Bonding of Souls Prologue & 1/?
This one is totally opposite from Coming Storm. It's a WIP that I'm....um....working on...lol It's dark and deep and maybe meaningful in some places. It involves a serial killer and there are graphic scenes detailing how my creepy villan tortures and kills.
Rated: R for graphic violence
Disclaimers: Not mine, if they were I'd never get anything done!
Summary: Some souls travel the same path together. A serial killer snatches Sam and finds out Dean Winchester justice doesn't involve a court room.
Characters: Sam, Dean, some other people, and a dog
Comments?: Hell Ya! I"m all about the comments...comment away!
Sam tried the strength of the bars again, as he’d done countless times the last three days. Nothing changed, why did he even bother? A steel rod slammed across the bars, he cringed away, barely avoided his fingers being smashed.
“Don’t worry, boy, your turn is coming.” The man, older, scarred face, wild eyes snarled at him. It was evident he enjoyed Sam’s fear, the fear of the others who’d been there with Sam, gone now, dead. Sam watched them die, screaming at their captor to stop, unable to offer help.
The man took another of his steel rods, wrapped it in cloth soaked in kerosene. Sam watched, he knew what was coming. Pressing as far back in the small cage as he could, trying to watch the man without being obvious. The creep had discovered, almost immediately, Sam’s intense fear of fire. It was almost as if he got off on seeing Sam’s fear. Sitting in the far corner, the cage was maybe three by three foot square, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around his legs Sam tried making himself the smallest target possible.
It didn’t work.
Flames darted at him, the man laughed. Sam could see him through the fire, just as the creep could see Sam. He could see Sam pull farther away, shoving against the bars at his back, fighting off threatening tears. Could see how the muscles of Sam’s jaw jumped, then clenched tight as he refused to make a sound. The torch was pushed so close the heat from it caused Sam’s eyes to shut tight, turning his head away, involuntarily throwing one arm over his face.
When the man withdrew a few steps, taking his torch with him, Sam watched him warily, trembling, trying to gain control over his ragged breathing. The guy cracked a grin. Throwing the torch on the ground, stomping it out the man turned without a word, flicking the light switch off as he left the room, locking the door.
The worst part was the last time he’d spoken with Dean, been with his brother they’d fought so horribly, been so angry with each other. In truth Sam had started it, been the one refusing to let the anger die, forget the argument. Yet, Sam knew, Dean would look for him, would never stop till he found Sam, or Sam’s body. Sam clung to that thought, to the knowledge Dean would not let him down.
Alone in the dark Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. Letting his head dip down until his face pushed against his forearm Sam let the tears loose, let the sobs come.
Ch 1
Sunlight filtered through a hazy late October sky. The air was cool, but not unpleasantly so. The car Sam sat on, however, was hard. Propped on the hood, leaning back against the wind shield, knees bent he read the newspaper. Between articles he watched Dean, who grumbled something Sam was sure was better off left unheard. Sam smiled. Dean dropped another tool, rooted through the tool chest, produced something looking, to Sam, just like what he’d discarded, and ducked back under the hood of the car he worked on. Stretching one leg, flexing it, Sam resumed his original position, shivering a bit as the wind picked up.
Dean straightened, banging his head, “ouww, damn.” Rubbing his head he looked Sam over, maybe a bit more critically than he needed to. “Sammy you don’t have to sit out here with me, go inside.” Jerking his chin at the car Sam was pretending was a couch, “that looks uncomfortable.”
One little shiver and Dean homed in on him like some sort of bloodhound. How the hell does he do that? “ ‘M fine. Want some help?”
Sam smiled, really smiled at his brother. The man before him really was his brother, not the frightening stranger of a year ago. Not the brother he worried daily would die in some hideous manner. Not the brother who seemed always angry, out of control. Not the brother he was starting to fear. This was really his brother, in control, fearless, focused. Not quite whole, but almost, getting there. The brother who since Sam’s earliest memory made him feel safe, who called him ‘Sammy’ more often than not. Sam wasn’t quite sure exactly when the real Dean Winchester had returned, but Sam was awfully thankful he had. While Sam had never stopped loving the guy, he sure had stopped liking the brother he had those first few months after their father died. Living in daily fear of losing that brother was no longer reality for Sam. He hadn’t been any gem either, and now Sam was doing what he could to make up for it, for his own wrongs, wrongs Dean never deserved.
“Yeah, actually I would, but there’s barely room for my hand in there, let along your bear paws too.” Dean grinned. “But you still don’t have to sit out here with me.”
“I know. Nothing else to do though.” Sam flipped the pages of the paper, folding it and resettling it against his knees.
