Becoming Sam (3/4)
Title: Becoming Sam
Summary: ‘At the door Dean said, “Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?” And mussed up Sam’s floppy hair.’ Adam’s mother is killed by ghouls when he is young and John takes him in. The family dynamic shifts. For Sam everything changes and nothing does. Pre-series AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything else that is even vaguely recognisable.
Author’s Note: For the sake of artistic freedom, I have made Adam slightly older than he would have been. He was born in ‘88 instead of ’90. Also, in this universe, Sam has a few visions when he’s younger.
Warnings: Nothing but the occasional swearword. Though if I missed anything, please let me know and I will edit the warnings!
Chapter 3: Confrontation
Textbooks were strewn over Bobby’s kitchen table, layer after layer of paper crisscrossing each other in an order that only made sense to Sam. He smirked at the memory of Adam’s wide-eyed, “You’re using all these books? For school?”. A bitch-face had apparently been enough of an answer and Dean had taken their youngest brother outside to do some ‘fun stuff’. Like fixing broken cars. Hurray.
Writing a paper wasn’t much better, but at least it was an interesting subject; the stages and outcomes of a revolution. Sam’s teacher had mentioned three of the stages; campaign for the truth, nonviolent resistance and physical confrontation. All he really had to do was stick them together with a historical example. With the amount of books in Bobby’s house, he’d expected that to be easy. Turned out, almost if not all of the texts in this house were solely on lore and the rest was in Japanese.
“What ‘you working on?” Came Bobby’s gruff voice from the door, “Looks like some heavy duty research.”
Sam gave an amused huff, “It sure is, just not anything hunt-related.”
“Schoolwork?”
“Yeah, and it’s a pretty important paper, too. I’ll need to ace this if I want to-“ Sam stopped himself. He’d started the sentence without thinking and before he knew it, he was saying things he’d only ever contemplated to himself. Things like college and what he’d need to get there.
Bobby raised an expectant eyebrow, “You lose your tongue halfway through that sentence, son?”
“…If I want to apply for college.” Sam whispered eventually as he firmly avoided looking at the other man. He didn’t know why he said it, maybe it was because he was tired of the secret weighing on his heart. Or maybe it was just that Bobby tended to pull the truth out of him anyway.
Halfway to the fridge, Bobby’s hands stilled in the air. Time froze and Sam wished he could take back the words, pluck them from the air and swallow them back down where they’d never get to see the light of day again.
“College, huh?” There was a strange timbre to the man’s voice. Something between fear and pride and resignation, “Anyone know about that?”
Sam didn’t say anything to that, and Bobby just nodded. The man turned back towards Sam and leant his arms on the opposite side of the table. There was a moment where the man and the boy just looked at each other. Not hostile. Not fearful. Curious, maybe.
Bobby frowned suddenly, “You really want to get out, don’t ya? Not just for a break. Forever.”
For a moment Sam didn’t know if it was a question or a statement, if Bobby even expected an answer. Even then, he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t exactly want to drive a wedge between Bobby and himself. He would, if he answered honestly. Because either he’d come across as whiny, or he would reveal how deeply this life was tearing him apart. Neither of these things would be good. In the end Sam just nodded, eyes still trained on the coffee-stained table.
Even with his eyes diverted, Sam could tell Bobby was frowning. He could practically feel the brows knit together in thought. The nodding, too. It was almost as if the older man’s nodding sent the entire world quaking.
“Why?” Came Bobby’s voice eventually.
Sam’s head snapped up and he looked at Bobby incredulously. He was caught completely off guard by the question and something in his stomach jumped, then curled up into a painful heap like he’d swallowed something heavy. It took him a moment to figure out the reason for his surprise, the reason the question fell onto his mind like a bombshell. Then it came to him.
No one had ever asked him why.
His entire family knew, to some extent, about his hatred for their lifestyle, but they had never asked him why he hated it. Dad simply expected him to live this life, whether he liked it or not. Even when the subject did come up, he always too busy giving his ‘you’re selfish’ speech for him to think of asking Sam why. Dean, on the other hand, simply refused to acknowledge the idea that Sam would ever leave, the thought of his family falling apart simply too painful to even think about. And Adam, well he just didn’t understand. He loved the life, he couldn’t imagine anything better. Or that anyone would ever want to leave.
Now that Sam had to answer the question, he suddenly no longer knew the answer. Why did he want to leave so badly? His family was here, it was the only life he’d ever known. And he wanted to leave that safety?
But that was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t safety. It was a life full of danger, full of death and blood and gore. It was a life that had him questioning every day if his family would still be alive when he got home. It was a life that put his very teeth on edge and dragged his spirit and mind to their breaking point.
The one thing that could have made it worthwhile was his family. But every day he felt like he was separating from them more. Their lives revolved around hunting and weapons, and Sam’s just didn’t. Sam’s world revolved around running. Fear and desperation and getting out. As the Winchesters’ lives progressed he felt himself grow invisible, slowly disappearing into nothing. Because he was nothing without his family, but with them he wasn’t what he wanted to be. He was a shadow in his own house and maybe outside in the sun he could become something more.
That was why. He needed to get out so he could become something other than a shadow, latching to the nearest thing. So he could be safe.
How was Sam supposed to put that into words?
“I just… I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live a life that I don’t want.” Sam said eventually, his eyes still boring into Bobby’s. He wondered what the older man would think. They hadn’t spoken in years and even then Dean and Adam had always seemed closer to Bobby than Sam had been.
Bobby simply nodded and took his baseball cap off to wipe his forehead. Then, with perfectly feigned indifference, he asked, “So, you still in for chili con carne?”
“If you’re the one making it, always.” Sam said with a smile.
A heavy weight had been lifted from his stomach, and he intended to replace it with Bobby’s famous chili.
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Sam had learnt from a very young age that if he wanted something, he had to take it. Not in a forceful, violent way necessarily, but still taking. He’d taken the last Lucky Charms with a pleading look to Dean. He’d taken liberties in school and had almost physically ripped the truth from his father’s grasp one question at a time.
Even now, on a field trip, he was grabbing what he wanted with both hands. They’d gone to a local court to watch a few trials, the class fooling around and laughing at the alcoholic who had stolen a bottle of wine. Sam didn’t like that, the way they ridiculed the woman. He wanted them to stop.
The clothes she was wearing were obviously the nicest she owned, but the edges were worn and the over-polished shoes were tattered. There was no one to defend her and no matter how many times she denied the charges (I just forgot to take it out of the shopping cart) she had to pay a fine. Suddenly Sam wished he could have gotten her out. He wanted to be able to do that, to help people, to show the grey in this black and white world. To be a hero in a way that didn’t involve killing someone.
So Sam went to his teacher after the trip and asked her if she had time to talk about his college applications.
“I thought you weren’t sure yet if you wanted to go to college?” The teacher asked, though there was excitement in her eyes.
“I think I might want to do law school...” Sam said hesitantly, “Do you think I could do that?”
“Sam. With your grades, you could get all kinds of scholarships for pre-law! Ivy-League even! Or Stanford, or…” The teacher said, so excited she didn’t even finish her sentence before she ran straight into the next one, “How about you meet me tomorrow and we look in to it?”
