(no subject)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
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Rites of Passage
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“Character is for man his daimon.”
~Heraclites
“… I’ve swallowed all your answers/ I’ve swallowed all my pride/ you’ve used up all your chances/ can’t keep this all inside. So tell me please/ who the fuck did you want me to be? … I’m still wearing this miserable skin/and it’s starting to tear from within/but it’s obvious that doesn’t bother you/ So please. Don’t keep telling me that it’s okay…Please.”
~Staind “Please”
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Sam tried to control his breathing, but he could feel his heart pounding. He stumbled back a step, raising his hands defensively. He knew, knew, there was no winning this fight - just like he knew there was no escape. His hands curled, his shoulders stiffened, he shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, preparing as much as he was able, focusing on this moment, on this…
The phone rang.
Sam’s attention shifted the slightest bit, unconsciously looking toward the noise, and Dean pounced. His big brother started his attack with a quick jab at Sam’s nose, only to feint right and come back with a solid shove at his shoulders. Sam dodged the jab, but overcompensated for the feint, and cursed as Dean’s shove made him reel.
He reeled, but he didn’t go down. “They weeble and they wobble but they won’t fall down!” Dean crowed, grinning as Sam caught his balance… and struck back, a wide swing that he mistimed. It went wild, and Dean didn’t even have to duck.
Sam instantly backpedaled as Dean sneered. “I’m right here, Samantha. Try aiming for me instead of the wall behind me, or do you need glasses too, Mr. Chubbikins?”
He had been aiming for Dean and not pulling the punch either. He wanted to wipe that gloating confidence from his older brother’s face just once, but he never seemed to know just where his hands and feet were anymore. He’d always been too little to have a chance against Dean before… but now that he was older, almost as tall as Dean (he hoped anyway, it wasn’t like Dean would ever stand still long enough for him know for sure), his body had betrayed him. Over the last few months he had become clumsy, gawky; awkward and raw. He ached all the time, his very bones felt stretched. He was hungry constantly, and he was always uncomfortable. He could take his favorite jeans off one night, and pull them on in the morning only to find that they just didn’t seem to fit anymore. Dean told him it was just growing pains and that it’d quit soon enough… but until then he was constantly knocking things over, or running into them, and he had lost what little skill hunting that he’d ever had, and his dad was always pissed at him. He was just never going to win…
Dean lashed out and clipped him on the ear. “Pay attention!”
They circled each other like tomcats; Dean puffed up with his newly found adult authority, and Sam bristling with adolescent pride. Their dad waded through the war zone on his way to answer the phone. It was noticed by both but acknowledged by neither. They were focusing on each other and on the fight, now.
Dean was still grinning.
Sam really did want to hit him. It wasn’t fair that not only was Dean bigger, stronger, a better fighter, a better hunter, and a better soldier… but that for two months out of the year he was actually five years older than Sam. Dean was twenty as of two days ago…and Sam was still fifteen. Logically, Sam knew the two months meant nothing… but it felt like they meant everything sometimes. It was like adding insult to injury. And it wasn’t like Dean ever let him forget them.
Dean swung at him, low and fast. Automatically, without thinking, Sam stepped into the arc of Dean’s swing, taking a hit from Dean’s forearm on his ribs, and jabbed back, catching Dean a glancing blow on the shoulder.
Sam was so startled at his success that he dropped his guard.
Dean wasn’t startled… he was pissed, Sam watched the anger fill his eyes. Before Sam could recover from the mistake Dean body-checked him, taking them both to the floor in a heavy thud that set the rented trailer rocking.
“Keep it down, boys.” Their dad glared at them from where he was talking on the phone. Not ‘stop it’, just keep it down. Rough-housing was not only tolerated in the Winchester household, it was mandatory.
Sam felt slightly bitter about that as the air whooshed out of his lungs and Dean took his way-to-familiar position on top of him. Somehow, wrestling with Dean always ended with Sam flat on his back as Dean held him down and made fun of him.
It was getting old.
“Give up?” Dean asked, and Sam was slightly mollified that Dean seemed to be a little out of breath too.