He sat, propped on the hard car, with his ass falling asleep for two simple reasons. The most important was it made Dean feel better, not that the man would ever come out and admit it, but that was ok. Secondly, and far less important in Sam’s eyes was it made Sam feel better. People left Dean, Sam had left Dean. The fact he always bounced back to Dean was all that kept him from being over-run by the guilt of those actions. Months ago, too impatient to give his brother the little bit of time he’d asked for, too selfish. Dean would have never done that to him, and Sam knew it. Sam promised his brother he’d not take off like that again, and meant it, Dean would never ask again. But Sam saw the looks, every now and then, as if he expected Sam to not be there. So Sam planted himself solidly in front of Dean at every opportunity, stayed right where Dean could watch him. The looks were fewer and farther between; being called ‘Sammy’ happened more and more. The fact it made Sam feel he could get through each day and not always have to be afraid of demonic plans and revenge-filled hunters was a bonus.
Hunting was another issue, one not so easily solved. But they were working on that one too. Dean’s drive to hunt for the sake of saving innocents had been smothered by his drive to preserve and protect his brother. Sam saw the fire coming back, little by little, knowing that flame could never really be extinguished. Literally Sam, over the past few months had sometimes needed to force Dean to hunt, but Dean was the best, the world needed him. Almost as much as Sam needed him. Sam was far too selfish to give him up, but he could share his brother every now and again.
When Bobby asked them to ‘house sit’, which also meant ‘business sit,’ at least for Dean who could do the work on the vehicles brought in, Sam willingly agreed. Bobby’s sister was ill, very ill. He’d gone to be with her and her family in her final days. Dean got his time off with a purpose, and Sam got to save face not having to admit Dean had been right all along. In the brief week they’d been there he’d seen it had done Dean a world of good. Another week or two and Sam was sure Dean would be antsy as hell, wanting back on the road, and it would be look out world, Dean Winchester is back. Frankly Sam couldn’t wait.
The slight wind shifted around, now coming from the west, it was going to storm. Another involuntary shiver worked its way down Sam’s spine. He waited for it, three… two….one...and coughed to cover up a short laugh when Dean’s head popped up again.
“Sammy, go inside before you catch something, ‘cause I’m NOT spoon feeding you soup for a week while you sneeze and drip.” Tossing the tools into the chest, muttering, “piece of crap should be junked,” he straightened, wiped his hands together and slammed the hood shut.
“Want me to find a manual online?”
Dean turned slowly, crossed his arms over his middle, arched one eyebrow and put on a fake dangerous glare. “As if I’d need one.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam swung off the car, “whatever, man.” He stuffed the paper under one arm, and picked up one of the tool boxes with the other hand. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Excuse me, Dean Winchester does not need directions.”
Sam snorted a short laugh through his nose and shook his head. “Dean Winchester sounds ridiculous talking about himself as Dean Winchester.”
“Not nearly as ridiculous as you sound right now.” The toolbox Dean carried was put just inside the garage door. He turned and took Sam’s, placing it beside the other one. Locking the door, they headed to the house. Going straight to the refrigerator, half of Dean disappeared inside. Sam could hear things being moved about, more grumbling from his brother. “We need to go shopping Sammy, there’s nothing decent in here.”
“Maybe there’ll be a movie somewhere too.” Sam dropped the paper on the table.
Snatching the paper, Dean scanned an article. “What’s this, a hint?”
“Huh?”
“Sam, come on. You been researching hunts? You want to check this out? Say something, don’t pull leaving hints bullshit.”
“Huh?”
Dean rolled his eyes, tossed the paper back down in disgust. “Quit the crap and games!”
“What are you talking about? I was reading the paper, it’s about the only thing in this house in English. I was trying to keep you company, and since you never want me helping……not that I’m much help with engines anyway….I wanted something to read. Excuse me for trying to be nice to you. I’ll try not to let it happen again.” Sam snapped back.
“Then what is this?” Dean grabbed his arm, forcing Sam to face him, retrieving the paper and shaking it under his nose, probably knowing how much that would just piss Sam off.
Sam viciously swatted the paper away from his face, then, curious as to what Dean had read, jerked it from his hand. He didn’t remember any articles being ‘hunt’ worthy. Then again he hadn’t been reading the main news section either. “Lemme see.” His eyes followed Dean’s finger down the front page. Sam lifted his eye brows, gaze meeting Dean’s. “I hadn’t seen this, sorry. I really didn’t know what you were talking about.” Sam’s voice trailed off as he read more of the article.
“Not some kind of Sam Winchester hint then?” His brother’s voice and expression softened.
Sam shook his head, completely involved in the article. “Think we should check this out?” He asked after a few minutes.
“No, I think we should stay the hell away from it.”
“Dean!”
“I mean it Sammy. I don’t think this is one we should mess with. It’s probably a serial killer and nothing supernatural.”
“Dean if these people are dying and we can do something….”
“The police ARE doing something, Sammy. This is a sick bastard, I’ll give you that, but I don’t see anything that’s our kind of case.”