It was with a broad smile and a happy feeling in his chest that Sam returned home. Home, in this case, was in a rundown motel at the edge of town; room 17. The joyous feeling disappeared the moment Sam stuck out an arm to knock on the door. There were only two keys to the room and those were kept by Dean and Dad.
Whether they were home or not, the door was always locked. Now, it was slightly ajar, the knob hanging at a strange angle and splinters of wood sticking out from beneath the metal. Sam should have known the day couldn’t be this good. He should have known that the happiness he was feeling would come back and bite him in the ass. That was just how life worked for a Winchester. With a reach to the pocket at the side of his bag, Sam armed himself with the silver knife he had gotten for his birthday years ago.
Hesitantly, Sam pushed against the door. It opened inwards and blew over the salt-line that Sam found to be completely intact. Not some kind of spirit then. The creak and then the bang of the door against the worn wall made him whip his head up.
Sam’s heart stopped.
Because the room was empty safe for the haphazard tumble of furniture and the scrunched papers that lined every inch of the floor. On the opposite wall was blood. A large, terrifying swath of it that Sam desperately hoped wasn’t one of his family members’.
The door creaked again as Sam stepped inside.
Sam knew that if he wanted something, he had to take it. Apparently whatever monster had wanted the Winchesters had thought along the same lines, because it had just plucked Sam’s family right out of their home.
Dad’s journal lay splayed in the middle of the room, vomiting lore and post-mortem pictures. Sam knew very little about their latest case, but he couldn’t imagine anything that Dad was hunting had found them here. The hunt was two towns over after all.
Not knowing what else to do, Sam picked up the phone on Dad’s nightstand. With a numbness that simultaneously gave him excruciating clarity and horrific confusion, Sam dialled the first number that came to mind.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Bobby Singer, speaking.”
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“I’ve got the tapes.” Bobby yelled as he slammed open the screen-door to his house. Sam looked up from the lore he was flipping through, practically jumping to the TV to get it ready for playing what Bobby had brought.
“Took you long enough…” Sam muttered, heart still stuttering at the disappearance of his family. He panic in his gut hadn’t really stopped since he’d entered the trashed motel-room and he didn’t think it would until he had his brothers and his father back at his side.
The slap to the back of Sam’s head said that despite his fear, Bobby did not like his comment in the least. A gruff voice says, “I’d like to see you get classified tapes from the sheriff, Mr. Sarcasm.”
“Yeah, but the sheriff gives you whatever you want.” Sam said with something like a smile playing on his lips. The old shaky sheriff of Sioux Falls would do anything Bobby asked of him.
“Yeah well, there’s a new one.” Came the frustrated answer, “And let me tell you, Sheriff Mills was not in the least impressed by me.”
The old VCR player swallowed the tape on the sixth try, dust and plastic whirred loudly within before the screen started showing any images. The images were scratchy black and whites that faded out every once in a while. There was a dark hallway and the shifting of shadows in the distance, the closest room number on the right read 17. It was illuminated by a flickering light above the door.
A press on the fast-forward button and the stilted movements showed Adam and Dean coming home. Then, hours in real life and minutes later on the television, Dad stumbled down the hall. He was weighed down by dozens of books and behind him, almost invisible in the shadows, another figure slinked into view. Four others moved in sync. The front man had his head bowed and hand reached forward until it slowly turned on the knob of the door, which cracked open under superhuman strength.
“Not human at least.” Bobby murmured.
Light filtered from the room into the hallway, shadows bouncing and flitting over the illuminated floor. Minutes later a female head stuck out from the door, looking to see if there was anyone in the hallway. When it proved empty, the face disappeared and reappeared moments later with a body slung over her shoulder.
Dean.
Sam clenched his right fist. Then next came a man carrying...
Dad.
The left fist clenched too. It was only when the third person came out with something on his back that Sam finally stood with a growl, all his energy focussed on not slamming his fist into the screen.
Adam.
“Fuck!” He snarled, and Bobby nodded solemnly, apparently not in the least surprised that Sam, usually polite and articulate, was swearing.
Finally the last man came out, he was the one who entered first and seemed to be the leader of the group. He subtly closed the door and looked up at the camera with a smile. Then he winked and Sam let out a gasp.
“Pause it there Bobby!” he whispered, scrambling over to the Dad’s journal. It had been blood-stained, sprawled open on the floor with pictures of bloody bodies streaming over the pages. Ruffling through the pictures, Sam raised one triumphantly over his head.
“I’ve got it! Look at this.” Sam thrust the picture of a bloody corpse into Bobby’s hands. It was a man, body mutilated and digested almost beyond recognition, but the face somehow intact. The same face that was winking up at them from the screen.
Sam saw Bobby blink twice before he looked back up, “What was your Dad hunting again?”
“A ghoul.” Was the answer.
“You scan over his notes.” Bobby said with a nod, “I’m g’na go sharpen my machetes.”
With a shuddering breath, Sam agreed. He looked over briefly at the ghoul that had taken his family from their motel-room and tried to shake of the feeling of familiarity he got when looking at that smile.
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Sam remembered quite vividly the last time he’d been at Bobby’s house without his older brother. He’d stayed there for weeks with Adam while Dad was ‘looking for Dean’. Sam hadn’t know what had happened exactly, but he had been willing to bet that Dad knew exactly where his brother was. Also, that Dean had done something illegal to feed them.
Sam had seen it in the shifty way he moved, in the way he wore his largest too-large jacket. The way he’d said “See you later.” with just slightly too much cockiness. For weeks Sam had been angry, cooking inside at how short-sighted his father was. He’d run so many laps that Adam had taken to waiting for him with a bottle of water in the morning for when he returned and never once had his little brother asked him why. Almost as if he knew, too.
Bobby had given Sam an airplane to play with, the kind of toy that he would have loved to have a mere two years before that. He’d played with it because Adam’s eyes had shined every time the toy went up in the air, hanging onto Sam’s lips as he wove a story of a heroic pilot in a leather jacket who always came back to his family. He’d been playing with it in the car, too, when they picked Dean up. The plane soaring just like his heart with the knowledge that Dean would soon return.
That very plane was still on the mantle-piece, staring down at Sam accusingly. If Adam was here, he’d be playing with me, it said, flying to some place where no ghoul can hurt him. Almost two days had passed since Sam had entered an empty room, and they still had no leads.
“I think we need to set me up as bait.” Sam said absentmindedly as he smoothed out a map and crossed off another warehouse that had turned out empty.
“What?” came a surprised growl from the corner of the room. Sam merely shrugged.
Bobby turned to him with a frown, “I really hope you didn’t just suggest we use you as bait, you idgit. ‘Cause if you did I’m gonna have to talk some sense into you and we really don’t have the time.”
“It makes sense, Bobby.” Sam sighed, “For whatever reason, these ghouls are after us. After ‘the Winchesters’ and they’re only missing me. They’d come and get me if I showed myself.”
“And then they’d take you. What good would that do anyone?” Bobby asked, more patient this time, brow furrowing in frustrated understanding.
“You would come after me with some back-up. Get us out. Win-win.” Sam answered simply.
The frown on Bobby’s face deepened, “And if they kill you before I get there? Huh?”
Again, Sam just shrugged.
A loud bang sounded through the room as Bobby slammed his fist against the wooden table. The he growled an angry, “The hell kid? Do you have a death wish?”