Sam tried to take stock. Dean had him pinned, crouched over him and holding his wrist in a twisted grip that Sam knew from long experience could become painful with just a little more pressure. Sam’s free hand was twisted in Dean’s shirt collar. But there was a core in him that hated the idea of submitting again. It snarled at the thought of saying ‘uncle’, of giving in. He wanted to win, damn it. Just once. And he was heavy enough now that maybe there was another way to end this…
His legs were free. Kicking wouldn’t do any good when he was in this position, lord knew he’d tried that often enough and it never worked. But he was taller now; his center of balance was lower. And Dean was sitting on him high…
Sam tensed, getting ready to try to use his weight to turn Dean - it would hurt, Dean’s grip on his wrist was solid, but Sam thought that maybe he could flip them both and roll Dean over. Above him, Dean frowned as he felt Sam shift....
“When do you need us there?”
Their dad’s voice was loud and clear in the quiet moment caused by the pause in the fight. Sam froze, meeting Dean’s eyes as the familiar tone registered. They were leaving.
“Thank god,” Dean muttered. “I thought we were going to be stuck here forever.” He smacked Sam on the forehead in celebration.
“Ow!” Sam complained as his head bounced off the grungy carpet.
“Sammy, shut up! I’m on the phone!”
Sam rolled his eyes as Dean grinned. It was typical of their dad to ignore the tackle and get mad at Sam’s yelp.
“Yeah, Sammy, shut up.” Dean said, mimicking the way their dad stressed the last syllable of the name, knowing Sam hated it. Dean bounced his head off the floor again.
“Knock it off!”
“Make me, Sammy!” Whack. Dean thumped him once more, just for good measure, and levered himself off Sam and up in a quick, graceful move that sent a pang of jealous admiration through his younger brother.
Someday he’d move like that, confident and easy, and then maybe he’d win just once….
Right. Like that was ever gonna happen.
Sam sighed, not bothering to get up. He listened from the floor as his dad finished the phone call and watched as Dean bounced up to him like an eager puppy. “Well?” Dean demanded. “Are we out of here?”
Sam stared at the old water stains on the ceiling as his dad answered. “Jim needs us in Minnesota ASAP. They got something big going on.”
“Jeeze, Dad, Minnesota in January? Can’t we take a case in Florida?”
“You want to stay here?”
“No! No way! I’ll just break out the parkas.” Sam didn’t have to look to know Dean would be holding his hands up and backing away. His big brother had really hated it here. Sam could feel a little sorry for Dean, stuck in this little town for the last three months when their dad decided not to move on until he had another solid hunt. Poor guy.
The trailer rocked a little as his dad moved - a watery motion that felt exaggerated to Sam, flat on his back on the floor. His dad loomed over him, looking like he was at least trying to be tolerant. “Are we going to have a problem?”
“No, Sir,” Sam said, mildly enough. John looked surprised for half a second… then suspicious. John always looked suspicious. He didn’t need to be, though. Truth was Sam hadn’t liked this place any better than Dean. The tiny high-school had about thirty students, none of whom had been happy to share space with the outsider - and the teachers weren’t much better. Sam was okay with kissing rural Arkansas good-by.
John hesitated, watching him for a long moment… then he nodded, turning around to look at Dean. “I’m going into town to settle out and get supplies. Dean, I want the cars packed up by the time I get back. We’re on the road in thirty, boys. If you got anybody to call, do it now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Dean answered for them both, walking with their dad to the door. “I’ll get it done.”
“I’ll be back soon.” And John left, dragging the low-grade tension that always filled the air around him with him. Sam watched upside-down as Dean sucked in a full, relaxed breath and let it out again in a brief, familiar sigh. Sam doubted that Dean knew he did that whenever Dad left a room.
Dean glanced around, probably taking stock of what needed done, and his eyes tripped over Sam, still on the floor. He frowned. “Why are you still down there?”
“Don’t know,” Sam answered honestly enough.
Dean cocked his head. “You gonna get up anytime soon?”
Sam shrugged. “In a minute.” Maybe.
Dean looked tolerant, and on him it came off more amused than edgy. “Whatever, freak. I’m going to start settling out the kitchen, so you want anything to eat you better get it now.”
For once, Sam wasn’t hungry. Besides, he knew Dean would pack snacks in the car for the drive. He always did.
Sam shook his head in response to the implicit question, but Dean didn’t leave. He stood there, staring down at Sam. “Are you really okay with leaving?” he finally asked.
Like it would actually matter. Which was why Sam adored his brother…even when he wanted to deck him. “Believe it or not, I actually want out of here, Dean,” Sam said flatly. Dean grinned.
