut with a knife, all sorts of weapons trained at the demon who's possessing a young male with a matted brown hair. The hole in the man's coat, just above his heart, eases Sam's worries of hurting the vessel. There's no one left alive in there. The grey eyes shift to him, the pale lips curved into a twisted little grin Sam doesn't like. He hears people behind him move, tries to map out where everyone is, and how fast he can get them back inside the cabin. They're safe there, the demon wants him.

"There's no need to be so rude, boys." The words are drawled as the demon eyes them, the grin not slipping off. Something eases in him a little, it isn't him. It isn't the demon from the truck, it isn't the one who-

"Sam, get behind me." Caleb's voice resonates from somewhere behind him, a little to his right, and Sam is tempted, God is he tempted to just hide away. He's a coward, he's a filthy little coward who runs from everything and everyone, but that ends now. He isn't putting Dean, and everyone else, to risk. He owes them everything. The demon shifts, guns are being cocked and Sam doesn't hesitate, he drops his left hand from the gun, his right hand not wavering as he focuses. He doesn't know if he can do anything to the demon with his powers, but damn if he won't try.

His fingers curl, he tries to imagine his power like as a ball, and he stares right back at the demon, who's eyeing his left hand. He threw a drawer at one of them, he'll throw whatever he needs to, to keep them back.

"Calm down, pretty boy. You might be able to huck drawers, but there ain't any here now, huh? Put that hand down before you hurt your friends there." He doesn't flinch, keeps his body still, focusing on the buzz he's ready to use. He'll break a fucking tree if he needs to.

"Wanna bet?" He tilts his head, gripping tight the buzz in his chest, his finger ready on the trigger. The demon narrows his eyes, and Sam gets his answer. They don't know what he can do, good, he can use that.

"I'd advise you to leave, demon. There ain't any reason for me to not start spitting out an exorcism." Caleb's voice is stern, void of the usual warmth Sam hears, it's the tone meant for a monster. Caleb doesn't talk to him like that...

His thoughts are cut short when someone moves, and from the corner of his eye he sees Dean getting closer, trying to get between Sam and the demon, and his calm appearence shatters. His breathing stutters, his hand relaxes for a second, and that's all the demon needed. Eyes snap to him, completely black, and it moves.

For a split second, he can see how this will end. He can see Dean, dead on the cold, unforgiving ground, neck bent at an unusual angle. His eyes would be caught in the last second of his life, caught in the moment Dean would realize this was it, glassed green eyes without the warmth, frozen forever with the fear, with death. His body would be cold, his arms would stiffen, would never wrap around Sam again, never hold him again when he feels like he's being torn into pieces from inside. The ground would be stained with blood, the liquid would've stopped running as the life would leave Caleb and Joshua, crumbled together, both bleeding from the various slashes and wounds. They'd all be dead, the demon would laugh, and he can hear it, the mocking ring in it, can feel the shock of death, the disbelief that everything he loves has been demolished in matter of seconds.

He doesn't need to think.

The ground under his shoes crunches, the gun dropping from his hand as he moves, eyes locked with the demon moving towards Dean, the gunshots ringing in his ears as they do nothing to stop the demon. The buzz in his head drowns everything under, and Sam closes his eyes, feeling the burn in his veins as he prays to whatever God there is to let this work, to let him be able to do this.

He feels the second his body hits against the demon, can almost hear the black fog thrumming inside, as the buzzing snaps. His arm explodes in burning pain, and the body against him is suddenly gone. The air disappears from his chest, and before he can try and breathe, the blackness around him leaves, and the ground slams against his knees. His heart races, he can hear the blood running in his veins, and he opens his eyes to see the demon on the ground, at least twenty feet away. It comes out of the shock faster than he does, pushing up to his knees, shaking as the black eyes snap to him, wide in shock.

Heaving, it snarls, standing up and Sam hears guns being clicked again behind him, the adrenaline starting to fade off, leaving him feeling empty, as blood starts to run from his nose.

"Tom was right, you're more demon than human, an abomination just like us. I suggest you ward that cabin good, because next time it won't be just me coming." He can barely understand what the demon is saying, he should get up, he needs to get up, what if he's going to attack again? He pushes, but the legs under him won't inch, his whole body drained. It leaves just as soon as it appeared, and the uneasy feeling leaves Sam with it.

His body is tilting, he barely gets a hand under him so he doesn't smash against the ground. He pants, cold sweat on his back making him shiver, even if his blood still runs hot, like the blood that's dripping down his neck. His head feels empty, woozy and he closes his eyes, trying to fight the nausea that suddenly churns in his gut. An unfamiliar hand wraps around his body, but before he can lash out, he's pulled straight, and his back leans against a familiar chest. The movement almost makes him throw up, and he gags, the acid building up in his mouth making him want to throw up even harder. After that, no one moves him, he can hear someone talking but he doesn't know who, and doesn't have the energy to try and find out. He focuses on the thump of his heart, on the inhales and exhales that calm the pain in his shoulder, and in the slowly growing pain in his head.

He turns his head, resting it against Dean, trying to come up with energy to tell him he's alright. He can practically feel Dean's worry, the arm wrapped around him so gentle, holding him a like porcelain cup, and he doesn't want Dean to think he'll break. He's alright, he just needs a minute. Just a couple of minutes, he'll be able to open his eyes. Just a little longer...

As Sam's body sags against him, limp, Dean feels everything collapse. The cold, wrecking grief comes all back in once, and the air leaving his body feels like his soul leaving. Sam's limp, quiet in his arms, his face stained in blood, no, no this can't be happening, no no no not again please-

His hands shake as he turns Sam around in his arms, God, he's cold already he's dead Sam's dead-

"Sam." He can't hear his own voice, the panic drowning everything under as he taps his kid's face, trying to rouse him, he can't be dead, no, Dean was right there, he can't be dead no, no, fuck, he can't breathe-

A hand grabs his shoulder, and he lashes out, shaking Sam who stays still, unmoving, just like the dead. This can't be happening, no, no, he was supposed to keep him safe now. No, no it isn't possible. It can't be, he didn't fix him no he didn't tell him enough, no Sam can't be gone, he can't be gone again please God, no, don't do this.

"Dean!" His eyes snap to Caleb, who's suddenly kneeling front of them, eyes wide with what seems to be fear and worry. Why isn't he doing anything, why isn't he fixing Sam? They need to fix him, no, they need to fix him there's no other way. He'll fix this, he'll fix this it'll be alright-

"Dean, he's just unconscious." Caleb's voice is soft, low, and brings everything to a stop. He stares at the older man, he wouldn't lie, right? The fear and panic turns to anxiety as he snaps to action, bringing his closest hand to Sam's neck, against his jugular, where his heart should beat. His other hand is already sticky with the blood, cupping Sam's face, and he moves it just a little, waiting to feel the air flow, because if it doesn't-

It beats, steady, under his hand, and Dean lets out a breath, feeling the panic bleed out. Sam's alright, he's alright, just passed out. Not dead, never dead, he's alright.

"Breathe, Dean." He does, burying his face against Sam, continuing to listen to his heart beating, forcing himself to calm down. He cradles the kid close for a second, telling himself it's just because of the scare, not because all the bad thoughts and voices in his head leave, whenever he has Sam close. The reality bleeds back too soon, and with a jolt Dean realizes they need to move. Trying to get his legs to work again, he pulls Sam against him, keeping him flush against his chest, moving quickly back to the cabin.

"Get him inside." Caleb's by his side, it brings a little calm, and Joshua stalks behind them, gun in hand, ready to fend off anything that dares to come close to Dean's little brother. Bobby meets them halfway, asking questions Dean can't answer. He focuses on getting Sam inside, back to safety, he's never leaving the kid's side again. Finally back inside four walls, he sets Sam down to the couch, forcing his breathing to stay calm as the kid flops, completely limp. Everyone else is getting back inside, guns thrown to the table as Joshua and Bobby bark at each other, both seemingly tense.

"Caleb get me a rag." He pushes the kid's hair off his face, trying to see just how bad his nose is bleeding, hands wanting to shake at the sight of the blood. Sam was supposed to be alright. He was supposed to be safe.

He grabs the rag handed to him, tuning off the arguing, full attention on Sam. It doesn't look like it's bleeding too much, but Sam's blood just never fucking clots like blood is supposed to. Pinching it, trying to get the blood to stop pouring, he fixes Sam's head, so he doesn't choke on his own blood. He doesn't try to rouse the kid, he has a feeling he'll be sleeping as long as it takes for Dean to have a breakdown over it.

"-ain't my fault! Caleb, what do you think- Caleb, you alright?" The yelling finally stops, Joshua's tone loosing it's hostility in a second. Dean casts a look around, trying to spot what's going on, Caleb standing in a corner, arms crossed and pale as his eyes twitch between Joshua and Bobby. Caleb doesn't answer, runs a hand through his blond hair, and Joshua curses, apology on his lips. Dean doesn't have to wonder for long, remembering with a pang what Caleb has shared about his father, no wonder he doesn't like them fighting.

"I'm s-"

"I'm going to check the bitch is actually gone." Caleb waves them off, grabbing a gun, and walks by Joshua who looks a bit gutted. The door closes and Dean frowns, Caleb shouldn't be alone, but he doesn't want to leave Sam.

"He shouldn't be alone, I don't trust that the fuckers won't just pop in again." He casts Joshua a look, and the man quickly hurries after Caleb, leaving him, Bobby and Sam in the cabin. Focusing back on the latter, Dean finds to his relief that the bleeding has seemingly stopped, and carefully removes the pressure. When nothing happens after a couple of seconds, he sighs. One problem down.

"The kid alright?" He jumps a little, he hadn't heard Bobby approach. The hunter looks tired, and Dean feels the same. He finds his voice, absent-mindedly starting to clean the blood off of Sam, staining the rag red. The kid needed a change of clothes, and shit, when did he lose the sling? Fuck, they need to find it, Sam needs it.

"Nose stopped bleeding finally. He didn't say that he could pass out from using his powers." He sighs, remembering how Sam stopped the demon heading for him like against a wall, sending him flying down the road. No wonder the kid was exhausted, but fuck, his heart couldn't handle this much stress.

"Bet he didn't know either. The biggest thing he told us he had done was throw a drawer, not an actual person, let alone a demon." Dean hums, maybe Bobby's right. The blood's starting to come off, and Dean checks the temperature, brushing a few wild strands back. Everything seems normal, he'll have to keep an eye on Sam anyway, he has no idea what can happen and it scares him a lot.

"You hear what Joshua said happened?" Oh, yeah, why was Sam running again? What happened?

"Out of nowhere, the kid claimed he killed your Mom." Dean stops, too many emotions hitting him all at once. Confusion, disbelief, anger. Why would Sam say that?

"Why on Earth would he think that?" He can't brush it off as some other weird thing Sam thinks. He knows the kid's head's been beaten enough information about just how his life should be, hunting for The Thing That Killed Mom. So why, why the fuck would Sam think he killed Mom? There's no way, and the kid to even think that, God, he's in a bad way.

"My bet is he figured something out. Or thinks he did. Your Daddy's been filling his head with what happened that night, and I bet it stayed with him, the knowledge that it happened in his room. He puts two and two together, figures out the demon was there for him, and twists it around so it's his fault." To hear it summed up like that, it makes Dean realize just how fucked up Sam's thinking is. If the kid thinks, that just because the demon killed Mom in his room, and was there for him, makes it somehow his fault, he really needs to talk to the kid. Sam was six months, for fuck's sake, it wasn't his fault that the demon did this, or that the demon killed their Mom.

"Dean," Bobby sighs, "I really think we should bring John into this-"

"No." Even his name brings anger to his gut, there's no way he'll let John near Sam ever again. The man made his choice, Dean made his choice, to make sure Sam is safe from him.

"Would you listen to me for once?!" Bobby snaps, and Dean lifts his gaze, finally looking at the man. He swallows his own anger, waiting for the older to continue. With a sigh, Bobby continues,

"John knows a lot about this, and he's been hunting the demon for over a decade, he could help. We have no idea what we're up against, and if the next time we see a demon, we're all gonna be dead, Sam included." He looks back to the kid, at his sunken, sleeping face. Sam's tired, he's being torn into too many directions, and if the kid is willing to throw himself between danger and them, Bobby might have a point. They might need help. But from John? Does it have to be him?

"Just think about it, alright? I'll go check where Joshua and Caleb went." Bobby pats him on the shoulder, and soon he and Sam are left alone. Dean lets his shoulders sag, finally gives in to the exhaustion.

"God, kiddo. We need to talk." He mutters, cupping Sam's face. Even so damn skinny, Sam is still beautiful. Dean doesn't know what he'd do without him. Or, he does. He'd search for a crossroad, and get Sam back, no matter what it costs. He rubs his forehead, going back to work. Slowly, trying to hurt Sam as little as possible, he takes off the jacket, and gladly the rest of the clothes are fine. With no one to see, Dean slips a hand beneath Sam's shoulders, and one under his knees, lifting the kid up. He shouldn't be this light, fuck.

Carefully he carries Sam to the bedroom, taking his time to avoid hitting the kid's head against a corner. The covers are still dragged down, and Dean places Sam down. Checking the time, it feels like it's been an entire day, but no, it's been only a couple of hours since they ate and everything was fine. The sun is going down, and Dean could use a nap. Taking his overalls off, he slips next to Sam, heart heavy, and makes sure the kid is warm, and there's nothing putting pressure on his shoulder. He has no idea how Sam managed to hold that gun like that, with a broken collarbone.

Pulling the kid close, he hears everyone return to the cabin, quiet voices, now much calmer, echoing to their room. He closes his eyes, resting his head over Sam's, one hand above his heart, to make sure he's alright, he starts to drift off.

He'll talk to Sam, he'll fix it all.

°°°

The air buzzes with tension, with anger, the darkness in the room barely showing any light. Eyes locked with the figure by the window, they all wait, almost afraid to breathe.

"You had him, right in front of you, and you didn't take him?" It's a low tone, and Tom's lips quirk up. This'll be fun. The other demon swallows, the meatsuit of a young male starting to look a bit rotting already, guess it can't hold a demon. He's lucky he found this one, after the bastard burnt his old one down with the truck.

"N-No sir. They were all there, and the kid was able to throw me-"

A crack echoes through the room, followed by a loud thump. Tom's grin fades, that wasn't enjoyable at all. He expected there to be torture, not just a snap of a neck. Terribly boring. The couple demons by the door seem shocked however, guess they've never seen actual violence, or experienced the thrill of having someone's heart beating in your hands, and being able to crush it slowly, enjoying the pain.

"Tom." He snaps out of his thoughts, rising his head up.

"Yes, Father?"

"I trust you know how to catch a teenager. Bring him here, we need to know what made his powers come out now." He nods, watching the other demons drag the body out. Normally, they could stay in a dead body, but Azazel didn't just snap his neck, nope, he sent that sad excuse of a demon right back to Hell. He had a feeling Alastair would be having fun tonight.

"And kid, don't let me down." He swallowed, recognizing the threat, and nodded. Seemingly done, Tom left the room, mind set. He wouldn't let Father down, and he'd enjoy ripping Sam apart.

Notes:

Uh, uh, we starting to get into the action. Also, 50k words lads! Thank you all for reading, and sorry for the late updates. I feel like I'm not giving my 100 percent to this story, and that's really been bothering me. I want to do the best I can, and I dont feel like I'm doing it right now. Any feedback at all is more than welcome, I'm trying to keep the story together but it feels like it's slipping through my fingers. Anyway, hope you all have a great day, and stay safe.

Chapter 19: All for you

Summary:

I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song, and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple, but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind
That I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It was quiet, a plus from living in the middle of the woods. Instead of hearing the rumble of engines every tenth second, not that Dean hasn't gotten used to it, there was no sounds from the outside. An occasional creak from the bedroom next to them, or the old pipes cracking. That was all. Maybe it was the reason he couldn't sleep.

He had properly slept for maybe an hour, before quiet voices had woken him. It sounded like Joshua and Bobby gossiping in the living room, and even after the hunters had went to bed, Dean couldn't fall back asleep. Sam on the other hand has been sleeping through every single noise, little puffed out breaths brushing against Dean's face. He isn't counting the time between each breath, alright, he's just making sure the kid won't have a nightmare. He has shifted closer to the kid during the night, Sam's shoulder pressing against his chest, his other arm going numb from time to time from where it's thrown over the kid.

He's had time to think. To go through everything in his head, to properly think. He had thought about going and getting Sam's notebook and flip through it again, but the kid had grumbled something when he had tried to leave, and he didn't have the heart to leave him even for couple minutes. He knows he got scared shitless, can still feel the aftershocks from all the emotions wrecking through him at the site of Sam unconsicous and bleeding. His chest tightens uncomfortably, and Dean banishes the image quickly. He doesn't have time for nightmares, he needs to figure everything out.

His main priority is solving Sam's emotional state out, he's let this go on for too long, and he doesn't know how Sam's supposed to survive any of the news they need to drop on him, if he's this touchy. It seems like the kid's mind can go from 'maybe i'm a decent lad' to 'i'm a freak' in matter of seconds, and next time he has a freak out, things can go much worse than they went today. Sam could get seriously hurt. He doesn't know if the demons have been watching them, and just jumped immediately on the opportunity on Sam being alone, or if it was an accident. He doesn't believe in accidents. The point is, the demons are out there, and they're way too close, and Dean can't risk having Sam out of his sight. So he needs to go through all the triggers that might cause Sam to bolt, but Christ he doesn't know where to begin. There's so much to unpack, starting from the things he's read from the notebook, ending with the things he's seen now that Sam has been back.

He also needs to figure out how to break the news to the kid. He doesn't trust that Bobby won't 'accidentally' let it slip out that Sam has demon blood. And if the kid now thinks the demon was there for him that night, and that Mom's death was his fault, Dean knows that if he finds out one of those is true, he'll bolt, if not do something even worse. He can see, he's not blind even if he's a shit big brother, he knows Sam isn't alright. The kid has always been selfless, sacrificing himself for the sake of others, but rarely so bluntly than tonight. Stepping in between a demon and them, without having any idea how to hold it back, when they could've ran back in to safety, shows just how much Sam values himself.

He also knows the kid has something else going on. Something happened, and Dean has had the luxury of time to think about what it could've been. How could he have forgotten how the kid nearly had a freak out from reading about the crash and his trucker friend, which is another thing he needs to solve. The kid can blame himself for everything, especially if he needed to kill someone in self-defense. Sam carries a weight from what happened to the trucker, but it isn't just that. There's bruises where there shouldn't be, on the sharp edges of his waist. The kid sees people in a different way, and no, it isn't because of his powers. It's something else, something happened that made him lose some blind trust in people Dean has fought to preserve. Some of the innocense, is gone. And when he finds the demon who made it disappear, he better hope the host is dead so Dean can skip through the exorcism and get on with the real stuff.

Sam shifts, bumping his nose against Dean's jaw, pulling him out of his thoughts. The kid seems still asleep, just moving around, and Dean doesn't hide the small smile. Sam is warm against him, and for a second Dean could pretend everything is back to normal, they're on the road, hunting something, and Sam's alright. He'll still stuff his mouth full of food while talking to Dean about something exciting, and then later give Dean the squinty look when he talks and eats at the same time. He'll still be the same kid, there won't be demons after him, and Dean won't have to worry that there will be a day when he can't protect Sam. That there will be a day he won't be able to keep him safe, and Sam's going to be ripped away from him, and he'll be powerless. That the grief he has now known, will be true. And there won't be another miracle, miracles don't happen.

He sighs quietly, trying to clear his head. He needs to sleep, otherwise he might be too damn tired to keep Sam safe. No idea if they should be barricading the cabin the best they could, or if they should be all calm.

"Tom was right, you're more demon than human, an abomination just like us. I suggest you ward that cabin good, because next time it won't be just me coming."

That was a threat, no doubt. He needs to check with everyone, but he's quite sure that no matter how many demons there is, they can't get inside with all the Devil Traps. On another note, who the fuck is Tom? The demons got some old lady club out there where they talk shit about Sam, or what the fuck is it? Whoever, Dean doesn't care, he'll kick their asses back to Hell before he lets them touch a hair on Sam.

"I'm sorry." He nearly jumps out of his skin, jostling Sam who he had no idea was even awake. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

"Christ, kid. Why are you awake, go back to sleep." He pulls the covers higher, maybe Sam's cold, and takes a look around the room. All seems clear, and it sounds like no one woke up from his scare. He breathes again, focusing back on Sam, who's quiet, face hidden against Dean's bare shoulder. He rolls back, now realizing just what the kid said, and frowns. Quickly gathering himself he clears his throat, making sure he won't sound angry or anything, quite the opposite.

"Sammy, whatever you're sorry for, it's alright." His voice is calm and soft, but Sam stays quiet. Moving his arm he rubs the kid's back a little, hoping it'll calm whatever mess that's inside Sam's head right now. How long had the kid been awake, and how didn't Dean notice? A longer breath tickles Dean, Sam's lithe body falling into itself, his hand hesitantly brushing against Dean's. He turns his palm open, Sam's fingers brushing against his, and he has a feeling that the kid is searching for strength to say something, so he stays quiet. Sam's talking, wanting to talk, opening up for a chick flick, and Dean is more than happy about it. It means that the kid trusts him, and wants to talk to him, wants to share his thoughts. Dean just needs to say the right things, and maybe it'll figure itself out.

"I didn't want you to hate me." Dean has to sharpen his ears, to hear what Sam's saying. The kid's whispering, his forehead pressed against Dean's shoulder in a way that should be uncomfortable. Feeling his heart tear a little apart, Dean swallows, figuring out what Sam's talking about.

"I could never hate you." He says it, and it sounds like a vow. This is how all of their more serious talks have been, quiet in the dead of the night, hushed whispers like they're afraid everyone will hear. They've shared everything like this, from Sam's dreams about college to Dean's hopes that he and Sam will stay together, no matter what comes.

Sam inhales a little sharply, sensing the vow. Dean feels Sam's face scrunch up, feel his lips tug themselves in, and he knows the expression without seeing it. He moves his arm, feeling a rush of emotions as he loops it under Sam, and mindful of the kid's shoulder, he pulls him on top of him, Sam's face falling onto his shoulder. With their chests pressed now together, he can just feel each of Sam's ribs poking against his, can feel his stomach sunken where there should be fat protecting it, the sharp points of his waist. A warm feeling passes, before Dean pulls out of it, focusing on the present.

Sam's nose brushes against his throat, his hands splayed awkwardly around, fingers brushing against Dean's side. Placing a hand on Sam's neck, another one continuing to rub the kid's back, he hopes to give him courage to say it. He wants to know, wants Sam to open himself up for him, let him back into the kid's head. He wants to take care of it all.

"I killed Mom." There it comes. He can feel the tension settle in, the anxiety practically gushing out of Sam. The kid's tense in his arms, and Dean almost starts feeling scared himself, with how much he can feel Sam's emotions dripping into the air around them. He has had time to prepare, but the raw, purely just broken sound that Sam finally says the words with, still scrapes his heart. The kid truly thinks this way.

"You didn't." He whispers back, eyes locked with the wall as he waits for Sam. Sam has always ended up with saying the result he comes up with, a thing John forced them to learn. They needed to have answers as soon as possible, no matter what. And if they were wrong, they'd feel it later. Sam has spat out the answers since he knew how to, and Dean still can't sometimes understand how the kid comes to these conclusions. He can feel the confusion and frustration from Sam, and that's what he wants. Sam's expected him to gasp and grasp at his chest, feel betrayed and shocked, not straight up deny it.

"The demon killed Mom. You were six months, Sam. I know you've cooped up all these theories about what's wrong with you, and what all terrible things you've done, and I hate to break it to you kiddo, but I'll deny each and every one of them till you get it into that thick noggin of yours." He can practically hear the wheels moving in the kid's head, and lets him think for a little while before continuing.

"You aren't a monster, Sam. You're a kid with too much weight on your shoulders, but that's what I'm here for. These powers, I couldn't care less about why you have them, we just need to figure out how to control them, so that you won't get the headaches and all that nasty shit. You're my little brother, I don't care if you can float a plate or not, I care that you're alright and safe." His cheeks are a little heated up, but he knows he needs to say it. Sam needs it, and screw it all, he'll have as many chick flicks as is needed to have his brother back. It's Sam, there's no need for an explanation.

The kid stays quiet and still, and for a moment Dean wonders if he had fallen asleep, and it all had been just some sleepy ramblings. A quiet sniff cuts through the silence, and Dean can't help but feel his chest tug at the sound. Sam burrows deeper against him, and Dean can feel wetness from the quiet tears.

"I-I'm sorry for leaving." Dean has to take couple of breaths, because suddenly the chick flick is hitting him. Sam's apologising for leaving him, and a childish part of Dean is still so hurt over it that it twists itself around into a painful ball in his chest. He can remember the hopelessness, the too quiet, lonely nights and the wrecking pain of Sam being gone. Of him being gone because Dean was so terrible he had no other choice. He didn't know where Sam was, if he was alright, if he'd ever have him back, and there are few things that have hurt worse than being apart from him.

"I'm sorry for not giving you any other choice." Sam's scrambling up, and soon his tear-streaked face is staring down at Dean, his eyes having a little panicked shine.

"N-no, no you were great I just- I didn't know what to do and I didn't want to- to hide it from you but I was afraid y-you'd pull a gun on me like D-Dad did and I'm so sor-" Dean cuts him off, sitting up the best he can and grabbing Sam's shoulders, forcing the kid to look at him and realize how serious he is. He needs a second to gather his thoughts, there was so much in there to process and Dean feels his own eyes threaten to burn at Sam's confession.

"Kiddo, Sammy, you should've never feel that way about me, especially about me. I'm your big brother, you should be able to tell me all of this shit, not be afraid that I'd, God, that I'd pull a fucking gun on you." He stares at the kid, begging for him to get it, to realize how much he means. Sam stares right back, those damn puppy eyes glistening with tears, but still too fucking beautiful.

"I didn't want to let you down." The kid croaks out, tears spilling out as he tries to hide his face again, but Dean won't have it. He cups Sam's face, wiping away the tears, his heart thrumming with the touch, even when it's being torn in two.

"You could never let me down." The puppy eyes go even worse, and Dean ignores the emotion building up in his throat, Sam needs to know this.

"Never, got it? I'm so God damn proud, of you. I've always been, and I'll always be. I've watched you grow from a little tiny baby to what you are now, and I couldn't be prouder." A tear slides down his own face as he wipes Sam's, the emotion in the eyes he could never deny too much. There's so much love in him for the kid, he feels like he'll burst from the seams. A wave of tears spill down Sam's cheeks, and he doesn't have time to react before the kid is crashing against him, arms wrapped around Dean so tight, as he falls back down to the mattress. Sam's openly crying now against his chest, all tears and snot and all the gross stuff, but Dean couldn't care less.

He wraps his arms around the kid, holding him tight and tangles their feet together, Sam fitting in between too perfectly. He brushes the kid's hair, letting his own tears go.

"It's alright, let it out. It wasn't your fault, it never was. I'm right here, and I'm not letting you go kiddo. I got you, we'll figure it out, we always do." He carries on whispering sweet nothings, feeling his heart race. It's tearing them down, to talk about this all, but they'll build back up together, stronger. They'll work it out.

"I love you." Little hiccoughs through the sobs, and Dean melts. He squeezes his eyes shut, couple of tears slipping out, and hugs the kid closer.

"I love you too, so, so much." He pulls the covers on them, letting Sam get it all out, rubbing the kid's back. He's grown, in more than one sense. He can still remember when Sam was just a baby, after Mom died, crying all the time and Dean hadn't known what to do, so he had just rocked him back and forth like he remembered Mom had done, whispering meaningless promises, and it had worked. Sam stopped crying when he saw Dean, and with the little, chubby fingers, he reached towards him with a smile on his face, and Dean had known Sam was his. The grins didn't stop, Sam would grin so happily as a toddler when Dean praised him for something, and never stopped reaching out for Dean. Whenever he fell, when they tried walking, and Dean was always there to catch him.

Sam had grown a lot from that toddler, but he was the same kid Dean fell in love with, and he couldn't imagine a world where he didn't love the kid. And when Sam's sobs started to quiet down, his arms still wrapped around Dean so tight, Dean knew there was nothing he wouldn't do for Sam. To have him by his side, and see that smile each day, what else was there to live for than that?

"I couldn't breathe, when Joshua called." He gets it out, already choked as he remembers it all. How it felt, to have everything be pulled away from you in less than a second. To lose everything, in a blink of an eye.

"I couldn't breathe, 'cause I didn't know what to do." His voice cracks, and Sam's there, a hand resting on his chest, comforting, and Dean has to hang on to the knowledge Sam is here with him, not dead in a ditch.

"I could just think h-how scared you must've been, how I should've been there. How it was my fault you were dead, because I drove you away." Sam straightens up, and Dean doesn't want to let go, but the kid doesn't go far. A thumb wipes away his tears, and Dean's hit in the chest with his love for Sam.

"It wasn't your fault." Sam whispers, and Dean wants to scream. It was his fault, it was all his fault, he should've known. He was supposed to keep him safe.

"I'd rather have Mom die a thousand time, than lose you Sammy, you have to know it." He nearly begs, finally looking at Sam's face. The kid looks torn for Dean's pain, his eyes empathetic, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. Sam's always known how to comfort him, he just needs to be alive, that's all it takes. Something lights up in Sam's eyes, and finally.

He nods, a shaky smile on his still tear-streaked face, and the relief hits Dean hard. Sam comes back down, basically snuggling against him, and Dean wraps himself around the kid, basking in the feeling. He has Sam back, they'll be alright.

"Not a word about this to anyone." He chokes out, and it does it's job, Sam barking out a laugh so loud it sends them both giggling, trying to stay quiet not to wake anyone up. He smiles so hard it hurts, despite the tears, hugging Sam, knowing there's no one that will ever come between them.

Notes:

Kay, I'm decently happy with this chapter, sorry it took me so long. I'm figuring out what I want to do with this book, so it's a bit of a mess right now. Thank you all for the support, it means so much to me. I hope you all stay safe, I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible

Chapter 20: An hour for the wistful

Summary:

Try to remember when life was so tender that no one wept except the willow
Try to remember when life was so tender that dreams were kept beside your pillow
Try to remember when life was so tender that love was an ember about to billow
Try to remember and if you remember then follow

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It was starting to get cold outside, and a part of Sam was worrying about not having the proper clothes, before he snaps back to reality. He's inside, he doesn't have to be outside in the cold, it's warm in here. It still felt weird, he had been going through the country as fast as possible for so long, that settling down even for this period of time felt weird. It was some sense of stability Sam hadn't had on the run, and he was glad for it.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, he pulled the flannel around him a little tighter, taking a peek to the bedroom. Dean had rolled over after he had left, mouth still open and snores echoing to the hallway. Sam smiled, feeling a sense of easiness he hadn't felt in a long time. The lying was over, he didn't have to hide things from Dean, didn't have to fear him, or fear that he'd hate him. They had a long way to go before they were back to normal, but they'd be alright.

Turning around he took a deep breath, heading towards the living area. He could smell bacon and eggs, and his stomach was aching a little, so he'd eat eagerly. His head wasn't too bad, Sam had thought it'd be a lot worse, but it seemed decent. A distant ache, but Sam was quite sure it was nothing else. He still was fighting to recall just what had happened, and hoped that he'd get some memory back from talking to others. He could remember Joshua and Caleb, taking Caleb's gun, and something with Dean. He wasn't sure, but he'd figure it out.

"Sam, morning." Bobby greeted him from the couch, sounding a little surprised. Well he was up early, it was barely eight AM, and there was no Dean playing as his shadow.

"Morning shortstack, Snoring Beauty coming?" Sam huffed at Joshua, Dean's snores echoing even back here, even if the door was only open a couple inches. Dean did snore quite loud, whenever he did. It was rare that he did, and usually meant that he was deep asleep, which was a good thing.

"Don't think so. What are you making?" He asked curiously, walking to stand next to Joshua, taking a look around the tall man.

"Bacon and eggs, you need some fat on you, unlike Bobby." Joshua laughed at himself, the bacon sizzling on the pan. It made his stomach growl, the hunter giving him a smug look over his shoulder.

"Don't make me come over and whack yer ass, Joshua."

"Alright, alright. Hey kid, we got your sling, put it back on before your brother's sixth sense figures out you ain't wearing it." Joshua waved over his shoulder. Sam took a look around, and Bobby leaned over to pull the sling out, handing it over to him.

"You got it?" He nodded, pulling the sling through his hand. It was well, a bit weird, someone would say, that Sam knew how to put a sling on even if his eyes were closed. Some of his classmates haven't been able to tie a bandage. His face twitches, a short, sharp pain hitting his shoulder as he pulls the strap over. He loosens it a little, absently thinking about yesterday. Or was it yesterday? Sam isn't sure just how long he slept. And where was Caleb?

He moved his hand a little, testing the sling, deeming it fit. Bobby had moved to the kitchen, taking plates out and Sam suddenly remembered his hunger. Food, another thing he was damn lucky to have. He had been living off crackers and water bottles, the simple smell of bacon was making his mouth water. Joshua was finishing up, and Sam took a quick look around. Caleb's shoes weren't here, maybe he was out getting food? He would've thought they wouldn't dare go out alone after the whole demon thing, but he guesses it's alright. Caleb can take care of himself.

"Alrighty kiddo, dig in." Sam grinned, moving to the table. Bobby and Joshua clearly waited so that he could take food first, and he smiled at them both. Grabbing a couple pieces of bacon and some eggs, he grabbed the fork, and started eating.

Things were alright. You know, aside from the demons and shit, they were all right. No one was dying from some injury, there were no hunting that could end up with someone dying, no hiding from the law, worrying about the CPS. It was alright. He got food and shelter, and most importantly, he had Dean. He hadn't judged him, he hadn't turned on him, Dean had understood. He had held him when he cried, rubbed his back, and opened his heart to him. Sam still wasn't fully comprehending what Dean had said about choosing Mom dying over losing him. He had started to realize what he meant for Dean, he has been taking care of him since he was a baby, basically raised him, of course there had to be some attachment there. They weren't usually so lovey dovey, if Sam could say that. John hadn't told them he loves them, or maybe he had told Dean, Sam doesn't know. They never talked about stuff, so Dean had followed John's example for some time, and sometimes it had made Sam feel like he was drowning.

There had always been things that bugged him, that he wanted to talk about, but for a while, Dean had been shutting his tries down in the name of avoiding chick flicks. Which was fine, he understood Dean didn't want to hear about his crap, but still, it had bothered him. So now, with Dean openly admitting things to him, telling some hurtful stuff, it was such a big step that Sam didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know if it was just for now, if after this mess Dean would brush his emotions aside again, well, not completely, but back to what they were.

Dean had said the terrible l-word their entire family has been avoiding for decades. And he had said it multiple times. It wasn't the first time, but it felt like it, after all of this, getting the confirmation that he still meant something to Dean, was a pretty great feeling. He just hoped they would be fine, even if it'd mean losing the chick flicks. He didn't know what to do, if he didn't have Dean.

"So, Sam, how's your head?" He blinks at Joshua slowly, pulling out of his mind. He didn't even notice he had slipped out of the moment, hopefully they hadn't tried to talk with him, it'd be rude. Sam should focus, he was lucky to even have Bobby and Joshua here with him.

"Uh, it's alright, I guess. A little achey, and I can't remember everything." He shrugged weakly, continuing to eat. He could see Joshua and Bobby exchange looks, and a bit of worry churned on his gut. What had happened he couldn't remember?

"You want a rundown?" Bobby asked, and Sam nodded eagerly, and a little worried. He hoped it wasn't anything too bad, but well, he shouldn't hope.

"Well, you took off and we all went after you. Then you stopped like into a wall, Caleb crashed into you and then suddenly you went all freaky, grabbed his gun and you pretty much flew him a couple feet back, and when you turned around there was a demon. No idea where it came from or have they been creeping aroun' here this entire time, but lemme tell you, it was hecka creepy." Sam nods, trying to remember. He's quite sure he can remember it.

"Then it was just basic threats, before something went south and the demon launched at Dean. Well, you launched too, and kicked that fucker back, I have no idea how you did that, and the demon left while spitting some more threats. You passed out, Dean freaked out, we got inside and that's pretty much it. Dean took care of you, and we made sure the fucker was gone."

"Tom was right, you're more demon than human, an abomination just like us. I suggest you ward that cabin good, because next time it won't be just me coming."

Sam shifts his jaw, hearing the voice ring in his head. His chest tingles, and he pulls the flannel a little tighter around him, his mind pulling him back to that night, remembering the screeching tires, the breath on his face that whispered-

No.

He blinks, relaxing his face, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth, coming from his bitten tongue. He takes another bite of the food, and the greasy bacon almost drowns it under. He was alright, take a breather.

"I can take a look at the warding book, I haven't tried it yet so I don't know how it'll work, but it might be worth a shot." Joshua hums, taking a sip of his beer. Now that he paid attention to it, it was rather early to be drinking, especially to Joshua, who drinks pretty much only when there's something to celebrate.

"Pretty sure I read somewhere that specific types of demons can break the Devil Traps, I guess your wardings could be handy. Where did you buy the book?" Sam lifts a brow, he didn't know some demons could break Devil Traps. That's actually kind of, terrifying. He swallows, he really needs to take a look at the warding book as soon as possible.

"A store back in San Augustine. I checked it, the place was legit. Pretty sure it's some sort of witchcraft, but well.." He trails off. Back then he had thought it wouldn't matter, since he was already supernatural, why wouldn't he do supernatural things?

"Well, we'll take a look at it, it's better than sitting here with our thumbs up our asses."

"Bobby please, I'm trying to eat here old man." Sam chuckles at Joshua, and as he grabs his plate to take it to the sink he listens to them bickering. It seemed everything was alright. He glanced out of the window, stopping immediately. Caleb was there, carrying on the work with the firewood he and Joshua had been doing. Why was Caleb out there alone? He had a feeling, psyhic or not, that something wasn't alright with the man. Maybe he should check it out. He waves his hand, the plate carrying on it's trip to the sink without him.

"I'll go see what Caleb's doing." He announces, already moving to the door.

"Hold up, hold up. What's going on, is he alright?" Joshua's shotting up from the chair, and oh, that's what's up with Joshua. He understands.

"No, no, he's alright. I just need to talk with him." He seems to believe him, some of the panic leaving his eyes. Interesting.

"Well, alright, but hold on." He hurries down the hallway, and Bobby just shrugs, as Sam casts him a confused look. Soon the hunter is coming back, and Sam can recognize Dean's snoring cutting off. Well, Joshua isn't being very quiet with his movings. He better go before Dean wakes up.