“No. No, I really like living, that’s why I want to get out of this fucked up life in the first place!” Sam shouted in return, affronted at the idea that he would want to ‘take the easy way out’.
Bobby face softened. “Then why are you setting yourself up to die?”
With a swipe of his hand Sam threw the hair from his face. He was struggling to find the words to explain why he wanted to do this.
The sentiment behind them was so easy and so heart-felt that Sam didn’t think he could put it into words.
In the end the pleaded softly, “Cause I’d rather die a thousand times than live on a world without them. Please Bobby, you know it’s the only option.”
It was absolutely quiet for a few seconds. The only noises were the ticking of the clock and the whirring of the gears in Bobby’s brain as he tried to come up with another way out. Finally the old man sighed.
“If you die, I swear to God, you better come back as a ghost and protect me from your family’s wrath.”
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The voices scarcely reached through the pounding in Sam’s head. They were floating somewhere in the distance.
“They always die, don’t they? The ones you love?”
“Shut up.” That was Dean, Sam realised. He tried to think of why that was relevant.
Right. The plan had worked, then. He remembered now, going back to the motel-room. Sitting on a bed in the dark, looking at the blood-stained wall and wondering where his family was. The ghouls must have been hiding close by, lying in wait until he returned.
Because as soon as Sam stepped out the door again, something hard had hit his head and he had known no more.
“I hear that you burned Kathy Milligan, gave her a hunter’s death.” Someone beside Sam stiffened, “Good for you. I would have come back to eat her otherwise.
A snarl sounded through Sam’s haze. He recognised it as Adam and he attempted to open his eyes as he leaned closer to his brother to support him. Now that he his eyes were open Sam could see that he was trussed up between his brothers, Dad tied to a pole opposite them.
The man was pale, his jaw clenched in anger, but he remained silent.
It occurred to Sam how unfair life had been to John, though all his fights with this father would suggest the contrary, he did in fact understand why his father had taken them down this road. He just didn’t agree. Now, at the ghoul’s words, he feels a pit growing in his stomach. After losing one woman he loved to a fire, John had been forced to burn the second when she died. The parallels were sickening.
A man moved closer, and Sam recognised him as the ghoul who had led the attack of their motel-room.
“My son and wife died at your hands, yet you only lost a wife. Now I’m going to take your son, and I going to eat him before your eyes.” The ghoul sneered, face so close to John’s that their noses almost touched.
John remained silent, a disdainful look in his eyes.
“Gentleman as a I am, I would normally give you the choice of which son you could miss most. But that doesn’t really sit well with me.” The ghoul continued, “You see, I distinctly remember the crying of a child as you slaughtered my own. It seems only fit that we finish this business with the same people that started it, don’t you think? Poetic justice and all.”
John paled slightly, but he didn’t so much as blink.
“All you have to do, Winchester, is tell me which son was with you that night.” The ghoul finished with a flourish.
“None of my kids were with me.” John spat at the monster. It merely raised one of its thick eyebrows.
“Then I guess I will just have to kill all of them.” the ghoul murmured, swiftly moving towards the three Winchester brothers.
“Me!” Dean yelled, when the ghoul slid his hand through Adam’s hair, “It was me, I was there!”
“Shut up, Dean.” Sam gritted out through his teeth. He could see John straining, pulling at the ropes that held him fast against the pillar.
“No you weren’t!” Adam yelled fearfully, eyes wide and worried. He turned towards the ghoul in a rage, “It was me! You murdered my mother!”
Now it was Dean’s turn to tell one of his brothers to shut up, and he said it in a way so similar to Sam, that Sam wondered if maybe he’d learned that phrase from his brother. There was a moment of yelling to and fro as both Sam’s brothers tried to convince the ghoul. Tried to convince him that they should be the one to be eaten. God, their lives were so fucked up.
It made Sam remember, suddenly, why he wanted to leave this life and take his family with him. It made him remember how if there was a choice, he would be the one that the Winchesters could survive losing.
It made him remember how much he didn’t want to see his family die.
An idea started to form in Sam’s head. His brothers weren’t going to like it.
“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Sam yelled, “You don’t need to protect me.”
The ghoul swung his head around to Sam, a malevolent glint in his eyes. “Protect you?”
“That kid you heard crying, that was me. And they know it.” Sam replied calmly, his heart beating straight out of his chest.
“What?” Adam asked indignantly. At the same time, Dean snarled, “We do?”
“Both your brothers are saying the same thing, why should I listen to you?” The ghoul asked slyly.
Sam swallowed. He thought back, delved into his earliest memories, fading, lost. There was one very clear memory from before Adam. A dream. A dream so vivid and painful and real, that Sam had cried for days after. A dream of a Dad in a house with a woman, her hair dirty-blond like the mother he knew from pictures, and her smile nearly as sweet. A dream of a one-year-old who was about to lose his mother. A dream that Sam had never shared with anyone. Not even with Dean.
Sam looked the ghoul straight in the eye, oozing as much confidence as he could from his position on the floor, “Because I can prove it.”
“How is that?”
“I remember what happened.”
“Really?” it mocked, “You were what, five?”
“Yeah, and I watched my mother die. That’s not exactly something you forget.” Sam spat at the ghoul, feelings over his own mother, over Dean who had practically seen her die, clouding his vision.
“Enlighten me.” The ghoul snarled.
“You couldn’t see. Your eyes were gouged out, bleeding onto your face. There were two others I think. A woman and another guy. The guy was dead, Dad had probably managed to kill him.” Sam started, and the ghoul growled at the mention of what Sam assumed was his son’s death, “The woman was killing my mom, he was strangling her and I remember I just didn’t know what to do. I saw her die, I saw her last stuttering breath as your wife’s fingers crushed her windpipe. That was what distracted Dad, that was the only reason you even got a bite in. And when he punched your teeth out, you ran like the coward you are-”
The ghoul’s hand shot out like lightning, grabbing Sam’s throat like his wife had done to Katy Milligan all those years ago. Sam’s heart raced like a freight train, he could feel the insanity in the grip on his neck. A little air managed to whistle through the fingers as he gasped, choking. He should be used to this by now actually. Every other monster seemed to have it out for his neck, so why would this one be any different?
The fingers released him. He allowed his head to fall, allowed precious sweet air into his lungs gulp by glorious gulp. Dean was ranting at the ghoul, Adam was asking him something that he couldn’t understand, and Dad was growling like some beast on a chain. None of them could stop the ghoul from slipping his hands into Sam hair to pull up his head. He could almost hear Dean and Dad chastising him for his long locks. They despised his hair. Adam, though, secretly liked it. Sam could tell by the way Adam would always try to delay hair-cut day as long as possible and he way he would try to hide his smile every time Sam flaunted his hair in front of Dad.
“I’m going to enjoy gutting you.” The ghoul whispered.
“Not as much as I enjoyed watching my father kill your wife.” The fingers in Sam’s hair tightened in warning, the same way that Dad’s eyes always did when he was about to explode. Not that Sam ever took warnings into account. He was more of a ‘trial and error’ kind of guy. And that, he would tell himself later, was why he didn’t stop pissing this thing off, “He took his time with it you know. The blade was dull, and your wife really didn’t want to die.”