“One place you couldn’t worm your way into, huh, Sammy?” Dean snorted, bending down as he walked past to ruffle Sam’s hair, purposefully pushing it into his face. “Well, there had to be someplace your puppy-dog charms failed.” Sam listened as Dean started cleaning out the tiny kitchen.
Even as much as he was ready to leave this place, Sam couldn’t work up Dean’s level of enthusiasm for going. It wasn’t that he wanted to stay… but he sometimes felt like every move - every shift, in houses, in places, in himself - was driving him closer and closer to something … bad. Something he never wanted to happen. He had never told anyone about this fear…not ever. And he would never tell anyone that he felt…pushed, sometimes. Prodded by something inside that he wasn’t completely sure was totally him. It liked him being on the road. It liked the hunting and the fighting and the training… it liked the blood and the pain and the rage. It really liked the rage. And it scared him; and scared him worse because he was pretty sure it both was and wasn’t a part of him.
These were not things a Winchester should feel. Not things this Winchester was even supposed to know about. So he kept his mouth firmly shut, and he got more and more frightened each time they moved. He never felt more trapped than when they were on the road. Sometimes he thought if they could just stop, just put down roots and sink them so deep that nothing could tear him out, that then he wouldn’t have to face whatever waited for him down the road because of the life they led; not losing his dad to some monster, not losing his brother on a hunt - and maybe he wouldn’t ever have to face the thing that stirred inside him. He knew it was irrational, but he felt it anyway; not that he could ever talk about it.
So he held these fears deep… and let his brother and father think he just hated hunting.
But he didn’t want to stay here, that was for damned sure.
Sam sighed and got up, bumping the couch and knocking over an old plastic cup of pop on the side table. It hit the carpet and splashed and he glanced nervously at his brother.
Dean glanced at the spill, and then shrugged, turning away. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Dean had opted for the ‘who cares’ stance. That was why Dean was sometimes awesome.
Sam picked up the disposable cup and put it in the trash, anyway. Dean gave him a look, then went back to tossing out any food that wouldn’t travel well. “You riding with me or with Dad?” Dean asked.
Sam shot back his own look, “With you.” The ‘duh’ was obvious from the tone. Sam had ridden almost exclusively with Dean ever since their dad had given him the Impala two years ago. The only exceptions were the times when Dean banished him for whatever reason and he was stuck riding with Dad. Alone. In a truck cab for days.
Sam had a hard time forgiving Dean for those lapses, even if part of him understood Dean’s want for some alone time. And he knew that Dean’s invite now, after three months of living on top of each other in the trailer, was a reward for not starting a fight with their dad over the sudden move.
“Okay, then,” Dean said, closing the now empty refrigerator. “Get your shit together.”
Sam had his stuff packed ten minutes later.
He didn’t look back as the town faded from view, either.
***
Sam knew the second they walked into Pastor Jim’s that he was screwed. The little house behind the church was filled with men he knew, and that was never a good thing. They were all hunters, and Sam was always nervous around grown hunters, and therefore clumsier. That would make them judge him poorly, and then he’d get even more nervous and clumsy … it was a vicious cycle that never ended. But as bad as it was to be surrounded by older hunters, it was the sight of one in particular that made Sam’s heart really sink.
“Caleb! Dude! I didn’t know you’d be here,” Dean had come through the door a second after Sam, and now shoved past him roughly, pushing him into their dad who had come in first. John glared at his youngest, and Sam stepped back, stumbling back into Dean. Sam grunted as Dean pushed him back absently, and sighed, watching Dean walk away and knowing that would probably be the last time Dean would even notice his existence until this was over.
“What? You think I’d miss out on a hunt like this?” Caleb ginned. “’Sides, gives me a chance to make sure Jim, here, doesn’t get you all religious-ized and put you on the straight and narrow.”
“As if. Dude, that path is a little too constricting for me.” Dean laughed outright, and the two thumped each other on the back. Caleb was maybe eight or nine years older than Dean, and Dean had always enjoyed hanging out with him when a hunt brought them together. They both liked the same things: bad jokes, guns, hunting, drinking, and women. Ever since Dean had gotten his first fake ID, the two spent their nights hanging out at local dives until all hours of the morning.