Joshua hands him a gun, not just any gun, Sam's quite sure this is the semi new Heckler & Koch Mark 23 he's heard John talk about. Confused, he takes the gun, and Joshua quickly explains.

"You didn't say anything about your Taurus, but we figured out you lost it with the duffel. Well, we'd rather have you carry some sort of gun, so there you go. It's a semi-auto, you know how to use 'em." Sam blinks, baffled. He doesn't know how he should feel, but he's pretty sure gratefulness is one of them.

"I-, shit, thank you Joshua." He looks up at him, and the hunter just huffs, turning away with a grin.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Now, let me grab you a jacket and go ahead."

When he gets outside, he's glad he waited for Joshua. The jacket might be way too big on him, and he might look ridiculous, but it's cold. He can't see his breath yet, but probably in a couple of weeks or by the end of the year it'll be a different story. And damn, it's almost December already. Doesn't feel like it, and he quickly sweeps whatever stress he got from Christmas under the rug, it isn't his priority now. His priority is the quiet hunter that Sam has a feeling about.

"Caleb, hey." He turns around quickly, almost dropping a couple sticks in surprise, and Sam smiles sheepishly, walking closer. Caleb straightens, his face melting to a tired smile. Now standing closer, Sam can see the bags under his eyes. Something isn't right.

"Sambo, what's up?" He chuckles at the ridiculous nickname.

"Nothing much, Joshua made some breakfast, you interested?" Mentioning Joshua makes something dim a little in Caleb's eyes, and he glances towards the house, a bit solemn.

"Nah, I think I'm alright for now. Gotta get these woods to cover before it starts raining." Caleb says, looking back to Sam with a little too fake smile. The man's tired, on more than one level. Sam makes his decision, hoping Dean will sleep a couple more hours so he can do this without worrying about him.

"I'll help you out, my head's fine and little training won't hurt. How do you want them?" He's already moving towards the pile, not waiting for Caleb to deny him. He can hear the man sigh, and grins to himself, mission accomplished.

"Just under the shelter, that's all. You sure you can do it?" He's already focusing, taking three trees at once, moving them all slowly to the shelter. He gives Caleb a look while doing it, and he chuckles, shaking his head. Caleb brings his own woods to the shelter, as Sam moves back to the pile, a bit eager to show off that he can be useful, and help out even like this.

He gives it time, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, the firewood disappearing rather rapidly. He doesn't know how long Caleb's been here, but with the way he's rubbing his hands, it must've been a while. They stay quiet, working around each other in peace. Caleb has always had a calming presence, almost as good as Dean's, and he's known Caleb for as long as he can remember. He knows enough, and with what he figured out in the cabin, he's quite sure he knows what happened. Some other hunters had called Caleb sensitive, some time back, but Sam doesn't think is sensitivity. Quite like him, Caleb's just more open with his emotions, and he hasn't had it easy. Caleb's mom died of cancer, when he was five, and his father didn't take it well. It wasn't just drinking, the same thing John does, Caleb's dad got physical, and some of the things he's said has stuck with him, even when the man's over twenty.

It's always been a touchy subject, but it was a thing Caleb bonded over with Dean, and also something he bonded over with Sam. Dean could understand losing a mother, Sam couldn't, but Sam could understand how Caleb felt about the things his father said to him. Mary has always been something he doesn't know, can't remember, and anything reminding John about her is forbidden. A couple of times when he was younger, he had tried to ask about her, first from Dad, and it didn't end well. Later, when John was drunk off his ass, he had said some things that Sam still carries with him.

"You look a lot like her, Sammy, I wish-"

"You were just six months, and Mary burned up right above you.."

"I wish it hadn't been her, God, I miss her."

He knows John didn't mean it like that. But what was he supposed to think? No one tells him anything about this woman who's supposed to be his mother, who they've dedicated their lives to to get revenge, who burned up above him. It must've been horrible for Dean, and for John, but Sam didn't know her. All he knew, was that John missed her, and a drunken part of him hoped it would've been Sam, who died that night.

He can understand Caleb, in that way. Caleb's father hurled daily abuse at him, straight up blamed him for his mother's death, Sam had it easier, but he can understand it even a bit. They've never really talked about it, shared and stuff, but both of them acknowledge it.

Caleb doesn't like shouting, not at all, Sam has witnessed him nearly have a panic attack in a store when a customer started yelling. And what do people do, when a demon shows up uninvited, tensions are high, everyone is stressed and scared? Yell, especially if they're talking about Joshua. Which explains why the man feels guilty over Caleb, and was so worried when Sam said he'd go see him. Joshua doesn't do well with words, or emotions, compared to Caleb, so it's a hard situation. Caleb's wrung out, and Joshua doesn't know how to help.

He clears his throat, Caleb's shoulders tensing immediately. He knows that Sam knows.

"I'm sorry about yesterday, I don't remember it but I gave you quite the scare, hope I didn't push you too hard." He apologises, dumping the firewood down.

"All good, kid."

"You know how Joshua is, he's loud and sometimes he doesn't think. I'm not here trying to fix things, just know that he feels bad. And that if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Caleb stays quiet for a while, carrying on with the work, and Sam thinks that was it. Well, Caleb knows it now, should he ever change his mind, Sam will be there to listen.

"You don't remember Mary, right?" Caleb stays by the shelter, back facing Sam.

"I've seen a couple of pictures, nothing else. You remember her?" He asks, aware that he's on thin ice. Caleb's shoulders sag a little, and Sam takes a step closer to the turned back.

"He was happy, before. Everythin' was alright, even after she got the diagnosis. It was only after the funeral.." Caleb trails off, and Sam feels his heart clench, he feels Caleb's pain. There's sadness, missing the old times when things were better, when he was alright. Sam comes closer, brushing his shoulder against Caleb's side, and the man lets out a shaky breath. It's clear he won't continue, so Sam swallows, clearing his throat.

"John was rarely happy. I don't remember much, but I'm quite sure it was worse when we were younger. I don't know how Dean handled him." He sighs, thinking about the time when his biggest worry was the first day in kindergarten.

"He talked about her, when he was really drunk. I was eight, it was after he and Bobby had done the hunt back in Michigan, the one with the necromancer and the demon. Dean was working some summer job, and I was home from school. He came home drunk off his ass, nearly hit his face on the table."

"He talked about how I reminded him of her, how we were similar, how he sometimes couldn't look me in the face because he would see her. And well, it had always been the 'she burnt up above you' thing, so when he said he wished it hadn't been her, well, you know where my mind went." Caleb made a quiet sound, brushing against him and Sam wiped away the try of tears. It was alright, he had had time to think about it.

"It's weird, that we're doing this in the name of someone I don't even know. I don't know her, but I'm supposed to give up my life, hunting the thing that killed her." He mused, and it was. He'd follow Dean, who followed the same drive as John, even if it'd mean giving up his dreams. He doesn't know Mary, but Dean does, and she was his mother. He'll do it for him.

"You think John meant it like that?" Caleb asks, quiet, and Sam swallows around the lump in his throat. It's a question he's asked himself, for the past years, as long as he's known as much as possible.

"I think a lot of things would be different, if it had been me instead of her." It's a confession that makes his eyes water, and he looks at the ground. It's alright, stop crying. A hand wraps around his back, and Caleb shouldn't be comforting him, Sam was supposed to comfort Caleb.

They stay like that, Caleb's hand brushing against his side in a slow movement, Sam gathering himself up again. This wasn't how he planned for this to go, he was supposed to help Caleb. For Christ's s-

"Well, I like this version a lot more. You can read people, but I can also read you, Sam. Let's go inside, your brother must be up." Caleb gives him a small smile, and Sam answers it, even if a bit hesitantly. Had it worked?

"Sorry, I wanted to help but-"

"You did, kiddo, you did. Thank you." He whispers the last words, and Sam smiles, feeling the honesty. His chest feels warm again, even if the air is starting to nip at his cheeks. They walk together back to the cabin, the firewood moved to shelter, as the cold weather starts to approach.

Notes:

And there's that! We got some Caleb and Sam time, I hope you liked it. This chapter was a bit of a filler, but it can't all be lovey dovey or action packed, so for a filler, I'm quite happy with this. Hope you're all safe, and if some of you are in Texas, I hope you're alright, hang in there. Thank you for reading, it warms my heart to see the comments and to know that people like this.

Until next time!

Chapter 21: The scratching grows so loud

Summary:

I'm the paper cut that kills you
I'm the priest that you ignored
I'm the touch you crave
I'm the plans that you made
But fuck all your plans, I'm bored
"And can't you hear that scratching?"
I ask your eyes
I've got knuckle burn from typing all these lines into your chest
And as the belt from your buckle is tightening
I make shipwrecks out of my dress
And the door below, it splinters
And the creature creeps inside

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The clock was nearing midday, and the cabin was full of life. The five hunters were all together in the living room, as Dean had finally woken up nearly an hour ago. The oldest Winchester had practically sprinted out of the bedroom, before he had spotted Sam, sitting by the table. The kid had given him a genuine, soft smile, and whatever baggage Dean held on his shoulders had fallen right off. Dean had eaten breakfast, as they all discussed what was going on. When Dean had finished, Sam had awkwardly asked if he could help him with his hair, since he couldn't go shower alone with his arm in the sling. Dean had happily agreed, and it took only twenty minutes, and a lot of bickering the rest could hear from the bathroom, before the brothers had returned, Sam drying his hair still with a towel.

It was peaceful, the tight atmosphere that had been there, was now gone. Caleb had guessed it had something, or everything, to do with the talk Dean and Sam had the previous night, since the change had been instant. Sam was more relaxed around them all, joking, poking fun at Dean, and sassing Joshua when he came up with some ridiculous ideas.

"-keep an eye out, if something happens in Jasper. The town ain't far, and it could be a way for the demons to try and lure us out." The plates clattered as the hot water ran in the sink, Caleb and Sam doing the dishes together. Bobby, Joshua and Dean were gathered around the kitchen, working on their plan. They didn't know what to exactly do, other than secure the cabin the best they can, and everyone that lives there.

"The local newspaper comes every Tuesday, and on food runs we might hear some rumors. Talking about the food runs, Joshua, you coming with me today? We gotta figure out what we're eating the rest of the week, and the beer is almost all gone." Caleb said over his shoulder, handing Sam another plate to dry. Carefully drying it, and placing it on top of the other clean ones, Sam listened closely to the conversation, trying to come up with some other protective solutions. He could try the warding book today, he was feeling quite alright, and didn't think it would drain him too much to try.

"You got it, Cay-Cay. Can't have the beer running out, Bobby would dry out." They all laughed even as Bobby smacked Joshua with the newspaper, cursing them out and muttering something about adult men acting like children.

"The meds are also running out, so if you two can get those too." Dean added, and Caleb hummed.

"The aspirin?"

"That and the penicillin. The bottle you got of disinfectant also looks like it's moldy as hell, so that might be good to check up too."

"What's with you and moldy disinfectsnts Caleb? This is like the sixth bottle I know you've fecked over, what do you do with them? Store your piss in them?" Dean barked a laugh at Joshua, Sam giggling along even if Caleb cast him a playfully offended look.

"I can go grab the bottle and you can find out, Oshy."

"Oshy, that's the best you got? Man, I thought you were better than this Cay." Joshua complained, and Caleb huffed, everyone else quietly grinning at the exchange. They were always bickering, like some married couple. But well, Caleb and Joshua have been a tight fit since they were teens, so it was no wonder.

"I got a tap running with boiling water, don't test me. Your ugly mug could use some new look." Nonethless of the threat, Caleb kept handing Sam the plates, even when Joshua pouted, crossing his arms.

It was good. A change from what it has been. Everyone was feeling better, and Joshua and Caleb had figured out whatever little thing they had going on after the run in with the demon, so there were no awkward silences or anything. It was all so fluent, and it felt right. Even homey, if Sam would admit. Even if a part of him longed back on the run, to see and travel, but Sam was content. He just had to get used to being in one place for a longer time, it would be fine. Maybe he could join in on some food runs, to get some fresh air and travel a bit. Everything was alright, and as soon as they dealt with this demon thing, it would be all okay.

Hanging on to that calmness, was probably why Sam didn't notice it.

The water kept running, the clicking of the plates against each other kept on going, as Sam silently froze. The wet towel in hand, he stared at the plates, afraid to breathe, as he waited for that pull. Caleb was handing him a plate, but Sam didn't take it. The older cast him a look, but Sam paid no attention, his gut churning as the pull in his head started to rise.

"Sam? Kiddo?" A hand came to his shoulder, and he took a shaky breath, the towel dropping from his hands as he leaned against the counter, trying to breathe.

"Sammy?" Chairs were scraping the floor, and he could feel people coming closer. His fingers turned white around the edge of the counter, the pulsing in his head starting to pick up volume, getting louder and louder. Oh God, fuck, not like this, not now, please.

"Vision." He tried to keep his voice steady, but it cracked heavily under the growing pain, and he bit his lip. Squeezing his eyes shut, he ignored the worried voices trying to figure out what to do, focusing on the pulsing and praying quietly.

The first sharp slice of pain ripping through his head made him wince, and his body still wired on the run started moving, trying to get away. Hands tried to stop him, but who he thinks is Bobby, makes them let him go, and he stumbles along the wall, hand following it as the pain grows.

The second sharp slice of pain makes him yelp, his free hand shotting up to push against his forehead, trying to make it stop. He knows it's only getting worse, and the pain that feels like it's ripping him apart from the inside and then pouring boiling water everywhere will start to hurt real soon. A hand on his arm he recognizes as Dean's, and he grabs it almost desperately, grateful to finally have something to hold on to. He starts taking bigger, slower breaths that numb a bit of the wrecking pain, gripping Dean's hand as his legs threaten to give.

Sliding down the wall he knows he's scaring Dean, can feel it in the air even through the mess in his head, and with a brush of his thumb he tries to reassure. The pain's kicking in and Sam can't hold in the pained whimpers, the burning tears slipping past his squeezed lids, running down his face. He tries to breathe, as his shoulder pulses with the pain in his head, and finally when his head starts spinning he slumps against the wall, resting his head up and takes a sharp breath.

The spinning stops.

Sam opens his eyes to a dimly lit room, and the first thing he notices is the broken wooden panels lining the wall, the scraped paint and the cheap looking construction light shining above the chair.

"Last chance, Johnny." A man walks into the picture, and it spins again, this time, the chair isn't empty.

"No." A stern, deep and rumbly voice Sam knows well answers the stranger, and even with the anger lacing it, they can hear the pain. Blood is dripping onto the floor, creating a small puddle by the legs of the chair. The air is heavy with the acid scent of blood, and the variety of blades, a cattle prod and a bloodstained bowl give him a vivid enough image of the events.

The black smoke, the man, the demon, snarls, and before he can react, a gun goes off, John slumping forwards in the chair, bullethole in the middle of his forehead. Dread and terror grip his gut tight, but before he can throw up, the image spins again.

This time, pain explodes in him.

A wheezy breath crackles through his lips, his body getting tired as he tries to kick, to fight the demon holding him still. He tries to pry the fingers around his throat off, desperation starting to kick in.

"You were never getting away, darling. We were always there, you just didn't see us. We've always been there, and now, I'm going to take my sweet time with you, finish what I started. You thought you could run, but I'm always here."

Tears stream down his face, his legs starting to cramp, only weakly trying to kick Tom off, to make him stop. His breath is hot on his face, and he would throw up if he could. He's growing tired, his chest has stopped screaming for air, and everything hurts. He can't give in, no, please, he needs to-

The room echoes with a sickening crunch, soon followed by a heavy thud as the body falls down, off the wall. The hazel eyes are wide open, the burst blood vessels almost making them look red, and a smile paints the demon's lips as he whispers to the corpse,

"I'll see you in Hell, sweetheart."

It all comes rushing back, pain rushing in with the blood as his body screams for air, and Sam takes a sharp breath, coughing as tears slip by, his ears ringing as the buzzing in his head starts to quiet.

He can't breath, there's someone front of him, and even when his body nearly threatens to give up, Sam pushes himself up, forcing his legs to move as he stumbles away. He can't breathe, the blood is rushing in his head and he can feel the fingers on his throat, the revolting breath on his face. He crashes against a door, quickly noticing a toilet, and at the same time, his stomach decides to flip.

Bile shoots it's way up his throat, and Sam falls just in time over the toilet, his stomach spasming. The taste in his mouth is making him even more nauseous, as he pukes his guts out, pain making him shiver as cold sweat pools in his back. He trembles above the toilet, as his mind pulls itself together, slowly coming back to reality. He registers a careful hand on his back he knows is Dean's, and his heart flips in relief. Dean's here, he's gonna make it alright.

"De'n." He gets out, between puking. He doesn't know what he's asking, but Dean knows, he always knows. His brother shuffles closer, and Sam only now notices that his hair is being held off his face, and feels instantly grateful.

"I'm here. Just breathe, kiddo, it'll pass." He murmurs, and Sam closes his eyes, focusing on his breathing as Dean rubs his back almost comfortingly. The pain is starting to move over, giving space for a bone-deep tiredness to settle in. He almost feels like falling asleep, the disgusting smell pretty much the only thing stopping him from doing that. Hesitant to move, as his stomach quiets down, he exhales heavily, regretting it immediately as his slinged shoulder gives a jolt of pain.

He grits his teeth to keep the sound in, useless as another heavy retch forces it open, a whimper of pain leaving with the vomit. He takes a sharp breath, forcing the pain to dull down as he focuses on his stomach. They need to go, he knows that, even as his head pulses dangerously.

"We need to go." He gasps out, spitting out the bile in his mouth, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

"It's alright Sammy, just breathe." Dean tries to calm him, and Sam makes a disagreeing sound, blindly reaching to where he knows Dean is. He grabs a piece of clothing, ignoring the waves of pain.

"No, we need to go." He rasps, wiping away the cold sweat and the tears, trying to gather his strength. The reality is starting to settle in, companied by growing panick. John might not be his family anymore, but he's Dean's dad, and he's not letting Dean lose him. They need to go, now.

He pushes himself up weakly, grunting as Dean tries to push him back down, blabbering next to him.

"No no, Sammy, stay down. Sam! Down!" He ignores it, straightening up to his full length, keeping his eyes still closed. He can vomit in a bag, there's no time.

"Sam? Dean?" Bobby's voice comes behind the door, and before Dean can say anything, Sam jumps in, desperate.

"Jamestown, Indiana. We need to go." He repeats, before a wave of dizzyness hits him, and his knees buckle. The world spins front of his eyes, before pain sets it straight, coming from his shoulder. He takes in a deep breath, head lying against a familiar chest. He needs to get up. C'mon Sam, get up.

"Take it easy, take it easy. It can wait." Sam shakes his head weakly, willing himself up. It takes everything from him not to just give in to the darkness, as he pushes against Dean, getting back up even as his body threatens to give. Before he can have a second of relief, he pushes on, opening the door and almost falling out of the bathroom, Dean's voice ringing in his ears. Hands grab his shoulders, and he blinks up to Joshua's face front of him.

"Sam? I need you to focus. What did you see?" Sam swallows, nodding his head, yeah, he needs to tell. Needs to let them know.

"Jamestown, Indiana. T-Tom, demon, and John. Gun, John's dead." He tries to make his head work, spitting out the words he can comprehend, remembering to breathe. He can see Joshua's face explode into a mess of emotions, before he schools it, looking around and Sam lets his eyes close, leaning against the support. The hands give in, and he's guided against a chest, an arm wrapping around him. He leans against the chest, hiding his face as he focuses on breathing and bringing his mind back to work.

"Dean, we need to go." The older brother looks torn, eyes flashing from anger to thoughtfulness, and Bobby doesn't have time for this. If Sam is right, they need to go.

"Caleb, get the stuff and start up the cars." Joshua says, and Caleb looks at him, unsure. Giving a small nod and a smile back, Caleb relaxes, casting a worried look towards Dean and Sam, before going to gather their duffels.

"Dean." Bobby grunts, impatience lacing through the gruff tone.

"Sam." Dean turns to his brother, enough plea in his voice to wake Sam from whatever slumber party he was having, shifting against Joshua and blinking up at his brother. Dean comes to the kid, and Joshua backs off, figuring what Dean has in mind. He looks ripped, but still gives Sam a comforting smile as the kid makes a worried sound. They need to get to John, but they all remember their last encounter pretty vividly. And the threat Dean had made. There's no guarantee of what John will do, when he sees Sam. They all know the man doesn't hold much emotional intelligence, and will probably end up mentioning the demon blood, that Sam doesn't know about. Dean wants to be the one to break it to the kid, and Joshua and Bobby leave to help Caleb, giving the brothers a little sense of privacy.

Dean grabs the kid's shoulders, mindful of the slinged one, trying to make sense of his own head, before crushing Sam's down. The kid's been alright, fuck, why did this have to happen now? Why can't Sam catch a damn break!

"Listen, kiddo. Last time we saw John, he told us something. Something that made me very upset. That's why he isn't here, I told him to get out." He waits till Sam nods, the kid looking a little more alert and confused, but still paler than a sheet, that makes Dean's gut twist in worry. He gathers himself, he needs to rip the band aid off.

"He's known, for at least a couple of years, that you have these... That you have these skills. He's known, and he never told us. If I had known, I would've told you, you know that, right Sam?" He stares at the kid, waiting to see him crumbling, but it doesn't happen. Maybe the kid's in shock, but Dean needs to let him know before they go after John, who's apparently been around this entire time. Fuck him.

Nothing happens.

Sam's eyes don't fill up with tears, he doesn't gasp, or take a step back, out of Dean's hold. He doesn't inhale sharply, or anything else you'd expect from someone who's been dropped a big bomb on. Sam might lose trust in John, but he'll never lose it in Dean, he'll make sure of that. It won't happen ever again, he won't let his baby brother down, even if it means spilling out the hard truths that'll make him hurt like hell.

"Boys, we need to go." Bobby's at the door frame, but Dean can't tear his eyes off of Sam. The kid's quiet, he isn't reacting at all. He's staring at somewhere around Dean's shoulder, and his stomach drops. This isn't right.

"You don't think I know?" The kid blinks, eyes coming up to lock with Dean, and his heart skips a beat. There's a look, a darkness, in those usually light hazel eyes, as he looks at Dean, emotions swimming in the eyes. He gets to close his slightly parted mouth, taking a breath in, trying to wrap his mind around what the kid said, when Sam breaks it all.

"You think I don't know about the, the demon blood?" His voice starts shaky, but as he spits those two damned words out, it turns angry. Anger has never been a good color on Sam, and Dean swallows the lump in his throat as he stares at the burning in those eyes he loves. Shock is hanging in the air, being drowned under Sam's rising anger, as he stares at his big brother, uncaring of the other hunters watching, shocked.

"He didn't have to tell," Sam's voice sounds foreign, the anger in his eyes almost drowning everything else underneath, "He let me know it in every possible other way." Sam pretty much snarls, and Caleb moves back instinctively, Joshua not being able to support his friend, so shocked himself.

"I've always been the black sheep of the family, and you know it. John knew it, and he made sure I knew it too. It doesn't take much to put two together. The demon killed Mom, the demon was there for me. I developed powers after the demon was there for me. John might be occasionally good at hiding his hate, but he hates me, deep down. He knows it was because of me." Sam's lip curls, but the anger cracks for a second, and they can see the pain behind. The kid swallows, but schools his emotions back quickly, hiding under a mask of anger Dean knows well.

"It took me eight years, to realize. Damn too long. John always knew it, I think, ever since he became obsessed with that demon. He knew I had demon blood in me." Sam's voice cracked, and Dean reached forward, but Sam took a step back, even if his heart felt like it was being crushed.

"He never told us, but he let me know with every word and action, that he hopes it was me who would've died that night." A tear slid down, and it pulled Sam out of his mind, the kid scurrying out of the cabin before Dean could start panicking. Before the front door closed, Caleb was already moving after the kid, but Dean couldn't move. He couldn't think.

He wanted to protect the kid, but he doesn't know if he just made things worse.

Notes:

...hello...I take no responsibility of this, alright? Thank you for reading, feel free to comment, they mean the world to me. I hope you're all staying safe.

Chapter 22: Become the man you'll never know

Summary:

Hey Mister, where have you been?
I'll never get to live this life again.
I gave it all but you were never there,
I gave it all but did you ever really care?
I hope where you are is a home for you,
because I never found mine while I was always looking for you.
Where are you this time?
You never showed, you'll never know,
How could you just let me go?
I'm all alone but you can't feel that,
Look at me now, now I've become,
become the man you'll never know.
This is what I got,
I don't need you anymore.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Joshua moved his hands up the wheel, trying to relax so he wouldn't cramp up his shoulders again. It was hard, with everyone being dead quiet, except for the quiet hisses of pain coming from the back seat, quickly companied by comforting mumbles he couldn't hear. Caleb was a quiet, but a reassuring presence on the passenger seat, with Bobby in the back with the boys who were pretty much curled around each other.

He focused on avoiding the holes in the road, not wanting to aggravate Sam's pain, as they headed towards Jamestown. It had been an interesting day, it had started with him and Caleb not speaking, Sam being a helping hand in the middle, Dean so relaxed he snored right till midday. Now, there was none of that peace left, each of them a mess of stress and worry. Except for Sam, who was a mess of anger, desperation and pain they could feel coming off of the kid.

After Caleb had bolted after the kid, it was sure that Sam knew more than he showed, but the kid's words had quickly driven all of them outside, where Caleb was talking to Sam. The kid had taken a breather, before they had all stuffed themselves into Bobby's truck. They hadn't talked, right until Sam started another episode, vision, whatever the fuck it was, and nearly drove them off the road because Joshua couldn't concentrate on the road, when the kid was whimpering in quiet pain. Thankfully it had passed without them ending up in a ditch, but Sam was still fighting off the after effects of the two visions, and hadn't yet said a word about what the second one was about.

"Caleb, you got a clue of Jamestown's motels?" Bobby asked quietly from the back seat, and shit, the man has a point. Where the fuck could John be? He could be in a motel, a rental place, God knows how long he's been cooped up in the place, he could've bought an actual place. How are they supposed to find the man, who they can barely reach when the fucker is on the radar? John's been quiet this entire time, trust him, he and Bobby have been keeping tabs on him, to make sure he isn't trying anything with Sam, but the fucker has been so close this entire time.

"At least one, that I know of. I'll check, you think he could be somewhere else? A rental place? Any hunters there that would take him in?"

"Haven't heard of anyone being around here. There's a map in the glove box, if you need." Bobby leaned back, absently rubbing Sam's healthy shoulder gently, before starting to dig his phone out, probably to start calling people. Caleb started rummaging in the front seat, but before he could pull the map out, a weak voice stopped him.

"He's in the motel." Sam rasped from the back seat, Joshua giving the kid a quick look through the mirror. He was pale, wrapped in Dean's coat and basically flush against the older's side, Dean's arms wrapped around the kid.

"Thanks Sam, get some sleep, alright kid?" Caleb gently said over his shoulder, Sam giving a quiet hum that was as good as any agreement. A quiet exchange happened in the back, Dean accepting the water bottle from Bobby, and started coaxing Sam into drinking even a bit.

Concentrating back on the road, Joshua trusted that Dean would take care of Sam. He had come into his own conclusions about Sam, and in the end he wasn't surprised by the sudden change in act. They all knew something went down with the demons, something else than just normal scaring, and whatever it was added with the entire baggage Sam has been carrying, the kid was bound to crack at some point. He would be mad and angry, but it would calm over time, if they handled it well.

A long exhale from his side catches his attention, and he gives Caleb a quick look. He looks fine, a little anxious, but from the small frown in the man's forehead he knows something ain't right. Caleb's not used to this, being around people for a longer time, and especially with everything that's going on, Joshua is actually surprised Caleb has been doing well so long. He needs alone time, needs to be alone with his own head, even if Joshua sometimes doubts that's a good thing, it works for Caleb, so he ain't judging. He just wants him alright, and if it means having some unhealthy coping mechanisms, that's what'll do.

He pats the man's knee, keeping his eyes on the road, but he can see Caleb give a small smile, and relaxing a bit more into the seat. They still got a while to go, and they need to figure some sort of a plan, before it's too late. They're dealing with demons now, and one stubborn, unpredictable Winchester. A part of him hopes that seeing Sam after such a long and trying time will make John pull his head out of his ass, but it wouldn't be his first disappointment considering the man, if he didn't. They'll just have to wait and see.

°°°

By the time they were pulling into the motel's rather empty parking lot, they still had no idea what they were doing, or what the plan was. There was no sight of John's truck, or anything else that would indicate the man was even staying here.

"Sam, I ain't doubting you, but you sure?" Bobby asked, and before Dean could shush him, the kid who he thought was asleep, opened his eyes.

"There's been demons around here. It's room 58, we can go check it out." And with that, the kid was climbing out of the car, and the rest hunters quickly started unbuckling, hurrying to get out of the car and after the kid. It was a miracle Sam was walking straight, considering he could barely form a proper sentence only an hour ago, and luckily waited for them, or probably for Dean, by the start of the motel's rooms. Sam grabbed Dean's hand, squeezing it before letting go, and it seemed to calm some of Dean's worry, but the older still sticked basically glued against the kid, as they headed for room 58. How Sam knew it was 58, they didn't know, but they trusted the kid and his visions.

Gathering around the door, checking over their shoulders and trying to see past the curtains, they waited as Sam did, something?

"Sam, uh, what are you doing?"

"Opening the lock." He answered, as if the answer was clear as anything. What they could see, was that the kid was standing in front of the door, his right hand curled inwards and slightly twisting from right to left. How was he-

Sam stopped, and with a quiet click from the door handle, he opened the door with ease. Immediately they spotted the salt lines, and quickly crossed them, hurrying inside to avoid being spotted.

"You saw any cameras?" Bobby asked, as they looked around the room.

"None." Caleb and Joshua answered, both checking through the window. If there were any demons lurking around, they needed to know.

"Well, John's definitely living here. Good job, Sam." The kid lit up a bit at the praise, giving Bobby a genuine smile that however quickly fell. The room wasn't anything special, a bathroom, bed, and a desk that was suspiciously void of any papers. Dean approached it, and as he expected, when he pulled the first box completely out, he found papers stacked, clearly hidden. So John was being secretive, or then he knew he was being watched. Either way, Dean didn't hide his curiousity, Sam coming to stand next to him, and they went through the papers together.

They came to a conclusion quickly, there was nothing they hadn't seen in the pile of papers. News articles mostly, and some police reports about similar accidents like the one they had, a house fire that kills the mother when a child is six months old. They had both seen these papers quite frequently, stuffed into John's duffel or somewhere else. But why would John hide these? They could be considered a little weird, if some maid snooped around them, but nothing too out of the ordinary. So, the man probably knew he was being watched, and didn't want them to know how much he knew about the demon.

Sam went quickly through the drawer, but there was nothing else that peaked his interest. Dean stuffed the papers back where he found them, eyes following Sam who wobbled around the room, looking around.

"Looks like the man knows he's being watched. Boys, come and take a look." They all gathered around Bobby, who had shamelessly dug into John's duffel, now holding couple of papers that were filled with names, addresses, and old dates.

"Any of these names ring a bell?" Sam was frowning, scanning the list of names as Dean shook his head.

"None, were these hidden?"

"In the little pocket I taught y'all how to do. Think they got somethin' to do with the demon?"

"Don't got any other reason why he'd hide 'em." Dean shrugged, trying to get any piece of memory from the names or the dates, but none of them rang a bell. Was John keeping an eye on these people? And why would he?

"I say we wait till he gets back, the demons might've missed us coming here, and it don't look like we're too late. Sam, you got a feeling?" Joshua asked, leaning against the wall, eyes snapping between them and the window. He was keeping an eye out, no idea who they could be dealing with, how many, and when John was coming back. They still didn't know just exactly what to do with the man, when he got back.

"Think we're good." The kid responded, voice a little cracky as he was going through the papers Bobby found. He wasn't sure, but there was something that told him to write them down.

Scott Carey
Max Miller
Ava Wilson
Andrew Gallagher

There were so many of them, probably a hundred total, but guess he had nothing better to do. They could just wait for John to get back, might as well make use of the waiting time. He didn't trust John would give the papers, especially to him, if asked.

"Any of you got paper and a pen?" He asked, looking through the hunters. Caleb and Joshua were staying by the door, maybe a wise choice, Bobby was rummaging around and Dean looked like he was thinking, and hard.

"Yep, give me a minute. What are you planning?" Caleb asked as he dug into his jacket's pockets, pulling out a bit wrinkled notepad and a pen, crossing the room to hand them to Sam.

"Writing these down, they might be important." He nodded as a thank you, and Caleb gave him a smile. Placing the paper and the notepad down, he started writing, even as his hand shook, the letters a little more crooked than usual. His head was pounding, he needed to go gather himself in private soon, he needed to analyze the second vision.

Nothing too serious, just the same repeating one. Standing in a clearing, a figure standing a bit further away, and when it would start turning, Sam would feel like he's choking on blood.

No idea what it meant, but it was giving him the creeps, and he couldn't tell anyone about it. No need to spook them out by just some weird visions that really had no meaning yet.

"Got nothing else interesting. Seems like he's been here for a while, maybe even since he left our cabin. He doesn't seem to be doing any hunts, that'd explain why me and Joshua ain't heard any of him." Bobby sighed, he was getting too old for this. Damn Winchester had always been a pain in his ass, dumping the kids for him without any care of how they'd do. Don't get him wrong, he loves the kids, but damn, they deserved a better father.

"Seems like it. We had Jerry cross through here two weeks back, but he didn't tell shit about seeing John here, so I guess he didn't know. Or then he got bribed, he's always been a little easy with the promises." Joshua pointed out, and Bobby let out a gruff laugh, seemingly agreeing.

"If he knows the demons are on him, we can expect a gun in the face kind of a hello. Bobby, you got any holy water with you?" Dean asked, and the older hunter dug into his jacket, soon shaking what looked like an old flask.

"We gonna hope for the best that John agrees to go with us?" Caleb asked, and Dean shrugged instantly.

"Either's fine with me. He wanna stay alive and come with us or not." The older brother turned away from the group, going through the drawer one more time as the rest exchanged glances. Dean was still angry, understandably, but they knew the kid still cared and wouldn't leave John to die.

"Well, I know Joshua's got a mean knockout tactic, you can always try that." Bobby offered, and they chuckled. A man Joshua's size would have no trouble knocking someone out, especially with four hunters helping him. The moment of silence was cut short by the drawer rattling, Dean closing it harshly before turning towards Sam, shoulders tight.

"Sam, a word?" He nodded towards the bathroom, his jaw tight. Sam could feel the anger oozing of his brother, and even if his heart immediately started speeding up, he forced the slight anxiety down. He'd never fear Dean, even if he was mad. It was alright, it's Dean, just calm down.

"Sure." He got out, and followed the older to the bathroom, trying to control his growing panick. Was Dean done with him? Had he finally proven he was too much, too big of a burden to handle?

He closed the door, leaning against the surface and waited. Dean was facing the wall, and in such tight space, there wasn't much room between them. His shoulders were tight, drawn up, and Sam knew his brother better than anyone, but he didn't know why the man was angry.

"About what you said back, back at the cabin." Sam tensed, fuck, he had screwn up. He should've had stayed quiet.

"You aren't the black sheep of the family, kiddo." Dean turned to him, and the anger was starting to leave, the green eyes Sam could drown in were calmer, kinder but also sadder, as he looked down to Sam. Dean crouched down at his height, and Sam dropped his eyes to the floor, before the tangling amulet caught his attention. Instead of the floor, he stared at the ugly necklace he had given Dean what feels like a lifetime ago. He didn't know why Dean bothered wearing it anymore, it was stupid.

"Sam, look at me." He could never deny Dean, especially with that tone. John could yell all he wanted, but Dean could use that one tone, and Sam would do anything the older wanted. He lifted his eyes, swallowing as Dean grabbed his healthy shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

"You aren't the black sheep of the family. Guess why?" Dean asked with a small smile, a soft one, that melted Sam's defenses, and his own lips quirked even a bit.

"Because I've always been there, always taken care of you, like I always will. John could leave when you'd still be drinking liquids and spitting them all on me, but I always got you. And if you ask me, in this family," Dean poked his chest softly, and then his own, before smiling.

"There ain't no black sheeps around. You might be a little bitch sometimes, but I'm glad I got you for a little brother." Sam's shoulders sagged, and his eyes tried to water. He hid it by wrapping his arms around Dean, who huffed, but still hugged him back. God, he didn't know what he'd do without Dean. There were no words for how much he loved his big brother, in every sense you can love someone.

"So, no hiding things from me, okay?" Sam nodded against the warm chest, and could feel Dean's smile, as the older rubbed his back comfortingly. He pulled back to meet Dean's grinning face, and he ruffled his hair, making Sam curse him out without ever meaning it.

"Don't care about John, alright? I got your back, remember that." His heart skipped a beat as Dean brushed a wild stray of his hair back, something vulnerable and distant in the green eyes. Sometimes he felt like he could drown in Dean, in the love that filled him when he thought about him, when they were close like this. It felt overwhelming, how Sam sometimes felt like his chest would explode, with how much of that giddy butterfly-kind of feeling it held inside. There would be no one else he would feel like this about, only Dean. That was fine, having Dean was more than he could ever need or want, however close their relationship was.

"Thank you." He breathed out, truly meaning it. Dean stilled, before he gave him one of those soft smiles, hand on his neck.

"Any time, little brother." Words quiet between them, and even as the silence fell, neither of them moved. They stayed, staring at each other, Dean caught in his thoughts as Sam let himself go for a second, truly think about what was most dear to him, as if the answer wasn't right in front of him.

"His truck just pulled here, you ready boys?" A hand knocked on the door, and the moment broke. Flinching back, Sam blushed, dropping his eyes back to the floor as his heart beat picked up.

"Let's get this over with." Dean answered, and with a quick pat, the older left the bathroom, Sam taking a moment to breathe and gather himself, before following. Caleb and Joshua were still perched by the window and the door, Bobby standing by the bed. Dean had positioned himself between the door and the bathroom, where Sam came from. Feeling uneasiness rise, Sam stayed by the bathroom door, hiding, to be honest. He had seen nightmares about the night he last saw John, and could still feel the pain and sorrow that followed it. Could still hear the words the man had said to him.

They stayed quiet, all waiting. The clock on the wall counted each second, and somewhere close to two minutes, the door handle jiggled. It swung open, and with all the lights on, there was no hiding.

John looked the same, face schooled in a stony expression, beard maybe a little longer than usual, as he stepped into the room, the door closing behind him. Those eyes Sam had watched dull in his vision sweeped around the room, around the people, and he couldn't hide, as they settled on him.