Sam was pulled up by his hair, suspended somewhere between standing and sitting by the ropes around his arms and legs. With a vicious stroke, the ghoul pulled out a knife, his hands shaking dangerously, and his eyes promising murder. Something lodged in
Sam’s throat as the entire world converged to that one blade. Polished, sharp and very deadly. The bright uv-light that was reflected in the shiny surface seemed to mock him.
Terror cloyed in Sam’s gut. This was it, he realised. Today was the day he would die and in the end, he had chosen if for himself. Then the knife ripped through his bindings in one smooth move and Sam was taken to an altar of sorts.
Three more ghouls converged around him with flashing teeth and hungry eyes. He fought as they tied him down, but even his stubbornness was no match against the combined supernatural strength of three ghouls. Rough ropes tore at his skin as the voices of his family threatened murder and called his name.
A small cut along Sam’s neck started the flow of blood. The leader lapped it up gently.
“Mmmmh.” He said, “The taste of Winchester.”
Enjoy it while you can, Sam thought, you won’t be enjoying anything much when Bobby gets here.
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Blood was actually kind of weird. Weird, warm, sticky stuff that ran through people’s bodies and kept them alive. It connected him to Dad and Dean, and to Adam on a lesser level. It was hot and searing and Sam wondered how much of his blood was still his. How much was made up transfusions?
How much more was flowing from him now? Red rivulets crashing to the ground. Tongues lapping.
Someone was… Someone was screaming.
Someone else was biting and it hurt. It hurt. But not as much as the first few cuts.
“This blood…” someone whispered, “It tastes so much better than other blood. More potent. More powerful.”
There was a reply somewhere, but Sam heard only the pounding of his heart through the red haze of pain. Red like the logo of Stanford, the lines of the pine tree drip, drip, dripping. Red like the blood of a witch that nearly killed him. The evil in your veins she had said. He wondered what that was, if that was what the ghouls were tasting.
Adam was sobbing his name, he could hear that over Dean’s disjointed pleas and Dad’s aggressive threats. Sam’s heart beat erratically, held together by a panicked terror and a stubborn will to live.
Then a shotgun went off and a ghoul’s head exploded with in a shower of red. A pain ran through Sam’s stomach as a scalpel slipped deeper through the skin. Pain. Red hot pain. Red hot blood.
Calloused hands.
“Sam. Wake up, boy.”
Red, red, red as the world went black.
“Sammy!”
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Sam woke up empty. Like a tube of toothpaste that was empty but that kept being wrung out for those last little specks. His eyes felt glued shut but even from behind them he could sense the clean whiteness of a hospital.
He tried to move, managed to twitch a toe, a finger. Nothing more. Then hands were in his hair, loud voices with words that were just out of his reach. Memories of blood. Of red like Stanford, like the life he could have beyond this slewing of death and pain and danger.
Sam opened his eyes hesitantly, lashes sticking together. He smiled though when the saw the almost goofily happy face that Dean pulled when he managed it. Like opening his eyes was his greatest accomplishment. Adam moved closer, too, wide-eyed and smiling.
“I’m so happy you’re alive.” He breathed, “But impersonating me is not cool, Sam.”
“You heard him, Sammy. You do that again and I’ll kill you myself.” Dean added, but he was still grinning and he handed Sam a glass of water to drink with so much flourish that half the liquid spilled over the sheets.
Dad stood at the back with his arms crossed and something like relief colouring his features. He also moved closer, nodding and smiling at his sons’ words. For a while the man seemed to be fine with that. There was a conversation of worry and relief. Then, when Sam asked what he’d missed and Adam said, “Bobby chased Dad off the salvage yard with a shotgun.” Dad suddenly cut in.
“Shouldn’t you two be getting us all some lunch?” He asked. There was an order behind the question though and two Winchesters set out with growling bellies and lingering looks at Dad.
As soon as Adam and Dean had left the room, John rounded on Sam.
“What the hell did you think you were doing back there?”
Sam, who was genuinely confused as to what he had done wrong, answered, “Talking to my brothers…?”
Judging from the shade of red that Dad’s face turned, that was the wrong thing to say, “Don’t play dumb with me, Sam Winchester.
You know damned well what you did.”
“Did when? Where?” Sam asked in frustration, “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”
“With the ghoul, Sam. Serving yourself up on a silver platter, that was a bad move.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sam yelled, “That was our only move!”
“It wasn’t,” John said coldly, looking anywhere but at his son, “I was handling it.”
Out of their own volition, Sam’s eyebrows rose. He felt his mouth moving before he even realised what he was saying, “Oh, right. I forgot you could kill ghouls with your eyes. Silly me.”
Dad gaped at him for a few moments and Sam really wondered what the man had expected. Had he thought that one little ghoul would be enough to cut the insolence and the sarcasm from him? Had he expected Sam’s wishes for another life to bleed out with the rest of his bodily fluids?
“Sam…” Dad wiped is bow in frustration, “Your actions almost got you killed.”
“But they saved you. All of you.” Sam intoned and wasn’t that what hunting was about anyway? Saving people? Wasn’t that was Dad always said? As an afterthought, Sam added, “It saved Adam at least.”
Dad looked him up and down carefully, then asked what had probably been bothering him all along, “How did you know what happened with Adam’s mother?”
“Adam told me.” Sam was pleased to notice his voice was steady as he lied.
“Adam can’t remember what happened, he was too young.” Dad replied as his eyes narrowed.
“He remembered when he was small, like two or three years old. He told me then.” Sam said casually.
Dad didn’t look like he believed a word Sam said, but there was also something like pain marring his features. Maybe it was the reminder that two of his sons had seen their mother die. It made Sam’s heart break for him, but he knew that telling the truth would be worse.
What would Dad do if he knew Sam was a monster?
Sam shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about hunting or the fear he had felt as he had nearly been killed. Never again did he want to feel that. Never again did he want to walk into a motel and find his family missing. Never again did he want to walk out of one in the knowledge that he was setting himself up to be captured.
He was so tired of the fear, the pain and the mistrust of his family. The very thought of slipping back into a hunting life after this tore away his heart. He’d be that shadow in his own house again, the boy with one foot out the door and the other stuck in the dysfunctional muck of a family that the loved so much.
It was time to take out that foot, too. Sam would visit and help when he could, but he couldn’t live his life going from a friendly fieldtrip to a murder scene. So, he stared Dad down unapologetically, a look made out of sheer stubborn defiance and determination. He’d never felt so strong before.
Suddenly, Dad deflated. He sat down in Dean’s old seat and shook his head. For a few moments it was quiet. Then he sighed in defeat and leaned towards one of the many machines that was monitoring Sam.
“Ghouls are some of Earth’s foulest creatures.” Dad murmured, staring intently at the steady heart monitor, “You did good, coming after us.”
Sam took that to mean I’m glad you’re alive. He smiled, but he could hear the beeping of his heart skipping over a beat. Dad hesitantly reached out and swiped Sam’s hair from his face. A look passed between them, almost like both of them had felt the shift in the air and understood that something irreversible had happened.
As he looked away from his father, he knew with a startling clarity that he was going to leave, even if it cost hime everything he knew and loved. From the look on his father’s face, troubled and somehow resigned, he knew that his father did too.
And he would never be forgiven for it.
Epilogue to follow...