“Because you don’t want to see it. Because these victims are men and women my age. Tortured, murdered and their bodies burnt, and then dumped.”
“And smart ass, the cops have a few leads, and they’ll be crawling all over everything.”
“That’s not the reason.” Sam insisted. “Since when have cops bothered you before? Hell, you get a thrill out of antagonizing them.”
“Not this time.”
Sam watched as his brother walked purposefully out of the room. Dean stopped just the other side of the doorway, turned and looked at him. Sam waited quietly, he knew that look. That was the ‘Dean-was-going-to-say-something’ look and he wanted to be sure he had Sam’s full attention, which he mostly did anyway. Sam just let him think otherwise at times.
Dean stood looking at him for a few minutes, until Sam had to resist the urge to squirm or look down to see if he wasn’t completely dressed or something. Finally he decided to speak. “You coming with me to get groceries, or you want to stay here?”
“Definitely going with.” Sam dropped the paper and sprinted after his brother.
Remaining quiet the majority of the ride into the small town near Bobby’s junk yard/auto shop ate at Sam. He wished Dean had never pointed the article out, he might not have ever seen it. He suspected his brother might feel the same way. “Dean?”
“No, Sam.”
“It’s more than an hour away.”
“All the more reason, it’s too much travel time if we’re going to look after Bobby’s business too. Drop it.” When a muscle in Dean’s jaw jumped Sam knew he was pushing Dean’s buttons. Dean’s fuse, where Sam was concerned, was incredibly, almost unnaturally long, but it did have its limits. Sam was more apt to stop before lighting the fuse, but this time was different. For some reason this time he felt it was important, really important for them to look into this.
The heel of Sam’s hand connected solidly and loudly with the dash of the Impala, doing exactly what he knew it would do….light the fuse.
Dean shot him an angry glare, “hitting the car won’t work, and just points out how much a kid you are! Now give it a rest, it’s not one of our cases, we’ve got no business anywhere near there and we’re not going. Period.” Voice rising with every word, knuckles white gripping the steering wheel as if he were holding it to the car. Dean was definitely pissed.
So was Sam.
“Why won’t you consider it? Why won’t you listen to me?!” Even Sam hated the whine creeping into his voice.
“Oh for…..what next you’ll be saying how I don’t understand you? Get done being a teenager Sam. THAT you ARE to old for.”
“Dean!”
Realizing the squealing of brakes was from the Impala when Sam was thrown rather roughly into the dash, he decided maybe he’d gone just a bit too far. The car spun around on the road, slipping onto the gravel shoulder, dirt flew out from under the tires in all directions.
“NO!” Dean shouted, voice deep, pushing up from his abdomen with force and conviction. “I’ve had it! There’s nothing there for us to investigate. Nothing we can do with cops all around but get into more trouble. And you sure as hell aren’t baiting the sick bastard. Enough. Done.” Dean hit the steering wheel with such force it shook. “I’m not going along on this one. Final.”
Maybe lighting the fuse wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Dean slammed the car into gear, stomping on the gas pedal, wheels spinning in place for a few seconds before the vehicle lurched back onto the road. Sam had definitely gone too far, his brother would never listen to him now. He pushed himself back onto the seat, glaring out the window, refusing to even look at Dean, who was being stupid and pushy. Sam resigned to the fact he could still do plenty of research and Dean would never know. If there was something to look into, he’d try again. Being armed with more info, if it was one of their types of cases, Dean wouldn’t refuse. Maybe. He hoped. He’d deal with that when and if he had to.
By the time they reached town, pulled in front of the grocery story Dean had calmed considerably. Sam was still pissed at him, not as much, but enough to rebuke Dean’s attempts at conversation. He stared murder at his brother when Dean tried teasing him. Huffing a breath Dean had simply gotten out of the car and headed into the store.
Guess a movie was not going to happen.
He trailed behind Dean through the store answering his brother with angry glares when asked what items he wanted. Then, daring Dean to say a word with nothing but a vicious expression Sam tossed a few things into the cart that normally would have brought snide remarks from his brother. Dean pissed him off even more by shrugging and keeping his own expression mild, almost amused. The bastard. Dean could push Sam’s buttons just as well as Sam pushed Dean’s. Maybe better.
When Dean started flirting with the check out girl Sam left the store, heading across the parking lot to the car. He’d about decided he was acting like a teenager, and he should stop being an ass because he couldn’t always have his own way, when he saw an old man trying to pull a spare tire from the trunk of a car. Sam stopped, halfway to the Impala, turned and looked back at the store, seeing Dean through the window. Dean looked up, at him…..how the hell does he do that?....their eyes locked for a minute before Sam dipped his head toward the man with the flat tire. Dean sort of nodded, but no smile, no real expression at all, just an acknowledgement.