The stony expression fell, emotion crossing over. Eyes widening and lips parting, John stared at him, in shock or something else, he wasn't sure. Dean shifted, a little more front of him, and it stopped whatever John was thinking, his face pulled back to it's neutral position. It was a gut punch, to Sam, who felt like falling into tiny pieces in front of John, felt like screaming at the man and crying his heart out. And he did nothing. The eyes moved away from him, and it felt like rejection.

Pushing the pain down, Sam straightened himself, schooling his own expression, hanging onto the anger that would help him through this.

"What do you want?" John asked, seemingly from each of them, eyes going around the room. They hadn't tried hiding the fact that they looked around the man's belongings, and John noticed it instantly, his jaw shifting. Sam moved the slightest, grabbing the notepad from the table he had left it on, pocketing it slowly.

"No demon test?" Joshua inquired, a little disbelieving. It was weird, John who had always been wary of people, now surrounded by demons but not even making sure they weren't one.

"Devil traps." The man gruffed, and Joshua hummed. They stayed quiet, a bit unsure what to say now. They hadn't planned this far. They had prepared for shouting and fighting, not questions and acceptance. So Sam pulled himself together, and stepped out of the shadows, keeping his eyes locked with John, showing no warmth to the man.

"I had a vision. A demon gets you, tortures you, and finally shoots you. You can avoid that by coming with us." He kept it simple, voice steady and cold. John answered with same, his expression schooled and he didn't even move his eye at the mention of Sam's powers or his own death.

"How do you know it doesn't happen after I've come with you?" He asks, and that tone, that damn tone stirs the anger in Sam. He's testing him, trying to break down Sam's stony expression and act. Fuck him.

"Throw a dice for all I care. My vision comes true, we'll both be dead in two days." He throws the time out, he doesn't actually know when the vision was happening, and something moves in John's eyes. He's distracted from it by Dean, who points out why Sam should remember to keep his mouth shut.

"Both of you?!" The accusing eyes turn to him, but Sam doesn't waver, keeping his eyes locked with John even if he sighs, regretting a bit for not telling Dean.

"I get my neck crushed by Tom. Don't know if it's before what happens to John, or after. So, we leaving this place or what?" He asks, crossing his arms as he narrows his eyes. He can feel Dean boiling, from Sam not telling and the entire situation. He'll deal with it later.

John stays quiet, studying Sam. Everything inside him is screaming at him, that's his kid. That's his damn kid he thought was dead, right in front of him. Why isn't he doing something?!

Move you fucking idiot, it's your kid!

Instead he relents, shoulders dropping, and the tight atmosphere falls with him.

"I'll pack."

Notes:

John is back, is it a good thing or a bad thing? Where are the demons? Hope you're all doing alright, and staying safe, thank you for reading!

Chapter 23: Not enough

Summary:

Oh, you can't hear me cry
See my dreams all die
From where you're standing
On your own
It's so quiet here
And I feel so cold
This house no longer
Feels like home

Notes:

TW for implied near sexual assault

Chapter Text

It's a tensed packing, to say the least. No one knows what to say, or if to say. Caleb and Joshua keep their eyes locked with the outside, to make sure they'll be getting out safe, Bobby grimly watching John pack, not bothering to help him. A part of him was fuming, well, actually, everything in him was fuming. What was the man thinking?! Sam was right there, right in front of him, and he doesn't do anything?! Everyone thought the kid was dead, Hell, Dean was off to sell his soul for him, but John got nothing? He had hoped Dean was wrong, when the kid had told him John didn't give a flying fuck, but to see it with his own eyes, he couldn't nearly believe it. He knew John wasn't in touch with his own emotional shit, but was it too much to ask? He felt bad for Sam, who had apparently expected something from John as well, and was shut down, now hiding his hurt with anger, Dean looming by the kid.

They were having some sort of a silent conversation, the brothers. It wasn't anything new, Bobby had gotten used to them when they were kids. Dean would tilt his head, raise an eyebrow, and Sam would roll his eyes, or tug the sleeve of Dean's shirt, depending on what kind of a conversation they were having. It seemed to be the latter now, Sam brushing his hand against Dean's, the puppy eyes back in action. He could remember the first time he got attacked by that vicious weapon, a three-year-old Sam turning those fatal eyes of his to him, adding a little 'please', because he knew Dean wanted the piece of pie that was on sale in the diner. And he had caved, Christ he had caved, and he could still laugh now, remembering when later the boys had been in their room, and he had heard Dean whisper a quiet praise and a thank you to Sam. Damn, the older had everything to do with Sam's puppy eyes gaining that power they had, he pretty much encouraged it, but like everyone else, couldn't resist them either.

He was pulled back from his memories by John closing the drawer, pulling those hidden papers out and stuffing them into his duffel. It seemed like it was time to move.

"I'll follow you." John gruffily announced, zipping his duffel closed, Sam and Dean coming out of their corner, back from their own conversation.

"You think we believe you won't speed the other way?" Joshua asked, eyebrow up and his lips tightened. He crossed his arms, looking down at John who narrowed his eyes, not appreciating being questioned.

"Pretty sure he'll find me." John didn't mention his name, but Sam shrunk back nonethless, the tone in John's voice far from the tone everyone else used whenever they talked about his powers. It wasn't calm, understanding or something that made his shoulders fall. He saw Dean roll his jaw, and brushed against the older, they didn't need to start fighting, they needed to move.

"Give me the keys. Caleb can drive your truck, you're coming with us." Joshua announced, uncaring of John's opinion.

"Not happening." John crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Joshua, who stared right back, the tension rising as both men started to lose their patience.

"Stop acting like toddlers in kindergarten when the other has the only red toy car. John, you're really starting to make me reconsider coming here and warning your ass." Bobby said, his voice cutting through the staring contest between John and Joshua. The gruff hunter wasn't happy, glaring at John who glared right back.

"Quiet." Sam's voice stopped the starting bickering, the odd tone of it catching everyone's attention. The kid was quiet, standing next to Dean, his eyes closed and forehead scrunched up, concentrating on something. Caleb eyed John, daring the man to do anything, he was ready to throw hands.

Sam opened his eyes, taking a sharp inhale, "We aren't alone. They're here."

It took a second for everyone to burst into action, Joshua and Caleb flying back to the window, cursing loudly as they spotted a few people hanging around their room, clearly not acting normally. Bobby and John went for the guns, Dean pulling his out and cocking it, glad he had cleaned it earlier. He hadn't counted on it being like this, but he was ready. Sam pulled out the gun Joshua had given him, John taking a double look at it, and Sam would've felt bad about losing the Taurus if John wasn't acting like this. Now, he didn't feel sorry at all.

"They can't get in, that's for sure." The oldest Winchester announced, kicking the rug on the floor aside, revealing a side of the Devil Trap. The salt by the door and windows were unharmed, so they should be alright. The question was-

The door swung open, all guns clicking. Heart in his chest Sam forced his legs to stay still, to not run, but did move a little more to Dean's shadow. He couldn't deny it, he was scared. The black fog surrounding the three people, and Sam already knows the vessels can't be saved. They aren't exactly hidden, blood staining the front of two of their clothes, and the third one's arm is covered in dried blood. Sam doesn't want to know what happened.

And just like that, they cross the salt lines.

"What the fuck," Caleb breathes, his gun lowering for a second. They all stare at the demons, adrenaline rushing. Demons shouldn't be able to cross salt. Why are they crossing salt, oh my god, can they cross the Devil Tra-

The door closes behind them, the demon in the middle, possessing a young blonde girl, steps forward, uncaring about the guns pointed at her.

"A great welcome wagon you got there, boys. But do put the toys down, I happen to dislike them quite much." She says, the smile tilting her face, her tone light, but they all know it's far from it in reality. None of them lower their guns, and her smile falls, eyes narrowing. A second ticks by, and Sam feels it before it happens, a wave of energy smashing against all of them. The wall hits his back, the gun clattering to the floor, and he barely manages to hide his groan of pain, as his shoulder flares up. He bites his cheek, checking Dean over, who seems unharmed, as well as everyone else, though bruised tomorrow.

"It's a simple thing, really. We want something you have, you give it over, and we'll leave you guys alone." Dean huffs as he straightens up, ignoring Sam who stumbles to his feet by his side, probably wanting him to stop edging them on.

"Lady, I don't give a shit about what you want. I suggest you move your foggy asses, out of here." He stares at the demons, gun still safely tucked in his hand. He's ready to move, ready to bust out the Latin, any second. He's ready to break the window in the bathroom and throw Sam out of it, Sam and demons don't go together and he ain't risking it.

The demon sighs, rolling her eyes. She crosses her arms, taking a look at all the other hunters, before her eyes settle on Sam. He instantly tenses up, feeling the fog focus entirely on him. Dean moves front of him, and even if he can't see his expression, he knows it isn't joking anymore.

He should've seen it come, but he's tired, his powers are tired, and with another sweep, the demon swats everyone else down, except for him. The other demons move, one going for Dean and one for everyone else, as the lady steps closer to him. He starts gathering his strength, he's ready to swat them around like they swatted everyone else, when she speaks.

"Sam, it's a simple thing here, going on. There's three of us, none of you can stop even one of us, and that Devil Trap of yours is terribly placed. You can't win. We can stay here for hours, months, but you'll never win." Her tone is condescending, her smile going for something a bit pitying, and Sam sees straight through it. He bares his teeth, focusing on the anger, giving him energy. He needs it, desperately.

"Back the fuck off! Sam, don't listen to them!" Dean's yelling at him, the other demons seemingly just keeping everyone still, in place.

"Yeah, no." He says, his voice low. His power buzzes as the demon's smile drops, her eyes narrowing on him, and he can feel the anger starting to rise.

"The papers are in the duffel." John says suddenly, his voice louder. The demon turns to him, and he swallows, but doesn't turn away. He's giving the papers away, but for what? Why would he give up every piece of evidence he has on the demon?

The moment of anticipation shatters, when the demon throws her head back, a full bodied laugh ringing out. She laughs loudly, her whole body shaking with them, and Sam casts Dean a look. What the fuck was happening?

The demon starts calming down, still laughing quietly and dramatically wipes her eyes. John, not appreciating being made fun of, is glaring at her, trying to figure out what was happening.

"Oh, John.." She sighs, still smiling widely as she turns to him. Sam shifts, ready to strike her, but she doesn't attack.

"We could care less about your little research, Johnnie. What we care about," She turns to face him, and Sam feels shivers go up his spine, as the blue eyes get drowned by the pooling black.

"Is Sam here." She clicks her tongue, moving closer and Sam pulls himself together, ready to move, when she stops again. Her eyes stay on him, and he feels like they're staring right through him.

"Have you ever thought about why this is happening?" She tilts her head, another smile tugging her lips as she looks down on him. Sam shifts his jaw, he hates it, but his curiousity is making itself known. This is a bait, he knows, but what if the demons actually know the reason to this all? He resists, staying quiet, not giving into his need to know. They'll find another way. Not worth risking it all.

"Why you have these, precognitions, huh? Why do you see these people die, who are they, how are they connected to you?" She keeps on going, moving her head from side to side as Sam stays quiet. Not worth risking it all.

"What else changed that night, when poor Mommy died?" She's starting to tease him, try to get him to snap, and Sam bites his cheek to keep it in. Don't risk it.

"What'll happen, when it gets too much? When you lose control?" She whispers, and Sam's starting to crack. How do they know, how do they know this-

"When you hurt someone?" The lights flicker, and the demon smiles at him. Sam focuses on breathing, don't risk it, don't fucking risk it now.

He takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes locked with the demon. He isn't afraid, he won't break. Keep your head cool. He got this. He isn't afraid.

"Ask someone else, I don't got answers for you." He says, and for his credit, his voice stays steady as he stares at the demon, unafraid. He's in control.

And that pisses the demon off.

She slams her hand against the wall by his head, the surface giving in as Dean starts yelling threats again. She seeths down on him, teeth bared and eyes filled with black.

"You think you're brave? I know what you are, I can see right through that facade of you. You don't think we know?" She growls, and Sam tenses up, his gut churning. His heart is picking up, her voice is chilling him down to his bones, but he won't break. No matter what they say.

"You don't think, Tom let us all know?" It all falls down.

He inhales sharply, the words worse than any gut punch he's ever had. His chest tightens, his throat closing around itself, and he manages to rasp a cracked, "What?"

The demon sneers, it's lips twisting to a more sinister grin. He can't help it, his knees are weak and he leans against the wall, trying to remember how to breathe. God no, please no, just no don't don't don't do this please-

"Oh you should've heard it!" The demon yells, throwing her hands out as she laughs, backing off of Sam but he still can't breathe. He can hear his own heart beating, can feel the panic starting to kick in, and he can't do anything to stop it. Like he couln't stop him. He couldn't stop him, God he couldn't stop him-

"Tom comes back, and all he can talk about is this little, sweet, Winchester kid. Little kid that was supposed to be a hunter, can you believe that?" She laughs, and Sam starts cracking. He stares at her, willing his powers to make her shut up, please make her shut up.

"He's a damn good hunter! Shut the fuck up bitch!" Dean, oh God, Dean.

He can't know, he can't know there's no way Dean can know. No, never, he can't know. It can't happen. He won't let it happen. Dean can't know, please, he'll hate him. Dean can't know, he can never know.

Sam was supposed to be a hunter, he was supposed to be able to protect himself. And he couldn't stop-

"Sam, breathe!" The lights are going crazy, buzzing and the bathroom door is banging open and shut repeatedly, but he can't stop it. He could never stop him. God, he can't breathe, please make it stop, please make it stop-

"Sam!" Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP-

He curls to himself, arms wrapping around his legs as he rocks back and forth, trying to breathe as tears stream down his face. He can't stop, he can't breathe, please help him. Please, God, please.

The fog's coming closer, the lights are breaking and everyone is yelling. Please make it stop, he'll do anything, make it stop-

"He swore, he'd finish what he started. He'll get you, you can run all you want, but when Tom sets his eyes on a good lay, he ain't giving up till he gets it."

It breaks.

There's a hand on him he doesn't know. There's a hand on his mouth, and he couldn't scream if he wanted to. The truck's sliding from side to side, no one at the wheel as the hands are pulling him down, off his seat and the belt is digging into his shoulder and waist. The hands on him are strong, he can't fight, he can't fight, please he can't fight please don't-

"C'mere darling, just stop fighting. Let me make you feel good." He tries to kick, he tries to bite, but as the inky black eyes settle on him, he realizes this is it. He's going to die.

The hand on his mouth moves to his throat, and he gasps for air, for useless air he can't get, as the hand finally gets him free of the seat belt, and he's being dragged over the middle console. He's kicking, he's crying and he's trying to scream, trying to get away but he can't.

The hand moves to his jeans, and he kicks as hard as he can, momentarily able to scramble backwards, but there's no way to run. You're going to die, this is it. He's going to die.

He screams as the hand grabs his leg, pulling him back down and there's nothing. There's nothing to be done.

"You can fight as much as you want, but you really thought I'm letting you go, without having my fun with you first? Have you seen yourself?" A zipper goes down, and Sam feels like throwing up, slapping the hands and trying to pry them away from his own jeans, kicking with all the strength he has, which isn't a lot.

"This'll be a lot easier if you stay still, darling. It'll hurt a lot less." He feels like he's choking, and he is. He can't breathe, he can't fight, there's a body on him and he can't get him away-

Please, God, someone help him, please help him. He doesn't want this he doesn't want this please stop he doesn't want this-

Please help him please-

He chokes on his own cries, the demon is pushing him down, keeping him down and he's got his hand pinned he can't do anything please someone help his head hurts he can't breathe God help please he doesn't want this Dean please help Dean Dean Dean help-

The world explodes in pain, and the last thing he hears before losing consciousness, is the window shattering and metal screeching, almost louder than the buzz in his head.

He breathes. He doesn't dare to move. The world is still, the world is quiet. Quiet is good, right? Quiet means no one is there, quiet means he's safe. He's safe, safe safe safe no no no he's never safe-

A sound passes his lips, and he now notices something trailing down to his mouth, a familiar coppery taste he knows, mixed with the salt of his tears. Tears, tears Sam, you're crying, why are you crying?

His ears are buzzing, his head hurts and he wants to throw up. His body aches everywhere, he's wrapped around himself, his side pressed against something solid, a wall. His heart beats in his ears, as loud as the buzzing. He can breathe, but he can't move. He won't move. Moving means seeing things. Moving means things happening, moving means that quiet is gone. He isn't ready. He can't move. He can't, and he doesn't want to. This is safe, this is alright. Pitch blackness as he's crushed against his own knees, no noises around him except for the buzzing and his own heart. The only thing he can smell, is a mix of gun oil, leather, and pie.

Dean?

No, no no. Dean's not here. Dean's not here. He's gone. Gone forever. Your fault. You did this. It's all your fault, it always was. Dean's gone, because of him. He failed, this is his fault. There's no Dean, he'll never see him again. It's all his fault, all his own fault. He's disgusting, he's a freak, a monster, a supernatural. He doesn't deserve to live. Dean's gone, why would he even want to live? There's nothing, nothing nothing nothing and just nothing. All his fault. His fault. Always his fault. Never Dean's. Dean was greater than anything else, a light that kept him above the abyss. He's gone, it's his fault. He drove him away. He's disgusting, he's wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong, all wrong. Everything, wrong.

He's cold. The floor is cold. Why is the floor cold? Cold floor, cold floor, everything is cold. Like in the forest. The forest was cold. The fire was warm. It burnt him, it burnt everything. But it was warm, the forest was cold, but he left the fire. Why did he leave the fire? It was warm, nothing is warm anymore, it's all cold, cold cold cold never warm never was warm. All gone forever gone. Cold cold cold cold cold.

All gone, all gone. Dean's gone, everything is gone. Everyone is gone. Nothing, nothing, nothing at all. All gone, gone gone gone. He did this, his fault. His fault, all his fault. Nothing, nothing he can do. No fixing, he can't fix it. He can never fix it. His fault, all his fault. He did this. He did this all. His fault, Dean's gone, nothing left. All gone, forever, nothing left, Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean. All Dean, all gone. His fault, always his fault. Monster, monster monster monster, freak. Wrong, wrong, he can't fix it. He can never fix it. Everything is wrong. This is wrong. What is happening?

"Sammy?"

No, there's no Sammy. Sammy's gone, Sammy's dead. He's dead. Is he dead? Dean's gone. He's gone. No Sammy. All his fault. He's wrong. There's no Sammy left, no Dean. All his fault.

He lets his neck relax, burying his face against his knees. It was all wrong. It was always wrong. He was always wrong. There's nothing there. He'll lift his head, and there won't be anything. Just your imagination, as always. There's no Sammy, ever again. Dean's gone. He's gone. Sam's gone. Everything is gone? Isn't that weird?

Why is someone talking? There's no talking. No one should talk. He doesn't talk.

"My son isn't a monster."

"Am I a good person, Dean?"

"You deserve this."

"You can run from us all you want, sweetheart, but we're the closest thing to family you got."

"It's okay Sammy, you're safe, I got you."

"I'm not going to kill you, kiddo."

"I could never hate you."

"You're my little brother, I don't care if you can float a plate or not, I care that you're alright and safe."

"You could never let me down."

"I love you too, so, so much."

"Sammy? Can you hear me, little brother?"

Chapter 24: It's far from over

Summary:

Watch the end through dying eyes
Now the dark is taking over
Show me where forever dies
Take the fall and run to Heaven
All is lost again
But I'm not giving in
I will not bow
I will not break
I will shut the world away
I will not fall
I will not fade
I will take your breath away

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Sammy? Can you hear me, little brother?" He asked, throat tight. His hands wanted to shake, from anger, fear, whatever, Dean didn't care. He needed Sam fine.

And now the kid was the farthest thing from that. There was a bile that wanted to come out, as Dean's head still rang from the words the bitch had said. About what she had implied.

He can't even think about it. He swallows it down, trying to ignore his gut churning in worry and fear, as his brother stays curled in the corner, face hidden in his knees, arms wrapped around his body. The position must be hurting his arm, but Sam has shown no signs of noticing that, and Dean isn't sure what to make of it. Sam's head is somewhere else, and it hurts Dean not to be able to help him, but the last person that approached Sam, is now thrown on the floor, dead. He killed the demons, Dean has no idea how, but he couldn't care less. He needs Sam alright.

"Sammy? Do you mind if I get a little closer, buddy?" He doesn't know if Sam can even hear him, he's shown no signs of being aware of the reality since that shockwave. It had brushed everyone back, but directly hit the demons, everyone else was fine, maybe bruised. They're staying back, good, because Dean isn't having anyone close to Sam right now, other than himself. Slowly, very slowly, he shifts closer from the huddled, crouched position he's in, holding his breath. He knows Sam won't hurt him, but the kid ain't alright right now. When nothing happens as he stops, not wanting to risk it, he lets out a sigh of relief. He's a bit closer, can now see Sam's body slightly shaking, from cold, shock, or emotions, Dean doesn't know and it kills him.

They need to leave. Right fucking now, but Dean can't risk Sam having another burst. Every piece of glass there was, is now shattered. Windows, glasses, everything. The bathroom door is off it's hinges, and the furniture closest to Sam is split in halves. There's no way someone didn't hear that, and plus the bodies, they need to leave. But he's patient, he'll take every second he can give to Sam.

Sadly, not everyone agrees.

"S-" John doesn't get to continue. Dean detects a change in Sam, and he's moving in less than a second, spinning around and facing John who was in the middle of trying to approach them. He lets every piece of anger he's feeling right now out, glaring at John as he marches towards him.

"Out." He growls at his face, clenching his fist. John's eyes narrow, and Dean prepares for a shouting match, when Caleb steps in between them, pushing John back and towards the door.

"All out, now. Dean, come out as soon as possible." He tries to soften his gaze at Caleb, who gives him a smile that's supposed to be encouraging, but is worried. The man pretty much shoves everyone out of the door, closing the halfly broken door behind them, and Dean's alone. Or alone with Sam. Or alone with Sam, and the bodies. Whatever.

He takes a deep breath, he can't show any anger with Sam right now, and suffocates the burn in his chest. He turns around, and Sam is still in the same position, except for his left hand, that's come off his leg and now lying by his side. It looks like he was reaching for something, preparing to blast John or whatever, Dean doesn't care. There's some bit of Sam still in there, he's reacting.

"Kiddo, can you hear me? I know your ears must be blocked with all that hair on your head, but don't ignore me here." He keeps his tone gentle, trying to coach Sam out with familiar humor, as he starts moving again closer, terribly slowly. He wants to jump the kid, wrap his arms around him so hard he melts against Dean, so he won't ever have to leave him, Sam won't ever get hurt, and he'll always be by Dean's side. But he can't, so he settles with slowly moving closer, eyeing Sam, trying to figure out if he's aware.

"It's just me here, now. You're alright, I swear. I'm gonna just get a little closer, okay? You won't even notice it, unless you pick that mop of a head of yours and check it out, huh?" He keeps on moving, heart thrumming in his chest. He can almost touch Sam, if he'd extend his arm. He's so close. Please let this work.

He stops, as Sam shifts, his heart skipping a beat. He stays frozen in mid movement, his knee quickly starting to protest the position, but he doesn't dare to move. The arm wrapped around Sam's leg relaxes, slowly sliding down. He can barely see Sam's face, but that's fixed soon when the kid tilts his head up a little, and Dean sees those hazel eyes that occupy his dreams every night.

He feels himself crack. He's held his emotions together for this long, and now, looking at Sam, the hold cracks. The eyes are tired, the color in the dim light a hollow brown, a bit like the handle of his gun. They're tired, and there's defeat, and Dean can't have that. He swallows around the lump in his throat, but doesn't try to hide his burning eyes. Sam understands, he always does.

"It's just me." He whispers, afraid to break this moment, and Sam slowly blinks, shifting his jaw. Dean takes that as a yes, and shifts closer. When Sam doesn't react, Dean runs his hand up the kid's arm, and to his shoulder, gently squeezing it. Sam unfolds his legs, turning a little towards Dean, and that all he needs.

He pulls the kid against his chest, arms wrapped tight around him. Taking a shaky breath, he tries to gather his head, what should he do now? Sam slowly wraps his arms around Dean, his fingers curling around the material of his jacket, clinging onto him, and buries his face against Dean's chest. The kid feels so small against him, and Dean is hit with the reminder that Sam's just fourteen. The kid's fourteen, and has been through things some adults will never go through. They've never had a normal life, but Dean thought, that keeping Sam with the supernatural, would mean he'd be safe from the dangers of the normal world. Turns out he was wrong. He couldn't protect Sam from everything, but damn it all, he was going to try.

"It's alright. You're safe, with me. You're gonna be alright, okay? Gonna be just alright, little brother." He rubs Sam's back, keeping him tight against his own chest. Every word is a promise, and he hopes Sam knows that. He'll be there, whenever the kid needs him. Whatever he needs.

"You don't have to." Is mumbled against his chest, and Dean frowns. What the fuck is the kid talking about. Taking some distance, so he can see Sam's face, the kid grabs his hands, lifting his puffy, red eyes to his.

"All this... You don't have to. I know you don't like chick flicks, I know I've been pretty shitty now, and you feel like you gotta do them, but you don't have to," Sam gives him a tight, looped smile and Dean can't believe this kid. "I know it all. I know you, uh, love me and all that shit, you don't have to say it."

"What if I want to, huh?" The braveness disappears immediately, now that Dean says it aloud, and he swallows. Sam blinks up to him, confused, those puppy eyes wide open and staring up at him.

"Dean, you don't-"

"No. I know you can't get this into that thick skull of yours, but you mean some shit to me. Alright? You're my little brother. And I know I haven't been the greatest with all that lovey dovey shit, but that's gonna change. And it ain't because of you. Or it is, but you know what I mean." He shuffles, biting his cheek as he avoids looking at Sam. C'mon Dean, you practised this.

"What I'm tryna say here, is that you ain't doing so good, and I ain't doing so good, so maybe some little chick flicks are fine. But not a word to anyone, or I'll kick your ass." He threatens with a smile, and that breaks the wide-eyed look Sam has, the kid chuckling a little.

"I'd like to see you try." Sam gives him a sly grin, and Dean barks out a laugh, ruffling the kid's hair. It was probably true, Sam could kick his ass, but Dean sure as Hell wasn't gonna let the kid win easily. Psychic powers or not, Dean was still the big brother.

Reality breaks their little bubble soon, as Sam looks around the room, his face turning pale, and Dean curses in his head.

"Hey, hey, look at me, okay? We need to go, everyone's waiting outside." He grabs Sam's shoulders gently, pulling his attention away from the bodies, but the sick look on the kid's face doesn't leave even as he turns back to Dean. His eyes are a little scared, and Dean bites his lip. Fuck it, Sam needs him. He grabs the kid's hand, ignoring the warmth coming up to his cheeks, and pulls the kid up, avoiding his eyes. He pulls Sam close, and together they start moving towards the door, Sam clinging to his hand.

"Just breathe, okay? You're gonna be alright." He promises with a serious look, and waits till the kid nods. He turns back to the door, pushing it open and scans their surroundings. Everyone's cooped up by the cars, and Dean pulls Sam along, quickly walking to them. He glares at John, giving him a straight warning. The man better keep his mouth shut. They need to go.

"Me and Sam are going with the 'pala. Who's coming with us?" He looks at Caleb, who eyes John with a narrowed look. He gives Sam a little smile, before looking at Dean.

"I'll come. I'll let the elders go together." Joshua makes a inhuman sound, and Caleb grins at them.

"You're a fecking year younger than me, you bastard." He huffs at Caleb, who just grins wider. He pats Joshua's back, and nods towards the Impala, Dean giving Joshua and Bobby a nod, before following Caleb. He doesn't even bother to give John eye contact, he just tucks Sam closer and hopes the kid follows his example. He doesn't want John talking to Sam, who knows what bullshit the man will give the kid. No way.

Caleb turns around as they reach the car, and before the man can speak, Dean gives him the keys. He wouldn't normally let pretty much anyone drive his Baby, but this is a special occasion and Sam needs him. Or he needs Sam. Whatever. He does give Caleb a meaningful look, and the man gives him thumbs up as he moves around the car.

"Not a scratch, I know."

They climb into the back seat, Dean relaxing against the leather. He has Sam by his side, and the kid might have a long way to go, and he needs to figure all this shit out, but Sam will pull through. Dean will make sure of it. The engine purrs to life, and Dean can't help the tug on his lips. The Impala has been a home, since their old one burned. He can still remember Sam tied into that baby car seat, crying his eyes out or sleeping. There was never no in-between.

They got some shit to do, but when Sam closes his eyes by Dean's side, his thin body finally giving into the exhaustion, Dean relaxes as well. The sun's going down, painting the road gold, and he knows everyone else is following them. They'll work this out, they always do.

°°°

The lights flash through the dark sky, surrounding the abandoned motel room surrounded by police. The place is taped around, and Tom could get easily in, but there's nothing that interests him now. The only thing he was here for, is gone. And if that bitch wasn't dead already, he'd kill her all over again.

"Charlotte, Harper and Elijah by the looks of it, sir." He huffs, of course. Charlotte, that bitch never understood anything about orders. They were supposed to wait for him. If they had, Azazel would be having his fun with Sam already, but no.

"They in Hell?" He asks, a little bit of honest curiousity. Father will be interested, if little Sammy is starting to exorcise demons with his little powers. That would make things interesting. Chris had told him to drop the kid already, but he isn't going to. Sam is something else, and he can still hear the kid cry in his head. He should've had paid attention more that night, but damn, Sam was easily distracting, especially under him like that.

"That's what I'd guess. They aren't coming in, at least." The girl says, Tom hasn't bothered to remember her name. She's useless anyway, giving him information he doesn't need.

"Or then they know I'll have some fun with them, the next time I see them." She swallows, but Tom doesn't care. He doesn't understand why Azazel insisted on making other demons work with him. If he could do this alone, it would have been done already. At least he isn't making him work with his damn sister, he'd choose Hell over her.

He straightens from where he's leaning against the motel wall, hidden in the shadows. The girl follows him as he heads to the parking lot, he needs a ride. He approaches an old Ford, it'll have to work.

"The uh, the police are right there, sir." The girl stammers, and Tom chuckles. A fresh demon, still a complete weakling. She'll learn, through the easy or the hard way, Tom doesn't give a shit.

"Were you the attentive one in school, huh?" He cracks the window, silencing the car alarm easily, and slips inside the car. He doesn't need a key, and as he puts the car's gear in, the little girl slips in, just in time before he starts backing up with a shift move. Just that easy.

"They headed back to Jasper?" He asks as he pulls to the road, and the police are as obvious as always. Typical humans.

"Pretty sure, yes. What's the plan?" She asks quietly, eyeing the mirrors nervously. Like some cops could stop them, she really had a lot to learn. Fucking kids, he always gets the idiots with him.

"To drive there, what else, sweetheart?" She shifts uncomfortably, and he grins. Jasper isn't far, but the little hunter gang is probably already there, since Tom got delayed. Last time he waits for someone. He was so damn close, and Sam slipped through his fingers again.

"I mean, the kid might have some protection? What kind of backup are we getting?"

"First he needs to find energy to put the wardings up, do your research kid. We don't need backup, you can go do whatever you want, I'll handle him." Sam has no chance. He's a demon, an experienced one, and the kid's a hot mess. Sure, he has some powers, but what's he gonna do? No, Sam is going to be a crying mess when he sees Tom, and damn, is he going to enjoy that. The kid's asking for it, denying him back with the truck, now making him wait.

"You're going in alone?" She almost shrieks, and Tom growls.

"Listen, you can shut your pretty mouth and sit there till the end of the trip, or you can have your neck crushed in the span of seconds. Your choice, darling."

He tunes her out, he doesn't got time for this. He has to figure out how to get Sam alone. Bullets don't kill him, but they make wearing this meatsuit quite a lot harder. And he's sure that the little bastard Dean is going to give him trouble, the second he spots him. He's ridiculous, maybe Tom will have some fun with him after Sam. He's sure he'd like to hear how he made Sam scream. And he isn't hard on the eyes, either.

Who else, oh yeah, John. Well, the patriarch Winchester wasn't going to be a problem. As much as the man wanted to pretend he was a good father, he was far from it. He'd pull a gun on him, but with some little negotiations he'd easily let Tom have his way with the kid. As if they didn't know what the man was researching. Of course they knew.

Then there were the couple other hunters, those he could just kill. There was no use of them. Just little annoying flies. It would make John mad, but more willing to give up on protecting his kids, and Sam broken enough not to want to fight. Hmm, that actually sounds like a good plan. He'd like a pliant, willing Sammy.

The plan was set, and very simple. Go in, get the kid. He knows he should bring him straight away to Azazel, but maybe a little alone time with Sammy wouldn't hurt. He could get them a nice little hotel room, or just take him in the back seat of this Ford. He'll make the kid choose.

It would be fun.

Notes:

We getting some demon action! We're starting to enter the last phase of the book, so prepare for some intense emotions, plot twists and some big action! Thank you all for reading, as always, hope you're all having a good day! Love you xx

Chapter 25: Come to a stand

Summary:

God made all man in his image
Honey I’m I’m I’m no man
I’m what’s left when children go to war
Run from you, I’ll run until I begin to understand
What holy men really mean when they speak of sand and sons and seams and symphonies and sweat and sex and sin
I’m stronger now than you have ever known
The cracks you made I fill with mortar
A broken pot can still hold water
Symphonies and sweat and sex mean nothing when you are obsessed
With sin and soil and strength and song and all the words that came out wrong
Oh oh
Pray for me cos I won’t pray for you
Oh oh
Pray for me cos I won’t pray for you

Chapter Text

The clearing is quiet, like always. The trees that surround them stay silent, there's not a brush of wind that would make a sound. The only thing, the only noise ever, is the crunching under Sam's shoes, whenever he tries to run, but he stopped trying that a long time ago. You can't run, when you're stuck in your own head.

"Why do you care?" The man, the enormous black fog that makes the whole clearing seem dark, as if they're living in the 50s, during Britain's Great Smog, asks. The questions never stop, but they vary a lot, a sense of amusement from the man, or a try of a different approach.

Sam hums, it is a good question, like all of them. The clearing is quiet, it has a odd sense of calm in it, despite the very deadly presence with him. Even if it's quiet, as quiet as the dead.

"Shouldn't you know?" He asks instead, playing into their never-ending game. A question for a question, a snark for a snark. Sam knows now, he knows a lot more than he did back in Breitung. The flashes of this place and the man had become longer, until Sam figured out just what they were. It didn't take long to put two and two together, after the flash of yellow eyes. Then, it was only a matter of time. The flashes became longer, until they left his visions, and entered his dreams. He didn't know just exactly what it meant, to have the demon in his head like this, but he was too tired to bother overthinking it.

"You're many things, Samuel, but never simple. Amuse me."

He huffs, a small smile tilting his lips. He couldn't hurt him, not here, never here. This was his, and the demon couldn't touch it. He never would be able to.

"You've watched me, even before I was born, and you still need to ask that?"

The demon stays quiet after that, not for a long time. Without any other noise, the clearing's full sense of calm comes through, and Sam closes his eyes. It doesn't matter, if it isn't real, it's real to him now. He can enjoy this, for the moment it lasts.

"You've learned a lot, but you're still stuck with your naiveness. You still think that family is all. That Dean, and John, are all. You could be so much greater, Sam, and yet, every time you choose this little playground as your home, when you could be ruling the world." Sam laughs, this time. It isn't that amusing, but at the same time, it is. Dean will always be his all, and for the demon not to know that, it's amusing.

"Dean won't be there, not always, and you know that. You know, that one day he'll be gone. What are you gonna do then?" There's a bite in the voice now, he's growing irritated. It only makes Sam smile wider. The power in him, the one that he has despised, thrums with him as one, and Sam is in control. He knows his power, he controls it, and he has power he can use however he wishes. And that, that makes him feel good.

The day Dean will be gone, is the day Sam will be gone too. It doesn't matter if Dean leaves, because he finds out about Sam's dirty little secret, his damned feelings, or if it's finally the hunt, that takes his brother away from him. It doesn't matter, even if Sam were to live after that, in a sense he won't. There's a warmth in his chest, a warmth that links to Dean, and he knows that the second it's gone, so will be him, or everything of him that matters. There won't be Sammy, after Dean is gone. And there's no sadness to it, it's like the laws of nature. It's just how it is, and Sam hasn't grown used to it, no, it's been a part of him as long as he can remember. He's always known it.

"You claim to know me, but you don't know anything. Don't you think it's time that we end this little dance? I know you're after me, but the day I let you touch a hair on Dean's head, is the day the world ends. It'll never happen, so you come for me all you want, I'll blast your minions dead, every, single, time."

The sense of calm shatters, like the broken windows in the motel. The black fog goes darker, but Sam doesn't stop his smiling. He smiles, barely baring his teeth, as the fog grows more and more angry, threatening to suffocate him. He can't touch him.

"I'll see you soon." He stands up, turning to face the man for the last time, ignoring the air tightening around his body. The yellow eyes stare at him, and once Sam thought they saw all of him, but it ended up, that they saw nothing. They know nothing of him. And that makes him the winner.

He cocks his head to the side, grinning, and with a snap of his fingers, it's all gone.

°°°

He doesn't gasp awake, not anymore. He holds his breath, waiting for his heart to calm down as it beats loud in his ears. Slowly, he exhales, calming himself down, as he scans the surroundings. The warm body pressed against him is familiar, and Sam can't help but smile lightly, as he opens his eyes.

It's dark out, it hasn't probably even been an hour since they arrived, and Dean dragged him straight into the bedroom, and tried to distract Sam from the yelling, that came with John's truck, and the people in it. But sadly, even Dean's distractions couldn't make him oblivious anymore, it had stopped working somewhere along when he was six, but he loved the older for trying. The arm draped over him is a another example of how Dean always takes care of him, no matter in what form. It could be how he always makes sure Sam has enough to eat, has clothes that can keep him warm, knows how to keep himself safe when Dean isn't there, how he can always count on Dean, no matter what it is. And for that, Sam has no way of paying back, but God, he'll try his best every single day.

He lifts his cheek from where it's plastered against Dean's collar, taking a deep breath, trying to hype himself for getting up. More importantly, getting up without Dean waking up. The older's big brother insticts have always been trouble, if Sam tried to sneak around, but with his own new stealth, he has even a slight chance. It's not that he doesn't want Dean with him, it's the fact that Dean looks the most peaceful, when he's asleep, and Sam can't take that away from him. He'll be right back, anyways.

It's a mission, to slowly move each one of his limbs away from Dean, without the older waking up. Whenever a snore cuts off, or the older huffs and puffs, or moves, Sam has to freeze over. It can be amusing, but it can also be terribly annoying. With patience, and a few quiet, calming whispers, he makes it out of the bed. Dean rolls over the spot where he was, and Sam gently pulls the blanket up to the older's neck. Gotta make sure he won't wake up to being cold, and find Sam gone. It would freak him out, and Sam doesn't want that.