Author's Note: So, there will be a short epilogue after this, and I'm thinking of maybe doing two more chapters. One form Adam's and one from Dean's perspective. Let me know what you think :)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Summary: ‘At the door Dean said, “Watch out for Adam, huh, little bro?” And mussed up Sam’s floppy hair.’ Adam’s mother is killed by ghouls when he is young and John takes him in. The family dynamic shifts. For Sam everything changes and nothing does. Pre-series AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything else that is even vaguely recognisable.
Author’s Note: For the sake of artistic freedom, I have made Adam slightly older than he would have been. He was born in ‘88 instead of ’90. Also, in this universe, Sam has a few visions when he’s younger.
Warnings: Nothing but the occasional swearword. Though if I missed anything, please let me know and I will edit the warnings!
Chapter 3: Confrontation
Textbooks were strewn over Bobby’s kitchen table, layer after layer of paper crisscrossing each other in an order that only made sense to Sam. He smirked at the memory of Adam’s wide-eyed, “You’re using all these books? For school?”. A bitch-face had apparently been enough of an answer and Dean had taken their youngest brother outside to do some ‘fun stuff’. Like fixing broken cars. Hurray.
Writing a paper wasn’t much better, but at least it was an interesting subject; the stages and outcomes of a revolution. Sam’s teacher had mentioned three of the stages; campaign for the truth, nonviolent resistance and physical confrontation. All he really had to do was stick them together with a historical example. With the amount of books in Bobby’s house, he’d expected that to be easy. Turned out, almost if not all of the texts in this house were solely on lore and the rest was in Japanese.
“What ‘you working on?” Came Bobby’s gruff voice from the door, “Looks like some heavy duty research.”
Sam gave an amused huff, “It sure is, just not anything hunt-related.”
“Schoolwork?”
“Yeah, and it’s a pretty important paper, too. I’ll need to ace this if I want to-“ Sam stopped himself. He’d started the sentence without thinking and before he knew it, he was saying things he’d only ever contemplated to himself. Things like college and what he’d need to get there.
Bobby raised an expectant eyebrow, “You lose your tongue halfway through that sentence, son?”
“…If I want to apply for college.” Sam whispered eventually as he firmly avoided looking at the other man. He didn’t know why he said it, maybe it was because he was tired of the secret weighing on his heart. Or maybe it was just that Bobby tended to pull the truth out of him anyway.
Halfway to the fridge, Bobby’s hands stilled in the air. Time froze and Sam wished he could take back the words, pluck them from the air and swallow them back down where they’d never get to see the light of day again.
“College, huh?” There was a strange timbre to the man’s voice. Something between fear and pride and resignation, “Anyone know about that?”
Sam didn’t say anything to that, and Bobby just nodded. The man turned back towards Sam and leant his arms on the opposite side of the table. There was a moment where the man and the boy just looked at each other. Not hostile. Not fearful. Curious, maybe.
Bobby frowned suddenly, “You really want to get out, don’t ya? Not just for a break. Forever.”
For a moment Sam didn’t know if it was a question or a statement, if Bobby even expected an answer. Even then, he didn’t know what to say, he didn’t exactly want to drive a wedge between Bobby and himself. He would, if he answered honestly. Because either he’d come across as whiny, or he would reveal how deeply this life was tearing him apart. Neither of these things would be good. In the end Sam just nodded, eyes still trained on the coffee-stained table.
Even with his eyes diverted, Sam could tell Bobby was frowning. He could practically feel the brows knit together in thought. The nodding, too. It was almost as if the older man’s nodding sent the entire world quaking.
“Why?” Came Bobby’s voice eventually.
Sam’s head snapped up and he looked at Bobby incredulously. He was caught completely off guard by the question and something in his stomach jumped, then curled up into a painful heap like he’d swallowed something heavy. It took him a moment to figure out the reason for his surprise, the reason the question fell onto his mind like a bombshell. Then it came to him.
No one had ever asked him why.
His entire family knew, to some extent, about his hatred for their lifestyle, but they had never asked him why he hated it. Dad simply expected him to live this life, whether he liked it or not. Even when the subject did come up, he always too busy giving his ‘you’re selfish’ speech for him to think of asking Sam why. Dean, on the other hand, simply refused to acknowledge the idea that Sam would ever leave, the thought of his family falling apart simply too painful to even think about. And Adam, well he just didn’t understand. He loved the life, he couldn’t imagine anything better. Or that anyone would ever want to leave.
Now that Sam had to answer the question, he suddenly no longer knew the answer. Why did he want to leave so badly? His family was here, it was the only life he’d ever known. And he wanted to leave that safety?
But that was it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t safety. It was a life full of danger, full of death and blood and gore. It was a life that had him questioning every day if his family would still be alive when he got home. It was a life that put his very teeth on edge and dragged his spirit and mind to their breaking point.
The one thing that could have made it worthwhile was his family. But every day he felt like he was separating from them more. Their lives revolved around hunting and weapons, and Sam’s just didn’t. Sam’s world revolved around running. Fear and desperation and getting out. As the Winchesters’ lives progressed he felt himself grow invisible, slowly disappearing into nothing. Because he was nothing without his family, but with them he wasn’t what he wanted to be. He was a shadow in his own house and maybe outside in the sun he could become something more.
That was why. He needed to get out so he could become something other than a shadow, latching to the nearest thing. So he could be safe.
How was Sam supposed to put that into words?
“I just… I can’t do it anymore. I can’t live a life that I don’t want.” Sam said eventually, his eyes still boring into Bobby’s. He wondered what the older man would think. They hadn’t spoken in years and even then Dean and Adam had always seemed closer to Bobby than Sam had been.
Bobby simply nodded and took his baseball cap off to wipe his forehead. Then, with perfectly feigned indifference, he asked, “So, you still in for chili con carne?”
“If you’re the one making it, always.” Sam said with a smile.
A heavy weight had been lifted from his stomach, and he intended to replace it with Bobby’s famous chili.
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Sam had learnt from a very young age that if he wanted something, he had to take it. Not in a forceful, violent way necessarily, but still taking. He’d taken the last Lucky Charms with a pleading look to Dean. He’d taken liberties in school and had almost physically ripped the truth from his father’s grasp one question at a time.
Even now, on a field trip, he was grabbing what he wanted with both hands. They’d gone to a local court to watch a few trials, the class fooling around and laughing at the alcoholic who had stolen a bottle of wine. Sam didn’t like that, the way they ridiculed the woman. He wanted them to stop.
The clothes she was wearing were obviously the nicest she owned, but the edges were worn and the over-polished shoes were tattered. There was no one to defend her and no matter how many times she denied the charges (I just forgot to take it out of the shopping cart) she had to pay a fine. Suddenly Sam wished he could have gotten her out. He wanted to be able to do that, to help people, to show the grey in this black and white world. To be a hero in a way that didn’t involve killing someone.
So Sam went to his teacher after the trip and asked her if she had time to talk about his college applications.
“I thought you weren’t sure yet if you wanted to go to college?” The teacher asked, though there was excitement in her eyes.
“I think I might want to do law school...” Sam said hesitantly, “Do you think I could do that?”
“Sam. With your grades, you could get all kinds of scholarships for pre-law! Ivy-League even! Or Stanford, or…” The teacher said, so excited she didn’t even finish her sentence before she ran straight into the next one, “How about you meet me tomorrow and we look in to it?”