Sam liked Caleb in theory. But in practice, seeing Caleb meant one thing.
Dean would forget about him. Again.
John had moved over to where Pastor Jim and Travis were sitting at a table. Dean had made a beeline for Caleb. Sam stood in the entryway and watched as the two groups said their hellos and caught up on gossip - who was in trouble, who had quit hunting, who was dead. Sam had heard it all before. Only the names changed. He didn’t mind being left out. Really.
He shifted from foot to foot, hitching his bag up a little higher on his shoulder.
“Hey, Dad!” Dean called suddenly. He was wasting no time. Sam’s heart tightened.
“What?”
“You gonna need Caleb and me for anything?”
John hesitated just long enough for Sam to get hopeful… but then his dad shook his head. “Probably not tonight. Why?” Sam knew his dad would spend the night going over the case, and Dean would be on duty by morning.
“Caleb and me thought we’d go out while we had the chance.”
“Fine,” John said, turning away. “Be in by two.”
“Dad, I’m twenty,” Dean scoffed, obviously offended at the curfew. He glanced at Caleb, who was smirking.
John gave him a level look that had Sam edging away. “Do what you want, but you will be up by five tomorrow morning.”
Dean sighed. “Okay…two a.m. it is. C’mon, Caleb, let’s get while the getting’s good.” The two young men pushed past Sam a second time, leaving. The late afternoon sun shone through the door as it opened. Caleb barely noticed he was there. Dean absently muttered, “See ya, Sammy,” as he passed, before shutting the door in Sam’s face.
Sam sighed, listening at the door as the Impala’s engine fired up. A second later the noise grew fainter as Dean drove away. And Sam was left behind.
Sam shrugged to himself. It wasn’t like Dean had to be with him twenty-four seven. He was fifteen, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t exactly go with Dean to whatever dive he ended up in - even if there was a part of him that wouldn’t have minded waiting in the car…. And boy, that wasn’t at all pathetic. It would be better than an evening with their dad, though….
Well, whatever. He wasn’t just going to stand here like a puppy on the stoop until his big brother came home. Maybe this could be a good thing. He could actually help with the hunt; he was old enough now. He’d use the hunt to distract himself from his brother’s absence. He’d show Dad how good he could be, how much he could do to help!
Armed with this new resolve, Sam turned away from the closed door… only to accidentally bump a lamp with his elbow. The delicate glass form tottered… and slid. Sam muttered a curse, grabbing it before it could fall, and setting it carefully back on its little table. Sam sighed, taking a step back -
A step that was larger than it should have been and sent him bouncing off of Pastor Jim’s bookshelf. The books fell with a dry rustle.
Sam yelped quietly and began gathering books and putting them back. It only took a few seconds, but he looked up to see three pairs of adult eyes weighing him.
He swallowed nervously. He could feel his dad’s disapproval from across the room. Something inside him shriveled.
John sighed, running a hand across his face. “Go outside for awhile, Sammy. Go run laps or something. Or better yet - Jim, do you have any chores that need doing?”
Pastor Jim looked uncomfortable. “Now, John, it hardly seems fair that his brother gets to go have fun, and Samuel is stuck doing my chores…”
“Fair or not, Sammy can be useful while he’s here,” John interrupted. “And after being in the car all day, he could use the exercise. Right, Sammy?”
“Yes, Sir,” Sam answered automatically. “I don’t mind helping, Pastor Jim. It’s okay, really. I like doing things.” Sam shrugged, feeling stupid, but willing to do almost anything to escape those heavy, adult gazes.
Pastor Jim seemed to consider arguing… then relented. “Okay then, Sammy. The church drive could stand to be shoveled out.” It was Minnesota in January. There was a lot of snow. It would take him hours. Sam bit back his exasperation. “The church grounds are well warded…” Jim continued “but don’t stray off the grounds, you understand? There is a hunt going on, remember.”
“I understand.” Did they think he was five?
“And get finished and back inside before dark,” John said.
“Yes, Sir.” No. They thought he was three. And retarded.
Jim nodded. “You remember where the shovels are?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Good. The shed door’s not locked. And thank you, Sammy.”
Sam gritted his teeth at the diminutive. Everybody hit the last syllable with the same patronizing tone. He was sure they’d picked up the habit from his dad. “No problem, Pastor Jim,” Sam made himself smile and made his escape outside, glad that he’d never taken his coat off.