He moves on his tippy toes, pulling on Dean's flannel and buttoning it up, before moving back to the bed, taking the notebook from the nightstand. He had been checking it over, before bed, and he's quite sure he knows what he's doing. Pulling some boots on, checking that he has his knife, Sam slips out of the room, eyeing the dark hallway towards the kitchen and living room. He isn't sure just where John is staying, since their space is limited, and there's also some tight atmosphere going on. From what he could hear earlier, Joshua and Bobby had dug into his father, and even Caleb had joined in occasion. It wasn't that, but when John said something he couldn't exactly hear, and was followed with a moment of silence, before Joshua started yelling louder than Sam probably had ever heard him yell. It was probably some low blow, on Caleb, from what he figured. John could be extremely mean, when he wanted to, and everyone here would jump in to defend Caleb, but Joshua would always be the first one.

He's surprised John's face isn't covered in bruises, as he peeks into the living room, spotting the man lying on the couch, quietly snoring. He isn't deeply asleep, and with his damn hunter shit, he knew John could wake up, if he were to make the tiniest sound. He bites his cheek, this could be a lot harder now. The door is going to definitely make sound, and the cabin is an old one, so the floors are probably going to creak. There's a couple of rugs he can use, but they go straight past John, but in the other hand, it's his best bet.

Here goes nothing.

He moves in long strides, taking his time in making sure he won't make a sound. John's snores seem a bit louder, but that could be just his imagination. What the problem now is, is the door. Standing by the coffee table, Sam slowly moves his hand, the handle of the door slowly moving down, a quiet creak echoing. He keeps his eyes fixed on John, as he focuses, and the second the man reacts, he stops. He keeps his mind wrapped around the handle, ready to move. He could also just knock the man out, if he woke up, but that would be too much trouble.

John settles, and with swift movements and patience, Sam is finally out of the cabin, closing the door behind him extremely carefully.

He breathes in the cold air, feeling his chest expand, and the pain in his collar is distant. The break seems to be healing alright, and Sam has gained some of the lost weight already.

Notebook in pocket, he walks towards the car and the road, focusing completely on his surroundings. The woods are quiet, but the wind is making the trees make this whooshing sound, and the frozen leaves crunch under his boots. He can hear cars pass on the main road, very distantly, but that's all, for now.

He knows, trust him, he knows. The demons back at the motel, he knew exactly what they meant, and what it was. It was a threat, naturally, and Sam knew Tom was on his way.

He didn't know how he felt, but if some psychologist would make him try and put it into words, he could try. A mix of fear, desperation, anger, sadness, love, determination and a dark wave of protectiveness, would be what he was feeling. Back at the motel, something had happened. He had finally felt it all, remembered it all happen, and a part of him had wanted to stay in the naive bliss that followed, but he could never deny Dean. His brother needed him, so he had put it all behind, and raised his head. There was a lot going on, a lot of memories, thoughts and feelings that were connecting with each other, and even if he felt so small, so weak against all these demons, he was healing, in some way.

After all this, the sadness, the grief, the guilt, everything, he was starting to come together. And he knew, in the bottom of his gut, that he would be alright, just like Dean always said.

Surely, he had a long way to go. Especially with demons hunting him down for God knows what. But he wanted to cling on to the slight hope, that one day it would all be over, and they could go back into the old days. It wouldn't be him, Dean and John anymore, but if he were to be honest, just him and Dean would be great, even more awesome. Dean would want to hunt, and Sam would tag along. That would be his life. He had wanted something else, he still did. He wanted a different life, the white picket fence one, but after all of this, he didn't know if it would ever be possible. And well, there wasn't exactly anyone else he wanted that picket fence with, than Dean, and the older wanted to hunt. So be it. He could dream about him and Dean living in some quiet town together, all domesticated, maybe with a dog or two. Dean could work in some garage, he could maybe be a librarian. Oh, he could hear the jokes Dean would make of that.

But none of it mattered now.

A few feet away from the cars, along the road, Sam stopped. Flipping the knife in his hand, he headed for the closest tree, a tall pine. Just for one last check, he opened the notebook, scrolling to the page he knew basically from memory, and checked the sigil. Two curves, loop, yeah yeah, he got it. Closing the book with a snap, he got to work.

Creating a protection shield, or whatever you wanted to call it, wasn't anything Sam had done before. Well, John was pretty much against all supernatural, and that included witches, and the book was written by witches, and was for witches. If it worked, why would it matter? Sam was supernatural as well, why shouldn't he use everything he got, to keep the people he cared about safe.

It took fourteen more carved trees, and Sam got a lot of scratches on his ankles from the bushes and plants, but it was worth it. It wasn't good for the blade, but he would fix it. It could've been thirty minutes or more, with him kneeling in bushes as he tried to carve the sigils somewhere a bit hidden, so that they wouldn't be that easy to break. Not that they should, Sam just needed them as pin points, otherwise he should be able to work it without needing the sigils. Ah fuck, what did he know?

Standing in between the cars, Sam closed his eyes. He inhaled, and listened to the wind, to the cars far away. He exhaled, slowly relaxing himself. The noise faded away, and Sam was left in silence. The burn, the buzz, the feeling he couldn't explain, in his chest was his main focus. He knew where the sigils were carved, knew how big of an area it was. He focused, and he could feel the sigils answering to him. They were there, a very distant glow, but they were there, waiting for him. The power moved in his veins as he breathed with it, letting it flow freely as he focused on the sigils, trying to make a map in his head.

He inhaled, and the power in his veins started burning, flowing through him fast. It almost made him gag, his throat tightening as the buzzing started to come back, ringing in his ears, a distant, grounding sound. He focused on the sigils, letting it all flow through him.

"Salis ex mare, protego hanc domum." He whispered the words, and the piece of fear that it wouldn't work, disappeared. The sigils, distantly glowing, exploded into light only Sam could see, and he gasped slightly, his shock almost making him lose focus, and he quickly forced himself back. Focus, focus.

"Purgo illud, et prohibeo malum. Distineo domum, a malo." He could speak Latin almost as well as English, the words familiar on his lips.

"Permitto solum, quod positive et sanctus ineo. Audite mea vota." He breathed, his nose starting to itch. He had to hurry, the blood starting to run down to his lips as he went to finish the spell. The sigils glew bright in his head, his body felt like he was burning and freezing at the same time, but Sam had never felt so powerful. His lips turning to a small smile, covered in blood, he whispered the last words,

"Sic, erit."

The world goes white, his chest being hit by something that feels like a Mack truck, and he gasps loudly, his ears ringing. He coughs, fighting to breathe as tiredness washes over him, but he stays up. His legs threaten to give out, his ears ringing as blood pours down his face. He breathes, and even through it all, he can still feel the people approaching.

Hands wrap around him, so familiar it makes Sam's legs want to buckle and give up, but he fights, for Dean. He can't hear anything, but he can feel the hand on his face, gentle, as it brushes under his nose, and even without hearing, he knows Dean curses.

He needs to know, he needs to see, so he pushes himself, forcing his eyes to open. He can see Dean, and the older is alright, his face mixed with awe and worry, light shining on the face Sam loves. Light?

He swallows the blood down, and turns his eyes up. His shoulders fall, and he can't help but grin, joy filling his chest as he stares at his doing. With a quick look around, he sees everyone else staring at the shining, the showing of his work, of the spell that has taken a bubbleish form, going over them and around them, spanning from tree to tree. It's safe, and Sam can't help but laugh in joy. He did it, he fucking did it. The shine of their now little protected bubble starts to dim, and Sam can't help but stare at it, still in wonder. He did that. This pretty big, bubble that he created, is now wrapped all the way around their little cabin, and it's safe. Safe.

He turns to Dean, to face his big brother, and nothing has ever felt so good, than to see Dean's face right now. His lips parted, those green eyes locked with the sky in wonder Sam has rarely seen in them. And he caused that, he caused that wonder in Dean's eyes. And when Dean turns to look at him, the wonder stays, and his lips turn up. It's a smile that lights Dean's whole face up, and Sam gets all giddy from it, because it's a smile he knows. It's the smile of,

That's my little brother.

Chapter 26: The shadow you fear

Summary:

I am the voice in your dreams
So come and follow me
I am the terror unseen
In our society
Like an invincible shield
The force inside us all
Returned
To strike back
Cause I'm unstoppable
Can't you see who I am I'm invincible
Like a force that is out of control
It's the key to achieving my goals
Unbreakable

Chapter Text

It's a rather quiet, but a tensed silence, but it isn't enough to kill Sam's mood. He's still feeling giddy from the spell working, and even if he can feel multiple pairs of eyes on him, he keeps his own closed. With Dean's leg brushing against his, and the cold tissue pinching his nose, it's alright. Dean's freak out didn't last long, when he was sure Sam wasn't going to keel over. So he just herded him inside and onto the couch, gave him water to rinse his mouth, and has been surveying him ever since.

He feels decent, yeah sure a bit tired, maybe quite a lot tired, but it's fine. He's always tired anyways, what's a two hour nap gonna do? Make him more tired?

"It stopping?" Dean asks, and even if he's trying to sound cool in front of everyone, Sam knows he's worried. He doesn't want to disappoint his big brother, but he also can't lie when there's literal blood spewing everywhere. He makes a sound, not agreeing or disagreeing, and can practically feel Dean's frown. Someone sighs, from the slightly displeased edge, he can assume it's no other than John, and feels Dean stiffen immediately.

"It's a nosebleed, Dean. Stop hovering." He thought John would've grown a little wiser during their time apart, but he's wrong, again. The old, cracked leather squeaks under him as Dean starts to move, and Sam puts his hand out, pulling his brother back down onto the couch, before he can strangle their father.

"John-" Joshua's low warning is cut off, when Sam sighs, maybe a bit dramatically, and opens his eyes. First thing, glare at John, second thing, check everyone's alright, third thing, let go of Dean for fuck's sake Sam.

He sniffs, feeling the blood trickle down his throat, and clears it. Time to put the cat on the table.

"No demon should be able to get through that spell. So, we got some time. I'd say we use that to make some sort of a plan." He says, eyeing everyone. The demons are coming, Tom, is coming and Azazel won't be far off behind. It needs to be talked about, even if the mention of Tom makes his heart skip a beat, his palms start to clammy up, and a underlying sense of panic in his stomach starts to grow.

"What do you have in mind, Sam?" Caleb asks from where they're perched by the table, arms crossed even as his smile is kind. Still, even Caleb's positivity can't fix is ruined mood, and he sighs, free hand rubbing his forehead. Fuck, he was tired.

"We can do it later." Dean, quiet, suggests from his side, and Sam is touched of the worry, but he knows they can't carry on like this. There's so many unresolved things, and they need to start getting their shit together.

"It's fine. How much did you guys tell John, about what's going on?" He directs the question at everyone but John, not really interested in talking to his father. A part of him is sad, very sad, but John chose where he stood, he can't change that even if he'd want to.

"Not much? Just that demons are on our fucking asses." Joshua shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable, and Sam nods. He swallows again, the blood going down his throat, and to his surprise, the bleeding seems to be stopping finally.

"Okay, well, are you going to stay, or are you going to leave?" There's a bite in his voice he can't hide, from being left behind hundreds of times, as he asks John. The man's face is expressionless, a poker face at it's greatest, but Sam has always hoped John would've been more open with emotions. Even with the progress Dean is showing, his brother still shies away from the emotional things, because of their father.

For a while, John stays quiet. Assessing him, or thinking, Sam isn't sure.

"I'll stay." It's simple, and Sam nods, breaking eye contact. He doesn't have the energy to try and think what that could mean, why exactly John is staying.

"Well then we're going to need everything you have on the demon." He says, trying to keep his voice firm and stable, but it cracks. He's lost with this, and John has been researching the demon for a decade, he must have some information.

"Why?" John asks, and Sam has to close his eyes and take a deep breath. Honestly, if it weren't for the lack of buzzing in his head, he'd swear John is one vision inducing man. He loves his father, and respects him, but during their time apart he's had time to think, and he's grown more impatient with John's way of not telling things directly. He could never understand why communication was so hard in his family.

"The demon is behind all this. He sends the demons after us. He's been hunting me down for ages, and I'd like for that to stop." He says, not hiding the snark in his voice. He's tired, and getting pissed off. John doesn't look convinced, not that Sam would know what a convinced John Winchester looks like.

"I have books, but they're back home, that could have something of him. I guess you're thinking about a way to beat up this bastard?" Bobby asks, a bit of a smile on his face that shows Sam just how on board the old hunter is on with kicking the demon's ass. He feels a bit bad, because he hasn't said a word about the visions he has about the demon, and he knows that will make everyone worry even more, but they need to know. He can't hide everything anymore.

"You got a lot of 'em, Bobby? We can make the drive, if we need to. I'm fully on board with finally screwing that son of a bitch over." Dean comments from his side, and Sam smiles at the enthusiasm. If they're actually doing this, it's going to be one life mission over, that has been hanging over their heads for their entire lives.

"A couple 'a stack." Bobby says, and just shrugs when they cast him an odd look. Where has the old man been keeping his books? Not that Sam would like to read them, or anything.

"So what do we got? A demon, got yellow eyes and seems to be some big boss with the other demons, feeds infants demon blood, what else?" Joshua sums it up pretty well, and the man directs the last question at John, who looks displeased. Joshua is an old friend, John can't deny him.

Finally, the man relents, and both Sam and Dean shift at the same time, leaning a bit closer, eager to hear.

"The demon seems to be an old one, and powerful, like Joshua said. He's been doing this for centuries, at least, and no simple exorcisms and Devil's Traps can hold him. He has some ultimate plan I don't know, something that has to do with the kids he feeds demon blood." John looks at him now, and Sam keeps his face straight. When it seems that John is finished, they all blink in confusion.

"That's it? You've been hunting the demon for years, and that's all you got?" Caleb asks, incredulous just like everyone else. That can't be all, is he kidding? When John just glares, it's enough of a confirmation. After all this time, that's all John knows.

"So we got basically jack shit. Fucking awesome." Dean curses by his side, and Sam eyes John. There's something going on with the man, Sam just doesn't know what. Feeling a little brave, Sam swallows. He needs to say this now, before it's too late.

"The demon's name is Azazel." He says it, and everyone turns to him. He closes his eyes, not wanting to see their faces and leans back, sighing as he plays with his hands.

"He's at least as old as the Bible. He's been mentioned in both Christian ones, Islam ones and in Judaism. His name is usually connected with a scapegoat of some sort, but in the Greek Septuagint he's called 'the sent away'. If we keep up with the religion ones, it has been mostly agreed that Azazel is some sort of a demon, which pretty much confirms that he's quite old." He dares a look around, starting with Dean. His brother is looking down at him, his face tight but eyes full of mixed emotions Sam doesn't dare to start to analyze. Quickly looking away, he finds mostly everyone else looking intrigued, so he continues even as a part of him is telling him to stop, to not let them know, to not let Dean down again. He promised there would be no secrets, and here they are.

"In the Book of Enoch, he's the leader of rebellious angels, and he has been talked about as some sort of a fallen angel, but that could be just the interpretation of the religions." He shifted, now it was time to say what he has been hiding.

"What we know about his powers, well. We know that he has some sort of pyrokinesis, so that he can control fire. I'd guess he got all the other demon abilities like possession and all that jazz. If what John says is true, he's got some immunity at least to what normally harms a demon, could be invulnerability even. Some sort of old age powers, since he's still alive and kicking. And uh," He stops his listing, licking his lips quickly. Just say it, and get over with it Sam.

"He can do some kind of dream walking." This time, after dropping a bomb there isn't a prolonged silence. This time, John is present.

"You're saying that he's in your head?" It isn't a shriek, but a yell close enough that it makes Sam flinch and grind his jaw shut. It snaps everyone else out of their silence, and Bobby is the one to speak first.

"Take your ass outside if you can't be cal-"

"Sam! Is he in your head or not?" John yells, completely side-stepping Bobby as he walks closer to them. Dean's standing up, and Sam struggles to follow. There's tension rising very quickly, and he needs to stop it. He grabs onto Dean's sleeve, stumbling up from the couch, and that stops his brother, but doesn't stop him from glaring at John, positively furious. Sam tries to keep his legs straight, to not fall on his face right now, and takes a couple of breaths before answering.

"No, he's not in my damn brain. He comes to me when I sleep, or during visions, that's all. Can you for a God damn second just trust us and listen?" He snapped at John, glaring at the man as his anger threatened to rise. How could he just come in here, and instantly start distrusting them all when-

The lights gave a flicker, and that was his sign. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Shifting his jaw, feeling a little more calmer, he continued.

"You can doubt me all you want, but if you're staying, we're supposed to be a team here. And if you can't do that, then there's the door." He tried to weakly point at the door, but his arm only flapped. John's narrowed eyes stayed locked on him, as he closed his own eyes, feeling like a little kid as he tugged at Dean's sleeve. Immediately the older turned around, away from where he was glaring John, the anger instantly gone from his eyes as he turned to Sam. A quick look, and that was all that was needed, Dean wrapping his arm around Sam's waist, taking most of his weight and Sam almost fell immediately.

"Okay, we're done here. Goodnight." Dean didn't waste a second, and Sam didn't even manage to utter a bye for everyone, he was way too tired. He hadn't thought the spell would hit him this hard, the adrenaline was mostly what kept him up this long.

When the bedroom door closed behind them, he let out a sigh of relief. But he couldn't fall asleep just yet, even with Dean herding him to the bed. Even with the soft mattress under him that really made him want to sleep, he couldn't just yet.

"I'm sorry." He manages to say, and Dean pauses for a second. The older sighs, and it sounds tired, immediately bringing a wave of guilt for Sam. He was the reason Dean was this tired, it was his fault.

"I get why you hid it, okay? But like you said, we're supposed to be a team, right? So, all this shit, I- I'd you know, like to know it early." Sam nodded blindly, weakly grabbing the older's wrist. He needed Dean to understand.

"I'll be better." He promises, even if it's a weak and a cracked voice, he tries to make it sound convincing. Dean stays quiet, and Sam removes his hand, deeming the conversation done. Before he can greet the bed like the love of his life, a familiar hand brushing his hair back catches his attention. Managing to open his eyes, needing to see Dean, his brother standing front of him, gently brushing his hair back. It makes Sam's stomach flip, and he's glad it's dark for the way he knows he's blushing.

"I know, little brother. You need anything before you hit the pillow?" Dean clears his throat, and drops his hand to Sam's shoulder. Smiling lightly, he manages to shake his head, only wanting to get under the covers and sleep for a decade. He just hopes Azazel will leave him alone tonight. He wants to rest.

"Alright, I'm gonna be in the living room, so holler if you need me." And then Dean is leaving, and Sam gets energy from his surge of panic, nearly falling off the bed.

"Wait." Dean stops, turning around and Sam realizes he doesn't actually know why he doesn't want Dean to leave. He shifts his jaw, and Dean seems patient enough, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. He isn't exactly scared, the spell is up, there's salt and Devil's Traps everywhere, but there's something off. Is he just being needy? From hanging out with Dean for so long?

"Sammy?" And Dean's back, kneeling front of him, and Sam bites his cheek. He's fine, it's nothing. He shouldn't hold Dean back from doing what he wants. Even if it's as simple as going to the living room. God, he is needy isn't he?

"Nothing, I'll see you in the morning I guess." He tries not to sound off, turning to pull the covers down, eager to get under them finally, even if it's without Dean. He should stop being so needy, Dean might figure out about his not-so-brotherly feelings.

Dean stays quiet, as Sam burrows under the covers, but he can feel the older's eyes on him. Forcing himself to calm down, and just go to sleep, he turns away from Dean, facing the wall. It makes him feel like such a teenager, which is a welcome feeling after all of this shit.

A quiet sigh, but Sam can sense an edge of a smile, and then there's footsteps going around the bed. He keeps his eyes closed, trying to look like he's already asleep, as Dean walks in front of him, and the covers are being pulled back. The mattress squeaks as Dean slips onto the bed, and Sam has to bite his lip to not start smiling. Fine, he's needy. It's future Sam's problem, right now he'll enjoy having Dean like this.

Dean shifts closer, and not bothering to hide his smile anymore, Sam moves closer, his head ending in it's familiar place, in the crook of Dean's neck. He sighs, probably sounding like some teenage girl in love, but Dean doesn't comment, just wraps and arm around him.

"Bitch." Sam's face explodes into a smile Dean can't see, and his heart skips a beat at the old nickname. He grins, making himself comfortable, knowing that there's a big battle ahead of them they have a shit chance of winning, but he has this moment.

"Jerk." A hand goes through his hair and settles onto his lower back. He can feel the spell buzzing outside, can hear people speaking afar, but none of it matters now. To be honest, Sam has a feeling that this is just the beginning.

Chapter 27: A sense of family

Summary:

If I ever were to lose you
I'd surely lose myself
Everything I have found dear
I've not found by myself
Try and sometimes you'll succeed
To make this man of me
All my stolen missing parts
I've no need for anymore
I believe
And I believe 'cause I can see
Our future days
Days of you and me

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"John, honestly, what the hell are you doing?" Joshua hisses as soon as the bedroom door closes, the brothers gone. Said father of the brothers just gives him a mean look, and Joshua's patience is wearing thin. John is his friend, but fuck is the man sometimes so damn dense. What on Earth was he thinking, going at Sam like that?

"Sam was right John, if you can't be a team player the door is right there. We're already crazy enough to go against some ancient demon, we don't need you causing any more trouble." Bobby says, much more calmer than Joshua, but he can see the man is upset as well. No wonder, John hasn't shown one redeeming quality in a long time, and with this shit he's got going on, his kids won't be the only people he drives away.

"Sam's a kid. What I can't believe, is that why y'all are fine with the demon being in the kid's head? He's gonna get us all killed!" John hisses back, and Joshua's vision goes red.

"Okay, out! Both of you!" Before he can lunge at the man, Caleb's pulling him along, other hand flapping wildly around John, forcing him towards the door. From the corner of his eye, he can see Bobby watching them with a small grin, and soon he and John are pushed outside into the cool air. Jesus, Caleb's gotten stronger.

The door's closed without another word, and Joshua stands there for a second, trying to gather his brain. Fucking Caleb, dude, but he can't help but smile at his friend.

John doesn't share his moment of calmness, turning around in the gravel, audibly giving a long, pissed off sigh. It brings Joshua back to the moment, and he crosses his arms. They're adults, why are they going at each other's necks?

"The demon is inside Sam's head. Who knows what he'll do?" Oh yeah, that's why.

"You gotta get your hearing checked John, the kid just said the demon isn't in his head, just visits his dreams and visions." He grits out, and John turns back to face him, his face void of any warmth, pretty much glaring at Joshua.

"And you trust him? He's been around demons for so long-"

"So that's it. You should've just said that you don't trust him, because you think he's working with the demons. Get the hell out of here." He growls and turns around, eager to get back inside and the fuck away from John. How could he even think-

"What if he gets someone killed?" John says, and that makes him stop. He shifts his jaw, because even if John is blaming the wrong person here, Joshua knows just how dangerous this little dance they're doing is. He knows the possibility of someone getting killed.

"What if he gets Caleb killed?"

John knows he's crossed the line when the bulking man he's known as a friend comes storming at him, showing no sign of stopping.

Hearing John grunt in surprise and pain gives him no happiness, so he clenches his fists, stepping back from the man who he just slammed against Bobby's truck. Fuck, he hoped that hurt.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Closing his eyes, he tries to think of unicorns and waterfalls or whatever Caleb told him to focus on whenever he's really angry. He sighs, the anger gone as soon as it rose, leaving him just tired.

"We're friends, John. But sometimes I really can't understand you. That's Sam in there, do you get it? It's your fucking kid, who you thought was dead, and all you can do is distrust him? Assume he's the bad guy? What is wrong with you?" He stares at his friend, trying to understand. He's always struggled to understand John, but this is a whole another level. And he doesn't know if he can look at the man the same way, when he knows what he thinks about his own flesh and blood.

John stays quiet, avoiding his eyes. His face is still expressionless, but when the man is quiet, it's usually a good sign. That means that he's thinking, before spewing out some bullshit.

It takes a while, but Joshua is patient, he's always tried to be at least, especially with John. The man can sometimes take years to understand something, he just hopes that ain't the case today. The man's going to lose his kids, can't he see that?

"Is it the demon?" He asks, sighing. And when John shifts, cracking his neck, he already knows the answer.

"Man, you need to talk. To me, to Caleb, I don't care. You need to sort this shit out, because all you're doing right now, is driving your kids away. Yeah, you think you lost them already, but come on, even you aren't that stupid. They're your kids." He tries to make the man think one more time, and it seems like some of it goes through that thick skull. Better than nothing, he guesses.

When John says nothing, but at least gives him a look, Joshua knows he's done some progress. Now, it's time to get someone smarter to work this out.

"I'm gonna get Caleb, kay? Work it out, I'm serious man." John nods, and Joshua sighs, both relieved as he's tired. Not having anything else to say, he turns around, heading back inside, leaving John waiting. Caleb knows how to deal with the rest of this. The man could crack open the most stubborn bitch to ever walk this Earth. He doesn't know how he does it, but damn it's one good talent to have when being friends with John Winchester.

He opens the door, glad for the warm air that greets him. Shit, it's getting cold out. Caleb, leaning against the kitchen counter gives him a look, and Joshua gives him a sloppy grin. Trust the man to know exactly what's going on.

"Gonna need your magic fingies with this stubborn son of a bitch. Go be a therapist, Cay." He pats Caleb's shoulder, and the man just huffs, still smiling. Caleb doesn't mind playing the therapist, as long as it isn't all the time. And they all know working this little Winchester drama over is gonna help them all, a lot. He needs to check if Caleb still has that good whiskey he got from Houston, that would work wonders.

"Don't touch the whiskey, or I'll whip your ass." And with that, the door closes. Joshua pouts, and Bobby just chuckles. A clicking sound catches his attention, and he turns towards the old hunter. Oh. Very nice.

"I won't tell him if you won't." Bobby says, holding the bottle of whiskey in one hand, and glasses in the other hand.

°°°

He leans against the cold metal, sighing. He likes winter, even if it's cold as hell and hunting can be a pain in the ass. It's beautiful, occasionally, and was part of the reason why he got this little cabin. If Jasper gets snow, it can be one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. They'll have to wait and see, if they get snow this year.

"Sam called me, when Joshua and everyone else had gotten here the first time. He wanted to meet in Henderson, by the high school with me." He knows John is listening, so he continues.

"I got there in record time. It was only me, since we didn't know if Sam had a way of finding out if I was actually coming alone or not. We were too scared of him running again, we couldn't risk it."

"And John, I have never seen someone look that bad. You think he's skinny now? You should've seen him back then. He was nothing but scared, so fucking scared of everyone. It took a lot, honestly a lot to convince him to come back with me. And after that, he's had like three panic attacks over either his own powers or the fact that he thinks he killed Mary." John snaps his head towards him, his eyes wide and filled with some emotion Caleb hasn't seen in a while.

"Sam didn't kill Mary, that's, that's just crazy."

"See? That's the thing. He thinks he killed Mary because she has been nothing but a ghost to him no one talks about. You don't talk about her, and when you do, you hurt Sam with what you say." John blinks at him, confirming his thoughts that the man had no idea of the damage he had caused, even if he didn't mean it.

"You've told Sam, summed up, that you can't look at him because all you can think is how he should've died that night instead of Mary." That gets a reaction. John physically falters, taking a step back, stumbling against the truck. Caleb would be worried, if he didn't know this was what John needed. He needed to understand.

He can see the debate in the man's eyes, and it takes seven seconds for him to look back towards the cabin, a desperate shadow in his usually blank eyes. It's the dedication Caleb needed.

He moves to grab the man, before he goes inside and potentially ruins everything accidentally.

"Just wait, wait a while." John narrows his eyes at him, but Caleb doesn't take it personally. He'll thank him later for this.

"During maybe this one week, Sam has changed a lot. The Sam you see now, is far from what he was. He's becoming more confident in himself, and he's starting to learn to live with his powers. But you need to understand, when Sam called me to Henderson, he called me to come and kill him." He should feel bad, but John needs to know this, even if the desperation in the man's eyes hurt. Sam is his kid, however shitty their relationship is, and he knows John cares for him. No parent wants to hear their child is suicidal.

"And he even made it easy. The high school we met at, was just by the swamp with the serial killer thing. He wanted me to dump his body there, and when I arrived, he listed off all the useful items he had, so that I could take them and keep us safe."

"You need to understand, the kid was borderline suicidal. When I told him I didn't come to kill him, I was ready for him to jump at my gun and do it himself." John covers his mouth with his hand, turning away from Caleb. He walks around, Caleb watching his every move, worried as well as curious. He knows it's hard, fuck, he knows, but it's necessary evil to get John's head in the game.

He waits for a while, watching the man struggle with himself, with the new information. When his shoulders sag, Caleb steps in closer, placing a hand on the taller man's shoulder.

"He's scared of himself. He's scared he'll hurt someone, and we've tried our best to make him accept the powers, and himself. He can't help it, you know that. Just, treat him with care, alright?"

"I didn't-" John trails off, and Caleb nods.

"I know, man. I know. The kid needs you, they both do, even if they won't admit it, and you won't either. You haven't lost them, but if you carry on like this, you will. Please, don't let the demon ruin the rest of your family." He says, and can see his words sink in. He's done, and knows that John needs space now, to think.

He says it before John can ask for space, squeezing the man's shoulder one last time, before stepping away. He trusts the man to gather his own shit now, after getting little help.

"Don't stay out too long, it's gonna be a cold night." He turns away, exhaling slowly, ready to get back inside.

"Caleb?" A little surprised, he turns back towards John. Was there something else? But there isn't narrowed eyes, or confused frowns, but a tight face that's fighting multiple emotions at once.

"Thank you." A lump appears in his throat, so he only smiles and nods, John giving a small nod back. He feels better, even if he wasn't the one getting the hang of things. Just getting John to understand, to get to help, has always been something that just makes him happy. Makes him feel like a better person.

He turns around, heading rather quickly back inside. It's damn cold, and he doesn't have a jacket. He trusts that John can handle himself now. And if he can't, well, they can always see what happens when someone crosses over Sam's spell. Not that they'd actually use John as a bait, never. They need each other for this.

He opens the door, immediately spotting a guilty looking Joshua and sheepish Bobby with his damn expensive whiskey, but he doesn't have the energy to care. He closes the door, and heads straight over to the other hunters, falling into the old leathery couch, bumping against Joshua. He sighs, full-bodied, and closes his eyes. Why are the Winchesters so hard to deal with it? Damn emotionally constipated bastards.

"Caleb? Are you alive?" Joshua asks from his side, humorous but also curious about what was going on. A hand settles on his shoulder, rubbing it a little, and Caleb opens his eyes with another sigh, straightening up.

"Mind telling me again why I'm here and not in Hawaii?" He jokes, but with a serious edge, as he reaches for a glass and the bottle of whiskey. A little night cap will probably make it easier to sleep, he could use some good snoozes.

"That bad? I swear, sometimes I think some god came down and cursed the Winchesters to be so stubborn and also so bad at dealing with their emotions. There's no way that's natural." Joshua huffs, and Caleb can't help but agree. Pouring himself one, he relaxes back against the couch, taking a sip of his drink.

"The boys sleeping?" He asks, and Bobby nods, nursing his own glass quietly.

"Dean seemed to be on overdrive. Y'all know he's always been fuzzy with Sam around, but the second I touched the door handle, the lad was already shifting on the bed. I had to stay still for a couple of minutes till he calmed down so I could check on them. Sam on the other hand, he sleeps like a bear hibernating." Bobby explains, and Caleb isn't exactly surprised. There's been a lot going on, Dean's probably going to be watching over Sam like a hawk, even more than usually.

"Ain't surprised. I'd be if he wasn't. We've had like, a vision, John coming back into the picture, the demons, Sam doing the spell and some serious talk in the past like, what has it been?" Joshua sounds honestly confused, and Caleb isn't actually sure either how long it has been.

"I think it's been a couple a' days. But I do know one thing, you idjits wake me up before dawn, I'm gonna be pissed." Bobby says, and he sounds serious. No wonder, everyone's tired. The gruff hunter downs his drink, placing the glass onto the table and stands up.

"Keep an eye on that lad, I don't trust him to start doing somethin'." Bobby nods towards the window, where they can see John leaning against the truck, looking deep in thought. They both nod, and Bobby gives them a small wave over his shoulder, as he makes his way to the other bedroom. He and Joshua need to be careful not to wake him up, when they finally go to bed.

Talking about Joshua, the man sighs, bumping their shoulders together as he relaxes as well into the couch. He turns his head, expecting another therapy session for him to do, but Joshua keeps his eyes closed, only way for him to hide from Caleb. It's annoying, when he can't know what Joshua is thinking.

"Whatdya say, Cay, we take a vacation after this? I say Hawaii, white beaches and coconuts and alcohol." He chuckles, closing his eyes as well. It does sound nice, a little vacation. They hadn't been apart for long, before Sam brought them together, but he had missed Joshua. They had hunted for years together, so being apart felt weird, even when they talked frequently.

"Don't tempt me, I'm almost ready to bolt already. Ancient demon? Come on man, this is some next level shit." He didn't want to turn the conversation serious, when they could've both used some fooling around, but he had to voice his concerns. This was something they had never been up against, not even close. No, he wasn't scared, well, maybe a little bit.

Joshua shifts against him, and Caleb feels a bit bad for making this a tough conversation.

"You're right. All of this, I mean, John has been dealing with this demon for long, and look how far he's gotten. Now we got the codependent brothers, one with super powers and one with some serious anger issues. And we? Caleb, we've gotten our asses handed back to us from a couple of wendigos." Joshua is actually worried, which surprises him. Additionally, Joshua never talks about the wendigo accident.

It was a shit hunt. Was supposed to be an easy one, that's how they all started. They arrived, figured out it was a wendigo, went to hunt it, and surprise, it was two. It got him pretty good, it was one of the few times he's seen Joshua panicked. The man's cool, calculated, never panicked. It's something Caleb admires about him.

"Yeah, man." He sighs. It does look bad, and a part of him wants to bolt. He doesn't want to die from something superly powerful kicking his ass. That would suck. He'd rather die on some food run, some normal thing to die from. Not that he's looking forward to dying, he's got a lot of things to do still.

They stay quiet, both in their own thoughts. The woods are quiet, and the spell isn't doing any sound. It's kind of weird, creepy in some way. There's some powerful spell wrapped around them, keeping demons away, and yet there's no sign of it? Or well, maybe the people with the abilities know it's there, he could ask Sam.

The kid, damn the kid was something else, wasn't he? Not only with the powers, but his character. Yeah, Sam got scared, they all did. But to see how the kid has grown with all of this going on, it's pretty damn amazing. Sam's got that drive in him, and he thinks the kid's gonna do some great things. He just hopes everyone's gonna be alright, and that this little mad adventure isn't gonna cost anyone their life. Yeah, he might be biased, but losing Joshua would not be very fun, not at all.

"Have you thought about retiring?" Joshua's question catches him off guard. Retiring? What did he mean?

"We aren't even thirty, Josh." He says, and yeah, sure some hunters retire early, but this early?

"No, no, not now you idiot. Later. When we're old and all wrinkly." There's an echo of reminisce. Which is very unusual. Joshua was probably tired enough, and drunk, to start talking about serious things. Not that he was going to complain, he could use some good talks, especially with Joshua.

"Yeah, I guess. Just don't know what I'd do with all that free time." He says. It's true, with his life being so full of things, having nothing to do would be weird.

"Chill, man. Of course. Grab a beer, sitting on some porch. Maybe you could become a farmer." Joshua laughs, and Caleb can't help but join. Him, a farmer? When the cows start flying, sure. He hates the smell of shit, so badly. He could never be a farmer.

"I'd vomit myself to death on the first day." They both laugh, keeping their voices down. The walls are pretty thin, Caleb knows he should do some work here, but he doesn't have enough energy. He'll do it later, when this is all over.

"Yeah, and if you'd have all the food supplies in your home, you'd be a hermit in no time." Caleb huffs, shouldering the other gently. He isn't that bad. So what, he doesn't like being around people that much, it's fine.

"Nah, you'd drag me out for some bar trips." He says, smiling. He doesn't know if he went too far, assuming he and Joshua are going to retire together, but the older doesn't protest. In fact, when Caleb dares to look at him, he's smiling. It makes Caleb's head feel a little less crowded, his thoughts slowing down for even just a minute.

"Yeah, I would, wouldn't I?" Joshua says, much more quiet now. It feels more personal, and Caleb can hear the smile in his voice. He exhales slowly, relaxing into the couch and against the bulking man. It's alright, even if he's going to have a stiff neck tomorrow, if he falls asleep here. Joshua shifts as well, getting into a more comfortable position, his breathing slowing down. Surely, they might be going head first into a battle that doesn't look too good on their side, but Caleb knows they're going to be alright. He just knows, maybe he needs to ask Sam, if he's becoming psychic as well. It'll work out, everything does in the end.

Notes:

I like Caleb, I really do. Can y'all see that lol? That's it, another chapter out. I'm starting to build up things for the finale, it'll be probably another ten chapters or so, before the book is finished. Thank you all for the enormous support, I never believed people would like this. So, thank you again, and I'll see you soon! Take care.

Chapter 28: Reminder of the watchers

Summary:

Ticking clock a life in vain
Left alone the die is thrown, a clashing pain
Just a brick a false charade
Crushing down like heavy rain
Time has come, the ticket to eternal fame
Against all odds I rule this play
There's a darkness in my veins
Nothing will stand in my way
Adrenaline runs in my veins
Justice prevails and my name
Has entered the scene

Chapter Text

The next few days pass quick. Sam and Dean spend most of the time in the bedroom, Sam sleeping and Dean keeping an eye out, while doing research. The tensions stay high, with all of them waiting for the demons to strike, for an attack that never comes. It makes everyone even more nervous, most of all Sam, who tends to go outside just to walk around the house, waiting for something to pop up. But his powers stay quiet, no sign of a demon close by, or someone messing with the spell.

They noticed pretty soon, that doing the spell had other effects than just Sam being tired. It wasn't one time job, which they noticed when Sam nosedived in the kitchen, out of nowhere. Keeping the spell up was taking more of Sam's powers than he had thought, the sigils and symbols he had carved not giving as much support as he had assumed. Of course, that made everyone even more freaked out, but surprisingly, no one snapped at each other.

What was suspicious, was that John had been more quiet. Instead of sniping comments, mostly directed at Sam, their father had now been quiet. Sam suspected it had something, if not everything, to do with the talking he heard had happened. Apparently Caleb had talked with the man, and now John knew something, because he had been more careful, gentle even, around Sam. He didn't know what to think about it, but that wasn't a very big concern of his right now.