Sam’s chest squeezed, he looked down at his hands for a brief moment before crossing the parking lot. He didn’t know what he loathed more, the look on Dean’s face, or the fact Sam caused it. Positions reversed if Sam had reacted that strongly to a hunt Dean would have dropped the issue. Dean’s reasons were valid, and he rarely, if ever, backed away from a true hunt because of how he felt personally about it. Sam admitted it probably was a serial killer, and that they had no business involving themselves. Dean had put up with a lot of crap from Sam in particular and the world in general lately, and didn’t deserve more from Sam. So, he’d change the tire, suck it up and apologize.
“Hi.” Sam stopped next to the old man, now on his knees struggling with the lug wrench. “Need some help?”
“Well, aren’t you a kind young fella. I sure would.”
“It’ll just take me a few minutes.” Sam reached for the lug wrench, fingers not quite connecting with it. He felt an odd sting under the skin in the muscle of his forearm. Blinking, confused, in the next instant he was on his knees, looking up at the guy. Not sure what happened, not a vision, and his arm burned, but he couldn’t grasp it with his other hand. He couldn’t do much but stare up at the stranger as blackness slithered in from the edges of his vision. As the blackness closed in completely Sam’s mind screamed Dean!!! His voice wasn’t so cooperative, cold, raw terror crept into his muddied brain, he’d been drugged, a shallow grunt escaped him and Sam slumped face first to the ground.
He couldn’t even go to the grocery store without finding trouble.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Dean snagged a few candy bars from the rack next to the cashier just as she finished ringing up the groceries. Peace offering is what they were, they were Sam’s favorite. Waiting for his change he glanced back out the window, in the direction Sam had wandered off, changing a tire. He didn’t see Sam, didn’t see the car. Damn, the kid was fast. Ok, he admitted he hadn’t really listened to Sam. And there was no harm in doing a bit of research, reading up on the events. There was no harm in that, and Sam was right, if people were dying and they could offer some help, they should. There was always the option of anonymous tips to the cops if it was a human evil, not a supernatural one. Dean was still confident this was human evil.
Grabbing the bags Dean headed across the parking lot to the car. He was a good ten feet away yet when he realized Sam wasn’t waiting in it. Tossing the bags in the back seat, Dean made a quick scan of the parking lot. “Sammy!” A bit annoyed Sam had just wandered off, without saying where he was going, Dean headed to the general part of the lot he’d seen Sam changing a tire. It had become very uncharacteristic of Sam to go off by himself, and when he did Dean usually was given forewarning, even when Sam was pissed off at him.
Maybe he had the direction wrong. He walked a complete circuit of the lot. No, he decided, he’d had the right section. He came back to the empty parking space. There were few cars in this part of the lot, being it was the farthest from the store. He took another look back at the Impala, still no Sam. Annoyance evolved into a bit of queasiness.
Where the hell was his kid brother?
Dean examined the ground near where the car had been a bit more closely. Crouching down he scrutinized the area. A small tube of plastic caught his eye. Dean picked it up, holding it in front of his face. This was a curious thing to find here. It was the needle cap from a syringe. Dean looked around, more closely this time, but found no syringe, no needle, nothing else. Almost nothing else. Caught along the guard rail in front of where the car had been, Dean found a small bit of material. Material matching the hoodie Sam had been wearing, the one Dean had given him not so many months ago for his birthday.
Looking up, Dean’s heart fell when he saw no surveillance in the lot. It was a small town, a small store, a long shot there’d be any cameras. He fished his phone from his pocket, dialing Sam’s number. Voice mail. Dean had two possibilities. One, Sam had taken off, which he doubted. They’d had much better fights. Sam had done that in the past, but not completely unexpected, and not without leaving Dean a note saying he was going, and would be back. It still made Dean smile, the minute Sam ran into trouble, he’d been on the phone calling Dean. There was nothing to smile about now. Sam hadn’t taken off, he’d had no reason to. He’d been going to extreme lengths to show Dean, tell him, at every opportunity that would not happen again. Dean believed him.
There were few people in the lot. Cell phone in hand, Dean flipped through the pictures of Sam he’d stored on it, finding a fairly recent one that wasn’t something stupid, he started asking if anyone saw Sam. There were five people in all he questioned. Three mentioned the series of killings when Dean told them Sam’s age, which did nothing to assuage his fears. The last person, an elderly woman who kept patting his arm kindly, remember seeing Sam just minutes before Dean left the store.
The relief flooding through Dean was immense and short-lived. She’d seen Sam alright, seen him with a man next to a car with a flat tire. She apologized, she couldn’t be positive, but thought when the car drove away there might have been two people, one in the back and one in the front of the car. The most she could tell him about the car was it was dark blue and a bigger car. Dean’s stomach did a flip. He barely made it back to his car, after thanking the woman profusely, before breaking out in a cold sweat. He fought down bile rising in his throat, threatening to burst out.