***
John turned back to the table to find Travis watching him.
“What?” John demanded.
“Nothin’” Travis said, looking back at the books on the table. “Boy’s just gettin’ big, John.”
John frowned. Sam had always run a little heavy. “So?”
Travis shrugged, not looking up. “I might treat that boy with a little more respect, is all. He’s going to be a heavy-weight.”
John had to blink at that. He’d thought Travis was talking about Sammy’s weight… but instead, the other hunter had been calculating his weight-class. John actually laughed. “Sammy? That kid? He’s got a lot of growing to do before I start worrying about that.”
Travis did look up this time, incredulous. Jim looked surprised too. “Have you looked at that boy recently, John? Really looked at him? He’s already Dean’s size… and he’s still growing. He’d make me leery if I came across him in a dark alley.”
John frowned again. “Sammy? Travis, he’s a mathlete, for Christ’s sake. A geek. He’s smart enough, but the kid works at getting in his own way.”
Travis shrugged again. “Kids grow up, John. That boy’s becoming a man.”
“He’s only fifteen, Travis. He’s a long way from being a man. My boys are fine - and not your business.”
There was a warning note in John’s voice - one that the other hunters knew well. John didn’t like others talking about either of his sons… and he got downright mean if anyone touched on Sam at all. Everyone knew it was because he was disappointed in his youngest; in his clumsiness, his chubbiness, the fact that he just didn’t fit with other hunters the way Dean always had. John seemed almost embarrassed about the kid. It was a touchy area that Travis should have known not to step into.
Jim held up a hand, verbally stepping in. “Maybe it’s just been so long since we’ve seen you guys that he seems more changed to us than he is. I’m sure that’s all it is.”
Jim pointedly asked Travis something about the case, allowing the subject to drop before tempers could flare in earnest.
John glanced out the frosted window, trying to see the changes the other men saw in the silhouette of his youngest on the shimmering glass- but the boy was too far away, and the glass too hazy for him to really make Sammy out.
John tried to remember the last time he had looked at Sammy, the last time he’d spent time with him, just him… and was bemused to realize he couldn’t. Dean, he’d taken target shooting for his birthday just a few days ago. They’d made it a long weekend, leaving Sammy behind because he needed to be in school. It was easy to spend time with Dean. He was out of school and free to match his father’s schedule. They liked the same things and frankly, Dean didn’t frustrate him the way his youngest did. Dean was effortless; Sammy took work. It was easier to just leave the boy be.
But maybe he’d left it too long. Maybe it was time to make the effort. John made a mental note to check on his youngest when the boy finished up his chore and came inside.
He sighed, turning to Jim Murphy. “So, you said on the phone that this was big, and you needed us here fast. What’s going on, Jim?”
Jim Murphy looked upset... and John felt his gut twist. Jim never got upset. Hell, he’d seen the man stand against the monsters with nothing but his cross and his faith and never break out in a sweat. But now the guy was practically squirming. John knew this couldn’t be good.
“Spit it out, Jim.”
Jim got up, fetching more coffee. “It’s kind of funny that you two should be discussing young Sammy. He’s why I called you John.”
John’s heart tripped. They couldn’t know. Hell, he didn’t even know anything - he suspected some things, but he didn’t know - so what could they know? “What about Sammy, Jim,” he asked careful of his tone. Part of his mind was on his gun, holstered under his coat. He loved Jim like a brother, but Jim and Travis were hunters, and if the choice was them or his son….
Jim swallowed, turning to face him.
“I know you’re not going to like this, John,” Jim took a breath and squared his shoulders. John’s stomach churned. “But we need Sammy… to play bait.”
John blinked. “What?”
***
The familiar, bitter tang of a minor betrayal was coating the back of Sam’s throat.
The shovel moved in and out of the icy snow as he dug, skaaaruch, skaaaruch, skaaaruch. His thoughts had picked up the same beat. He had been trying not to think, but the repetitive motions of the digging had his body on automatic and his mind racing.
He didn’t want to be angry. Hell, it wasn’t the first time Dean went off to play while Sam stayed to do chores. Dad said it was because Dean did the lion’s share of the hunting - and because Dean took care of Sammy… so Dean needed a break sometimes. He needed to blow off steam. And, of course, inevitably, because Dean was older.