With him and Dean being basically glued from the hip, Sam started to notice his feelings rising again, which caused a problem. But he couldn't stay away from Dean, for too long at least, and it seemed to be mutual. Dean waited outside the bathroom door when Sam was doing his business, and vice versa. They stayed together pretty much all the time, Dean staying with him even while he was sleeping, when he could be in the living room with everyone else. Instead the older stayed in the bed with him, doing his part of the research there. Don't get Sam wrong, he loved having Dean so close, to be able to fall asleep knowing that the older was going to be there when he woke up, but it was starting to get hard, to act natural.

More often than not he would avoid Dean's eyes, blushing whenever he'd look at him. Feeling giddy, and as if there were butterflies in his stomach, whenever the older was close to him. It was terrible, and Sam knew Dean was bound to notice it, if he hadn't already.

In moments like this, with him daydreaming and trying to gather his strength, Dean practically flush against him, it was alright. But the second Sam's mind got back to reality, it was hell.

The front door creaked, announcing the arrival of everybody, and he could feel Dean shift carefully. He probably thought Sam was asleep. Instead of waking him up, like usually, Dean stayed still and quiet, his hand continuing it's absent-minded movement in his hair. As the voices started to ring out even to their bedroom, Sam started to shift, Dean pulling his hand away immediately.

Cracking his eyes open, he blinked at Dean, who was watching him with an amused expression.

"You actually awake, or pretending to be?" He asked with a fond smile, and Sam chuckled, yawning as he started to sit up, away from the bed's warmth. They had to get up, maybe they had some new information about Azazel. Sam didn't even dare to think if they didn't have a way to defeat him.

"I'm not that bad." He weakly defended himself, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Almost immediately a wave of dizzyness hit him, and he froze, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. He tried to act normal, to not worry Dean, but of course he failed. A hand settled onto his back, a comfort and a support he needed.

Gathering himself he exhaled, standing up. When nothing seemed to happen, he relaxed a little, giving Dean a small smile, trying to ease his worries. He was alright, just dizzy. Dean seemed to swallow it, even when Sam could see that the older wanted to say something, he stayed quiet and plastered a smile onto his face.

"Last night, when I left to go take a piss, you literally asked me if I knew how ghosts took a shit. So yes, I ain't so sure if you're awake or not, but you seem to be doing alright, champ." Dean finished with a shit eating grin, and Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling. He didn't talk in his sleep, shush.

Listening to Dean chuckle behind him, he left the room, his smile fading as he was reminded again of their situation. Feeling the spell thrum outside, still untouched and in full strength, seeing the Devil Traps and salt lines, he knew they didn't have much time. If someone was coming for them, Azazel or, or Tom, this wasn't going to keep them safe for long.

"Sam! Good to see you up, c'mere, the guys got some stuff." Joshua waved his hand, and Sam headed straight for the couch, listening to everyone greet Dean who trailed maybe a step or two behind him. He glanced at John, who was looking at him, again with the odd look he had started to use, and which Sam wasn't sure about. Bobby was sitting next to him, Dean on his other side, Caleb and Joshua leaning against the table and John on one of the chairs.

"We went through the rest of the books we had gathered. There wasn't much new stuff, but it confirmed quite a lot about what you said before. Azazel is mentioned as a demon in religions, but also as a fallen angel, or having some sort of connection to a fallen angel. There wasn't really anything new, just something about him being this like, lord of the demons or somethin'." Bobby explained, them nodding along as they all listened carefully.

"We taking that seriously?" Joshua asked, and Sam took a second to realize what the man was talking about. Azazel, being the ruler of demons?

"The demon being the big boss? I think that could be somethin' we should think about. Sam, is there any like-" Caleb trailed off, frowning as he tried to come up with a nice way of asking Sam if he knew if the demon was some ruler. He thought about it for a second, trying to remember all of his encounters, and just what Azazel has been talking about.

"I mean, I guess it could be possible. He seems to be stronger than other demons, and he's been around probably at least nearly as long as humans. It could be possible." He frowned, because that wasn't a good thing. A ruler of demons? What do you call that? The demon king? Even that gave him goosebumps.

"I say we go with that. Better to think he's stronger than he is, than to underestimate him." Dean said, and they nodded. He was right. They couldn't underestimate him, that would get them dead very soon. Never underestimate something when you don't have all the facts. That's how John raised them.

"I say the big thing is, how do we defeat him? The demons from the motel could cross salt lines, so I think nothin' we got can hold him." Caleb said, and a feeling of dread started to rise. He shifted, crossing his arms. Could Azazel get through his spell?

"John, what did you find?" Said man straightened, eyeing them all, but for once, not with distrust. He was starting to look at them, more equally, not side-eyeing anyone.

"I've went through pretty much every piece of literature there is, that mentions the demon, or the name Azazel." John gave him a look, but again, it wasn't distrust.

"Some old hunter books mention him, and some other people have caught something about the demon going through families. But no one got close. There was a mention, in some old book I got from a priest, that the Lance of Michael, could be able to kill a Prince of Hell." John said, his voice grim, raising the growing stress in the room. This was real.

"A Prince of Hell?" Caleb asked, and John nodded, looking a little grim. Sam, feeling a little confused, frowned. Why did it sound familiar?

"The Lance of Michael, we got something on that?" Dean asked from by his side, but Sam wasn't focusing. Something wasn't right.

"Nothing. No mention at all, in anywhere. It could be made up, but the book was pretty legit in every other way."

"Sam?" Bobby asked from his side, but Sam didn't break his concentration. He tried to remember, tried to understand what about the name, title or whatever, made him feel weird. Prince of Hell, Prince of Hell, where had he heard that?

"Sammy?" He waved his hand, somewhere where he knew Dean was worrying, he needed to know. A vision? With some demon? Where had he heard that!

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He couldn't figure it out, damn it.

"Sorry, just sounded familiar. Was there anything else?" He moved against Dean, brushing their shoulders in an attempt to get him to relax, as he asked John. He could figure out later, why the word sounded familiar.

"For a couple of years, I've been trying to find a weapon that's said to be able to kill anything." John starts saying, and Joshua cuts in.

"The Colt? Are you serious?" He asks, bewildered, and Joshua is never bewildered. John gives him an unimpressed look, before sighing.

"Yes, The Colt. It's said to be able to kill anything, and that it has eight bullets. Samuel Colt, who made the gun that disappeared with him was back in 1835. There's been a couple leads, it's said that some priest had it in the start of the 19s, and that he gave it to some hunter." John has clearly researched the gun, and if he's actually right, God, they might actually survive.

"Wasn't Elkins trying to find it too?" Joshua asked, and John nodded, however still avoiding to talk about his old mentor. Sam didn't know what happened between them, but he assumed it wasn't anything good by the way John acted.

"I haven't heard a peep of it. You got nothing else?" Bobby asked, sounding even more grim. So they were back to nothing, weren't they? No way to beat the demon. Sam sighed, John's prolonged answer enough. They had nothing. What were they supposed to do now? It was only a matter of time before someone came knocking down his spells and everything, and they'd all die. Fuck.

But when John still didn't say anything, Sam lifted his head, curious of the silence. Lifting his head only rose more questions, because he found himself being eyed by everyone. What was it? Did he do something? Was his hands glowing? Eyes?

"What?" He asked, feeling a little self consicous and worried. Why were they all staring at him?

Joshua eyed John, and Sam stared at all of them, trying to understand what was going on. Dean shifted, apparently understanding something before he did, but before his brother could speak, John started.

"Sam, you've exorcised demons with your, your powers." John said, like it was as clear as the day. Yeah? So? He looked around again, starting to feel frustrated with his own confusion. What was that supposed to mean?

"Nope, not happening." Dean spoke instead, and Sam turned to him in confusion. He wouldn't meet his eyes, his face tight and eyes narrowed. His voice was also tight, sounding even a little threatening?

"Okay, what is going on?" He asked, maybe a little loud, looking around the room. No one would say anything, everyone else was eyeing John and Dean, who were in some damn staring contest! Could someone tell him what's going on!

His frustration continued to grow as the silence carried on, no one telling him anything.

"Sam, you're our best shot at killing the demon." John said finally, not breaking eye contact with Dean. It felt like being punched in the gut, and he gaped at John. He couldn't, he couldn't honestly believe that? Him? Looking around the room only confirmed it, they all thought he could do it.

"Dad, he-he's more powerful than some basic demon. I can't-" He cut off, feeling too shocked to continue. For some reason John's tight expression faded for a second, and Sam realized he had called him dad. But it didn't matter, how could they think?

"Kiddo, we've seen what you can do. When you came here, all you could do was shatter some lightbulbs. Then you started throwing demons around. Then you started to exorcise them. And now, you created a spell, around this place, so that no demon gets past it. Your powers are growing, and I think John is right. You're our only chance." Caleb said, and even when he said it with an encouraging smile, it did nothing for Sam. No, there was no way. No way at all he could do that. Couldn't they see it?

"Then you've also seen what happens after. He has a nosebleed, passes out, what would happen if he went against this fucking demon?" Dean wasn't shouting, not yet, but his voice was raised, face drawn tight from anger. But Sam knew it wasn't all anger, he knew what Dean was feeling. He was right, he could barely stay up now, how could he defeat the demon?

"The other option, is that we wait here in our little cabin, till the demons break through and kill us all. Does that sound better?" Joshua said, his voice not so friendly anymore. Caleb placed a hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed a little, but the staring contest carried on. Sam eyed Bobby, who looked deep in thought, but gave him a grim smile, when he noticed him looking. Sam was about to start talking, to explain that he wasn't strong enough, when a weird feeling came.

His hand went to find Dean, but before the older could say anything, Sam's world exploded in pain.

He could hear his own yelp, but it was drowned under the loud ringing, the stabbing and burning pain that was suddenly everywhere. It felt like something was ringing inside his head, a sharp high sound that resonated everywhere, with the pain going from freezing cold to burning hot in the matter of seconds as it spread around his body.

He felt like he was being engulfed by something, something that was tearing him apart, drowning him into a black fog.

Wait, fog?

Another wave, stronger than the first one hit him like a train, and he couldn't hold in the cry that must have torn out of his throat, the ringing in his ear so loud, even with his hands covering them. He tasted blood in his mouth, felt hands going around his body and could feel Dean, a distant presence, hidden behind the black fog.

"Get out." He gasped, trying to gather his powers that were being drowned, trying to get them to work, unsuccesful. It was the demon-

The pain was making his eyes fill with tears, that slipped through his closed eyelids, but something was dripping down his chin. With a jolt he realized it was blood, coming out of his mouth, and panic took over. Was this it?

His airways clogged up, and suddenly he was suffocating. He couldn't breathe-

He claws at his own throat, desperation kicking him into overdrive, his head ringing too loud for him to hear what is being yelled at him. Hands try to grab his, and Sam fights back. He can't breathe, can only taste blood in his mouth, hear the ringing in his ears and feel the power in his chest being slowly dimmed. He's gonna die-

And just like that, it all stops.

His first inhale and exhale comes in the form of a bloody cough, as his body falls forward against the wooden floor. His chest screams in pain, his head feeling distant, as if he doesn't have one as he tries to gasp for air. With the burning pain gone, he registers hands on him, the painful scratches on his throat and the blood dripping down his face mixed with tears.

"Sam? Sammy?" Is the first thing he hears as his hearing comes back, as always. It's Dean, Dean's worried voice filled with a distant tone of panic, that forces Sam to open his eyes. Through his tears he manages to see Dean, closer than he thought, and behind him John. There's a hand on his face, wiping away the blood and the tears, shaking his head as his eyes threaten to roll back.

The power in his chest beats, far from a rhythm as he tries to connect with it again, trying to fight the sleep that wants him down. It starts to come back, returning to normal and with another bloodied cough, Sam sighs in relief. It was over.

He wraps his fingers around Dean's wrist, squeezing, trying to let him know he's alright even when he closes his eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" He hears someone distantly ask, and Dean tenses against him, his chest rumbling as he answers, everything in his voice screaming underlying worry.

"Fucking guess. And you want him to go against that demon? The fuckhead was probably listening to us, and decided to show off." He growls, and Sam swallows, still taking in lungfuls of air in an attempt to stop his chest from screaming in pain. It makes a rattling sound, that immediately catches Dean's attention, and the hands around him tighten.

"Sam, Sammy? Can you breathe?" He asks, hurried as he pats him up and down, searching for some injury that isn't there. This was all internal, Sam realizes. He nods, not feeling strong enough to speak, and falls back against Dean's chest. He does tighten his hand, making sure Dean knows he isn't passed out, just recovering.

Just for a while, he focuses on breathing. In through the nose that for once isn't the one bleeding, and the familiar scent of gun oil, leather and pine trees calms him down, his racing heart starting to slow down. Dean's right there. He knows how close they are, with Sam almost on Dean's lap, but he'll blame it on the panic. It's fine, just breathe.

That is, until the shivers kick in.

His body shudders, a sudden wave of coldness going over, and his teeth chatter. Immediately he tries to burrow closer to Dean, who wraps his arms around him, starting to rub his back as he says something, presumably to someone else since he isn't demanding an answer.

Something soft is being wrapped around him, and Sam closes his eyes, trying to fight off the sudden shivers that spread everywhere. He feels cold, tired, and there's a bit of vulnerability, from being attacked, that he doesn't like. He focuses on breathing and taking all the warmth he can. He knows people are talking, but he's far in his own mind.

The demon just attacked him. Just like that. He didn't even know he could do that. Out of nowhere, without even seeing him. And the pain he caused, the only reason Sam is alive is because the demon stopped. For what reason, he doesn't know. And to have people think that he can defeat that? That they can, all human and defenseless, defeat the demon?

What the hell were they doing?

Chapter 29: Bound to take a life

Summary:

I hear hurricanes a-blowing
I know the end is coming soon
I fear rivers over flowing
I hear the voice of rage and ruin
Well don't go around tonight
Well it's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise, all right
Hope you got your things together
Hope you are quite prepared to die
Looks like we're in for nasty weather
One eye is taken for an eye

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The room was filled with darkness, the only source of light coming from the hallway. The windows were tinted with frost, the sink's drippen water had frozen into an icicle that hang out of it.

The scent of coppery blood was strong, filling the mansion with the smell and making sure everyone knew, what was going on downstairs. The bodies that littered the floor, were waiting to be picked up, when the time was right. The blood pooling from them had dried a long time ago, the deeply slit throats something that would make almost anyone throw up, the sight more than gruesome. There had been no care for these dead, their bodies dumped as soon as they became useless, after their blood had been collected. Now, they were just empty vessels of innocent people.

"Tell me, what's the difference between a turkey and a Prince of Hell?"

The voice, sweet and dripping with false honey, echoed in the room. Her voice could lull anyone into a false sense of security, the underlying tone of sweetness, charm and humor, but he knew better.

"Do tell." He said, keeping his voice stable and with it's own humorous tone, he shouldn't make her mad. That would be the end of him, at least.

"A Prince of Hell, is a powerful, highly respected demon with the power to unleash Hell onto Earth whenever they want. A turkey? Well, it's nothing but a tasty snack."

He kept his mouth shut, knowing what Lilith was hinting at. He had to bite his tongue, a small price to pay for staying alive. He knew she wouldn't hesitate to eliminate him, if she wanted to.

"Now, Azazel, which one are you again?"

Her voice stayed sweet, but Azazel sensed anger underneath. Understandable anger. He knew what was wrong, why she demanded to talk with him. He couldn't trust even Tom to do his job, even with more than little assistance, the kid was more useless than anything else.

"Tom is working on it, as we speak." He says, shifting the blame. If she wants to kill someone, she can go for Tom, not him. The kid's a disappointment anyway, no use for him.

"Tom, that little puppy of yours? Oh, what could an old, bored sadist want with Sam Winchester, I wonder."

He swallowed, her anger seemed to have shifted away, but you could never know with Lilith.

"The job was simple. Get the kid, and find out why he's doing this. Mind telling me, why exactly it has taken you months?"

And it was back. By Lucifer, why did he have to pick Lilith as The First?

"The kid's powers are weird. He's getting stronger far more faster than he should, without demon blood. He's managed to trick everyone, and I have been-"

"Ah yes, your little visits for the little babies. It seems like I should remind you, this is Sam Winchester. You don't need anyone else."

Her voice grew louder and angrier, his calmness starting to waver. Her anger seemed to suffocate the room, the entire mansion and him. He quickly went to nod, some of her anger pulling back at the sight of his agreement.

"I will do the deed myself. It's clear Tom is as useless as any lapdog. I will let you know, the second we have him." He said, wanting to get out of the conversation. Damn her.

She chuckled, and Azazel checked twice, that she wasn't able to read his mind. That would've been his end.

"You do that. And make sure you don't become a turkey yourself." A threat, and the connection cut. He opened his eyes, glaring at the bowl of blood front of him. Five demons of his died for this, just for her to boss him around. It was true, he had been distracted, but now, Sam Winchester would be coming home, and they'd pick that brain of his apart to find out why he's acting out. No one should be showing signs this early, and he knew even the angels had picked up on it.

Feathery fuckers, he'd have to make sure they don't mess with his champion. Sam was going to be it, Lilith was right about that. They just had to make the kid understand that too, and then it wouldn't be long till Lucifer would rule this wasteland.

"Sir?" A voice peeped from the door, and he turned around. A lithe teenager, and a young demon, what a cute little thing. He could see him eye the bodies with something like frozen horror on his face, and he wanted to chuckle.

"Take the bodies outside, dump them, I don't care." He said, turning back around. He grabbed the bowl, one of the windows cracking open, and he carelessly threw the blood out of the bowl. No use for it now.

"Anything from Tom?" He asked, since he hadn't heard a peep from him. Bastard was supposed to keep him updated. He and his damn obsession with the kid.

"Uh, no sir. I just know that Maggie is with him, if he didn't get rid of her, that is." The kid told him, dragging the bodies out of the door with small, ridiculous grunts. It almost made him want to do the job himself, it was that pathetic. He had no idea who Maggie was, for that matter, but he assumed it was some other young demon that somehow got stuck with Tom. Wouldn't be surprising if she was dead.

He'd let Tom have his fun first, and clean up after him if he can't do it. It's much more fun to play with them, than to just go in and get the kid. Makes the fear much more enjoyable.

°°°

"I have no idea how you can like this shit." Joshua grumbled, lifting another piece of tarp over the stacked firewood. Preparing for snow was terrible, and he hated winter. It was cold, wet, windy, what was there to like about it?

Caleb just laughed, a strangely genuine sound. For some reason, he wasn't stressed about the entire situation, or then he had gone over the stage of being stressed, and was now just hysteric. Wouldn't that be great?

"Like I've told you, there's nothing more satisfying than seeing the snow cover this thing. All of it, gone just like that. Talking about winter, did the news say anything about first snow yet?" Caleb asked, sounding giddy, like some child. Caleb loved winter, especially first snow, and Joshua found it quite adorable, how he acted. Seeing Caleb during winter this year would be a welcome lift of spirits.

"No, you idiot. But if you really wanna know, I predict," He started waving his hands around, squeezing his eyes closed for the dramatics. He could hear Caleb chuckle at him, and grinned as he opened his eyes, announcing,

"Tomorrow or at least by the end of the week we'll have you some snow." Caleb laughed, and it made Joshua smile even wider, a part of him calming down with Caleb. His head seemed a lot more quiet, and even the knowledge that Sam was inside, in a bad shape, the panic of what happened was starting to wear off. To see Sam just drop, without a reason, without them being able to help him at all, it made him feel helpless.

"You've known me for 18 years, and every year your little prediction has been wrong. What makes this one special?" Caleb asked as he lifted the tarp, giving Joshua a teasing look. He huffed, not offended. Caleb had a point, he was shit at predicting weather. What did he look like, some Boy Scout?

"Well your predictions have never been right either, so don't start with me Cay." Caleb rolled his eyes, huffing, and for revenge, moved the tarp quickly up and down, splashing some of the rain water over Joshua. He yelped, the cold water splattering over him, and glared at the younger.

Just before he could splash Caleb back, the back door opened, Bobby joining them. He took one look at them, seeing Joshua's clothes soaking from water and Caleb's grinning face, and shook his head with a small smile.

"How old were ye two again? Get your asses back inside, John's figuring out some plan and won't tell me what it is." The older hunter said, giving them both a meaningful look. Glancing at each other, they dropped the tarp, placing it as neatly as they could over the firewood, and followed Bobby back inside.

"-currently in Washington. The boys are staying with their uncle in Breitung, until Sam is better." Is what they hear, when they enter the cabin. John is standing by the table, a phone on his ear, looking rather annoyed. He glances at them, lips drawn into a tight line, before he focuses back on the person talking to him.

"Yes, yes I am well aware. Ask his doctor for another note, now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." He says, and without waiting for an answer, he hangs up, letting out a sigh.

"Am I gonna play Doctor Johnson again?" Bobby asks, arms crossed and John huffs, pocketing his phone.

"The CPS are back on us. Bobby has been giving them doctor's notes that excuse Sam from school, but they ain't buying it." John explains, brows drawn together. The CPS, a long time enemy of the Winchesters. Well meaning ladies would come knocking on their doors, little notebooks in their hands, asking to see the eldest Winchester. That's when Dean started playing an adult, as soon as he started to look close enough to one, to get them off their backs. They meant well, but some teachers in schools were too curious, or some neighbors saw them coming home from a hunt, all bloodied, and it wouldn't take long for them to appear.

"We'll handle them, now, wanna tell us what you're planning?" Bobby asked with a raised eyebrow, and John scans Caleb and Joshua over, realizing why Bobby brought them back inside. For leverage. He sighs, running a hand over his face, and sits down, everyone else following his example, gathering around the table. Dean and Sam are in the bedroom, latter probably asleep and Dean fussing around him. Hopefully they were alright. They had cranked up the heat when Sam started shivering, and Caleb had fetched every extra blanket they had.

"We all know Dean isn't gonna give up with Sam going against the demon." A simple sentence that causes them all to lift their eyebrows, in surprise and suspicion. That wasn't sounding too good.

"But you all know what Sam can do. I've been around for a couple of days, and I have a whiff already of what the kid is capable off. Yes, I don't want him anywhere near the demon, but if it's the way to kill that bastard, and keep everyone else safe, we don't have any other chance." John says, eyeing their expressions. Caleb starts nibbling on his lower lip, a sign of worry, while Joshua continues to frown. Bobby stays quiet, wanting to know what the man is thinking, what his plan is, before shutting him down.

"It's only a matter of time before something like what happened to Sam, happens again. And then there's no guarantee, that the demon will stop." He says, and he's right. They have no idea why the demon stopped torturing Sam, how he did it, and if he'll do it again. They could end up dead any second, and they wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

"So you plan on tricking Dean, and weaponizing Sam just to get your precious revenge?" Caleb's voice is firm, anger ready to blow up to defend those he holds dear, as he stares John down. It makes everyone stop for a second, it's rare that Caleb goes defensive, and there's a hint of truth in the man's words. Instead of John blowing up on him, not that Joshua would let him, the man shifts his jaw, not denying it. That makes everyone move on their seat, was that really John's plan?

"The demon is responsible for the deaths of just how many people, Caleb? Wanna run the numbers by me?" He says back, and Caleb only narrows his eyes dangerously. John doesn't want to fight him, Caleb is better in hand-to-hand combat than anyone else he knows. And that is just facts.

"Don't pretend you give a flying fuck about them. Say it, was that your plan?" All eyes turn to John, watching his reaction. His eyes are narrowed at Caleb, forehead scrunched.

"Sam is our best chance, that's just how it is. He needs to be prepared, and Dean babying him, and fuzzing around him isn't going to work. He needs to train."

"Give me something to train, and I'll do it." A new sound makes them all jump, eyes flying to the hallway, where Sam and Dean are. How they sneaked up on all of them, they have no idea, and now a thought flies up to everyone's head. Just how long have they been listening?

"Do tell me. How do I train this, huh?" Sam's voice is challenging, no idea how he does it, since he barely looks like he's able to stand. There's that newly found fire in his eyes, as he stares at John, Dean a slightly threatening figure by his side, one arm helping Sam stay up. The kid's wrapped in blankets and Dean's flannel and sweats that are way too big on him, but still, he makes a sight. It's the power, that has started to ooze out of him occasionally.

"How long have you two been there?" John asks, instead of answering Sam's question. The tension in the room is undeniable, Sam staring his father down, a thing only a few people dare to do.

"From the start." Dean answers, green eyes locked on John, cold. It makes the eldest Winchester swallow, even the tiniest show of emotion, Bobby steps in before it can get ugly.

"We have no idea how to train Sam, you know that John." He says, and the other hunter tilts his head, half-heartedly agreeing. It was true, how could they know, how to train Sam? Sam, with powers they couldn't understand, in any way.

"Well what do you want us to do? We aren't exactly drowning in options here!" John cracks, standing up from his chair, throwing his hands up. Sam takes an unconsicous step back, that makes Dean snap his head towards him, question in his eyes, but Sam doesn't meet his gaze. He stares at John, at the anger he has seen countless times, and tries to understand his own reaction. Whatever, it doesn't matter.

He bites against the tiredness and the edge of something uneasy, holding himself together, and speaks.

"You don't think we don't want this bastard dead too? It's all we've ever known! The demon that, the demon this, it's everything we live for!" Sam's yell isn't very loud, but the hiding anger gives him enough fuel to butt heads with his father, who's face tightens at his words. Never one to accept the truth, well too bad, Sam was going to give that to him.

"We all want him dead, yes. But it's us, against them. We need to work together, here. Yeah, we don't got options, but we'll go with what we have." It makes everyone else frown, giving the look to Sam for a change, as John's expression falters. Is Sam agreeing with him?

"Sam, you aren't going to go against that demon." Dean's voice is low, firm, a clear order as he stares at his brother, who refuses to meet his eyes. He won't let Sam go on this damn suicide mission, just because John is so blinded by his own need for revenge. He won't. Never.

"Sam, that's sui-"

He cuts Caleb off with a tired wave of his hand, closing his eyes to gather his strength. They don't have time to argue, in fact, they don't have time at all.

"I'm not wanting to, trust me. But John is right, in some way, if I'm the best shot we have at defeating Azazel, we need to use it." He doesn't make a very convincing figure, barely staying up, and he's being helped by Dean. His body feels drained, everything feels drained, and it seems like time is just slipping through his fingers without a care of his fear.

"We'll see what happens when we cross that bridge." Bobby says, his eyes locked with Sam, and the gaze is all he needs to know to drop the subject. Bobby doesn't like the idea, none of them do, and it'll be the last resort, if it comes down to that. John gets the hint as well, keeping his opinions to himself, focusing on some newspaper that was lying around.

"Sam." Dean says, nodding towards the bedroom, and Sam already knows he's in for a talking. Defeated, he gives everyone a small smile, before going back with Dean, the arm around his waist a heavy support he desperately needs. It feels scary, to be this weak, and he doesn't want Dean to be far from him, just in case.

When the door closes, Sam prepares for angry words, but they never come. Dean, still facing the door instead of Sam, sighs, shoulders dropping. He's tired, has been for so long, and it's all because of Sam. The guilt pooling in his gut feels stronger, because of how tired he is, and he wraps his arms around himself.

And when Dean says nothing, still continuing to face the door, Sam knows what he has to do. Standing up from the bed, he tugs at the older's sleeve, and it's enough for Dean to turn around. His face is tired, he looks older than he should, eyes so heavy that it makes Sam's heart skip a beat. Dean should never look like that.

"I'm not trying to get myself killed." He whispers, the words feeling stuck in his throat. Dean closes his eyes for a second, and Sam brushes their hands together, trying to give him some comfort.

"Did you hear him? He would've- He would've just gotten rid of me to use you as some, some fucking wea-" The volume starts to pick up, and Sam rushes to grab Dean's shoulders. It makes the angered rant stop, but Dean still breathes heavily, anger bringing flush onto his cheeks.

"He can plan all he want, but he won't, I won't let him," He trails off, but Dean gets it. He always does. Gentle arms wrap around him, bringing him back flush against Dean, and they sigh in sync. It seems like the weight of the world is on their shoulders, and that they only have each other. For how long, who knows?

"I won't let nothing bad happen to you, you know that, right Sammy?" Dean asks, his voice low, rumbling against his entire body. It makes him feel warm, feel loved, in this weird way, and he nods. He wants to say, wants Dean to know that he'll protect him till his last breath, as well, but the words get stuck. He can only hope that Dean knows, he'll do anything for him.

Whatever he needs.

Notes:

*evil giggles*

Chapter 30: A snowflake melts as quick as flesh

Summary:

TW for character death

Your eyes stare right through me
Ignore my failed attempts to
Breathe life back into your veins
But I can't start your cold heart beating
You're so far gone, but I'm not leaving
When all I know is you
And you left me more dead than you'll ever know
When you left me alone
I have never felt love like this
Don't take it away

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"We got coffee, beer, eggs, milk, pasta, lightbulbs, the good oil, you know the one, some salt, blankets, a new shovel and a tarp." Caleb lists, Joshua listening and eyeing the store in front of them. This place got all that shit?

"You think we getting all that from here?" He asks, and Caleb frowns. He hadn't clearly thought of that. He chuckles, patting the man's back and starts walking inside. It's a good sized store, with multiple different kind of stuff, so there's some possibility they'll find at least some of the stuff they need from here. And if not, Joshua knows a good hardware store a little more downtown they can go to get the rest. It's a weird list, food, alcohol, hardware and some other shit, but that's the life. Lord knows how many times some cashier has given him an odd look for his purchases.

There's a good bit of people with them, some families and people coming from work going shopping, but Joshua might prefer that to being almost completely alone. With a lot of people around, usually the things they hunt don't come at them. But with demons, it could be that a lot of people around doesn't matter to them. That's why he's sticking close to Caleb.

Said man hits his back with the shopping cart, a stupid grin on his face as Joshua jumps out of the way.

"Move your ass or I'll mow you down." Caleb says, still grinning and Joshua chuckles loudly, bowing down to give way to the mighty one. Caleb still slaps his shoulder as he passes, and Joshua catches up to him quickly, bumping their shoulders.

"Behave, you child. You go find all the food stuff, I'll try and find the rest of this shit." He opens his mouth to protest, because Caleb started it, but decides against. He can bother him on the ride back, now he wants to keep on moving.

"Eggs, beer, coffee, milk and pasta?" He confirms, already making a route in his head. He'll go grab the eggs and milk first, then the pasta and coffee, and loop back with the beer.

"You might as well take the salt when you're at it. And please, Joshua, do not," Caleb lowers his voice, making it firm, and Joshua almost bursts out laughing as he realizes what the younger is getting at. Ah, fond memories.

"Convince someone to let you talk into the intercom, just because you lost me, alright?" He has to bite his lip to not laugh, and hastily makes a cross on his chest, lifting one hand up.

"Scout's honor." Caleb shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, and Joshua gives in to the urge to smile like some madman.

"You didn't even make it halfway, dipwad." And with that, Caleb's off with the cart, head spinning around like in some horror film as he tries to find his way around. You wouldn't believe that man could take on three werewolves and survive without a scratch.

Shaking his head, he goes off on his adventure to find them some food. And alcohol, but not for Sam. Maybe he could get Sam a juicebox? Good idea Joshua, good idea.

°°°

He was right, of course he was. Even during the busy hours, when he and Caleb finally got to the cashier, the young man's face was almost comical. First it was fine, as he scanned their foods, but when the shovel came in, followed by the tarp and everything else, he glanced at both of them, looked around for support and looked positively nervous until they left. It was pretty damn funny. He was quite sure they'd be the talk of the coffee room today.

"Did you see his face?" Caleb cackled as they loaded the car up, Joshua's face hurting from all the grinning he'd been doing.

"I was so sure he was going to call a manager or something when he was looking at the shovel, tarp and salt. He's so sure we're burying someone." He laughs, and Caleb laughs as they buckle up, Bobby's truck easily turning on, a nice change from their usual rides. Damn, he had missed being with Caleb.

"Might need to prepare for some cops coming over." He continues, listening to Caleb's laugh slowly fade, as they turn onto the road. It's somewhere around 5 PM, if he checked the clock properly when they left. They'll be back home before six, there'll be enough time to talk some more, make food and try to get Sam to eat. They need him in top shape.

"That'd look fantastic. We got an underage kid that can barely stand up, an overprotective big brother, idiot of a father, antisocial uncle, smartass you and me." Joshua huffs, that's a good point. Wouldn't look too good now, would it? But he has full trust that things will work out. He believes in Sam, and this little group of theirs.

"And salt lined everywhere, weird satanic looking paintings on the floor and under the carpets, not suspicious at all." Caleb smiles, and slowly silence fills the car. It's not uncomfortable, it's never uncomfortable with Caleb, and Joshua focuses on looking out of the window as they head home. He hopes John hasn't done anything stupid again. Damn man is causing him a headache.

"Hey Joshua?" Caleb asks, a little more quiet. He glances at him, and the man looks alright, even if his tone is a little off.

"What's up Cay?" A little humor in his voice, and Caleb's lips tilt up, even the slightest. He stays quiet for a beat, clearly thinking about how to word something.

"Do you, do you think that Sam is actually agreeing with John? About the whole, using him as a weapon against the demon, and probably at least landing him in a hospital after that, if not worse." It's a good question, not like Joshua has to think about it, but it's a good thing Caleb's thinking about that. He has a good heart, sometimes too good, and when he wants to help everyone, he can get stuck in his own head.

"I'd like to think he isn't. I mean, we all know how he was when he came back, but I think he's better. I just think that having John around has broken that little safe space he had around us, and now he's a bit lost again." Caleb mulls the words over, and they continue in silence for a moment. With John hanging around, and with the threat of Tom coming after Sam, it would make sense that the kid would go a bit off rails. He just hopes Dean will get some sense into him, before he does something stupid. Sam can be impulsive, and right now, they can't afford impulsive decisions.

"About the Hawaii trip, I think I'd actually want to go somewhere for a while, after this is over." He glances at Caleb again, and the younger man gives him a small, soft smile. Was he offering?

"Well, like I said, Hawaii does have some nice stuff. I've always wanted to go to Puerto Rico." He says as an afterthought, and Caleb hums quietly.

"A Texas boy in Caribea, sounds like a bad TV show." Caleb says, smiling, and it catches Joshua off guard, making him bark out a chuckle. He can see it in his head, half naked with a cowboy hat on, standing in the middle of the streets, utterly confused.

"I just hope that we can-" Caleb cuts off, sitting straighter in his seat, eyes narrowing on something by the side of the road. Wait, what is-

"Hold on, I'm pulling over." Caleb announces, just as Joshua realizes what's going on. There's a car pulled over, a young woman waving her hands around, clearly needing help. Car broken down?

"Wait, Caleb-" He goes to protest as their car stops, but the man's already going out of the car. The woman looks ecstatic, as she realizes they stopped, and hurries towards Caleb. Oh man, this is what he gets for teasing the man about having a bleeding heart. But it is admirable, how Caleb always just wants to help.

He opens the door, hurrying after his friend. It looks like someone's under the old Ford's hood, probably trying to fix it. Getting closer, he can start to make out the words the girl is babbling.

"-and then it just started making this noise and we pulled over and then it stopped running and then we tried again but it wouldn't and oh thank God you stop-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. Let's take a look, alright? And then we'll go from there." There he goes, already comforting the woman, giving them options and pulling her out of the panic. Christ almighty. Caleb turns to him, looking like he totally forgot Joshua was even there, and he huffs in his head.

"Oh yeah, this is my friend, Joshua. He isn't that good with cars, but I can call my friend if we need to." Caleb says, the woman nodding rapidly, looking at Caleb like he hung the Moon. What's with people doing that expression anyways? He sees that back home with Sam and Dean enough, but of course Caleb goes on his way to charm everyone.

He gives the woman a small wave, not bothering to smile, and she nods at him as well, now turning from ecstatic to worried, as they both follow Caleb towards the front of the car. He was right, there's a young man under the hood, quietly muttering something to himself. Tools are scattered everywhere, a couple inside the car and couple on the ground, lying by the opened toolbox.

"Ey, we got help!" The woman announces loudly, practically vibrating, and the man lifts his head, oil-stained face breaking into a wide grin, almost big enough to match the girl's. It's a little disturbing even, so many happy people around, weird.

"Ah, thank fuck! Y'all know anything 'bout cars?" The man asks, a hint of frustration and newly found excitement in his voice. It's no surprise no one else had stopped, the road is practically dead. No idea where everyone is, but they're pretty secluded anyway, trees lining their side of the road.

"I know a little. What's the deal?" Caleb steps in, walking around the man to check under the hood. Joshua scans their car, it looks fine, probably some motor problem, with such an old car it wouldn't be a surprise. There isn't really much stuff inside, guess they're coming from a restaurant or something. Whatever, it isn't his business. He just wants to get this over with, and get home.

That's when it all goes to Hell.

He doesn't get to react, no chance at all, before hands grab him from behind, and he's being thrown through the air. He crashes against the hard ground, wheezing out as his lungs beg for air, the wind knocked out of him. He pushes through the pain, quickly forcing his brain to kick in, just in time to avoid the shoe headed for his head.

He rolls around, blood rushing in his ears, the woman who seemed all sweet and innocent, standing front of him. Her eyes flash black, and Joshua's heart drops. He goes to grab his gun, when suddenly the demon is right in front of him, and his quickly thrown punch is avoided, a knee to his gut almost sending him down. He stumbles away, circeling around to where he can hear Caleb and what he assumes is the other demon going at it. A quick glance confirms it, and Caleb already has his silver knife out, and Joshua realizes with a jolt that the man didn't bring his gun.

He backs up, away from the demon and towards Caleb, turning around so he can keep the enemies in his view. Caleb avoids another punch from the demon, backing up towards Joshua, but the relief is short-lived, the man barreling towards Caleb. In a second, Joshua makes the decision, and barrels himself instead against the demon's side, sending them both tumbling on the ground. He kicks with his leg, elbows the demon in the face and goes to roll them around, the wet grass clinging to his back.

A punch gets past his arm, and for couple seconds, stars cloud his vision. The pain on his cheek radiates burning pain everywhere, but it doesn't hurt so bad that he'd think it was broken. He smashes down with both of his wrists, the demon falling down a little on top of him, just enough for Joshua to smash his knee upwards, and break free. He rolls up, finally able to get his gun out, and bumps against Caleb who just managed to kick the other demon away. He keeps his gun trained on the man, knowing that Caleb has his eyes on the other demon.