It was with a broad smile and a happy feeling in his chest that Sam returned home. Home, in this case, was in a rundown motel at the edge of town; room 17. The joyous feeling disappeared the moment Sam stuck out an arm to knock on the door. There were only two keys to the room and those were kept by Dean and Dad.
Whether they were home or not, the door was always locked. Now, it was slightly ajar, the knob hanging at a strange angle and splinters of wood sticking out from beneath the metal. Sam should have known the day couldn’t be this good. He should have known that the happiness he was feeling would come back and bite him in the ass. That was just how life worked for a Winchester. With a reach to the pocket at the side of his bag, Sam armed himself with the silver knife he had gotten for his birthday years ago.
Hesitantly, Sam pushed against the door. It opened inwards and blew over the salt-line that Sam found to be completely intact. Not some kind of spirit then. The creak and then the bang of the door against the worn wall made him whip his head up.
Sam’s heart stopped.
Because the room was empty safe for the haphazard tumble of furniture and the scrunched papers that lined every inch of the floor. On the opposite wall was blood. A large, terrifying swath of it that Sam desperately hoped wasn’t one of his family members’.
The door creaked again as Sam stepped inside.
Sam knew that if he wanted something, he had to take it. Apparently whatever monster had wanted the Winchesters had thought along the same lines, because it had just plucked Sam’s family right out of their home.
Dad’s journal lay splayed in the middle of the room, vomiting lore and post-mortem pictures. Sam knew very little about their latest case, but he couldn’t imagine anything that Dad was hunting had found them here. The hunt was two towns over after all.
Not knowing what else to do, Sam picked up the phone on Dad’s nightstand. With a numbness that simultaneously gave him excruciating clarity and horrific confusion, Sam dialled the first number that came to mind.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Bobby Singer, speaking.”
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“I’ve got the tapes.” Bobby yelled as he slammed open the screen-door to his house. Sam looked up from the lore he was flipping through, practically jumping to the TV to get it ready for playing what Bobby had brought.
“Took you long enough…” Sam muttered, heart still stuttering at the disappearance of his family. He panic in his gut hadn’t really stopped since he’d entered the trashed motel-room and he didn’t think it would until he had his brothers and his father back at his side.
The slap to the back of Sam’s head said that despite his fear, Bobby did not like his comment in the least. A gruff voice says, “I’d like to see you get classified tapes from the sheriff, Mr. Sarcasm.”
“Yeah, but the sheriff gives you whatever you want.” Sam said with something like a smile playing on his lips. The old shaky sheriff of Sioux Falls would do anything Bobby asked of him.
“Yeah well, there’s a new one.” Came the frustrated answer, “And let me tell you, Sheriff Mills was not in the least impressed by me.”
The old VCR player swallowed the tape on the sixth try, dust and plastic whirred loudly within before the screen started showing any images. The images were scratchy black and whites that faded out every once in a while. There was a dark hallway and the shifting of shadows in the distance, the closest room number on the right read 17. It was illuminated by a flickering light above the door.
A press on the fast-forward button and the stilted movements showed Adam and Dean coming home. Then, hours in real life and minutes later on the television, Dad stumbled down the hall. He was weighed down by dozens of books and behind him, almost invisible in the shadows, another figure slinked into view. Four others moved in sync. The front man had his head bowed and hand reached forward until it slowly turned on the knob of the door, which cracked open under superhuman strength.
“Not human at least.” Bobby murmured.
Light filtered from the room into the hallway, shadows bouncing and flitting over the illuminated floor. Minutes later a female head stuck out from the door, looking to see if there was anyone in the hallway. When it proved empty, the face disappeared and reappeared moments later with a body slung over her shoulder.
Dean.
Sam clenched his right fist. Then next came a man carrying...
Dad.
The left fist clenched too. It was only when the third person came out with something on his back that Sam finally stood with a growl, all his energy focussed on not slamming his fist into the screen.
Adam.
“Fuck!” He snarled, and Bobby nodded solemnly, apparently not in the least surprised that Sam, usually polite and articulate, was swearing.
Finally the last man came out, he was the one who entered first and seemed to be the leader of the group. He subtly closed the door and looked up at the camera with a smile. Then he winked and Sam let out a gasp.
“Pause it there Bobby!” he whispered, scrambling over to the Dad’s journal. It had been blood-stained, sprawled open on the floor with pictures of bloody bodies streaming over the pages. Ruffling through the pictures, Sam raised one triumphantly over his head.
“I’ve got it! Look at this.” Sam thrust the picture of a bloody corpse into Bobby’s hands. It was a man, body mutilated and digested almost beyond recognition, but the face somehow intact. The same face that was winking up at them from the screen.
Sam saw Bobby blink twice before he looked back up, “What was your Dad hunting again?”
“A ghoul.” Was the answer.
“You scan over his notes.” Bobby said with a nod, “I’m g’na go sharpen my machetes.”
With a shuddering breath, Sam agreed. He looked over briefly at the ghoul that had taken his family from their motel-room and tried to shake of the feeling of familiarity he got when looking at that smile.
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Sam remembered quite vividly the last time he’d been at Bobby’s house without his older brother. He’d stayed there for weeks with Adam while Dad was ‘looking for Dean’. Sam hadn’t know what had happened exactly, but he had been willing to bet that Dad knew exactly where his brother was. Also, that Dean had done something illegal to feed them.
Sam had seen it in the shifty way he moved, in the way he wore his largest too-large jacket. The way he’d said “See you later.” with just slightly too much cockiness. For weeks Sam had been angry, cooking inside at how short-sighted his father was. He’d run so many laps that Adam had taken to waiting for him with a bottle of water in the morning for when he returned and never once had his little brother asked him why. Almost as if he knew, too.
Bobby had given Sam an airplane to play with, the kind of toy that he would have loved to have a mere two years before that. He’d played with it because Adam’s eyes had shined every time the toy went up in the air, hanging onto Sam’s lips as he wove a story of a heroic pilot in a leather jacket who always came back to his family. He’d been playing with it in the car, too, when they picked Dean up. The plane soaring just like his heart with the knowledge that Dean would soon return.
That very plane was still on the mantle-piece, staring down at Sam accusingly. If Adam was here, he’d be playing with me, it said, flying to some place where no ghoul can hurt him. Almost two days had passed since Sam had entered an empty room, and they still had no leads.
“I think we need to set me up as bait.” Sam said absentmindedly as he smoothed out a map and crossed off another warehouse that had turned out empty.
“What?” came a surprised growl from the corner of the room. Sam merely shrugged.
Bobby turned to him with a frown, “I really hope you didn’t just suggest we use you as bait, you idgit. ‘Cause if you did I’m gonna have to talk some sense into you and we really don’t have the time.”
“It makes sense, Bobby.” Sam sighed, “For whatever reason, these ghouls are after us. After ‘the Winchesters’ and they’re only missing me. They’d come and get me if I showed myself.”
“And then they’d take you. What good would that do anyone?” Bobby asked, more patient this time, brow furrowing in frustrated understanding.
“You would come after me with some back-up. Get us out. Win-win.” Sam answered simply.
The frown on Bobby’s face deepened, “And if they kill you before I get there? Huh?”
Again, Sam just shrugged.
A loud bang sounded through the room as Bobby slammed his fist against the wooden table. The he growled an angry, “The hell kid? Do you have a death wish?”