Sam’s breath was steaming in the icy air as his body warmed to the work. His temper was warming for whole other reasons.
He tried to stop it, he really did, but the anger got stronger the longer he was stuck out in the snow, digging. It was the same resentment Sam felt every time Dean got distracted by a new girl, or a new friend, or a new place to hang out -and just dumped Sam on his own wherever they happened to be. It wasn’t jealousy that caused Sam’s anger (at least not jealousy over Dean, but more like over Dean’s ease and confidence and the fact that he could go out, so maybe there was some jealousy after all). What hurt the worst wasn’t that Dean left, but that he left knowing that Sam was stuck. He just didn’t care.
When he was little, Dean would leave him for hours to go to the local arcade, knowing Sam wasn’t allowed out of the room. Dean would play video games…while Sam was stuck in whatever hole their dad rented that week….alone. As he got older, Dean ditched him to go to after school parties, or clubs… and Sam was alone again. He wasn’t allowed to go out without Dean by Dad’s orders, and he was usually banned from coming along by Dean. Sam spent a good portion of his life effectively trapped by contradictory commands. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d heard Dean say: ‘You’ll just embarrass me, Sammy. And you won’t have any fun, ‘cos you’d be the only little kid. Why don’t you stay here and read. And don’t tell Dad!’ right before the door slammed.
It wasn’t like he didn’t want Dean to have a life, but why did his have to stop every time Dean walked off?
And Dean always ditched him. If he saw a school buddy, or a hot girl… well, Sam had been left behind in a variety of places. He been abandoned in school parking lots, at the movies, at restaurants - even on the side of the street once, forced to get out of the car so that Dean could chase a skirt without his kid-brother along.
Dean was a social animal. He needed to be around people. Sam was… less so. It was okay usually, no big deal. But sometimes Sam would have liked to come along….
But he couldn’t. Because he wasn’t old enough.
He jabbed the shovel into a packed drift as hard as he could.
He knew his brother loved him. He knew Dean had always taken care of him. He just wished sometimes that Dean saw him as a person, rather than as a distraction; as more than just a toy for when he was bored, and a chore when he was in charge. Sam was tired of being thought of as nothing but the burden of his family. He didn’t want to just belong to them, he wanted to be like them. He wanted to be smart and tough and … a hero.
But all he was, was the useless tag-a-long.
All the anger drained out of him, leaving him tired and cold and … abandoned.
He sighed and scooped up the last of the snow from the church drive. It had been a long job. He was glad it was almost over. He didn’t think he could take being out in the cold much longer.
***
“Dude,” Caleb shouted over the music. “What happened to your brother?”
“What?” Dean almost sputtered on his beer. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The night wasn’t going according to Dean’s plan. In Dean’s head, he and Caleb were supposed to find a good blues bar, drink heavily, laugh like loons, and get taken on by a couple of lusty hot chicks - all before two. Instead, they’d had to drive two towns over just to find this country honky-tonk where the music was killing him, the drinks were watery, and the girls were very heifer-like. He’d decided to give it a couple more hours because it was so early, but if things didn’t pick up, he was so out of here.
And now Caleb wanted to talk about Sammy? Dean glared at the table and downed his second beer. Even out for a night with friends and he couldn’t shake his little shadow.
“That kid’s a monster,” Caleb continued, tossing back another shot. “He’s what? Sixteen? Is he taller than you yet?”
“Hell, no!” Dean snapped. “And even if he was, I would never let him know!” He refilled his own mug from the pitcher and started gulping. Maybe if he drank it fast enough he could get a descent buzz and blow off this funk that was clouding him tonight.
Caleb nodded sagely. “Probably a good idea….” The ‘probably’ was slightly slurred, and Dean started to wonder if Caleb was more drunk than he thought. He was drinking whiskey, while Dean was sticking to beer. It would explain the weird choice in topic, anyway. “Not good to let him know he can take down his big brother.” Caleb snickered.
Dean glowered. “He can’t take me down. Even if he was bigger - which I’m not saying he is! - he could never take me down. He’s a puppy. A good natured goofball that I have to spend my time watching out for so he doesn’t trip over his own feet and end up in a well. He’s almost useless.” Dean chugged his beer, wiped his mouth off with a sleeve, and kept going. “He is good for doing the research and paying the bills. And covering for me with Dad. Gotta hand that to him.”