He hated himself just then. The last thing he’d done was yell at Sam. Yes, Sam yelled too, and yes they’d both been pissed. But it was what Dean saw in Sam’s eyes, beyond the anger, the defiance, the stubbornness. In those few moments after Dean slammed on the brakes, causing the car to skid off the road, after facing his brother, shouting at Sam., there had been a small amount of fear, his outburst scared Sam. Dean had seen it, covered up, and short lived, but there.
Dean would be damned if the last thing between he and Sam would be anger and fear.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
An eternity she’d watched them. This life was no different. Tucked into a corner of the room, near the ceiling she’d watched the pair, wondering why they never noticed her.
The older one returned, alone, despondent, she plainly saw his fear. Fear deep and powerful, fear that drove him. Fear of losing the younger. Many wouldn’t see it of course, but she could. She’d known him, both of them, since before conception, before this life. She’d known them for an eternity, and would continue to do so.
Watching as he methodically prepared weapons, the tools of his trade, then as he moved on to gathering information she considered him, what he had been….
On a cold, blustery January evening, nearly three decades ago, in the midst of a blizzard, she’d delivered this one, again, into the world of men. A world desperately in need of him. The whole thing took surprisingly little time. She knew, even in her mortal form, right from the start this child was special, different. Saying so only brought knowing nods, kind smiles, all new mothers had those same thoughts of their children. But she knew better.
This time it really was true.
He hadn’t been like the other children they knew, others he played with. He wasn’t filled with childish silliness. He simply didn’t find things most children found frightening worth his time or effort. He was a contemplative child, almost quiet, fearless, with an endless charm. His was not merely an old soul, his was an ancient one. Within him beat the heart and spirit of a warrior, the most powerful of all combinations.
Always seeming the slightest bit incomplete, without focus or purpose he was driven, even at a young, tender age to defend those less able to defend themselves. She understood, this one needed a focus, and it was only a matter of time before that focus would follow him into this life. They were never very far apart after all.
From his earliest days it was plain for her to see, he had a purpose in this life. A very important purpose. He was a warrior of men, a gift from the gods.
She watched him walk out of the house, now as an adult full of purpose, still driven. The warrior, the hunter, he was onto his quarry.
Rated: R for graphic violence
Disclaimers: Not mine, if they were I'd never get anything done!
Summary: Some souls travel the same path together. A serial killer snatches Sam and finds out Dean Winchester justice doesn't involve a court room.
Characters: Sam, Dean, some other people, and a dog
Comments?: Hell Ya! I"m all about the comments...comment away!
Sam tried the strength of the bars again, as he’d done countless times the last three days. Nothing changed, why did he even bother? A steel rod slammed across the bars, he cringed away, barely avoided his fingers being smashed.
“Don’t worry, boy, your turn is coming.” The man, older, scarred face, wild eyes snarled at him. It was evident he enjoyed Sam’s fear, the fear of the others who’d been there with Sam, gone now, dead. Sam watched them die, screaming at their captor to stop, unable to offer help.
The man took another of his steel rods, wrapped it in cloth soaked in kerosene. Sam watched, he knew what was coming. Pressing as far back in the small cage as he could, trying to watch the man without being obvious. The creep had discovered, almost immediately, Sam’s intense fear of fire. It was almost as if he got off on seeing Sam’s fear. Sitting in the far corner, the cage was maybe three by three foot square, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around his legs Sam tried making himself the smallest target possible.
It didn’t work.
Flames darted at him, the man laughed. Sam could see him through the fire, just as the creep could see Sam. He could see Sam pull farther away, shoving against the bars at his back, fighting off threatening tears. Could see how the muscles of Sam’s jaw jumped, then clenched tight as he refused to make a sound. The torch was pushed so close the heat from it caused Sam’s eyes to shut tight, turning his head away, involuntarily throwing one arm over his face.
When the man withdrew a few steps, taking his torch with him, Sam watched him warily, trembling, trying to gain control over his ragged breathing. The guy cracked a grin. Throwing the torch on the ground, stomping it out the man turned without a word, flicking the light switch off as he left the room, locking the door.
The worst part was the last time he’d spoken with Dean, been with his brother they’d fought so horribly, been so angry with each other. In truth Sam had started it, been the one refusing to let the anger die, forget the argument. Yet, Sam knew, Dean would look for him, would never stop till he found Sam, or Sam’s body. Sam clung to that thought, to the knowledge Dean would not let him down.
Alone in the dark Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. Letting his head dip down until his face pushed against his forearm Sam let the tears loose, let the sobs come.