The man's face, who had maybe a minute ago been friendly, now sneers into an ugly grin. He swipes at the blood on his temple, and the woman walks closer to him, left arm tucked a little back. He can see slashes on her, Caleb had managed to get a couple nasty ones, but even with a silver knife, this isn't looking good.

"It's nothing personal, honestly. You're just extra pieces, an obstacle on our way. Consider yourself lucky." The man says, and his voice has this odd melody to it. Almost like how a poet talks.

"What the fuck do you want?" He growls, keeping his gun aimed. It's probably no use, but damn if shooting those fuckers won't make him feel better.

"You need to get your hearing checked, Joshua, isn't it?" A feeling of dread threatens to rise, as he stares the demon down. How the fuck does he know-

Oh.

Oh fuck.

"Tom." He snarls, finger bouncing on the trigger. He wants to shoot him, so God damn bad, make him pay for everything he's done. The anger boils his blood, and his arm almost starts shaking under it, but he keeps it steady. Don't let your emotions take control. He glances at the woman, who's face is passive now, eyeing him and Caleb up and down. Their eyes lock, and Joshua sneers at her, focusing back on Tom. He doesn't know who she is, and he doesn't care.

"You're in a bit of a pickle, aren't you? That gun is useless, that knife won't get you far, so what do you say, surrender and keep your honor?" Joshua is starting to understand why Sam fears this man. Aside from what he has done, there's this glint in his eyes, visible now that he isn't pretending, and fuck, how did Joshua fall for that? His way of talking makes him uneasy, there's something about it, and he doesn't like the demon at all.

"Over my dead body." Caleb says from his side, and Joshua feels a bit of proud. Tom's grin falls a little, his eyes narrow for a second, before the grin comes back in full force, and Joshua clicks his gun, getting ready.

"I can arrange that." And with that, Tom launches at them.

°°°

It was alright, they were going to be alright. As much of a show off that Tom was, he and Caleb had been hunting for a decade. They wouldn't give up that easily.

He ducked, avoiding the kick, and punched up with all the strength he had left in his tired body. It had been a while, of them ducking, spinning and dodging, and it seemed like with each attack the demons were growing more annoyed, or angry. Caleb has slashed the woman up pretty well, she had managed to kick him off before he could stab her in the heart, but she was getting weaker.

Tom, on the other hand.

Joshua had never seen something like that. Demons were a rare encounter, but fuck, this bastard was another level. He didn't hesitate to use everything he had, throwing things at them, flinging them around like flies, trying to turn their weapons against them, everything.

His heart beat quickly in his chest, his mind staying cool, as he focused on the woman front of him. A swift punch to the arm made him wince, the pain quick to radiate around him. He was getting tired, his muscles starting to burn, his reactions getting slower. Slow got you killed, he couldn't afford that.

Their only hope was, that Sam and everyone else were on their way. There was no way, that their little psychic didn't know what was going on, no way.

"Joshua!" Caleb hollered, and he only managed to turn around, before something hard was smashed against him. It threw him against the ground, is lungs gasping for air, as his ears rung. Taking a shaky breath, he rolled to his side, preparing for an attack that never came, and it sent a sense of unsettleness down his spine. He was quick to stumble up, spotting Tom going at Caleb, his movements too fast for the hunter.

His gut twisted, and he forced his legs to move. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, his eyes locked on Tom who landed a nasty looking punch on Caleb's face, almost sending the man down. His hands were up, shielding as much of his body as he could, and Joshua held his breath, preparing for impact.

It all happened in less than a second.

His fingertips grazing against Tom, he was swatted away, again, the ground smashing against his shoulder, hard as concrete. He grunted, his heart skipping a beat at the impact, but he didn't give in. When he was pushing up from the ground, it all ended.

Tom was standing over Caleb, the hunter's knife in his hand. His world narrowed down, a yell making it's way up his throat, as the knife plunged down.

The reality rushed back, and every inch of tiredness left his body as he scrambled up, his ears buzzing as his eyes stayed locked on the knife handle sticking out of his best friend's chest.

He crossed the distance between him and Caleb, and for the first time in ages, Joshua didn't know what to do. He stared down, at the rapidly growing redness surrounding the silver of the knife he gifted Caleb, when they were only kids. He watched Caleb gasp for air, his blue eyes shifting to Joshua, and that snaps him out of it.

"F-fuck, fuck fuck fuck, look at me, look at me Caleb, kay? Keep your eyes on me." He doesn't recognize his own voice, it's filled to the brim with fear he never shows, and if he's afraid that means-

"Azazel sends his regards." A voice says behind him, and even when it takes everything from him to turn away from Caleb, he stares down Tom, shock the only reason he isn't at the man's throat. He smiles, a haunting, dreadful sight, and just like that, Tom and the woman disappear, leaving them alone in the woods.

A strangled sound from behind him makes him spin back around, nearly falling on top of Caleb, his body running on overdrive. His brain kicks in, his eyes running over the damage, surveying how deep the knife is in, can he pull it out, etc. And it feels like he's the one being stabbed, and he hates himself more than anything, for staying true to himself. He knew. That wasn't a stab wound you recovered from.

He looks at Caleb, at his pale face, parted lips that ache for air, and his eyes. Eyes that should be filled with fear, like his are, but Caleb has always been stronger than him. He stares at Joshua, and his eyes are calm.

That's what breaks him.

He feels sick, he feels terrible in a way he has never felt. The grief pulls him down, and the desperation kicks in. His vision blurs with tears, and his shaking hand goes to grab Caleb's, that's resting by his side. He grabs the cold hand, feels the familiar callouses he's watched become, feels the warmth he knows is going to be gone.

"They're o-on their way. Sam knows, he has to know, they're on their way." His voice shakes as he blurts the words out, the tightness in them undeniable. He knows Caleb doesn't have a cell with him, he never does, and the pieces of his broken cell lying in his jacket's pocket are nothing but mocking him.

Caleb's lips twist upwards, a rattling, wet sound echoing from his throat, and tears slide down his cheeks, Joshua's following. His fingers tighten around Joshua's fingers, and he feels like he can't breathe.

"G-go." The words are whispered, accompanied by a bloody rattle. He stares down, already shaking his head, because he's not leaving, no, no no he isn't going to leave, not Caleb, please not Caleb. He knows Caleb wants him gone just because he doesn't want Joshua to watch him, watch him go.

"I didn't leave you in Elkader, I ain't leaving you here." It's a promise, his voice stronger, as he grips Caleb's hand. It feels like everything is falling apart, his entire world crumbling with every raspy sounding breath Caleb takes, that's going to haunt him in his nightmares.

"Please, just-" His voice cracks, as the tears slide down. He can't stop staring, can't stop his mind from screaming at him, listing all the things that could've been, and what had been. He's always had Caleb, what can he do withou-

No. No. No, he refuses.

The world is uncaring, seconds ticking as he pulls Caleb closer, begging to every God there is, begging for someone to help. Caleb isn't shivering anymore, and Joshua just wraps himself tighter around the smaller man, his throat feeling like it's tearing itself apart, as he holds his sobs. He won't cry. No.

A shaking hand brushes against his chest, and Joshua is forced to look down at his friend. The blue eyes stare up at him, and for once, they talk without barriers.

"C-couldn't have d-done this wi-without you." Caleb breaths, each word causing a clear pain as his forehead scrunches up, his breaths getting shorter and sharper, and Joshua doesn't know what to do.

"Stay with me. W-we were supposed to retire, remember? Grow old together?" A hysterical laugh punches its way out of his chest, and with his other hand, he cups Caleb's head, shakily wiping away the tears. And after doing this for thousands of times, he's hit with the realization, that this is the last time.

But Caleb doesn't say anything, his eyelashes fluttering, threatening to close, and the sobs break out of his throat. He nearly doubles over, the weight of the world without his best friend crashing onto his shoulders, and he hides his tears in the dirty blonde hair. Say it, Joshua, this will be your only chance.

Caleb, who he has known since they were nothing but kids, the other hiding from his parent, and Joshua not wanting to hear his parents fighting. Just a couple of kids.

He swallows a sob, feeling everything crash down around him, and lifts his face, ready to say the words he's never said, and knows Caleb has always wanted, always needed. But he had waited, he had waited for him all this time. You need to let him know, when you still can.

I love you

But as he opens his mouth to say it, the world stops from crumbling. Caleb's blue eyes are locked with nothing, glassed with tears that slide down his face slowly, his lips parted, chest still.

It crashes over him, ripping him so raw he won't feel happiness ever again. Agonizing, numbing, ripping pain. Everything he has known, cared, and loved, ripped away from him, leaving only a hollow feeling in his chest, as he swallows his sobs, unable to tear his eyes away from Caleb's face. His glassed eyes. His best friend, dead.

He doesn't know how much time passes, how long he sits there, Caleb's limp body in his arms, and he hasn't taken a breath in the entire time, now. He knows he's gone, the sensible part in his brain he wishes to erase forever, and only leave space for this pain.

And when the first snowflake lands on the deathly pale skin of his best friend, the clog in his throat opens.

"Cay, Cay look- hey, it's s-snowing look Cay, look." He sobs, as the truth starts to settle in. The snowflakes carry on falling, slowly surrounding them in white haze, and Joshua realizes, he won't see Caleb smile at the snowflakes this year, or ever again.

His best friend was dead.

Notes:

I'm sorry Caleb.

As some of you know, I very recently lost a loved one. This chapter was already almost written then, and today I finished it. I won't make promises about updating, I don't know if I could keep them.
Take care of yourselves, and tell the people you care about, that you love them.

Chapter 31: A way out

Summary:

Motherfucker, now you got my attention
I need to change a couple things 'cause something is missing
And what if I were to lie? Tell you everything is fine
Every single fucking day I get closer to the grave, I am terrified
I fell asleep at the wheel again
Crashed my car just to feel again
It obliterates me, disintegrates me, annihilates me
'Cause I'm about to break down, I'm searching for a way out
I'm a liar, I'm a cheater, I'm a non-believer
I'm a popular, popular monster
I break down, falling into love now with falling apart
I'm a popular, popular fucking monster

Chapter Text

How didn't he know?

How could he not know?

They trusted him.

He was supposed to know.

He was supposed to keep them safe.

Shivers wrecked his body, snapping him out of his thoughts. He had been outside since they came back to the cabin. He couldn't go inside, not with everyone there, all grieving, and especially Joshua.

When they had finally arrived, the sun had gone down a long time ago. They had gotten worried, when Caleb and Joshua didn't come back from their shopping trip, and went to search. The closest store confirmed the men had been there, so they followed the road back towards the cabin, and the rest was history.

But Sam would never forget it. Caleb, a man he's known from baby, his friend, his ally, someone he looked up to, someone he trusted in, someone who he shared even the darkest things with, lying still in Joshua's arms. The man hadn't reacted to them arriving, his hands wrapped around Caleb, but they all could figure out what had happened, the silver knife enough of a clue. But when they got out of their own shock, and Bobby went to grab Joshua's shoulder, the man came back to reality.

Grief did things to people. It could ruin the strongest, the kindest, the most generous people just like that. A terrifying force. And when Joshua had locked eyes with him, Sam should've been afraid.

There was hidden rage under the blank look, a dangerous emotion that made Dean instantly step in between them, but Sam didn't fear for himself.

It was his fault, after all.

He was supposed to know.

And now, sitting outside, feeling his little safe bubble buzz around them, something that was supposed to keep them safe, Sam knew this was it. He had tried, tried so fucking hard to keep the people he loves safe, and look where that got him? Caleb's dead, and it's his fault. Just plain facts.

"Sammy?" He flinched, he hadn't heard Dean approach. Sitting straighter, shifting his legs into a more comfortable position, he opened his eyes, looking over his shoulder. Dean was standing there, looking down to him, and there was a rare glimpse of sadness in his eyes. Of course Dean felt like shit, and here Sam was mulling over his own feelings. Time to change that.

His lips quirked up as he stood up, walking closer to Dean, brushing their arms together.

"Y'alright?" He asked, looking somewhere over Dean's shoulder, knowing the older wouldn't want eye contact. Easier to let out the real feelings when Sam isn't staring at him. Against his belief, Dean huffed, grabbing his shoulders. It makes Sam look at him, and there's a determined, inquiring glow in his eyes now.

"Stop that. It's me, you don't need to hide." Something shifts in his chest, and Sam uses the anger that feels like it might suffocate him, to instead suffocate that little feeling, forcing it down. This isn't about him. Dean must see something in his eyes, as he locks his jaw, other hand coming up to Sam's neck, squeezing it gently. Another brave feeling tries to come up, and Sam suffocates it again.

"I'm fine. Everyone okay?" He goes for a different approach. Dean doesn't wanna talk, sure, but Sam isn't gonna start crying or anything else like that now. No.

"Sam." It's more firm now, but Dean's eyes still have that background in them he's used to, something caring. He was gonna get Dean killed.

The thought brings enough dread for him to step back, out of Dean's arms, and he forces himself not to feel impacted by the quick look of hurt that Dean is quick to mask. They stare at each other in silence, and even if a part in him is screaming for him to bury himself in Dean's arms, to hide away from the world, he won't. He won't risk it all, ever again.

"I'll uh, I'll go inside. Don't stay out long, it's cold." He keeps his voice stable, and still kind. Even if he's distancing himself from Dean, he doesn't have to be mean. Dean doesn't deserve that. He walks by the older, and he kind of expected to be held back one more time, and is proven correct. Dean's hand grabs his arm, spinning him around and pulling him against the familiar chest that's a safe haven, has always been. And it almost cracks him.

A hand crades through his hair, fingertips grazing against his skin, making goosebumps run around his body. He tries to keep his heart from going crazy, his facade from fading, when all he wants to do is cry and scream at the world, at everything. Dean knows that, of course he does, and Sam is suddenly overwhelmed by the love of his big brother. Dean is always there for him, always protecting, keeping him safe and healthy, ready to listen to his worries, make him smile and laugh, hold him when it feels like he can't bear his own skin, and it makes him feel like his heart has been shattered into small pieces that continue to move around and tear his chest. Because the only thing he can, and will do for Dean, is end up getting him dead. And it isn't fair, it's never fair why can't he-

"I'm sorry." He doesn't know if Dean can hear him, and doesn't care, as he pushes himself away as soon as the words leave his lips, heading inside. Dean will be alright.

He swallows the lump in his throat down, trying to ignore the feeling of familiar eyes on his back as he goes, he's not running, not running, to the back door, and quickly flings it open, getting inside. He's cold, his body begging for warmth but he doesn't have time for that. Eyes fly up to him, Bobby sitting on the couch, nursing some whiskey with John sitting on the chair, nursing his own glass. They look at him, and Sam feels like they know. They know it was his fault. They know he killed Caleb.

"Is Joshua where?" He asks, voice a little strangled, trying to hurry before Dean follows him back inside. Bobby's eyes narrow, probably suspecting he's gonna kill Joshua as well, but John answers him, and Sam can feel the blaming in his voice.

"In the back bedroom with Caleb." He only nods, and without a second thought, heads straight down the hallway, grabbing the key from the table before he goes. He can feel the alarm, but hurries down before anyone can react, swinging the door open and closed after him. Before he faces reality, he pushes the key through the keyhole, locking the door behind him.

Then he turns around, and when the emotions hit him like a punch to the gut, he doesn't close his eyes, forcing himself to take it all in.

Caleb's laid on the bed, arms on his stomach, just below the bloody spot on his clothes. His eyes are closed, skin a mix of colors, varying from gray to purple and green.

Sam has seen bodies, but it has never been of someone he cares about. Which is why he wants himself to remember this. To remember this exact feeling, so that he won't ever allow this to happen again.

But what almost feels worse, is Joshua sitting on the edge of the bed, his dull eyes now staring at Sam. Once a friend, the eyes had held care for him, warmth and even some kind of love, and now all he can see under the dullness, is hate, rage, and the look he's seen on the faces of some superatural, that were keen on killing him. Once again, he doesn't move, won't be afraid. Whatever Joshua does, he deserves, and the locked door behind him makes sure no one will interrupt them.

"I don't want an apology." Joshua says, and Sam doesn't recognize him. Not the voice, not the face, anything. It isn't the Joshua he knew anymore. His voice is gruff, low, not even the slightest hint of humor, warmth, or anything of the good feelings Joshua brought to everything he said.

He keeps his mouth closed, keeping eye contact, wanting Joshua to say it all. Scream at him, bash his head against the wall, break his neck, anything at all. He deserves it.

They stay in silence, and Sam shifts his eyes to Caleb's body, to the result of his own doing. He needs to feel the guilt. He needs to know it's his fault. That he would never be good, he'd always be a monster.

"I thought you were coming." He has to close his eyes, feeling his neck stiffen as he forces himself to stay still, to not shake like a leaf. Joshua doesn't sound angry, not yet, but at least he's talking.

"He thought you were coming." His voice cracks at the start, and Sam can feel his own heart cracking at the sound. He knows, God he knows how close they were, and how much pain Joshua must be feeling. Or, he doesn't know, and he wishes he never will, but he can imagine. If Dean was dead-

"I didn't know." It doesn't sound weak, he's not trying to fucking defend himself here. It was his fault. But he didn't mean it. He didn't mean to get Caleb killed, and Joshua needs to know that.

Joshua huffs, but it's void of any humor, and Sam opens his eyes. This is when he gets mad. He can hear the back door open, Dean presumably coming inside. He watches Joshua, forcing himself to stay still, as the man stands up, and even with his height, Joshua had never seemed threatening to him, until now. He stares at Sam, and he stares back, edging him to do it. Punch him, break his face, kill him, anything to make him feel better, and Sam worse. He deserves it all.

A raised voice, Dean, echoes from the living room just as Joshua takes quick steps forwards, towards him, and he doesn't wince, doesn't make a sound when the punch hits the wall next to him, the plaster cracking next to his head, as footsteps ram towards the door. He stares at Joshua, feeling so small, under the pure rage in the man's eyes, clouded by just unshed tears.

"If I had known," He starts, voice low, hushed, but it makes cold sweat start forming on the low of his back, as he waits for it to happen. There's someone rapidly knocking at the door next to him, but neither of them pay attention to it.

"If I had known, when John called me to ask me to help find you," Joshua's head twitches, his lips pulling back to a snarl, and Sam closes his eyes, preparing for a hit that never comes.

"I would have found you, and killed you myself." The words are whispered, making the hair on the back of his neck stand out, dangerous and filled with so much hate Sam has never felt. He can feel Joshua slowly lean away, hears the plaster crackle as his hand leaves the wall, and only as he opens his eyes, he realizes the lights are going crazy.

He stares at Joshua, wanting him to understand that it's okay, he knows, it's okay, but the man doesn't care. He practically rips the door open, the old hinges not able to battle against muscle, and ignores the yells that follow him down the hallway. Sam stays still, not daring to breathe, even when Dean runs into the room, hands on his shoulders, and Sam can't help it, he flinches and hard.

He can see Dean's eyes darken dangerously, and even when he wants to, he can't move, can't comfort Dean and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Joshua was right. But it all snaps back to him when Dean's eyes notice the broken wall next to his head, and then the man is moving, a rumbling sound coming out of him, and Sam jumps to action, to stop him from going after Joshua.

He pushes himself between Dean and the doorway, hands on his brother's shoulders, stopping him in place. At first Dean looks confused, but then something like realization comes in, quickly followed by some kind of anger Sam doesn't know what to think of.

"Sam." His brother grumbles, and it's a very strong suggestion to let him go after Joshua, but Sam refuses. Dean can see that, and his nostrils flare as he takes a step back, and Sam is suddenly hit with another person glaring at him, but now it's coming from Dean.

"Boys, calm-"

"So this it how it's gonna be? Caleb dies, and you decide it's your fault, and you deserve all the shit thrown at you, huh?" Bobby's cut off by Dean, and unlike with Joshua, each word from Dean's mouth gets under his skin. His silence seems to be telling, as Dean turns around, angry huffs coming out of the man, which means he's really, really angry. About-to-tear someone's-head-off kind of angry. And Sam isn't sure if he's the one about to get their head torn off right now.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Dean explodes at him, and Sam should've known. Of course Dean gets fed up with him. Of course, of course, what did you expect, what did you fucking think-

"If you're that desperate for someone to beat your ass- if you're that fucking suicidal, why won't you-" Dean cuts off, not because he thinks he crossed a line, but because of something else. None of the anger is gone, and soon the man is pushing past him, hitting their shoulders together very roughly, and Sam bites his lip to hide the wince. His heart beats loud in his ears, his hands won't stop shaking even when he crosses them, suddenly feeling so small, so fucking weak and useless, and utterly worthless again.

Why won't you what? What was going Dean going to say?

Why won't you do it yourself?

Why won't you fix it?

Why won't you end this war?

Why won't you offer yourself to Azazel, so that everyone else can be safe?

"Sam?" A hand touches his shoulder, and it's John, which should bring a wave of emotions to him, but doesn't. He feels nothing. No emotional chaos inside of him, battling guilt, logic, sadness, all the words just thrown at him, the anger, the powers, the truth-

Nothing.

When John pulls at his shoulder, still oddly gentle, he turns around with it, ready for another verbal beating, or whatever. He doesn't care, does he?

The man looks down at him, and there's a weird look on his face, his face shifting as he searches for the correct words to say. He might try to convince Sam it isn't his fault, or something as stupid, and Sam isn't going to listen to any of it.

"I'll be in the bedroom, reading. Let me know when the pyre is ready." He doesn't care if Joshua will put a bullet through his brain, he's going to be there when Caleb goes up in flames. He needs to.

Not waiting for a response, he escapes John's hold, slipping past him and straight into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He doesn't want them to think he's angry, hurt, or any other bullshit. He has things to do, no time for people to worry about his feelings.

He sits on the bed, ignoring the sense of loneliness, being in the room with no Dean by his side. Ignoring it, he grabs the notebook from the nightstand, bringing his legs up and crossing them, scrolling the pages. He knows exactly what spell to search for.

This was what it was always coming down to, wasn't it? Sam had started this little supernatural process alone, him against the world, of course it was going to end like it. He had done enough damage to everyone, had cost a life that was way more valuable than his, and even when he couldn't bring Caleb back, he was going to make sure nothing like that would happen again. No one was going to die, because of him.

The demons were there for him, always. They were after Joshua and Caleb, because of him. They're after everyone else he cares about, because of him. Because Azazel wants to pick his brain apart, play with his mind and demolish him to dust. And Sam had been too caught up in his little daydream of being safe and happy, to realize it. He would never be safe, and anyone who would try to keep him safe, was going to end up dead. He made peace with dying when Caleb came for him, he was alright with it. No one else was going to suffer, ever again.

His eyes traced the familiar lines, the instructions spelled out in Latin pretty simple, or that's at least what it seemed like. Until he hit an obstacle, he needed an object for this spell. An object, that would work in the situation he was planning it for.

It would be poetic, right?

Without a second thought, he pulls the silver knife out of his boot, the one he's had since he was a little, little kid, the one Dean gave to him, to keep him safe. It would be poetic.

His mission is interrupted, but it's not someone coming to his door knocking, no, it's an odd feeling. He lifts his head, scanning the room, but he doesn't see anything. Forcing his mind to work, he focuses, looking around again, waiting for a black fog or something else to appear, but nothing does. But he knows he isn't alone.

Possibilities run through his head, and a part of him wonders if he should yell for someone, but if this thing is here to kill him, he won't risk anyone else. He thinks, keeping his eyes up and looking around, waiting for a sign. Everything is still, quiet, expect for the distant talking in the living room. Nothing is moving, nothing is happening, so why is he getting a feeling?

It hits him, and Sam's getting tired of all these emotional gut punches, and he has to close his eyes to stop from tearing up. He takes a shaky breath, knowing there's no one to hear him, expect for his little visitor. Of course, of course, it makes sense, doesn't it?

"Hey Caleb." He whispers, and he almost cracks. The tears almost break through, the grief twisting around in his chest, but he refuses. He doesn't deserve to grieve someone he killed.

His confirmation is the odd feeling getting a stronger wave, before settling down again into this nagging, disturbing presence around him. He knows he isn't alone, even if he can't see him.

Unfinished business, or then Caleb's just waiting for his body to burn. Probably the latter.

"We're burning your body soon." He says, even when he's quite sure Caleb can't hear him, or understand him. Saying it outloud makes it somehow more realistic, and Sam has to battle another wave of emotions wrecking through. His resolve cracks, even the slightest, and before he can think twice, he whispers the words that will be his lifestory.

"I'm sorry."

He sits there, and it feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Caleb is dead, and Sam feels like he'll never be the same. Of course, becoming a murderer changes you. The guilt feels like it'll drown him, just to give him a couple seconds of air, to keep him alive, only to pull him under again. The guilt for not keeping them safe, the guilt for not protecting, for pulling them into this, for making this all happen, for ruining Dean's life, for not being enough. He has powers, and he still can't be enough. What's the point of having these powers, if he can't keep the people he loves safe?

Nothing, that was the point. If he couldn't keep people safe, if he couldn't help them, there wasn't a point. Then he was no better than the things they hunt. He was no different. He didn't help, he didn't save anyone, he killed people. Isn't that enough to qualify him as a monster? John had killed things for less.

He had thought he could change, that he could be better, that some day, he was going to feel alright again. That he was going to be able to keep people safe, and not feel like he should burn himself on a stake for the things he's done. To feel loved, not so alone that he realizes just how fucking much he hates himself. To have someone by his side, not having to run from the world. But here he was, and had something changed from when he left Breitung, and this moment?

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

Chapter 32: No time to die

Summary:

I let it burn
You're no longer my concern
Faces from my past return
Another lesson yet to learn
That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?
Now you'll never see me cry
There's just no time to die

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The soft rays of sunshine filled the room, the lightbulbs had exploded yesterday, and Joshua was yet to fix them. It was beautiful outside, the first snow painting the ground white, while the sun made it all sparkly and glowing. And Joshua had never hated the nature more.

It was the perfect weather for couples to go to some park, enjoy each other's company, for families to go and have fun, play around and enjoy life. It wasn't the weather for preparing your best friend for burning them.

And that was exactly what Joshua was doing, or was supposed to be doing.

He had the stupid covers ready, the roll of tape if he needed it, and fuck it all. Fuck it, Joshua couldn't do this, no matter how many times he's told himself he can. He can't, how in the world he's supposed to wrap Caleb up nice and tightly like some fucking present, and carry him outside to the pyre? How is he supposed to let go of him? How could he?

Joshua hadn't been a lonely kid, he had friends but none that knew of the supernatural, and Caleb was the first. The shy, small kid that avoided eye contact, hid under baggy clothes and flinched at loud sounds, had become his best friend. And they were supposed to grow old-

He took a sharp breath, his hand tightening around the cold one, and he forced himself to calm down. Don't do this yourself. Don't think about it, otherwise you're a dead man walking.

He let his eyes shift, and even when it felt like his head was about to fall to pieces, he felt nothing. He stared at Caleb's face, at his closed eyes, almost waiting for them to open, for him to shoot up and start laughing at him so hard he can't breathe. And Joshua would tackle him, out of anger and joy, and he'd never let him go, again. But that wasn't going to happen.

It was time to say goodbye, and Joshua had always hated goodbyes. They meant forever, they meant sadness, loneliness and anger of being abandoned. They meant that he was never going to see them again, and the memories about them would die off, so slowly that he wouldn't realize it, until it was too late, and the memories were gone. Until he couldn't remember the small things, favourite colors, funny adventures they shared, late night confessions, the story behind each and every scar, the little things that made them.

He would forget Caleb's laugh, the way that one tooth of his was chipped, the spot that was so tickly it had been a close call for the man not to pee himself, his secret crush on the girl from their high school, the prank he played on the whole school on their prom night, and how he never got caught. He'd start forgetting the little things, piece by piece.

Like that silvery, pale scar just below his cheekbone, from their first hunt. That had been the ironic thing, it didn't even come from the hunt itself, but from the librarian that hucked a book at Caleb, after he told her he couldn't come with her to the local motel. It had been as hilarious as it was terrible, and despite it all, it still brought the slightest smile onto his face.

He let go of Caleb's hand, picking a piece of dirt out of his hair, and it almost made him break. He was supposed to be done already, out there with everyone else, ready to light the pyre and hope that one day Joshua can say the words he didn't get to say. And he knew he'd never forgive himself for that. Because Caleb had died scared, even with Joshua by his side, he had died scared. And he never told him how he wouldn't be here either, without the other.

He swallows, trying to ignore the way his eyes sting as he grabs the covers, starting to wrap Caleb up, from the bottom. He wanted to see his face as long as possible.

There was no violins playing, no dramatic, heartbreaking music, and it was over way sooner than what Joshua was ready for. The covers were wrapped to just under Caleb's chin, and he'd only have to go four times, for him to be completely covered. And he wasn't ready. But the world didn't wait, he knew that.

Now, he didn't bother trying to keep the tears down. When he reached down one last time, bringing Caleb's limp body against his chest, and prepared to roll the covers, the tears slid. And it felt like it was burning, each touch burning onto his nerves, so that he'd never forget how cold Caleb's skin felt, for the last time. That he would always feel it, ghosting on his fingertips, the last time he held him.

And it was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. Caleb wasn't hugging back, wasn't laughing, secretly enjoying their rare physical encounters with each other, fingers digging into his back. There was nothing, just heavy limbs, silence, and cold skin.

He brushed a hand through the hair, that was already starting to fall off, smoothing the wrinkles that no one Caleb's age should've had.

"You idiot." He whispered, his throat making a scratchy sound as it held in a sob. Damn Caleb, damn his kindness and his need to help everyone, damn him for being the greatest person Joshua has known. And damn them all, for letting him die, because he just wanted to help. That's all Caleb had ever wanted to do, for as long as Joshua knew him, so of course that was the thing that ultimately killed him.

He leaned his face against the cold forehead, letting his tears stream down both of their faces, trying to force his brain to remember this second, to never let go of the grief, to always remember Caleb. He let his lips ghost over the cold skin, damning himself for never letting himself be this close with Caleb, when they still had time. Now they didn't, and all Joshua was doing was hanging onto the hope that it wasn't over.

"I love you." It was too late for the words. But he could hope, that if there was a God in this forsaken world, that he'd let Caleb know. And that some day, whether it's going to be in the next few weeks, or months, he will be able to join Caleb, and tell him in person. But for now, there was nothing else left, but getting revenge.

Only moments later, he was walking outside towards the pyre built of the firewoods they had gathered and chopped, the body in his arms almost enough to make the reality hit him so hard, that he'd throw up. But he didn't, he forced it all down, forced himself not to think, as he approached the pyre, everyone else standing on the side, keeping their eyes down. And especially, he didn't give a thought to Sam, to the person responsible, standing a little further from everyone else, and kept down the try of rage. Sam knew what he thought, and after this was all over, he never wanted to see them again.

But when he went to lower Caleb, the feelings came all rushing back, and he had to stop, to be able to will himself to calm down. To not show. He stayed still, aware of the eyes on him, and tried to force himself to let go. Just let go, Joshua, it's already too late.

So he did. Turning away like a coward, leaving Caleb alone for the last time. Being a disappointment for the last time. And he stayed turned away, when Bobby went ahead, and he could hear the lighter click, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut, as he heard the flames explode behind him, swallowing Caleb whole in the matter of seconds.

He didn't want support. He didn't want apologies, condolences, or any of that shit. He wanted Tom dead, he wanted that motherfucking piece of shit dead, and he wanted this all to end. He will go after Azazel himself, if it comes down to that.

°°°

It took two hours, and roughly twenty minutes, for Caleb to burn till there was nothing but ashes left. It only took an hour for Joshua to leave, and even when Bobby had called after him, the man didn't spare them a word. Sam wasn't surprised, he could practically feel Joshua vibrating with anger, psychic powers or not. And a hefty piece of that anger was directed towards him, and he couldn't just off himself yet, he would try and fix things. Going to talk to Joshua right now, would end up with him getting a bullet between his eyes.

He watched the flames start to die down, having nothing else to feast on, the fire crackling like small firecrackers. Was that where the name firecracker came from? Anyway, with most of the warmth being gone, Sam was starting to get cold again, not that it needed much these days for him to get cold.

There had been a second, when Bobby's lighter git the gasoline, and the pyre was engulfed in flames, that he felt something with the fire. It was almost like the feeling he had, when he focused on an object, and moved it around. A feeling of control, of the thing he was focusing on.

He shouldn't be surprised, he was practically becoming Azazel, so of course he could somehow get at least some of his powers. Not that Sam knew that yet, he just had a feeling, and for the past six months, his feelings have been right. Usually, or occasionally, maybe sometimes. Still, if playing with fire was going to be in his CV, he'd have to be really careful. Winchesters and fires aren't exactly friends.

Not that he was going to stay much longer.

Dean hadn't talked to him, hadn't uttered a word after he stormed out. And that was yesterday.

And Dean didn't come to bed, and yeah, Sam knows he's starting to sound like some miserable, attention hungry girlfriend, but it did hurt. Dean had been so close, all the time, and now he just went ahead and left? Just like that? It hurt, and Sam didn't get a wink of sleep, but at least he had spent the time wisely. His newly spelled knife in his boot, a couple sigils carved into his memory, some holy water for tight situations, and a soaring feeling of power in his chest, he was ready. It would all stop soon, and they would be free.

And if Sam was going to lose his life in the end, wasn't that what it was always supposed to come down to? The Winchesters vs Azazel, someone was bound to lose their life, if not their friends, at least one Winchester would go down.

It would bring peace, to John and Dean, to know that Mary had been avenged, and maybe they could even leave the hunting life. Dean could go to school, make a living for himself, meet some lovely girl, and settle down. Wasn't that what Sam wanted?

"You coming or what?" The tone shouldn't make him flinch, but he does. He can blame it on surprise, he hadn't expected someone to talk to him, Dean the less. He could hold on to the good moments they had, when his body would turn cold, his blood would stop running, and the world would go cold. He'd remember the good, not this.

"I'll stay out here for a while." The last words he'll probably ever say to Dean. How is he supposed to keep his voice stable? But he tries, and he would think there's someone watching over him since he's succesful, but he isn't a believer, not anymore. He won't turn around, he doesn't want to see Dean's face, tightly drawn forehead and clenched jaw, face of anger and disappointment.

He waits for Dean to turn away, for the gravel to screech under his boots, or for his brother to curse him out again, but it doesn't happen. He doesn't turn around, he can't face Dean, not like this, but shivers run up his arms, Dean's flannel not enough to keep him warm.

The fire crackles, as Dean turns away, and Sam can relax. His shoulders go down, he wraps his arms around himself, as he stares at the pyre. There's nothing left of Caleb, and whatever feeling he had yesterday, is gone. Which mean Caleb is, as well.

He hopes he's okay now. And that someone can keep him safe, wherever he is.

He stays still, trying to look normal, just in case someone inside is keeping an eye on him. He knows Bobby is worried, for him, for Dean, for everyone, and might be suspicious of him. He can't risk being stopped.

He sighs heavily, making sure his body moves with it, and glances around. The woods are quiet except for the distant chirping of birds. He can remember which trees he carved, and he lowers his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and tries to act like he's just randomly walking around the yard. It only takes one tree, Sam would say, for the bubble around them to break. It would break, Sam would get a bit of power back just in time. He isn't blind, or stupid, he knows there's demons around. He's felt them, has seen the black fogs circeling around them.

They seem to be just normal demons, but Sam would bet that Azazel isn't far. They're waiting for them to do something. They made their move by killing Caleb, now they're waiting to see how their little gang breaks from the seams. And Joshua had told Bobby, what Tom had said, so it is very possible, that Azazel is somewhere close, not wanting to alert him with his presence, but making sure Sam knows he's around.

Thinking about Tom, and what he's about to do, it does send a spike of horror into his gut, that makes him want to stop everything and run away, far away from everything, and hide. Hide so no one will ever find him, no one will ever know, and he would never have to face Tom.

But that wasn't an option.

He turns around, sitting down by the tree, leaning against it so that he's facing the cabin. He's quite sure he just saw someone move away from the window facing here, and he fights the quirk of lips. He shifts his leg around, and hooks his hand around it, slowly pulling his knife out, trying to make the movement look natural. He's maybe thirty feet from the pyre, and another twenty from the cabin, so he has a little bit of distance.

He flicks the knife around his hand, reaching backwards to the side of the tree, feeling the point of the blade drag across his carvings. He takes a deep breath, because this was it. He was making this decision, and there would be no going back.

He yanked his arm upwards, the blade dragging through the sigil.

The effect was immediate.

A hot, flaring pain spread in his chest, the spell above him crackling, the sound something Sam hadn't thought about. He grit his teeth, one hand pressing against his chest, where he felt the spell breaking, while fighting to keep his mind cool.

Every supernatural creature focused on that spell knew now.

He pushed, forcing himself to stumble up, as the pain started to leave, and Sam started to feel cold shivers go up his arms, assuming that was his powers returning from the broken spell. He gasped, ears buzzing distantly as he stumbled towards the cabin, his power not co-operating with him as he tried to find those black fogs.

There, just like stars on the black sky, he could feel them.

Didn't take five seconds, for the fogs to start surrounding him, coming from all sides of the forest. He turned around, seeing someone move in the forest, as he continued to walk backwards, towards the cabin. He could only hope the people inside knew nothing-

Then it was like someone started to peel the skin off of his head, and Sam crumpled onto the ground, holding his head. It felt like his head was being slowly crushed, his bones cracking and stabbing into his brain, tearing everything apart. And everything logical in his head was gone, replaced by shocking pain that made his stomach twist and turn, his breath get caught in his throat, his body to start tingling as the gravel dug into his palms.

It was squeezing so tight around him, that he felt like he was seeing starts, the pain blinding him, making him unaware of everything that was happening. He tried to fight, tried to push back, but he suddenly realized, that the fog wasn't suffocating him. This wasn't like what happened last week, when they were planning and Azazel positively tried to murder him.

The pressure let off, just enough so that he can gasp for air, his hands trembling as his legs scraped on the gravel, trying to get him up. He took another breath, trying to gather his strength under the immense pain, his senses slowly returning. He could hear yelling, which wasn't exactly a surprised, but it still made his stomach drop. That meant that things weren't going as planned. They were supposed to be safe-

He keeps his eyes closed, his body trembling as he catches onto the power in his chest, trying to rein it in. He needed to focus.

After a few seconds, the reality started to come back. And the first thing, and the most terrifying thing he noticed, was the roaring black fog wrapped around them, seeming to carry on for miles. As if they were in space, floating in the pitch blackness, cold and dead already.

And he knew that fog.

Azazel.

"You broke that little spell of yours." The voice seemed to be in his head, bouncing around, trapping his mind. Making him feel small, like an ant that was only going to get crushed, and it wouldn't be an effort.

He fought to stand up, forcing himself. He couldn't be weak.