“No. No, I really like living, that’s why I want to get out of this fucked up life in the first place!” Sam shouted in return, affronted at the idea that he would want to ‘take the easy way out’.
Bobby face softened. “Then why are you setting yourself up to die?”
With a swipe of his hand Sam threw the hair from his face. He was struggling to find the words to explain why he wanted to do this.
The sentiment behind them was so easy and so heart-felt that Sam didn’t think he could put it into words.
In the end the pleaded softly, “Cause I’d rather die a thousand times than live on a world without them. Please Bobby, you know it’s the only option.”
It was absolutely quiet for a few seconds. The only noises were the ticking of the clock and the whirring of the gears in Bobby’s brain as he tried to come up with another way out. Finally the old man sighed.
“If you die, I swear to God, you better come back as a ghost and protect me from your family’s wrath.”
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The voices scarcely reached through the pounding in Sam’s head. They were floating somewhere in the distance.
“They always die, don’t they? The ones you love?”
“Shut up.” That was Dean, Sam realised. He tried to think of why that was relevant.
Right. The plan had worked, then. He remembered now, going back to the motel-room. Sitting on a bed in the dark, looking at the blood-stained wall and wondering where his family was. The ghouls must have been hiding close by, lying in wait until he returned.
Because as soon as Sam stepped out the door again, something hard had hit his head and he had known no more.
“I hear that you burned Kathy Milligan, gave her a hunter’s death.” Someone beside Sam stiffened, “Good for you. I would have come back to eat her otherwise.
A snarl sounded through Sam’s haze. He recognised it as Adam and he attempted to open his eyes as he leaned closer to his brother to support him. Now that he his eyes were open Sam could see that he was trussed up between his brothers, Dad tied to a pole opposite them.
The man was pale, his jaw clenched in anger, but he remained silent.
It occurred to Sam how unfair life had been to John, though all his fights with this father would suggest the contrary, he did in fact understand why his father had taken them down this road. He just didn’t agree. Now, at the ghoul’s words, he feels a pit growing in his stomach. After losing one woman he loved to a fire, John had been forced to burn the second when she died. The parallels were sickening.
A man moved closer, and Sam recognised him as the ghoul who had led the attack of their motel-room.
“My son and wife died at your hands, yet you only lost a wife. Now I’m going to take your son, and I going to eat him before your eyes.” The ghoul sneered, face so close to John’s that their noses almost touched.
John remained silent, a disdainful look in his eyes.
“Gentleman as a I am, I would normally give you the choice of which son you could miss most. But that doesn’t really sit well with me.” The ghoul continued, “You see, I distinctly remember the crying of a child as you slaughtered my own. It seems only fit that we finish this business with the same people that started it, don’t you think? Poetic justice and all.”
John paled slightly, but he didn’t so much as blink.
“All you have to do, Winchester, is tell me which son was with you that night.” The ghoul finished with a flourish.
“None of my kids were with me.” John spat at the monster. It merely raised one of its thick eyebrows.
“Then I guess I will just have to kill all of them.” the ghoul murmured, swiftly moving towards the three Winchester brothers.
“Me!” Dean yelled, when the ghoul slid his hand through Adam’s hair, “It was me, I was there!”
“Shut up, Dean.” Sam gritted out through his teeth. He could see John straining, pulling at the ropes that held him fast against the pillar.
“No you weren’t!” Adam yelled fearfully, eyes wide and worried. He turned towards the ghoul in a rage, “It was me! You murdered my mother!”
Now it was Dean’s turn to tell one of his brothers to shut up, and he said it in a way so similar to Sam, that Sam wondered if maybe he’d learned that phrase from his brother. There was a moment of yelling to and fro as both Sam’s brothers tried to convince the ghoul. Tried to convince him that they should be the one to be eaten. God, their lives were so fucked up.
It made Sam remember, suddenly, why he wanted to leave this life and take his family with him. It made him remember how if there was a choice, he would be the one that the Winchesters could survive losing.
It made him remember how much he didn’t want to see his family die.
An idea started to form in Sam’s head. His brothers weren’t going to like it.
“Both of you, shut the fuck up.” Sam yelled, “You don’t need to protect me.”
The ghoul swung his head around to Sam, a malevolent glint in his eyes. “Protect you?”
“That kid you heard crying, that was me. And they know it.” Sam replied calmly, his heart beating straight out of his chest.
“What?” Adam asked indignantly. At the same time, Dean snarled, “We do?”
“Both your brothers are saying the same thing, why should I listen to you?” The ghoul asked slyly.
Sam swallowed. He thought back, delved into his earliest memories, fading, lost. There was one very clear memory from before Adam. A dream. A dream so vivid and painful and real, that Sam had cried for days after. A dream of a Dad in a house with a woman, her hair dirty-blond like the mother he knew from pictures, and her smile nearly as sweet. A dream of a one-year-old who was about to lose his mother. A dream that Sam had never shared with anyone. Not even with Dean.
Sam looked the ghoul straight in the eye, oozing as much confidence as he could from his position on the floor, “Because I can prove it.”
“How is that?”
“I remember what happened.”
“Really?” it mocked, “You were what, five?”
“Yeah, and I watched my mother die. That’s not exactly something you forget.” Sam spat at the ghoul, feelings over his own mother, over Dean who had practically seen her die, clouding his vision.
“Enlighten me.” The ghoul snarled.
“You couldn’t see. Your eyes were gouged out, bleeding onto your face. There were two others I think. A woman and another guy. The guy was dead, Dad had probably managed to kill him.” Sam started, and the ghoul growled at the mention of what Sam assumed was his son’s death, “The woman was killing my mom, he was strangling her and I remember I just didn’t know what to do. I saw her die, I saw her last stuttering breath as your wife’s fingers crushed her windpipe. That was what distracted Dad, that was the only reason you even got a bite in. And when he punched your teeth out, you ran like the coward you are-”
The ghoul’s hand shot out like lightning, grabbing Sam’s throat like his wife had done to Katy Milligan all those years ago. Sam’s heart raced like a freight train, he could feel the insanity in the grip on his neck. A little air managed to whistle through the fingers as he gasped, choking. He should be used to this by now actually. Every other monster seemed to have it out for his neck, so why would this one be any different?
The fingers released him. He allowed his head to fall, allowed precious sweet air into his lungs gulp by glorious gulp. Dean was ranting at the ghoul, Adam was asking him something that he couldn’t understand, and Dad was growling like some beast on a chain. None of them could stop the ghoul from slipping his hands into Sam hair to pull up his head. He could almost hear Dean and Dad chastising him for his long locks. They despised his hair. Adam, though, secretly liked it. Sam could tell by the way Adam would always try to delay hair-cut day as long as possible and he way he would try to hide his smile every time Sam flaunted his hair in front of Dad.
“I’m going to enjoy gutting you.” The ghoul whispered.
“Not as much as I enjoyed watching my father kill your wife.” The fingers in Sam’s hair tightened in warning, the same way that Dad’s eyes always did when he was about to explode. Not that Sam ever took warnings into account. He was more of a ‘trial and error’ kind of guy. And that, he would tell himself later, was why he didn’t stop pissing this thing off, “He took his time with it you know. The blade was dull, and your wife really didn’t want to die.”