Ch 1
Sunlight filtered through a hazy late October sky. The air was cool, but not unpleasantly so. The car Sam sat on, however, was hard. Propped on the hood, leaning back against the wind shield, knees bent he read the newspaper. Between articles he watched Dean, who grumbled something Sam was sure was better off left unheard. Sam smiled. Dean dropped another tool, rooted through the tool chest, produced something looking, to Sam, just like what he’d discarded, and ducked back under the hood of the car he worked on. Stretching one leg, flexing it, Sam resumed his original position, shivering a bit as the wind picked up.
Dean straightened, banging his head, “ouww, damn.” Rubbing his head he looked Sam over, maybe a bit more critically than he needed to. “Sammy you don’t have to sit out here with me, go inside.” Jerking his chin at the car Sam was pretending was a couch, “that looks uncomfortable.”
One little shiver and Dean homed in on him like some sort of bloodhound. How the hell does he do that? “ ‘M fine. Want some help?”
Sam smiled, really smiled at his brother. The man before him really was his brother, not the frightening stranger of a year ago. Not the brother he worried daily would die in some hideous manner. Not the brother who seemed always angry, out of control. Not the brother he was starting to fear. This was really his brother, in control, fearless, focused. Not quite whole, but almost, getting there. The brother who since Sam’s earliest memory made him feel safe, who called him ‘Sammy’ more often than not. Sam wasn’t quite sure exactly when the real Dean Winchester had returned, but Sam was awfully thankful he had. While Sam had never stopped loving the guy, he sure had stopped liking the brother he had those first few months after their father died. Living in daily fear of losing that brother was no longer reality for Sam. He hadn’t been any gem either, and now Sam was doing what he could to make up for it, for his own wrongs, wrongs Dean never deserved.
“Yeah, actually I would, but there’s barely room for my hand in there, let along your bear paws too.” Dean grinned. “But you still don’t have to sit out here with me.”
“I know. Nothing else to do though.” Sam flipped the pages of the paper, folding it and resettling it against his knees.
He sat, propped on the hard car, with his ass falling asleep for two simple reasons. The most important was it made Dean feel better, not that the man would ever come out and admit it, but that was ok. Secondly, and far less important in Sam’s eyes was it made Sam feel better. People left Dean, Sam had left Dean. The fact he always bounced back to Dean was all that kept him from being over-run by the guilt of those actions. Months ago, too impatient to give his brother the little bit of time he’d asked for, too selfish. Dean would have never done that to him, and Sam knew it. Sam promised his brother he’d not take off like that again, and meant it, Dean would never ask again. But Sam saw the looks, every now and then, as if he expected Sam to not be there. So Sam planted himself solidly in front of Dean at every opportunity, stayed right where Dean could watch him. The looks were fewer and farther between; being called ‘Sammy’ happened more and more. The fact it made Sam feel he could get through each day and not always have to be afraid of demonic plans and revenge-filled hunters was a bonus.
Hunting was another issue, one not so easily solved. But they were working on that one too. Dean’s drive to hunt for the sake of saving innocents had been smothered by his drive to preserve and protect his brother. Sam saw the fire coming back, little by little, knowing that flame could never really be extinguished. Literally Sam, over the past few months had sometimes needed to force Dean to hunt, but Dean was the best, the world needed him. Almost as much as Sam needed him. Sam was far too selfish to give him up, but he could share his brother every now and again.
When Bobby asked them to ‘house sit’, which also meant ‘business sit,’ at least for Dean who could do the work on the vehicles brought in, Sam willingly agreed. Bobby’s sister was ill, very ill. He’d gone to be with her and her family in her final days. Dean got his time off with a purpose, and Sam got to save face not having to admit Dean had been right all along. In the brief week they’d been there he’d seen it had done Dean a world of good. Another week or two and Sam was sure Dean would be antsy as hell, wanting back on the road, and it would be look out world, Dean Winchester is back. Frankly Sam couldn’t wait.
The slight wind shifted around, now coming from the west, it was going to storm. Another involuntary shiver worked its way down Sam’s spine. He waited for it, three… two….one...and coughed to cover up a short laugh when Dean’s head popped up again.
“Sammy, go inside before you catch something, ‘cause I’m NOT spoon feeding you soup for a week while you sneeze and drip.” Tossing the tools into the chest, muttering, “piece of crap should be junked,” he straightened, wiped his hands together and slammed the hood shut.
“Want me to find a manual online?”
Dean turned slowly, crossed his arms over his middle, arched one eyebrow and put on a fake dangerous glare. “As if I’d need one.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam swung off the car, “whatever, man.” He stuffed the paper under one arm, and picked up one of the tool boxes with the other hand. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Excuse me, Dean Winchester does not need directions.”
Sam snorted a short laugh through his nose and shook his head. “Dean Winchester sounds ridiculous talking about himself as Dean Winchester.”
“Not nearly as ridiculous as you sound right now.” The toolbox Dean carried was put just inside the garage door. He turned and took Sam’s, placing it beside the other one. Locking the door, they headed to the house. Going straight to the refrigerator, half of Dean disappeared inside. Sam could hear things being moved about, more grumbling from his brother. “We need to go shopping Sammy, there’s nothing decent in here.”