He opened his eyes, ignoring the people by the door, that seemed to be held back by the demons surrounding them. Around twenty, all eyes on him. And he wouldn't be scared, never again. He took a shaky breath, eyes settling on the man front of him. On the pale face, lips drawn tight and upwards into a smile that was both charming, and caused shivers down his spine. He stared into the yellow eyes, and swallowed.

"Yes." The air was thick, with power, fear, anticipation, demons, or something else, Sam didn't know. His nostrils flared, and he twisted his palm, not showing the joy on his face as his powers answered him. He could feel Dean, and everyone else, by the cabin's back door, in a whirl of emotions Sam wouldn't be able to fix. He hadn't meant to draw them into this, but he would keep them safe, come whatever.

"Killing Caleb finally made you realize you're a coward, kiddo?" He didn't flinch, Dean's voice enough of a protest against the terrifying force, but he swallowed drily. He didn't like this, not one bit. It felt like the yellow eyes were drilling into his skull, ripping him apart slowly, to enjoy his pain and suffering.

"Leave everyone else alone, and I'll come with you." Those were the magic words.

Azazel stayed neutral, only tilting his head a little bit, and Sam could feel his want to dig into his mind and find out his darkest secrets. After initial shock passed, he could hear Dean take a sharp breath of air, and he couldn't help but shift his focus a little off of the blackness, and onto his big brother, especially when his threatening yell cut off suddenly.

He turned his head, fingertips already tingling as he prepared to launch whatever demon was touching his big brother away, but no one was. Dean's eyes were locked on the space between Sam and Azazel, the green eyes glassed in a twisted mix of realization and underlying fear. It took a second for those eyes to snap to Sam, and he felt like melting under the intense gaze.

Dean's eyes were desperate, burning with the need to step in between Sam and the threat, to slay everything on their way, to protect, and it made Sam's throat clog up. How did he think that he could just leave Dean, without anything?

"Sammy, don-"

"Why are you assuming I'm not here to just kill you, but to take you with me?" Azazel could almost trick him. The humorous tone, a little twist of lips almost made him believe the demon.

"You need me." Simple, and Azazel's falsely humorous look fell, his eyes getting more serious. He scanned Sam up and down, so slowly it made him shift on his place, before his eyes moved to his friends, his family.

Sam's power snapped immediately into action, moving front of them, creating an invisible shield. He wasn't going to let Azazel hurt them.

The eyes moved back to him, this time more curious, and Sam realized that the demon must know, or somehow see his power, in a way even he couldn't.

"You hearing that folks, we got Sam Winchester!" He flinched at the yell, the other demons bursting into loud cheers and whistles, but all Sam could hear was Dean's voice.

"Sam! Sammy, please don't, don't you fucking do this! Sam, don't do this! There's another way! SAM!" His heart tore itself apart, at the sound of Dean's voice. There were only a few people that could recognize the distinct fear, and Sam wanted to throw up, for making Dean sound like that.

"Sam, get back here!" It was a surprise to hear John's voice. Wasn't this what he wanted? Sacrifice everything for the demon, wasn't that their point of life?

"Sam." He spun around, back to facing Azazel. The tone left him no choice, the yellow eyes staring him down, and Sam didn't need to be a psychic to know a threat. He forced himself together, to ignore the increasing yells, pleas of his name. He was doing the right thing.

Azazel extended his hand, tilting his head slightly, and Sam exhaled. They were going.

"SAM!" Dean was nearly screaming at this point, Sam's ears ringing with them, and tears threatened to blur his vision, as he kept his eyes locked with Azazel, walking closer to the suffocating darkness.

Two things happened at once.

The other demons surrounding the cabin were too focused on Sam and Azazel, and the second Dean saw an opening, he was moving. He kicked the demon holding him, bursting to sprint towards Sam, who's fingertips were grazing against Azazel's, who was pulling his powers back, preparing to teleport.

Sam only got to turn his head, alarmed by Dean's yell, and the man barreled against him, just as the power in the air zipped back, and in a blink of an eye, all three were gone.

Notes:

Buckle up, we got one chapter to go, before a finale that's three chapters, and the end. We're on the final turn, loves. Thank you for all the support, and the comments. Stay safe <3

Chapter 33: Forever love

Summary:

O let the land come at you, love
With all it's sand and sin, a-singing
A song you once knew well's begun
Run until your lungs are numb
Now let the earth a-tumble, love
And humble you withal, keep running
It's not from what we run that drums
But what's to come, what’s to come
Love run, love run
For all the things you’ve done
Run for all the things that drum
Run for all those pages thumbed
Love run, love run
For all the things we wished we’d done
Run from all you know that’s coming
Run to show that love’s worth running to

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The world spun, colors and faces moving in circles in front of their eyes, enough of a dreadful movement to make anyone sick. But before someone could throw up, the spinning stopped, and their feet stomped onto solid ground.

Before Sam could even comprehend what was happening, or get the spinning in his head to stop, something was already going on. A familiar click he could immediately recognize as a gun, and a palm was pushing against his chest. It didn't take long for him to figure out what was happening, and get his head to work, and when it all came back, it came back as a jolt.

He opened his eyes quickly, immediately blinded by the new surroundings. They were in some sort of a building, what looked like an old house. The walls were filled with paintings, or bookshelves, the furniture dark as well as the floors and walls. It was a house, maybe something that worked as a safe place, but that wasn't what concerned him right now.

What concerned him, was that Dean was standing in front of him, his back shielding Sam as well as blocking his vision, but he knew Azazel was in the room, not even far. Maybe two feet in front of Dean, just enough space for Dean to have his arm extended, barrel aimed at Azazel's forehead. And Sam didn't need to be a genius to figure out just what the demon thought of that, considering the pulsating black fog filling the entire room.

He knew Dean wouldn't budge, so he made a decision in the crack of a second, before Azazel could realize just how cocky Dean was being. He grabbed his brother's shoulder, and using both of his powers, physical and mental, he yanked the man backwards, side-stepping him so that Dean was behind him, and Sam was face to face with Azazel.

A flash of something crossed the demon's eyes, and Sam swallowed the fear that wanted to rise and drown him under. Instead, he tightened his hand on Dean's jacket, pushing back as Dean realized what he had done, trying to get back in front of Sam.

"Sam." He hissed, and damn if he didn't want to budge. There was enough hidden fear in Dean's voice, that made Sam want to do whatever Dean asks him to, but he can't. He will stand between Dean and anything bad as long as there's life in him.

"Well that was certainly unexpected." Azazel said, and with a jolt of realization Sam started to scramble backwards, pushing Dean with him, trying to get away from the demon as the fog sharpened into a sharp form, aiming for them. Sam's own power almost made him dizzy, rushing into his blood, ready to shield Dean the best he can, but the attack never came.

"Don't, don't do this." He didn't care if he was pleading, one arm raised up, staring at Azazel as he pushed back towards Dean, who never stopped fighting him, grunting and growling behind him, but Sam didn't crack. His resolve was cracking, because this wasn't in the plan. Dean was never supposed to come with him, he was supposed to be safe. But here they were, both under Azazel's mercy, and the demon was a sadist. Not extremely reassuring, and there was nothing Sam could do. He couldn't keep them safe. He couldn't keep Dean safe.

"Sam! Move!" Dean was yelling, pushing at him so hard it almost made Sam wince, but he stayed still, he wouldn't move. He would not give Azazel a chance to hurt Dean.

"So keen on protecting big brother. You really think I believed your little speech back there? 'Leave everyone else alone, and I'll come with you.'" Azazel mocked, his voice high pitched, mimicking a pathetic child. Sam shifted his jaw, ignoring the growing coldness in the bottom of his gut. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all-

"Let Dean go, please." He tried, his voice tight, giving away just how he felt. They were pushed into a corner here, Azazel could kill them both without blinking, and there was nothing Sam could do, except plead, and hope it would work. He'd do anything.

The demon cocked his head, the black fog softening a little, and Sam dared to breathe a little more. He didn't like the look, the tilted head and narrowed, dangerous eyes.

"Where the fuck are we?" Dean demanded, and Sam prepared to deflect an attack, but Azazel's lips only quirked. Dean had stopped trying to fight him, but his fingers were digging into Sam's healthy shoulder, and he knew that the second Dean recognized an attack, he would be thrown backwards and behind the older. Couldn't Dean fucking see that he needed to survive?

"In Houston, that's all you need to know. Now, Sam, could you remind me why we're here again?" The eyes shifted back to him, and Sam swallowed drily. The demon had something he was going for, and Sam didn't know what it was.

"I promised to come with you, if you leave everyone else alone." He said, proud that for once his voice didn't crack. The black fog was shifting around, not necessarily looking hostile, but Sam didn't trust it at all. He knew just how fast things could change.

"And why exactly are there two Winchesters here, then?" Azazel's narrowed eyes shifted to Dean, who only gripped his gun tighter, staring back at the demon fearlessly. Sam on the other hand, wanted to shake and shiver from fear, but tried to focus on being ready for anything. Azazel didn't seem to expect an answer, since he continued soon with the same neutral tone that still gave off anything but good feelings.

The demon shifted, as did Sam, still keeping his arm ready, his heart beating in his ears.

"What did you think was going to happen, when you decided to come with me?"

"Probably dying." He said, not hesitating for a second. He could feel Dean shift, and the demon shook his head, a falsely humorous smile on his face.

"Silly boy. Do you not understand the power you have? The power I gave you?" Sam swallowed, slowly letting go of Dean's jacket, putting some distance between them. He trusted Dean not to make sudden movements. They needed to be smart about this.

"See Sam, you're the picture perfect boy for the good guys. Determined, good, loyal, disgustingly sweet. But for us? We need the opposite of that." He ground his teeth, fear rising into his chest. What did he-

"You'll help us win wars, make this unholy ground the home to all demons." No, no, never.

"Never." He said, voice determined. He would never do that, never, under no circumstances.

"You'll bring the apocalypse." It burned through his body, shockwise, spreading into his limbs and making the tips of his fingers burn and tingle.

"But we only need you for that. And what would not only bring me immense satisfaction, but turn you onto our side, than losing the one you love?"

No.

"Kill Dean, or I'll make him kill you and everyone you care about."

And words couldn't describe the devastating fear, and drowning devastation that filled his body as soon as those words left Azazel's mouth. It was as loud as a gunshot in a quiet forest, as wrecking as a fire that burned everything on it's way, and Sam was the one being burned. He stared, eyes glazed over because this wasn't real. It couldn't, there was no way.

As if someone had pulled the rug under his feet, as if someone had started crumbling the walls that held him together, into small and tiny pieces, leaving him nothing but small, weak, and afraid.

He found himself turning his head, to look at Dean, and the reality hit him. Because there was his big brother, his protector, his best friend, his parent, his partner in crime, his teammate, his everything, staring right back at him, with a smile on his lips. Because Dean knew how it needed to go. And he was fine with it.

His eyes held peace, a strangely calm look that would've made Sam relax as well, if he wasn't being torn apart. His lips were drawn slightly upwards, but it wasn't any of his usual grins, charming smiles or anything else. It was that smile Sam had seen, when he came back from school with a bright red 'A' on his test, when he finally managed to shoot all the cans off the fence, when he nailed his first hunt, when he found some important piece of detail, when he made Dean proud. That was the smile reserved for only them, for when they were alone, and Dean could share even the smallest bits of his feelings, and when he didn't have the words, his face would tell them as loudly as Sam needed.

He didn't realize he was crying, until the first tear slid down his cheek, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat. Because this was it. This was their end, and Dean was trying to make it easy for him.

"Always said I'd go out in a blaze of glory, didn't I? Well, this is the best way I imagined." Dean said, and it was so wrong. It was wrong. The way he said it, like it was alright, like this was all some joke, the way he walked to Sam slowly. He wanted to scream, wanted to go as far away from Dean as possible, because he was going to be the one to end it. And it went against every atom in his body, every memory and every piece of emotion in him.

"Sammy." He squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to see, not wanting to hear. He wanted it all gone, for it to stop. He couldn't do this. And when a familiar hand cupped his cheek, he opened his eyes, never the one to deny Dean.

Dean looked down at him, his finger trailing on Sam's cheekbone, and he wanted to cry, grab his hand and never let go of it, never allow it to leave him. But all he could do was stare, pleading, but he knew there was nothing to change. This was how it was meant to go.

"Please." He whispered, voice nothing but broken, a plea. He was stripped of all of his defenses, standing in front of Dean. Something softened in the green eyes, and a finger caught the next tear that slid down his cheek, and the ones that followed quickly afterwards. He raised his hand, wrapping around Dean's wrist, gripping tightly the hand cupping his face, needing something to hold onto, as his world broke apart.

"It's okay, I promise." Dean whispered, coming closer so that their hips were bumping against each other, and Sam could smell the familiar cologne he was used to falling asleep to. His other hand grabbed Dean's jacket, gripping it as if holding on would mean keeping Dean with him. He needed to say something, he needed to let Dean know it all, but all he could do was stare, drink in the details of Dean's face, the countless freckles, small silvery scars and slowly forming wrinkles or laugh lines. The way his eyes were in this lighting, a softer green with the smallest hints of yellow, still filled with the same love that kept him warm at nights, calmed the mess inside him.

"I'm so proud of you." He continued, brushing Sam's tears away like this was normal, like this wasn't their goodbye. Like it all wasn't going to end soon. And he carried on smiling, the kind that Sam loved, because it meant he was doing something right, and in this moment he had never felt so wrong. This wasn't right, this was never supposed to happen. They were supposed to be okay.

"No." He croaked, shaking his head in denial, tears starting to run more freely down his face, over Dean's fingers that stayed on his face, a soft touch Sam never wanted to leave. The hand cupping his face tightened a little, and he was forced to look at Dean, to face what was happening.

"You're gonna be okay. Don't let Dad boss you around, go to college, meet some nice girl, do what makes you happy, okay?" He shook his head more furiously, feeling even more hurt. How could Dean expect that he could-

"You can still go, it's okay, it isn't your fault, j-just take the gun and-" Dean didn't even have to shake his head, Sam knew that there was no dimension, where Dean would kill him. Where he would take his gun, place it against Sam's head, and pull the trigger. He knew it, and it shattered his fairytale castle he had built in his mind like glass.

The words were stuck in his throat, like poison in his head, echoing around, whispering the insults he deserved, of what he was becoming. He needed to let Dean know, but there was so much to say. The hand on his face slid around, arms wrapping around his body and pulling him closer, into their last hug. And he didn't know how Dean had slipped his silver knife out of his pocket, that he was now brushing against Sam's hands, that were trapped between their bodies. And Sam took the knife, both of their bodies heaving from the power of his sobs, his tears soaking the front of Dean's jacket, from where he could hear Dean's heart beat. A calm thump, thump, thump, as if he was asleep, as if this was nothing but a daydream. A rhythm Sam didn't know what he would do without.

Dean's chin brushed against his forehead, keeping him wrapped into this cocoon of warmth, of love. A hand craded through his hair, settling to cup the back of his head. He felt Dean lean down, and as lips brushed his forehead wet of the single tear that had slid out of Dean's eye, his sobs choked into his throat.

"Be safe." His brother said, a sentence he had hear for years. Be safe, when you go to school, be safe, when you go to the library, be safe, and don't go near the monster, be safe, don't leave me here alone.

Sam forcefully pocketed his knife, to get his hands free so that he could cling onto Dean, sob against a chest that would soon be away from him, against a heartbeat he would never hear again. He needed to say something, needed Dean to know it all, but they didn't have time, the black fog behind Dean pulsating impatiently. He didn't have time. How could he? Dean was everything, how could he tell him how much he loved him, how much he wished it would be different, how grateful he is for everything he has done, how he hopes he'll find peace, be okay, how Sam wouldn't be here without him, and how he'll make him proud one last time.

His fingers dug into the nape of Dean's neck, brushing against the tiny hairs. Dean was muttering quiet comforts, and Sam couldn't listen to them, because if he would, he'd off himself this second.

He lifted his head, staring at the face he loved. He loved everything about Dean, every single detail, every small thing the man could hate about himself, Sam loved, and hoped he would've had the opportunity to convince Dean just how he truly is. But he could never.

His heart beating in his chest, the imaginary timer running out, the knife's magic brushing against his chest, he didn't hesitate.

He stood up to his tiptoes, and pulled Dean against him.

It wasn't the first kiss he had imagined. His fingers awkwardly on Dean's face, mushing their faces together, both of their faces covered in salty tears, the desperation bleeding out. The emotions he had buried down deep surged up, and Sam almost stumbled as he realized just what was happening. Dean's lips were rough against his, from where he had nibbled on them, but it was the first kiss Sam could've hoped for. Dean seemed to be frozen in place, but it didn't matter if he'd hate him now, it was too late.

But Dean didn't pull away, didn't spit at him and call him disgusting. No, he seemed to tremble under Sam's hold, before his own hands flung up to Sam's, one holding his head with such a gentle touch it made more tears stream down his face. His head was flurring with emotions, his heart beating like crazy as he memorized every second of their goodbye. Dean was holding him closer, not pushing him away, and wasn't this what faith was about? To believe in something bigger, something that would keep you safe and sound, make you happy, or demolish it all in a matter of seconds.

They clung onto each other, tears mixing together. Sam didn't know anything about kisses, it was only natural that Dean would be his first at everything, even kissing. He had heard Dean describe kissing someone and being in love, like there was a bottomless pit in your stomach, that burned hotter each time you were near them. Kissing them felt like everything around them was gone, like the other world was dead, and nothing could break their moment, break the love they had for each other. That there would be a calmness in your chest, and a fluttery feeling around your heart, that would be a sense of peace you could feel nowhere else. And that was what Sam felt.

And he had to pull away, only when his legs grew weak from the lack of oxygen, and when the cruel world came right back. He opened his eyes, staring at Dean. And for the first time ever, his face was open. Every guard was down, and Sam could see just how young Dean was. He didn't look like the hardcore hunter he knew, or even the gentle big brother. He stared at Sam in disbelief, but still broken. Because even if they could've had it all, one of them had to go and destroy all that could've been.

Sam smiled, and finally it felt right. The knife was back in his hand, and he trailed his thumb against Dean's face, trying to burn the feeling into his memory, so he could have something to hold onto.

"Thank you." He whispered, and that was all that was needed. Dean would know it all. He could hear everything hidden into just those two words. And just like that, he crushed his own heart.

He placed the knife against Dean's chest, the lights dimming as his power's focused. With his smile still in place, he exhaled one last time, before whispering,

"Abaeo exorior, exciase."

He could feel the second everyone realized what was happening, but it was too late. The second the last word left his lips, Dean was gone.

He smiled, the mess in his chest finally calm, at peace, because he had done the right thing. Dean was safe.

°°°

Voices erupted the second the last word left Sam's lips, and Dean almost fell over as the ground beneath his feet changed, as well as his surroundings.

The voices came to a halt, and Dean recognized himself back in Jasper, back in the cabin's kitchen, staring at John, Bobby and Caleb. And then it all flooded in.

No.

Notes:

This is the time for me to hide right? Sorry! By the way, if anyone wants a list of the songs I've used for this book, come hit me up! (@ithinkikindalikechocolate) Every summary is from some song, because I can't make them myself.

Chapter 34: Demon King I

Summary:

I control the largest territory in the world that I have conquered
Even if it's blood-smeared and defiled
(This world)
This world belongs to me
This world belongs to me
For I've taken everything
This world belongs to me
I am the demon king
Life in this world it's all darkness
I will reign over this unclean world

Chapter Text

No.

"Dean! Thank God, where did you go, what happened?" John was in front of him, one hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Dean should've been thrilled to see his father show that kind of emotion towards him, the pure relief that he was back, but he felt nothing.

He was at the cabin. He was in Jasper, with John, Bobby and Joshua. He was here. He wasn't in the old house. He wasn't in Houston, with the demon and Sam. He was here. And Sam was alone with the demon.

"Dean?" He stared at John, his world breaking around him as fear he's never felt surges up from the bottom of his gut, drowning him under. His hands tremble, he feels like his knees are going to buckle, but all he can do is stare in horror.

"Dean? Where is Sam - where is your brother?" And it hits him like the world is falling onto him. He stumbles, bumping against John as he inhales, his mind catching up to what has happened. Everything is a mess, but his head is the clearest of it all. All that is in his head, is a bright-red-lettered-flashing word SAM.

That's his brother. He isn't going to let him go that easy. Never.

"He's with Azazel." He rushes out, and doesn't wait to see John's face crumble into an almost same level of horror as his, and heads straight towards the front door, his gut twisting and turning as his blood rushes through his body, boiling.

He's being yelled at, Bobby's and John's voice following him out of the door as he runs to Baby, begging to whatever God there is that no demons messed with his car. His ears buzz, from the adrenaline or the panic, he doesn't know, as he slides into the driver seat, waving at everyone to hurry the fuck up, they needed to move right now. Every second they waste can lead to Sam being-

Don't think, just move.

"He's in Henderson, big old victorian house by some forest! Find it!" He yells before he slams the door closed, apologising in his head for the rough treatment, and as the engine growls under him as he turns onto the gravel road, tires screeching, he knows one thing.

He isn't giving up on Sam that easily, not now, not ever.

°°°

He opens his eyes, expecting a world destroyed, fire consuming them all, but is met with nothing. Still, he knows immediately that something is very wrong.

The clearing usually covered in soft sunlight, a gentle breeze of wind and the distant chirping of birds somewhere behind the tall trees, was now covered in darkness. Pitch black web surrounding them, covering the sky in the colours of void, making the world quiet. The breeze that brushed against him was cold, and Sam could've sworn he felt a whisper of wrongness and danger in it, before it was gone, leaving him alone in the deadly quiet darkness.

But he wasn't alone in the end, was he?

He had to only turn his head the slightest to right, to spot it. The creator of the web drowning him, the source of the pitch black world he wasn't in control of anymore. He wasn't in control.

"We could've done this the easy way, Sam."

"You didn't have to suffer."

"But you chose this."

"So suffer then."

He gasped awake, his lungs twitching in his chest as he breathes in, coughing the clouded air that surrounded him. His hear is splitting apart, cold and hot pain pulsating around, and it feels like it's going to drive him blind. He lets out a choked whimper, gritting his teeth as he forces his eyes open, needing to know his surroundings.

The room he was in now feels a lot bigger, as if-

Oh, he was thrown through a wall, charming.

The tips of his fingers prickle, probably from the hit to his back, that's now starting to get its feeling back. Nothing feels broken as he pushes to get up, eyes fighting to stay focused while his powers rummage inside him, confused and hurt.

The air around him feels cold, nearly freezing, and a quick glance at the windows confirm it with a frosted tint. He inhales sharply, wincing a little as a sharp pain spikes from his back, the cold air filling his already tired and hurting lungs. His eyes finally shift to the most important thing in the room, the very thing that makes Sam shiver to the bone, the hair on the back of his neck standing out.

He clenches his fist, to stop his hands from shaking, and stares down at Azazel, trying to look unafraid. If Sam had previously thought demons were terrifying, and that a calm Azazel was terrifying, it's nothing compared to an angry Azazel, who he's facing down alone. He has no back up, no tricks up his sleeve, nothing standing between him and the thing that will most definitely kill him. But he isn't going down easy, he's going to take the bastard down with him to Hell, no matter what it takes. It's the one thing he can do for his family, to maybe try and fix it all, and maybe even make them proud.

"You can never do anything right, can you Sam? I mean, sending your big brother away to keep him safe, that has to be one of the most stupidest things I've seen in a while." Azazel's face remains passive, none of the grins, narrowed eyes or twitches, and it's terrifying. Because Sam can see it, even with the demon hiding his emotions, the anger. He can see it in the air surrounding them both, in the black cloud that seems ready to dig under his skin any moment, flay him the second it decides to. And Sam can't fight it, he could never win against a terrifying force like that, and everyone knows it.

"You do know I am able to teleport, right kiddo? I can just snap my fingers, and I'll be right in Jasper, with your precious Dean." The black cloud shifts, and Sam can feel the hunger for blood, to destroy their little family, to cause him pain just to enjoy it. He can take it, but he isn't putting anyone else at risk.

He gathers himself, pretending to search for words as his blood buzzes, fingers twitching as he slams his hand against the solid wall behind his back,

"Apné sà mene!" He yells out, just before the strike hits him. Crushing pain grips his chest, a pained yelp leaving his lips as he falls back to the floor, feeling the spell take place and spread around the room, sealing them in. He gasps, barely able to breathe from the growing pain, tears blurring his vision as he tries to manage the pain, completely missing the presence coming closer way too quick for him to react to.

He's yanked up, a hand on his throat, fingers digging against the sides of his windpipe, and Sam immediately scrambles in panic, kicking and clawing against the unmoving demon. Azazel snarls up at him, pushing him so hard against the wall that Sam feels like it'll start cracking any second now, adrenaline running in his veins as he fights to breathe, barely able to hear the words growled at him.

"Being a little witch, huh Sammy? Wanna play with magic?" Azazel leans closer, and Sam's head feels like it's going to explode from the pitch blackness cracking it, the terrifyingly bright yellow eyes staring at him with a sick look of madness in them.

"You can trap me all you want, but you're stuck in here with me now. A spell from a witch stops working the second the caster is dead, didn't you know that?" His world blurs around him, his vision filled with the blazing eyes and the pain radiating in his body, his lungs clamping for air they can't get.

"And I am quite old, Samuel. I've had the joy of learning some very fancy ways of making our time together last as long as I want, before I break your little spell." The threat sent cold waves down his already shivering back, his heart feeling like it was being held tightly in sharp-nailed claws, ready to puncture it any second. His gut twisting, lungs barely getting enough air to keep him consicous, he tries to pry the fingers off of his throat, trying to fight against the drowning fog.

He inhales sharply, almost too fast, and fights the cough that nearly comes out, as he's let go, dropping to his knees onto the floor. He heaves, gathering as much air as he can, the stars and the blinding pain in his head starting to clear. Why the fuck is everyone going for his throat?!

Quickly he focuses back onto the threat, spotting Azazel sauntering by the intact wall. He spits out the coppery taste, gritting his teeth as he forces his body up yet again. He won't fall.

His body trembling the slightest, he faces Azazel again, not letting the twisting fog or the endless fear get to him. He can do this, he can.

"Before we begin, I have to say I'm curious, kiddo." The demon turns back towards him, eyes tinted yellow, but not necessarily hostile. Sam shifts his jaw, not trusting it to not be a trap, to lull him into some false sense of security, and waits for Azazel to continue.

"Why now? What triggered it, huh?" Azazel asks, genuinely curious but with a sadistic twist, as he walks closer to Sam. He remains frozen, ready to strike if needed, as the fog surrounds him again, Azazel standing only a few feet back again, eyes hungry for something.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Azazel huffs, a cracky, impatient sound, and stares him down again. Sam swallows, shifting on his feet, his muscles clenching and unclenching, ready to defend against anything.

"Your little magic fingers, idiot. When did it start? How did it start?" Azazel starts to walk around him, slowly as he waits for an answer Sam doesn't have. Ignoring the goosebumps running down his arms, Sam tries to figure out an answer that doesn't get him killed. Truth it is, then.

"It just started, a ghost attacked me and they just suddenly zapped, or something. I did have some sort of visions before that, in my dreams, but only after kicking off the ghost I got proper visions." He confesses, not able to deny his deadly curiousity. Dean had once said that he's going to get himself killed, for being so damn nosy, and Sam wants to know if his 'creator', has answers about his powers.

"Let me get this right, you got attacked by a ghost, and suddenly you just 'zapped', it away?" Okay that's not a good tone-

"Do you know why this is happening or not?" He snarks out, quickly pushing his anger down. What the fuck is he doing?! This is not the time to be snapping at a Prince of Hell!

And it must be his fucking lucky day, because he doesn't get smited where he's standing. Azazel only rolls his eyes, but the fog sharpens a little, enough of a warning to mind his tone.

"Let me ask you this, why do you think this is happening?" Azazel asks instead, back to facing Sam, again that creepy curious look on his face.

He bites the inside of his cheek, pondering only for a few seconds what to answer.

"You said I'll help you win wars," He breathes out, ignoring the way the mere idea makes him sick in his stomach.

"And that I'll bring the apocalypse, whatever that means." He rushes the last part out, unable to control his nerves, and shifts on his feet. Azazel remains quiet and passive, staring at him like he's seeing everything.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Azazel's face turns into a twisted grin, the mad look back on his face. His heart beat picks up, and he swallows drily, getting ready to be totally beaten up.

"And that feels so wrong, to you, doesn't it? After everything, you're still as naive as before." Azazel chuckles darkly, the fog sharpening again and Sam gathers himself, preparing for worse.

"You think God cares? You think He cares about you?" The demon basically snarls the word out, Sam jumping a little as that anger directs towards him.

"You think that your faith means something?!" He brings his right hand up, barely able to deflect the sharp blow coming from the fog, quicker than anything Sam has ever seen. The walls are rattling, the windows clinging like they're about to break, as the Prince of Hell stares him down, eyes glowing a bright, terrifying yellow.

"You think you have a choice?" Azazel's eye twitches, the fog pulling back only to sharpen, the terrifying force aiming at Sam.

And then it all goes to Hell.

Excruciating pain hits his body, spreading everywhere before even the choked sound of pain can rip out of his contracting throat. His entire world shuts down, narrowing down to nothing else but the agonizing pain and the man standing front of him.

It feels like someone is ripping his chest out, cracking his ribs slowly and pushing the broken pieces back into his flesh, tearing his insides into pieces. As if someone had turned his blood into acid, burning through cell walls, strangeling his nerves so that every piece of his body feels like it's on fire. Like a fire that's stripping each layer of his skin slowly off, starting from inside, and Sam almost expects to see his skin breaking into burning, crispy pieces as he looks down at his convulsing hands.

His mouth is gaping, trying to somehow get air into his frozen lungs that cannot move from the force of the pain. Tears are forming into the corners of his eyes, the pain too excruciating for anything to happen in his head. His mind is frozen, working only in panic mode, trying to keep him alive.

Thats when something cracks in his chest, and first Sam thinks a bone must've shifted under the pressure, when the pain intensifies. It starts hurting so bad, that Sam can't stop the choked half-screams that fall out of his mind, using precious oxygen Sam can't seem to get enough. Blood is rushing in his head, the whole world spinning, and every moment and attempt to breathe sends even more burning and racking pain around his body.

His blood burns, a familiar buzzing he can barely hear, his powers begging to be used, to unleash upon the strangling black fog. But he can't, so instead he focuses on somehow managing the pain and trying to stay consicous, even when his resolves are crumbling down slowly.

And then, it stops.

He fights the urge to take a sharp inhale, some rational part in his brain figuring it out, and instead slowly inhales, trying to avoid making the assumed cracked rib flare up again. Fuck, it hurts.

He breathes for a while, not daring to move as his brain kicks in, remembering the situation he's in. He's alone, he's getting tortured, and it won't end. He's alone.

"Sammy, oh Sammy, I told you we could've done this the easy way. You could've let me into that noggin of yours, let me teach how to use that power I gave you, how to become something the hunters that hate you will have nightmares about." Azazel clicks his tongue, sounding much closer than what Sam had expected, and he stays quiet, continuing to breathe as much as he can, while he's able to.

He feels a cold touch on his temple, and flinches hard without meaning to, the fog not hurting him. Why? Just get it over with.

"I could've made you something, something else than a little brother shadowed by his big brother's glory, something else than an unwanted child, something else than a murderer." The voice slips into his head, almost sweet like honey but with a poisonous edge. It swims around his mind, the words bouncing from each other, trying to break the work he's done to make his head stay together. He won't allow it.

Azazel must sense it somehow, since Sam doesn't have the energy to talk, to snark back, with a trail of blood slipping past his lips he's too tired to capture.

"You do everything, to keep your family safe. What do they do? They drive you off the edge, make you run away, hide from the world, hate yourself. What kind of a family is that?"

"T-they're my family." He spits out, trying to get up, to fight, but is quickly kicked down by Azazel. He winces as his chest collides with the floor roughly, biting his lip not to make any more sounds. He won't give the sadistic what he wants.

"You really think they accept you? You got demon blood in you kiddo, my blood. Your daddy has sworn to behead me even if it costs him everything, and that includes you and Dean. He's willing to do anything, to get me dead, even sacrifice the rest of his family." What Azazel is implying hits him in the gut, pushing a bit of the air in his lungs out, and he stares at the wall, unwilling to accept. There's no way. No way, John wouldn't do that. He wouldn't right? He wouldn't sell them off? Right?

"Didn't he want you to be his little weapon? Didn't he encourage you to go after me? You sure he doesn't want you dead?" Azazel asks, laughing quietly, and Sam closes his eyes, refusing everything. He's just trying to get into his head, that's all. Don't let him in, Sam. Don't.

"Didn't Joshua say, that if he had known that you'd kill Caleb, he would've killed you the first chance he got?" He doesn't know how he knows, about his and Joshua's conversation, and the memory brings a tear into his eye he refuses to let out. Joshua he can understand, in the end, it was his fault.

"Oh, little Caleb a sore spot?" Sam keeps quiet, even when Azazel walks around him, trying to get Sam to look at him, he just turns his head.

"He dropped everything, to come and help you, did everything in his power to keep you safe and healthy, and then you get him dead? Quite harsh Sammy, isn't it?" No, don't listen. Just don't listen to him.

"You can try and tell me you didn't know, you didn't mean it, or some other bullshit, but we both know the truth. You're aching to get to use your powers on someone, and see just what you can do to them." Sam bit his cheek, determined to ignore the demon until he grew tired of him and continued the torture, or even left him alone. And wasn't that a naive thought?

Sam held his breath, as the fog went to strike again, but it never did. Instead he was being lifted off the floor, not gentle of course, but not necessarily throwing him around. He was placed onto his feet, and he stared at Azazel in confusion. What was this?

"I think it's time we get some company, I hate talking to myself." Azazel announced with a twisted grin, and the door opened. The spell he had placed vibrated as a new entity stepped into the room, sealing him in. Another darkness, one that Sam had been very close with. One that he might fear even more than Azazel.

Tom.

Chapter 35: Demon King II

Summary:

The great emperor with viperine composure
Cultivated through the slaying of my enemies
Even when they dare follow the hawk of light
They will have no choice but to submit
(I have)
I have brought this to fruition
With my own two hands, I'll make this world a prison
I will ascend
Survival is based on my devotion
I will depend on none other than myself
I will instill fear in the masses
So begins the reign of the demon king

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Sam knew fear.

He knew the feeling of cold dread taking over your body, numbing your mind and putting every thought you had into a stop. How chills would go down his spine, the small hairs on his neck and arms stand up, how he couldn't stop the twitching fingers. The dread that would pool around his body at first, fill every inch of him, before it would settle down in his chest or gut, and twist around itself, turning into a more blood-chilling feeling, his heartbeat kicking up.

Whether it was from a hunt, from a monster that was able to tear the little family of his away, leave him alone forever, demolish everything he knows. Or a teacher, that only wanted to help him, seeing the bruises on his pale skin, the scars, wounds and bandages. The CPS that could one day come to their door, and take him away. Away from Dean, away from his father, presumably forever. A stranger on the side of the road, offering him a blunt, some liquid, stumbling after him when Sam would pick up his speed, knowing better to even stop for a second. Or someone he relied on at his weakest moment, someone he seeked shelter from, someone who gave that to him, fed him and kept him as healthy as possible, just from their own good will. Someone who's kindness was erased in seconds, replaced by a black twirl that had tried to ruin him for good.

Fear had always been a part of his life, part of the hunter life, and it had shown itself in many different ways. He could fear for someone else, that one of those quickly swung claws would hit Dean, rip his chest open and he'd bleed out before Sam could do anything. He could fear for himself, that one day his bad skills would cost his life, and he'd be forced to leave Dean alone in this unforgiving world. And he could fear someone, a monster, a mere human, himself, anything. That something he couldn't control, would be able to end it all.

At this moment, Sam felt suffocated. He felt like the burning light inside him, that lit up everything, was his safe haven and kept him sane, and everyone else alive, was suddenly gone. Like the light had been blown out, like a candle in a storm, the flame gone, meaningless forever. Like there was nothing left, no walls to protect him, no powers, nothing but weakness. He was defenseless.

His body frozen, like time itself had stopped, his breath caught in his aching chest, his heart beating in his ears he stared at Tom. He stared at the presence he had nightmares about, the hands he could still feel on his skin, the man that nearly destroyed him.

Tom only smiled, not noticing or not caring about the spell sealing him into the room with them, tilting his head. He was in a new vessel, a young tan blonde man, but Sam could see that the vessel was already dying, seemingly not fit for possession.

"Sammy, you can't imagine what pleasure it is, to see you again." His muscles all clenched, the fear freezing him and he felt like an animal trapped, at the mercy of others. This couldn't be happening, Sam was supposed to be safe from him. He was supposed to be safe.

"Dean finally realized what a monster you are, and left you?" Sam couldn't breathe, he couldn't-

"I mean, what did poor Robert do to you, for you to set him on fire? Quite rude I'd say, especially when the man helped you."

"S-shut up." The words were a shaking whisper, nothing more, but it caught Tom off guard. The playfulness started to slide away, leaving behind narrowed, irritated eyes and a growing feeling of dread in Sam.

Tom took a step closer, and the buzzing power in his veins exploded.

Throwing him backwards against the wall, knocking the leftover air out of his lungs, Sam stumbled quickly up, to see Tom scrambling up as well, eyes wide in surprise of the attack. Azazel, unaffected, was leaning against the wall, eyes locked with them, clearly observing them both.

The black fog roared angrily, Sam quickly flying to the side, dodging the thrown table, adrenaline kicking in as he blindly shot towards where he knew Tom was, panic driving him.

"Come here you bitch!" Tom yelled, as Sam's hit reached him, shivers going through his body as he turned back towards the demon, the leftover lights going crazy, the closed door rattling as his vision started to cloud over. He could feel nothing but coldness, agonising fear turned into demolishing hate towards the demon, all the pain in his body gone, the only feeling left being the static buzzing in his head.

The power front of him pulled back, striking all at once and Sam was no match against it, getting slammed against a wall, his body pinned still, his powers useless even when the lights shattered, his panic increasing as Tom walked steadily closer.

His face was grabbed, the demon clicking his tongue, fingers digging into Sam's face as Tom held it up towards him. The black eyes stared at him, and suddenly Sam was back to being that boy in the truck, afraid, trying to scream, trying to fight, weak. The lights stopped buzzing, the door stopped rattling, as the wave of despair hit him, drowning him under.

Tom shifted closer, his entire being suffocating Sam into the darkness, the demon's body pressing nearly totally against his. Sam wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to fight, but all he could do was stay trapped in his own mind, not able to do anything. He couldn't breathe, his world crumbling around him as every inch of his bravery disappeared, leaving him just a scared kid. And there was no one to save him. Tom could do whatever he wanted.