Sam was pulled up by his hair, suspended somewhere between standing and sitting by the ropes around his arms and legs. With a vicious stroke, the ghoul pulled out a knife, his hands shaking dangerously, and his eyes promising murder. Something lodged in
Sam’s throat as the entire world converged to that one blade. Polished, sharp and very deadly. The bright uv-light that was reflected in the shiny surface seemed to mock him.
Terror cloyed in Sam’s gut. This was it, he realised. Today was the day he would die and in the end, he had chosen if for himself. Then the knife ripped through his bindings in one smooth move and Sam was taken to an altar of sorts.
Three more ghouls converged around him with flashing teeth and hungry eyes. He fought as they tied him down, but even his stubbornness was no match against the combined supernatural strength of three ghouls. Rough ropes tore at his skin as the voices of his family threatened murder and called his name.
A small cut along Sam’s neck started the flow of blood. The leader lapped it up gently.
“Mmmmh.” He said, “The taste of Winchester.”
Enjoy it while you can, Sam thought, you won’t be enjoying anything much when Bobby gets here.
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Blood was actually kind of weird. Weird, warm, sticky stuff that ran through people’s bodies and kept them alive. It connected him to Dad and Dean, and to Adam on a lesser level. It was hot and searing and Sam wondered how much of his blood was still his. How much was made up transfusions?
How much more was flowing from him now? Red rivulets crashing to the ground. Tongues lapping.
Someone was… Someone was screaming.
Someone else was biting and it hurt. It hurt. But not as much as the first few cuts.
“This blood…” someone whispered, “It tastes so much better than other blood. More potent. More powerful.”
There was a reply somewhere, but Sam heard only the pounding of his heart through the red haze of pain. Red like the logo of Stanford, the lines of the pine tree drip, drip, dripping. Red like the blood of a witch that nearly killed him. The evil in your veins she had said. He wondered what that was, if that was what the ghouls were tasting.
Adam was sobbing his name, he could hear that over Dean’s disjointed pleas and Dad’s aggressive threats. Sam’s heart beat erratically, held together by a panicked terror and a stubborn will to live.
Then a shotgun went off and a ghoul’s head exploded with in a shower of red. A pain ran through Sam’s stomach as a scalpel slipped deeper through the skin. Pain. Red hot pain. Red hot blood.
Calloused hands.
“Sam. Wake up, boy.”
Red, red, red as the world went black.
“Sammy!”
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Sam woke up empty. Like a tube of toothpaste that was empty but that kept being wrung out for those last little specks. His eyes felt glued shut but even from behind them he could sense the clean whiteness of a hospital.
He tried to move, managed to twitch a toe, a finger. Nothing more. Then hands were in his hair, loud voices with words that were just out of his reach. Memories of blood. Of red like Stanford, like the life he could have beyond this slewing of death and pain and danger.
Sam opened his eyes hesitantly, lashes sticking together. He smiled though when the saw the almost goofily happy face that Dean pulled when he managed it. Like opening his eyes was his greatest accomplishment. Adam moved closer, too, wide-eyed and smiling.
“I’m so happy you’re alive.” He breathed, “But impersonating me is not cool, Sam.”
“You heard him, Sammy. You do that again and I’ll kill you myself.” Dean added, but he was still grinning and he handed Sam a glass of water to drink with so much flourish that half the liquid spilled over the sheets.
Dad stood at the back with his arms crossed and something like relief colouring his features. He also moved closer, nodding and smiling at his sons’ words. For a while the man seemed to be fine with that. There was a conversation of worry and relief. Then, when Sam asked what he’d missed and Adam said, “Bobby chased Dad off the salvage yard with a shotgun.” Dad suddenly cut in.
“Shouldn’t you two be getting us all some lunch?” He asked. There was an order behind the question though and two Winchesters set out with growling bellies and lingering looks at Dad.
As soon as Adam and Dean had left the room, John rounded on Sam.
“What the hell did you think you were doing back there?”
Sam, who was genuinely confused as to what he had done wrong, answered, “Talking to my brothers…?”
Judging from the shade of red that Dad’s face turned, that was the wrong thing to say, “Don’t play dumb with me, Sam Winchester.
You know damned well what you did.”
“Did when? Where?” Sam asked in frustration, “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”
“With the ghoul, Sam. Serving yourself up on a silver platter, that was a bad move.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sam yelled, “That was our only move!”
“It wasn’t,” John said coldly, looking anywhere but at his son, “I was handling it.”
Out of their own volition, Sam’s eyebrows rose. He felt his mouth moving before he even realised what he was saying, “Oh, right. I forgot you could kill ghouls with your eyes. Silly me.”
Dad gaped at him for a few moments and Sam really wondered what the man had expected. Had he thought that one little ghoul would be enough to cut the insolence and the sarcasm from him? Had he expected Sam’s wishes for another life to bleed out with the rest of his bodily fluids?
“Sam…” Dad wiped is bow in frustration, “Your actions almost got you killed.”
“But they saved you. All of you.” Sam intoned and wasn’t that what hunting was about anyway? Saving people? Wasn’t that was Dad always said? As an afterthought, Sam added, “It saved Adam at least.”
Dad looked him up and down carefully, then asked what had probably been bothering him all along, “How did you know what happened with Adam’s mother?”
“Adam told me.” Sam was pleased to notice his voice was steady as he lied.
“Adam can’t remember what happened, he was too young.” Dad replied as his eyes narrowed.
“He remembered when he was small, like two or three years old. He told me then.” Sam said casually.
Dad didn’t look like he believed a word Sam said, but there was also something like pain marring his features. Maybe it was the reminder that two of his sons had seen their mother die. It made Sam’s heart break for him, but he knew that telling the truth would be worse.
What would Dad do if he knew Sam was a monster?
Sam shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to think about hunting or the fear he had felt as he had nearly been killed. Never again did he want to feel that. Never again did he want to walk into a motel and find his family missing. Never again did he want to walk out of one in the knowledge that he was setting himself up to be captured.
He was so tired of the fear, the pain and the mistrust of his family. The very thought of slipping back into a hunting life after this tore away his heart. He’d be that shadow in his own house again, the boy with one foot out the door and the other stuck in the dysfunctional muck of a family that the loved so much.
It was time to take out that foot, too. Sam would visit and help when he could, but he couldn’t live his life going from a friendly fieldtrip to a murder scene. So, he stared Dad down unapologetically, a look made out of sheer stubborn defiance and determination. He’d never felt so strong before.
Suddenly, Dad deflated. He sat down in Dean’s old seat and shook his head. For a few moments it was quiet. Then he sighed in defeat and leaned towards one of the many machines that was monitoring Sam.
“Ghouls are some of Earth’s foulest creatures.” Dad murmured, staring intently at the steady heart monitor, “You did good, coming after us.”
Sam took that to mean I’m glad you’re alive. He smiled, but he could hear the beeping of his heart skipping over a beat. Dad hesitantly reached out and swiped Sam’s hair from his face. A look passed between them, almost like both of them had felt the shift in the air and understood that something irreversible had happened.
As he looked away from his father, he knew with a startling clarity that he was going to leave, even if it cost hime everything he knew and loved. From the look on his father’s face, troubled and somehow resigned, he knew that his father did too.
And he would never be forgiven for it.
Epilogue to follow...
Author's Note: So, there will be a short epilogue after this, and I'm thinking of maybe doing two more chapters. One form Adam's and one from Dean's perspective. Let me know what you think :)
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2