“Maybe there’ll be a movie somewhere too.” Sam dropped the paper on the table.
Snatching the paper, Dean scanned an article. “What’s this, a hint?”
“Huh?”
“Sam, come on. You been researching hunts? You want to check this out? Say something, don’t pull leaving hints bullshit.”
“Huh?”
Dean rolled his eyes, tossed the paper back down in disgust. “Quit the crap and games!”
“What are you talking about? I was reading the paper, it’s about the only thing in this house in English. I was trying to keep you company, and since you never want me helping……not that I’m much help with engines anyway….I wanted something to read. Excuse me for trying to be nice to you. I’ll try not to let it happen again.” Sam snapped back.
“Then what is this?” Dean grabbed his arm, forcing Sam to face him, retrieving the paper and shaking it under his nose, probably knowing how much that would just piss Sam off.
Sam viciously swatted the paper away from his face, then, curious as to what Dean had read, jerked it from his hand. He didn’t remember any articles being ‘hunt’ worthy. Then again he hadn’t been reading the main news section either. “Lemme see.” His eyes followed Dean’s finger down the front page. Sam lifted his eye brows, gaze meeting Dean’s. “I hadn’t seen this, sorry. I really didn’t know what you were talking about.” Sam’s voice trailed off as he read more of the article.
“Not some kind of Sam Winchester hint then?” His brother’s voice and expression softened.
Sam shook his head, completely involved in the article. “Think we should check this out?” He asked after a few minutes.
“No, I think we should stay the hell away from it.”
“Dean!”
“I mean it Sammy. I don’t think this is one we should mess with. It’s probably a serial killer and nothing supernatural.”
“Dean if these people are dying and we can do something….”
“The police ARE doing something, Sammy. This is a sick bastard, I’ll give you that, but I don’t see anything that’s our kind of case.”
“Because you don’t want to see it. Because these victims are men and women my age. Tortured, murdered and their bodies burnt, and then dumped.”
“And smart ass, the cops have a few leads, and they’ll be crawling all over everything.”
“That’s not the reason.” Sam insisted. “Since when have cops bothered you before? Hell, you get a thrill out of antagonizing them.”
“Not this time.”
Sam watched as his brother walked purposefully out of the room. Dean stopped just the other side of the doorway, turned and looked at him. Sam waited quietly, he knew that look. That was the ‘Dean-was-going-to-say-something’ look and he wanted to be sure he had Sam’s full attention, which he mostly did anyway. Sam just let him think otherwise at times.
Dean stood looking at him for a few minutes, until Sam had to resist the urge to squirm or look down to see if he wasn’t completely dressed or something. Finally he decided to speak. “You coming with me to get groceries, or you want to stay here?”
“Definitely going with.” Sam dropped the paper and sprinted after his brother.
Remaining quiet the majority of the ride into the small town near Bobby’s junk yard/auto shop ate at Sam. He wished Dean had never pointed the article out, he might not have ever seen it. He suspected his brother might feel the same way. “Dean?”
“No, Sam.”
“It’s more than an hour away.”
“All the more reason, it’s too much travel time if we’re going to look after Bobby’s business too. Drop it.” When a muscle in Dean’s jaw jumped Sam knew he was pushing Dean’s buttons. Dean’s fuse, where Sam was concerned, was incredibly, almost unnaturally long, but it did have its limits. Sam was more apt to stop before lighting the fuse, but this time was different. For some reason this time he felt it was important, really important for them to look into this.
The heel of Sam’s hand connected solidly and loudly with the dash of the Impala, doing exactly what he knew it would do….light the fuse.
Dean shot him an angry glare, “hitting the car won’t work, and just points out how much a kid you are! Now give it a rest, it’s not one of our cases, we’ve got no business anywhere near there and we’re not going. Period.” Voice rising with every word, knuckles white gripping the steering wheel as if he were holding it to the car. Dean was definitely pissed.
So was Sam.
“Why won’t you consider it? Why won’t you listen to me?!” Even Sam hated the whine creeping into his voice.
“Oh for…..what next you’ll be saying how I don’t understand you? Get done being a teenager Sam. THAT you ARE to old for.”
“Dean!”
Realizing the squealing of brakes was from the Impala when Sam was thrown rather roughly into the dash, he decided maybe he’d gone just a bit too far. The car spun around on the road, slipping onto the gravel shoulder, dirt flew out from under the tires in all directions.
“NO!” Dean shouted, voice deep, pushing up from his abdomen with force and conviction. “I’ve had it! There’s nothing there for us to investigate. Nothing we can do with cops all around but get into more trouble. And you sure as hell aren’t baiting the sick bastard. Enough. Done.” Dean hit the steering wheel with such force it shook. “I’m not going along on this one. Final.”