Caleb regarded him with whiskey-clouded philosopher’s eyes. “Maybe he just doesn’t want to take you down. Ever thought of that?”
Dean stared at Caleb… then laughed. “Oh, he wants to…it’s in his eyes. But even after years of training he’s never figured it out. That’s why he’s about hopeless. He can’t let it in. I love him, but he’s just a dweeb stuck in a quarterback’s body.” It was said affectionately, almost nostalgically. “And that’s okay. I can use him to do the research, and I’ll kick the ghosties asses, and we’ll be bad-ass hunters, and that will work.” Dean nodded to himself.
Caleb frowned though. “Have you let the kid in on these plans of yours?”
Dean frowned back. “Sammy knows the score, Caleb.”
His friend leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “Just seems like you’re making an awful lot of plans for that kid without ever asking him what he wants…or if he has plans of his own, maybe.”
Dean felt his slowly kindling anger go out in a whiff of amusement, and he laughed. The idea that Sammy could go anywhere without him was ridiculous. “Sammy’s been tied to my hip since birth - the kid’s too timid to venture out on his own, for God’s sake. So where I go, Sammy goes… and we both know what my life is going to be. Sammy knows how it’s gonna be.”
Caleb arched an eyebrow. “And what happens if Sam wants out one day? Or you do? What happens then, Dean?”
Dean felt a shiver at those words. Like something small and cold had just wrapped itself around the base of his spine. He shook it off quickly, though. “You think too much, dude. And you get morose when you drink anymore. Having trouble holding your liquor in your old age, Ace?”
“Bite me,” Caleb shot back, and they were off on an enjoyable round of increasingly horrific insults.
They were on the fifth round, and both laughing like jackals, when the hot chicks walked in. Caleb nudged Dean, nodding to the bar. “Fresh meat, on your six.”
Dean turned, and grinned. “Finally! I thought this whole town was going to be a bust.”
There were two of them, huddled at the bar, talking with their heads close. They weren’t exactly throwing out welcoming vibes, but Dean had learned long ago that fortune favored the brave in these situations.
He and Caleb wandered over to the bar, Dean leaning next to the girls and asking for another pitcher. He shot the taller one a disarming smile. “Hi, sorry to be in your way. Just getting a beer.”
The girl glared at him, one hand comfortingly on her friends back. “Look, we just came in for a drink. We really aren’t in the mood for lines tonight, okay?”
Dean looked at the other girl, who was sitting with her head drooped and her eyes puffy from crying. Instantly his mood changed. “Are you guys alright?”
“No, we’re not alright!” girl number one said again. “Her little brother just disappeared, so why don’t you just leave us alone!”
Caleb stiffened. “Your brother. Was he a high school student?”
The girl with the sad eyes glanced up. “Yeah. Why?”
Caleb glanced at Dean, then sat down next to the girl. “I’m here looking for my missing cousin, Kevin Turpin? He disappeared from his high school parking lot over in Sampson two months ago.”
She nodded. “I remember hearing about that. He hasn’t turned up yet?”
Caleb shook his head, but Dean could tell from the hesitation that the older hunter was lying. “Not yet. What’s your brother’s name?"
“Kurt. Kurt Aimes. He just…vanished three nights ago. The cops think he might be a runaway, but Kurt would never do that! He loves my mom too much. I used to give him a hard time about being a momma’s boy…but he wasn’t. He plays on the local football team. Takes boxing at the Y. Everybody knows him. He’s never hurt anybody. Never been in any trouble. Why would he just take off?” She sniffed, clearing her throat. “So I told them he didn’t. That somebody must have taken him. But they didn’t believe me. Nobody’s even looking for him! I barely even noticed him when he was here, but now that he’s gone, I can’t seem to think of anything else!” she started crying again, slow tears running down her face.
Caleb swallowed, jaw clenching. It was weird to see the guy embarrassed by a woman’s tears. “Yeah. It was the same with Kevin. Look, good luck with finding your brother. If anything turns up while I’m looking for my cousin, I’ll pass it on.”
She nodded absently, while her friend shot them a dismissing kind of look.
They both retreated.
“What was that all about?” Dean demanded as they moved back to their table.
“That girl’s brother is dead; and it looks like our case has heated up.” Caleb dropped some cash on the table. “C’mon. We gotta get back.”
***
Part 2