"You thought I'd let you go?" His stomach churns, and he almost throws up, if he could react, at the quiet words whispered against his cheek. He can't do anything, this is going to happen and he can't do anything. He failed, he failed everything. This can't be happening.

Something brushes against his cheek, just under the bleeding cut next to his eye, and Sam feels a tear slide down his cheek. He's frozen in place, unable to fight, to do anything, as Tom stays there, nose pressed against Sam, hand trailing on his side. It's all wrong, so wrong, he doesn't want this, not like this, not with him, please no.

"Please." He can only whisper, squeezing his eyes shut as Tom only laughs, and Sam can feel the smile against his skin. A thumb trails by the edge of his shirt, playing with the waistband of his jeans, and it's all happening again, it's just like in the truck, nothing has changed. He isn't any stronger.

"I do love it when they beg." A violent sob breaks out of his chest, the pain only making it all worse, he can't do anything-

The fear has paralyzed him, in every level. He can't move, he feels like he can't breathe, he can't think, and he can't stop this. No matter how powerful he was supposed to be, no matter how he was supposed to defeat Azazel, he cannot defend himself from Tom.

The familiar warmth in his chest, that he has relied on, that's starting to feel like a part of him, thrums under his skin, but Sam can't control it. He can't force it onto Tom, choke him, burn him, kill him, he can't.

Unless he can.

You could never let me down.

He won't let Dean down.

The pain around his body, the panic in his veins, drowns under the burning feeling that fills him, his vision going white as the swirling power in his chest breaks free.

Tom is thrown through the entire house, walls breaking from the force the demon flies through, shock and even pain filling him. Lying on the cold and wet grass, the sky above him merciless, he coughs, trying to get up. That's when he notices Sam, too late.

The teenager stands above him, eyes unfamiliar as he stares him down, the opposite of the terrified kid only seconds back. Despite the various bloody lashes on him, the visibly cracked ribs and numerous bruises, Sam stands tall and strong. He doesn't heave, doesn't shiver, doesn't shake. He stares Tom down, and the demon can sense the power about to be aimed at him.

A little behind Sam, lurks Azazel, yellow eyes locked on the teenager, uncaring of his son's condition. When Sam shows no sign of attacking again, and Tom doesn't dare to move, the Prince of Hell moves. Slithering behind Sam, he stands tall, pale hand settling onto the teenager's shoulder as he leans down, next to Sam's ear.

"You see the dark core?" Chilling fear fills Tom, and now he's the one afraid, as Azazel's quiet words come out. The tone is suggestive, calming and guiding, showing Sam the way to destruction with the power of couple simple words.

"Imagine the core is the air inside of a balloon. Without the air, the balloon deflates. Without the core, there is no fog." A quiet flash of realization goes in Sam's tinted eyes, still locked on Tom, seeing the fog pulled back, aimed and ready to attack if Sam were to do anything.

He's scared.

And the satisfaction that knowledge gives to Sam is immeasurable. To know that the roles are reversed now. That Tom is afraid, not him. That the man who has haunted his nightmares, left a permanent mark on his skin, on his body, on his mind, is now at his mercy. He can do anything to him, he has the power now. The power that pools around his body, begging to be used on the demon below him.

Burn him.

Pull his eyes out.

Peel his skin off.

Make him suffer.

Kill him.

"Pop the balloon, Sam."

Tom gasps sharply at his father's whispered words, a word of denial on his lips, when his breath gets caught. Eyes wide, mouth open he gapes for air, staring at the splayed hand above him. There's an undeniable grin forming onto Sam's lips, his eyes closed but eyelids fluttering even the slightest, and Tom feels his insides starting to rip apart.

He chokes, trying to attack Sam, but when his hand moves even the slightest, the pressure building around his body, around him, grows. The pain radiates everywhere in him, his body convulsing under the force of it.

The power is terrible. He can sense it in the air, pooling into the woods around them, each wave coming from the mere teenager front of him. Power that rattles the trees, breaks his vessel and his very being, slowly, as if wanting to make every excruciating moment even longer. He stares at his father, silently pleading for his life, but Azazel merely gives him a glance. The dark power is focused on Sam, an almost hungry look on the Prince of Hell's face, as he watches Sam slowly burn Tom away.

Pitiful sounds rip out of his throat, as the pressure grows. Sam's little grin only widens a little, his head tilting in sync with his hand, the fingers that control whether he dies or lives. His life resting in the hands of a teen.

And then Sam starts closing his fist.

The pain explodes, his being burning and the screams that come out of his throat are splitting, bloodcurling screams that would stay in anyone's nightmares.

Sam only smiles, his eyes now half open, as he stares down at the demon. Parts of Tom's body pulsate in a red, blinding light, and Sam watches curiously as the light grows, filling his entire vision as his heart beats in sync with the pulsating light. His ears are deafened by Tom's screams, or the power rushing in his veins, and he watches the light grow, the skeleton of the vessel visible with each pulse until the core he's wrapped around breaks.

The entire forest flashes in a golden light, brighter than the sun, gone as quickly as it came as the dead vessel drops to the ground.

He breathes, his ears still ringing. The hand on his shoulder seems almost guiding, more than the touch of his actual father ever was. A silent promise to teach, to mentor him to his greatest. Sam's high off the power, not even panting as pieces of the puzzle come together in his head. Tom was dead, at last.

Adrenaline running in his veins, his mind slowly coming back to reality, to face what he has done, a veil of calm covers him. The threat, not friend, not guide, behind him is stronger than anything he has seen, more vicious than a pedophile demon. But it's a threat that Sam had promised to erase.

With a trickle of blood sliding down his face, he takes a breath, gathers his power and turns around, blasting the Prince of Hell behind him.

And the ever so powerful demon flies backwards, affected.

Sam can hurt him.

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait, I just want to perfect everything. Hope you enjoyed, buckle up :)

Chapter 36: Demon King III

Summary:

What are the chances I break?
(That I break)
Come to my senses or annihilate?
I've gained the power of the God Hand
So what am I so afraid of?
What is this raw energy?
I won't survive this
My mind is deceived
I will ascend
Survival is based on my devotion
I will depend on none other than myself
I will instill fear in the masses
So begins the reign of the new demon king

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It's like the world stops moving. The wind quiets down, the air still, the forest surrounding them quiet as the dead. There's nothing, nothing else than him, the raging power in his veins, and the looming darkness front of him.

This is the moment. This is what everything comes down to. Their decade of trying to avenge Mary, trying to get justice. Sam's battle with himself, the despair and hopelesness he felt, trying to come to terms with the unholy power in him. This is what it all has come down to.

Azazel stares at him, the yellow eyes drilling into him, his mind, his body, his soul, the shock in them gone as soon as it came, being drowned by a flash of disappointment. Sam wasn't going with him. No, he chooses what he will be, and some sort of a mercenary of Hell? No.

He holds his breath, seconds ticking by, the tension threatening to suffocate him. It doesn't take long for the disappointment to leave, and he prepares himself as a dangerous, bloodthirsty glow takes over.

"You want to be a hero, Sammy?" The Prince of Hell coos, yellow teeth matching the maddened eyes as he grins. Sam swallows, denying his fear. If his world comes to an end today, he'll take Azazel with him.

"Then die like one."

As if the Earth itself cracks, breaking apart, an ear-shattering boom hits him, the more than lethal dark power taking it's first swipe at him. Letting the boiling power take control, Sam takes a sharp breath, arm swiping at the force, his power following the movement and cutting the attack in half.

Heart beating in his ears, Sam takes a calming breath, ignoring the goosebumps spreading around, the trickle of blood going down his face, the distant voice in his head that sounds awfully like Dean, screaming at him to run. He stands, staring Azazel down, feeling the power run in his veins. Yes, he might not control it, but does that really matter right now? It's time to let go.

His vision goes white, his teeth bared as he grins, finally letting go.

All that he can see, is the world filled with pitch black, swirling and pulsing fog, rooting cold terror into his flesh, but Sam was never one to care of the monsters in the dark. His whole body burns, tingling as boiling and freezing waves wash over him, his mind preparing for the attack. He can see the fog pull back, preparing for its own strike or defense, and Sam doesn't hesitate a second.

He moves as if on autopilot, his body feeling lighter than a feather as he gains the distance between him and the enemy, taking the first strike. His blood only boils more, no sign of an end, as his attack is blocked, Azazel moving quicker than what Sam's eyes can see, away from him and towards the half-ruined house. He doesn't hesitate for a second, going after the pulsating darkness, no thoughts other than the need to rid the world of that darkness.

The house is creaking dangerously, the destroyed walls have taken the needed support away, and Sam thinks that a stronger wind would be able to blow the thing down. Which is why, even when it's clear that's what Azazel wants him to do, he doesn't enter the ruined building. His feet move on his own, circeling around the house, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the source of the fog, so he can blast him out and get this over with.

Frustration comes to mix with anger, as Azazel refuses to leave his little trap, hovering somewhere by the west side of the house. He rolls his jaw, heading inside without a second thought, crossing through the floors littered with shattered glass and pieces of drywall.

"You wanna fight me? You wanna show me what a Prince of Hell can actually do? All that I've seen him do is lurk in some shitty old house and send his goons after me, nothing else!" He yells, his anger growing as his teases are met with silence, no attack that he could block and finally strike the bastard so hard it crushes his bones.

The burning pain in his chest from his broken body only grows his anger as he slightly pants, fingers twitching as his eyes shift around, trying to find something to hurt.

"COME FACE ME!" The house trembles, cracking and creaking dangerously, but Sam doesn't move, eyes locked with where he could pinpoint Azazel. He can hear the trees brushing against each other, the wind picking up as the leftover windows rattle.

His leftover patience leaving, he grits his teeth, focusing on the leftover walls of the house as he backs out of the remains, preparing to hurt.

With a yank of his arm his ears fill with the crashes of the house falling to pieces, crumbling together as metal and tiles screech, all falling down. The walls cracked they fall together, the entire house coming down but Sam pays no attention to it as the fog moves, out of the house.

A slight edge of satisfaction he has is quickly drowned as he goes to attack, head pulled back into the game. The fog, taller and bigger than the house he just demolished moves around but Sam doesn't wait for it, gritting his teeth as he sends out another attack. His vision starts to get a red tint, as Azazel dodges, his attack instead hitting the treeline, the booming sound of two trees crashing together before Sam feels the thump in his body as they hit the ground.

"You're nothing but a child Sam! You think you have a choice in this, but you dont'! Your little destiny was written eons ago!" Azazel yells at him, the thundering power finally focused on him, finally attacking him.

Sam blocks each attack, swiping around like they're flies, swatting them down as he feels more blood run down his face, his mouth filled with the more than familiar coppery taste, his body screaming distantly, but he doesn't care. He throws each attack back aimlessly, his mind more focused on attacking than actually hurting. Some of them hit and he can hear Azazel grunt, even if he can't see him.

That's when the demon's patience snaps.

His world drowns under as everything attacks him. It comes like pointed knives, ready to rip his body into pieces, make him a pincushion. It rattles his bones, makes shivers of cold, sweat, fear and adrenaline run down his spine, the power of a Prince of Hell finally facing him. He can see it all, the millions of battles filled with blood, he can distantly hear the screams of everyone who the fog has demolished, every soul and every mind ripped apart. He can sense the oldness in it, the mark of at least thousands of years, each brush of death and greater power, each betrayal and each battle won. He can feel it all, as if it was his own memories, own history.

That's when the fire comes.

A force of nature capable of ruining all, Sam knows this. Despite humanity's growth, nature can still take it all back in the blink of an eye. Can destroy it all, without mercy. Sam knows this, he can feel the fire above him, the blood dripping down from the ceiling of his nursery, the warmth that destroyed everything and left nothing but freezing coldness behind, taking their mother with it. Fire that destroyed his family, ripped them apart and built them again, made them these little soldiers in a war they can never win but will always fight for.

He can feel the power drain out of him as shock chills his body frozen, as he stares at the wall of fire coming for him. Flames that reflect on his eyes, and wouldn't it be irony for his life to end with fire, as it started?

For a broken second, he thinks. He thinks of Mary, of the brilliant, loving, caring and hilarious mother he never knew, the backbone of their family. Of the way John can't look at him sometimes, because he's so alike her. And he wonders if they shared the same fire inside, but Mary's consumed her, instead of growing with her. If there had been anything he could've done to heal the broken remains of their family, if he could've somehow brought her back, if he could've fixed the gaping hole she left behind in Dean and John. But he can't. He can't fix it, but he can bring justice.

His ears filled with the snaps of the fire, he takes a sharp breath. Time to see if he was right. He reaches out with his power, preparing to shield just in case when something in the fire's energy shifts, and Sam grabs the chance, mixing his own power with the fire.

The fireball stops, cracking a mere couple feet front of him. He can't help but stare in disbelief, holy shit, the shock lasting couple of seconds before he shifts his leg, swiping his hand towards the ruins of the building, and the fire follows his lead, setting into the demolished building. The side of his head itches, and he swipes at it absent-mindedly, his heart twisting a little in his chest as his hand comes back with blood. His ears were bleeding.

"Mary sold you over." He snaps his head back to Azazel, shifting on his feet, taking a second to let his wounded body breathe, still poised to attack and defend if needed. He doesn't fully register the demon's words, until his head clears out of the adrenaline and buzz of power. No, this was just some mind trick again, don't listen Sam.

"John sold you over. You have to realize, you're just a pawn in their game. Doing their dirty deeds, keeping them safe, getting the brunt of it all when something goes wrong, being taken advantage of. They aren't your family, Sam." He sneers at the demon, an ugly feeling twisting in his chest. He didn't care about John, he didn't care about Mary, but how could Azazel even suggest that-

"Dean has my back, always." He snarls, preparing to continue their fight, but Azazel doesn't move. He just tilts his head and smiles, like he won something.

"Then where is he, huh? More than enough time has passed for him to get from Jasper to here, even if he drove under the speedlimits. Where is he, Sam?" No. Don't listen. It hasn't been that long. Has it? He doesn't know, there's too much going on, has it been so long? Has Dean abandoned him? But that's what he wanted, right? To have him far away from this battle. For fuck's sake, focus Sam!

"Why won't you understand that no matter what you say, what lies you spew about my family, I won't come with you. I'm going to fight against you as long as there's life in me, and that's fine with me. But I'll never, ever, come to your side, and let down the people I love." He says, voice for once shaking as he stares down Azazel, his fist clenched as he focuses on finding the way to pop this way bigger and way more dangerous balloon. He needs Azazel dead.

"It's not your choice Sam. There are things much greater than you and I, you don't get a say in this. You'll become the thing you're meant to become, and that is to serve Hell. You'll be on our side, whether you like it or not." Azazel says back, and even when an uncertain part of him twists at how certain the demon sounds, he shakes his head. It'll never happen.

He takes a breath, slow and calm. He lets his body relax, inch by inch, feeling the burn of each broken bone and slashed flesh, each speckle of blood on his skin, and most importantly, the power under it all. The power he had feared more than anything, at one point of his life. It seemed so long ago, but it wasn't. He had grown, he knew now that the power was a part of him, something he had and something he was responsible of, something he had to know how to control. Something that was able to move objects, shatter things, fight against something so much stronger than him, defend his family, exorcise demons and control fire. It was something else, but it was Sam's. He chose what it would be, good or evil, better or worse, it was his decision.

Numbing his head, silencing his mind, he let the power spread like a fire out of him, let it tangle itself into the terrifying darkness. With every slash he took back, every crack in his body as something broke again, every drop of blood coming out of his mouth, nose, ears or the various wounds, he ignored. He ignored, even when they started to break him down, started to freeze the fire in his veins, because he wasn't giving up. The fog could pierce him with so many hits, but he wouldn't go down. Never again.

It was suffocating each atom in his body, squeezing him like a toy, waiting for his seams to break and his insides to spew all over the unforgiving ground, as Sam pushed forward. He allowed himself to break, to crack piece by piece, because he was getting closer. He could see it, could feel the source so close, but he couldn't reach it.

A yell breaking out of his throat, rattled by the blood, he gives all he has. He thinks of Mary, of Caleb, of everyone that has died because of this, every life that is gone now. Thinks about how they should've had a future, a family of their own, how they should be alive, not Azazel. The demon that was behind God knows how many losses, families ripped apart, demolished hope and ruined lives. The one who was responsible for all.

He wraps himself around the core, feeling the fog around him jolt in realization, and he can feel the sudden hit of panic it feels, like it's his own, as he starts breaking it down, piece by piece.

Even when the blood continues to stream down his skin, staining Dean's flannel, even when his legs give out after a sudden crack and a wave of pain, even when his vision goes blurry and the world spins, even when the fog around him starts burning, he keeps on tearing it down.

After what feels like an eternity of nothing but excruciating pain, his body on the verge of losing consicousness, the first crack happens. It's as if someone electrifies him, as he snaps his eyes open, staring eyes wide at the demon front of him, clutching at his chest. Still kneeling on the wet grass, the fire still burning the remains of the building, he stares at Azazel, unable to hear a thing or see properly, with a new burst of energy in him.

He holds his breath, gathering the small speckles of energy he has left, and pulls with everything he has.

Thunder cracks somewhere close, the clouds filling the sky, the wind kicking up again, as the first flash of golden red pulses from the Prince of Hell. On his knees, arching backwards with the face of a man who had thousands of years of experience, just lost to a teenager. And with every beat of Sam's heart, the pulsing lights become brighter, as he struggles to crawl closer to the demon, his entire body in so much pain he's still dry heaving.

Falling to his hands, he pants next to the muted demon, barely able to understand what is happening as he holds a life on the tips of his fingers.

"I choose, what I'm going to be." He breathes, uncaring if Azazel even hears it. Exhaustion is setting into his body, and Sam fights to stay awake, to finish it all.

"And this is what I am." And he crushes the core.

Lights explode next to him, strong enough to blind him but he cannot see anymore. He falls to his side, wheezing in pain as tears start to mix with the blood covering him. His eyes itch, and as he blinks desperately, trying to see as the vessel of the Prince of Hell falls down, he feels something trail down his cheeks, coming to the dip of his mouth, and Sam already knows it's blood. He's bleeding, has been bleeding already for so long, a sense of despair sets into him.

He was going to die.

Mission completed, Azazel is gone, isn't that what he wanted?

He realizes, as his eyelids start to slide down, that no, this isn't what he wanted.

°°°

"SAMMY!" The scream that rips out of Dean Winchester's throat as they arrive to the scene, is heartbreaking. Standing by the Impala, it doesn't take long for him to start sprinting towards the burned house, the need to find his little brother stronger than anything else. He would dig into the burning wood and find Sam, pull him out of the fire for the second time, if it weren't for the arms that wrap around him, holding him back, the scent of leather and cologne surrounding him.

"Let go- SAM!" He kicks, he punches, he does everything he can to fight against John, who doesn't let go. The eldest Winchester's eyes are locked with the remains of what had been a building, demolished by fire, and the slow realization that he has lost his youngest to this meaningless war, hits him hard, but he doesn't let go. He isn't losing Dean to this, too.

"No." Bobby breathes, as he and Joshua run out of their truck, coming to stand next to the struggling Winchesters, all staring at the scene. There had been a building, a house according to Dean, but all that remains of it is ashened wood, broken pieces of walls littering the ground with shards of glass everywhere. The building has been completely wiped, and the fire gives enough of a hint of what had happened. Some trees to the right of them are down as well, seemingly just cleanly cut through the middle, the trunks messily crashed against each other.

It's clear, that whatever happened here, was big.

And the chilling silence in the air, aside from the fire's dying crackle, gives a hint of the remaining survivors. There's no one appearing, no yells for help, nothing. No one is calling for help, which has to mean one thing.

They were too late.

"No, no no no-" Bobby has to look away, trying to hold in tears as the realization hits him along with Dean's broken pleas. Sam was gone.

"Let me go- Dad please let me go! He's still out there!" Dean tries, tears blinding his vision as he fights against John, turning around to look at the man, only to be hit with another gut punch. His father, cold as stone, never shedding a tear, is squeezing his eyes shut, but Dean can see the edge of something watery by his eyelids.

This can't be happening.

No.

Dean swore.

He swore he would keep Sam safe.

No.

Without caring, he kicks John to the knee as hard as he can, and when the arms around him loosen, he runs for it. He sprints towards the mass of remains, lump in his throat nearly strangleing him. He needed to find Sam. He was here. He needed to find Sam. He needed to find Sam-

"Sammy! You in there?! SAM!" He continues yelling as he grabs for the wood that doesn't seem to be burning anymore, ripping it away and throwing it aside. He's going through this entire mess just to find Sam.

"C'mon, c'mon, C'MON!" He throws the planks aside, uncaring as some sharp edges cut to his skin, digging into the pile. Sam's alive, Sam's alive, he's alive, he just has to find him. Sam's alive, Sam's alive, find him, find him Dean.

He wants to scream, wants to throw all of this shit away and get his baby brother to safety, but he isn't the one with psychic powers.

He was supposed to protect him.

No, no no no don't go down that path. Sam's fine. Sam's okay. He's somewhere here, totally fine. And if he isn't, Dean will make him fine. It's okay. He's alright. Sam's alright. Just find him. Find him, find him find him find him-

At first he ignores the pain in his chest, because he's losing Sam! Of course he's feeling like shit. But the throb keeps on going, keeps on shifting in his chest, and when Dean finally curses, going to rub at his chest, one hand still prying at the pile, he gets a weird feeling.

Weird feelings were what got them into this mess.

He rubs at his chest, frowning, because this was odd. Is he having a fucking heart attack? Hell no. No, he didn't have time for that.

Right.

Turn right.

He blinks, and when he turns his head to the right, his heart drops into his stomach.

Sam.

"SAMMY!" He yells, scrambling out of the remains of the house, sprinting like the demons were on his tail towards the fallen trees, that had hidden the two bodies from their view. The two bodies, that were both as still.

He feels like he can't breathe, as he falls to his knees next to the body he probably knows better than his own. Sam's lying on his side, and Dean doesn't hesitate a second to yank the kid into his arms, brush the bloodied hair off of his face.

"Sammy? Hey kiddo, wake up. Wake up, I'm here." He spares a quick glance at the other body, and it's immediately clear that it's a dead vessel, eyes wide as the Sun, staring at the sky with a dumbfounded expression.

He focuses back to Sam, who still isn't waking up. C'mon kiddo, they needed to go. He curses, one hand going to check Sam's pulse from his blood covered neck, and holy fuck that's a lot of blood.

"We need an ambulance." It's a lot of blood. Way too much. Way too much blood outside the body. Blood shouldn't be outside the body, that's bad.

"We need an ambulance!" He screams now, at the three hunters standing by the demon's body Dean couldn't care less about. He trusts them to sprung into action, and everything's fine, everything is fine, until he realizes he still hasn't felt the beat of Sam's heart.

His finger must be on the wrong place.

He shifts his hand, moving his thumb the slightest, and it has to be on the correct spot now, he can feel Sam's joints and some bones, this is it. Just the matter of time till he can feel the beat, just the matter of time.

He doesn't realize he's crying and shaking, until droplets of his tears fall onto Sam's bloodied face, his thumb still digging into the dent in Sam's neck. Why is his chest so twisted? Why is he so limp?

"Dean?" Bobby asks, and he turns to look at the man. He's crouched next to him, wide eyes looking at him, twitching between Dean and his thumb pressed into Sam's neck. There's a question in his eyes, a fear, and Dean feels like he's suffocating.

No.

He opens his mouth, his entire body starting to heave, starting to tremble as it all starts to crumble. Sam is- Sam wasn't- There was no heart be-

Thump.

He snaps his head back to his baby brother, the buzzing in his ears drowning Bobby's questioning, as he stares at Sam, mouth open.

Thump.

A startled laugh leaves him, and he doubles over Sam, just holding him close, crying and laughing at the same time in relief. He was alive, he was alive oh thank God he was alive-

He swallows it, getting his head quickly back into the game. He continues tapping at Sam's face, trying to rouse the kid while being gentle. He doesn't know the extent of Sam's injuries.

"C'mon, c'mon Sammy. Time to wake up." He brushes the matted hair back, for the first time in his life hating how it feels, stained with blood, with Sam's blood. A small frown flashes on Sam's face, and Dean could die from relief this second.

"That's it. Open those shiny peepers, baby." He continues to coo, gently brushing Sam's cheek with his thumb, uncaring of their audience. God, oh God that was too close.

"De?" He smiles, choking on something, as Sam's eyes slowly open.

"Right here, kiddo. Stay with me, kay?" Sam blinks owlishly, and Dean ignores the worry in his chest. It's okay, it's okay, he can already hear the ambulance coming. It's gonna be okay.

"I d'd i'." Sam mumbles, and Dean fights the frown. Yeah, Sam did it, and Dean's gonna have a conversation about that with both Sam and John when this is all over.

"Yeah, you did. I'm so proud of you, just stay with me, little brother." He pulls Sam against his chest, practically cradling his cold body now, trying to warm him up a little with gentle rubs. Covering the kid with his entire body, he finally feels the worst of the panic bleed out of his body, his mind clearing a little now that he has Sam.

He leans down, brushing their noses together, and closes his eyes for a second, the blaring sirens of the ambulance just around the corner.

Sam was going to be alright.
They were going to be alright.

Notes:

Ladies, non-binary pals, gentleman, we have one chapter to go.

Chapter 37: Nothing else matters

Summary:

So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words, I don't just say
And nothing else matters
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Slow, take it slow."

"I am."

"No you aren't, idiot."

"Well how slow do you want me to go?"

"Sammy, don't bitch at me but focus on the road."

Sam rolled his eyes briefly, huffing but did as he was told. The Impala was going maybe 25 mph, when the limit was somewhere around 30, he wasn't very sure. The halfly abandoned road back in the woods of Jasper had pretty much been the perfect practise route, after Dean had made sure there were no deadly holes that could harm the car, or sharp branches that could scrape the paint.

"You're doing good, just be easy on the brakes, you don't need to slam them." Dean instructed, his hand gently lying on Sam's that was on the gear stick was an undeniable stress reliever. No, Sam wasn't nervous, why would he? He was just driving the very car that was Dean's most priced obsession, and also a home to them. There weren't a lot of things he could screw up, but it wouldn't kill him to be cautious.

"You see the parking space? Steer to the right to get some space and slow down, before turning a hard left, but don't hurry it." He nodded, shifting his sweaty palms on the wheel, eyes twitching between the road and the speed meter, trying to take it easy. Focus Sam, focus.

He steered right, taking the additional space while slowing down, before turning the wheel sharply, but not hurried, the car doing a 180 degree turn. Gently pushing on the brakes, barely reaching the pedals if he were to be honest, he stopped the car, and guided by Dean, put the car to a stop. He sighed, leaning back against the unfamiliar seat, taking a second to calm his nerves before turning towards the passenger seat, smiling.

"Do I pass, your highness?" He asked, and Dean's already smiling face turned to a wide grin, as he laughed, eyes twinkling with a sense of easiness in them. And it made Sam smile even harder, to see that genuine smile and laugh after such a long time. It had been nine weeks since the 'incident', three painfully boring weeks in the hospital and the rest six weeks spent in a rather nice hotel since none of them had been too keen on staying at the cabin, except for Joshua.

He couldn't remember much of what had happened, his memory turning blurry somewhere around when he killed Tom, but from the way Dean's eyes got this haunting look in them every time they talked about it, he could assume he hadn't been a pretty sight afterwards. And it was no wonder, in the hospital the doctors found two broken ribs, one on each side, the right one broken rather badly, but he avoided surgery on that. He had been a baffle for the doctors, and they would've wanted to do some testing on him, because of how weird of a case he was. He had arrived with extreme internal bleeding, his left lung had been almost filled one fourth with blood, some in his stomach, but there were no clear injuries. The doctors had said that it seemed like Sam had just started to randomly bleed from the inside, as if his body had started to nibble on itself.

Another injury, companied by the broken ribs that still had an effect on his daily life, was his broken leg. At some point, Sam had no idea when, he had broken a lower part of his femur, and it had been another mystery for the doctors. It had been as if his body had been under a very high pressure, and that at least some of his bones had cracked because of it. It didn't exactly match their story of him falling off a tree, so the doctors left the mystery alone, and gladly so did the CPS.

Sam had been granted a total of four months of sick leave, so he wouldn't return to this school year. According to Dad, the CPS had been pretty close to calling the cops on them, until they finally got to talk with Sam in the hospital, and he confirmed their stay with Uncle Bobby, and all the other shit Dad had told them while he had been missing.

Everything was alright now, it seemed like. The storm inside Sam's head had calmed down the second he woke up in the hospital, and got the news that Azazel was finally gone. That the curse that had haunted their family, was finally gone for good, and could never hurt them again. And even with the stern talk from Dean that followed it, Sam wouldn't change a thing. He would go against the bastard or anything else, if it meant keeping his family safe.

And now they were. There had been nothing, pure nothing, about demons after the incident, not a peep. And even if it had made them all a little restless, they had come to accept that the demons had realized not to mess with them, and had gone to some hiding, to lick their wounds and gather themselves. And that was more than fine with Sam, because it meant they could move on.

"I know Baby is a sweet ride, but I'd like you to listen to me when I'm talking, kiddo." Dean's voice brought him back, as always, and Sam blinked, focusing back on the smiling face. Dean was alright, sure he had some nightmares as well, like all of them had, but he was alright, and if Dean was alright, so was Sam.

"You doing good?" Dean was still haunted by it, and Sam was willing to give him all the patience in the world. He knew he had scared Dean, badly. And if making his brother feel good meant having Dean asking him rather constantly if he was alright, and very rarely giving him alone time was all that Dean needed to get better, he'd give it all.

"Very good." He said, unable to stop smiling as he played with their fingers on his lap, his chest feeling warm and fuzzy and not because of his powers. It was Dean, it had always been Dean, and now they had a future. A quiet promise had been made during one of the more hard nights in the hospital, hands together, the promise of a lifetime hanging in the air. They had it all.

"Come out." Dean said, and when Sam rose a curious eyebrow at him, he just smiled harder, pulling back to exit the car. Sam followed the example, walking around the car and towards Dean, who was just smiling at him, as if it didn't make Sam's whole world better. As if it didn't mean everything.

Before he could ask what he older was planning, Dean circeled a hand around his waist, pulling them together, other hand guiding Sam's head to stay up, facing his. He stared up at Dean, heart beating in his throat and for once not from fear, but from the butterflies in his stomach. There was nothing but Dean to him, the way he looked down to him, a content small smile on his lips. The way his fingertips moved on Sam's skin, tracing his jawline with such care you wouldn't believe they were the hands of a hunter.

His own thumb followed the edge of Dean's cheekbone, trying to memorize each curve and dip of the most beautiful face in the world, trying to remember it all. And if this was love, Sam would more than happily drown in it.

He leaned into the hand cupping his face, still not tearing his eyes off of Dean, pleasant shivers going down his back as the man started to lean downwards. His hand moved to the back of Dean's head as Dean carefully moved down, gentle with every movement, stopping just before their lips met. The hand cupping his face held him like he was something precious, something one of a kind, something to be cherished, and it made his stomach spin. He nudged upwards, just a little, and that was Dean's cue.

Their lips met, and this time it wasn't filled with despair, grief and a lost future. This time they had everything. They had time, for Dean to teach him how to kiss properly, for them to grow together and understand each other better, for them to love. There was no impending doom hanging over their heads, it was just them. They could have it all.

And Sam could feel it in every inch of him, psychic powers or not. The way his body was lighter, the weight he carried was gone, the coldness in his chest now replaced with warmth that could keep him warm during the coldest night, a love that would keep his head above water, when he himself couldn't.

They may be young, both hormonal kids with no idea of what they want to do, but they had each other. And to Sam, that meant everything. He would never be alone, and come whatever, he would always have someone to come back to. He knew deep down that he would never have a love like this for anyone else, for anyone else than the greatest man he knows, now front of him, returning the love, and the devotion.

When Dean pulls back, they're both smiling so hard it hurts, but they don't pull back. Just being there, with each other, was more than enough, and the silence held all the words they didn't need to say out loud.

They have the time to learn.

°°°

"You sure you have everything?" Bobby asks again, and he can hear Dean huff at the older hunter, as Sam checks their route on the map for the fifth time. The cars were packed, not that they had that much belongings, but Sam's meds were taking a surprisingly big amount of space. The Impala's engine was running, accompanied by the low rumble of Dad's truck, and they were pretty much ready to go.

"Whatdya thinking, kiddo?" Dad doesn't startle him, luckily, coming to hover somewhere behind him, probably looking over his shoulder to check on the map.

"Just making sure we have the right route. You were right about the big road being the quickest way, but let's not tell Dean he was wrong." He says with a looped grin, turning to look up to his father. They weren't perfect, they would never be, but defeating Azazel had brought them together, closer than ever.

"It could do wonders to his ego, still." The eldest Winchester says, but with a glint in the corner of his eye, and Sam chuckles. John Winchester seemed a changed man, the drill sergeant Sam had known for his entire life had been pushed back, replaced by what seemed a more domestic and happy version of their father.

"You're going to Taylorsville, right?" He asked after a brief moment, a part of him still nervous. He would never admit it, but having the people closest to him around had a certain calming factor. Sam could do something, if he had a vision or a feeling, but for everyone spreading out again, things could go wrong.

He could see John glance at him, but he kept his eyes locked with Bobby and Dean who seemed to be bantering, trying to analyze what Joshua was thinking, looking at him and John.

"Yep, seems to be a poltergeist, I'll have Ken with me, so it'll be an easy case." Sam nodded, trying to hide how it made him relax a bit, knowing his dad wasn't going totally alone. He knew John was a grown man, completely capable of taking care of himself, but he was a bit paranoid, and could you blame him?

"Give me a call when you and Dean reach Wyoming, and when you get to Burlington." He didn't react, but a part of him felt touched at having their dad worry about them, and openly show it, or as openly as he was capable of.

"Will do." He said, confirming it and the comforting hand on his shoulder only made him smile lightly. Things were good. He and Dean were going to have some alone time, and Sam would have fun testing Dean's swear not to have sex with him before he turns fifteen. There was no way the man could last, with them being completely alone.

Dad straightened a little, and that got Sam back from his horny scheming, spotting as well Joshua who was walking towards them. The man had been distant, to say at least, and none of them really trusted him fully, after he lost his cool with Sam, when Caleb died. The mention of his friend could still make tears sprung into his eyes, but Sam knew Caleb would want him to carry on, so he will.

"Sam, can I get a word?" Bobby and Dean join the conversation, all eyeing him and Joshua, who seems rather calm. Sam glances at Dean, who already looks unsure and worried, and moves to brush their hands together, before focusing back on Joshua. He had a feeling he knew what the man wanted.

"Sure, we'll be right back." He directed the last part to Dean, who still seemed hesitant to let him go alone. He hooked their fingers together briefly, and gave his brother a small, comforting smile, that eased at least some of the worry, before he followed Joshua a bit further out, where they could talk without the others hearing them.

Joshua didn't face him, instead his eyes that still hadn't gotten their glow back were locked with Caleb's cabin, and Sam thought that maybe the Joshua he knew was forever gone, with Caleb.

"Can you sense him?" Joshua asked, quietly, as if it was a deadly secret. And in a way, to Joshua it might be. Asking Sam if he was able to sense the ghost of his dead best friend.

"Yes." He wouldn't lie. He wouldn't pretend he couldn't feel the chilly presence next to Joshua, he wouldn't pretend he didn't know it was Caleb's ghost, still following Joshua around.

"Will you tell them?" A ghost, even a friendly one, will turn malignant with time, every hunter knows this. Telling John, Bobby and Dean, all devoted hunters who have drawn a strict line between black and white, good and bad, about the remaining ghost of Caleb, would only mean one thing, and it would banish the last piece of Caleb with them.

"I trust you know what's right." He says, knowing that Joshua will understand. That he will know, that Sam won't tell. And maybe someday Joshua can forgive him.

"Take care, Sam." Joshua says, and leaves without another word, heading back to everyone else. Sam takes a moment, to focus on the presence he can feel next to him, and imagines that he can feel Caleb there, with them. That he isn't a mere ghost, but that he's with them, and that he forgives Sam.

He moves, banishing the dark thoughts in his head, eager to head back to Dean. He makes sure to plaster a smile onto his face, that doesn't seem fake, as he returns to the group, heading right next to Dean, who wraps an arm around his shoulders immediately, making him smile harder.

"You boys get into any trouble, and I mean any trouble, give me a call." Bobby looks at them both sternly, and Sam makes a cross on his chest, grinning as Dean answers with a grin,

"We will, but maybe you should give us your beauty sleep schedule, so we don't wake the bear up." All the Winchesters chuckle, and even Bobby gives a little laugh, rolling his eyes and patting Dean on the shoulder, ruffling Sam's hair as he heads to his own truck.

"And John, if Ken gives you trouble, you can give me a call as well. I'm used to cleaning up your Winchester's messes." They all laugh, giving Bobby a wave as the man starts to back his truck out.

"Be careful out there, Joshua." John says over his shoulder to the tall man looming around. Dean doesn't say anything, but gives the man a sharp nod, as he and Sam head for the Impala. Dean would never forgive Joshua for losing it with Sam, and they both knew it.

"Drive safe!" He yells at Dad, as he climbs into the rumbling truck, he and Dean sliding into the Impala. They wait for Dad to back out first, and Sam watches Joshua standing by the cabin's stairs. It's a goodbye, to the life he lived here, to the ghost that he can see standing by Joshua, and to the man that lost it all.

Dean revvs the engine, and Sam turns to look at him, both grinning from ear to ear.

"You ready, little brother?" Dean asks, and there isn't a part of him that doesn't believe it, as he says,

"Hell yeah."

Notes:

And that is it! We have reached the end, of this book.
Jumping the gun at creating my first actual story, without mentioning a series, is a decision I'm happy I made. There's been moments when I haven't been sure about this book, or this entire series thing I've gotten myself into, but now I wouldn't change a thing. I've grown as a person, while writing this, and it feels like I've opened my heart to the people out there, and that feels good. I've met so many new people, and it has given me strength to carry on, to know that people out there appreciate what I do, and more importantly like it. To all of you out there, who have left a comment, a kudos, bookmarked or just read this, thank you. I've said this a lot, but the support has blown my mind, and I hope I have made you happy with this book. It has been an emotionally challenging book, but I hope I've made you cry and laugh with me, through this all.
About the future of the series;
I will continue rather soon, with another book. It won't be as serious, or as relevant to the plot of this series as this first one, but will be more lighter and, well, you'll see soon. I hope you'll go check it out, when I start it, and I hope to see you all soon.
Thank you all, and stay safe <3

I hold my breath (I pray thee not hear) - Mirathehera (2024)
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