Maybe lighting the fuse wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Dean slammed the car into gear, stomping on the gas pedal, wheels spinning in place for a few seconds before the vehicle lurched back onto the road. Sam had definitely gone too far, his brother would never listen to him now. He pushed himself back onto the seat, glaring out the window, refusing to even look at Dean, who was being stupid and pushy. Sam resigned to the fact he could still do plenty of research and Dean would never know. If there was something to look into, he’d try again. Being armed with more info, if it was one of their types of cases, Dean wouldn’t refuse. Maybe. He hoped. He’d deal with that when and if he had to.
By the time they reached town, pulled in front of the grocery story Dean had calmed considerably. Sam was still pissed at him, not as much, but enough to rebuke Dean’s attempts at conversation. He stared murder at his brother when Dean tried teasing him. Huffing a breath Dean had simply gotten out of the car and headed into the store.
Guess a movie was not going to happen.
He trailed behind Dean through the store answering his brother with angry glares when asked what items he wanted. Then, daring Dean to say a word with nothing but a vicious expression Sam tossed a few things into the cart that normally would have brought snide remarks from his brother. Dean pissed him off even more by shrugging and keeping his own expression mild, almost amused. The bastard. Dean could push Sam’s buttons just as well as Sam pushed Dean’s. Maybe better.
When Dean started flirting with the check out girl Sam left the store, heading across the parking lot to the car. He’d about decided he was acting like a teenager, and he should stop being an ass because he couldn’t always have his own way, when he saw an old man trying to pull a spare tire from the trunk of a car. Sam stopped, halfway to the Impala, turned and looked back at the store, seeing Dean through the window. Dean looked up, at him…..how the hell does he do that?....their eyes locked for a minute before Sam dipped his head toward the man with the flat tire. Dean sort of nodded, but no smile, no real expression at all, just an acknowledgement.
Sam’s chest squeezed, he looked down at his hands for a brief moment before crossing the parking lot. He didn’t know what he loathed more, the look on Dean’s face, or the fact Sam caused it. Positions reversed if Sam had reacted that strongly to a hunt Dean would have dropped the issue. Dean’s reasons were valid, and he rarely, if ever, backed away from a true hunt because of how he felt personally about it. Sam admitted it probably was a serial killer, and that they had no business involving themselves. Dean had put up with a lot of crap from Sam in particular and the world in general lately, and didn’t deserve more from Sam. So, he’d change the tire, suck it up and apologize.
“Hi.” Sam stopped next to the old man, now on his knees struggling with the lug wrench. “Need some help?”
“Well, aren’t you a kind young fella. I sure would.”
“It’ll just take me a few minutes.” Sam reached for the lug wrench, fingers not quite connecting with it. He felt an odd sting under the skin in the muscle of his forearm. Blinking, confused, in the next instant he was on his knees, looking up at the guy. Not sure what happened, not a vision, and his arm burned, but he couldn’t grasp it with his other hand. He couldn’t do much but stare up at the stranger as blackness slithered in from the edges of his vision. As the blackness closed in completely Sam’s mind screamed Dean!!! His voice wasn’t so cooperative, cold, raw terror crept into his muddied brain, he’d been drugged, a shallow grunt escaped him and Sam slumped face first to the ground.
He couldn’t even go to the grocery store without finding trouble.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Dean snagged a few candy bars from the rack next to the cashier just as she finished ringing up the groceries. Peace offering is what they were, they were Sam’s favorite. Waiting for his change he glanced back out the window, in the direction Sam had wandered off, changing a tire. He didn’t see Sam, didn’t see the car. Damn, the kid was fast. Ok, he admitted he hadn’t really listened to Sam. And there was no harm in doing a bit of research, reading up on the events. There was no harm in that, and Sam was right, if people were dying and they could offer some help, they should. There was always the option of anonymous tips to the cops if it was a human evil, not a supernatural one. Dean was still confident this was human evil.
Grabbing the bags Dean headed across the parking lot to the car. He was a good ten feet away yet when he realized Sam wasn’t waiting in it. Tossing the bags in the back seat, Dean made a quick scan of the parking lot. “Sammy!” A bit annoyed Sam had just wandered off, without saying where he was going, Dean headed to the general part of the lot he’d seen Sam changing a tire. It had become very uncharacteristic of Sam to go off by himself, and when he did Dean usually was given forewarning, even when Sam was pissed off at him.
Maybe he had the direction wrong. He walked a complete circuit of the lot. No, he decided, he’d had the right section. He came back to the empty parking space. There were few cars in this part of the lot, being it was the farthest from the store. He took another look back at the Impala, still no Sam. Annoyance evolved into a bit of queasiness.
Where the hell was his kid brother?
Dean examined the ground near where the car had been a bit more closely. Crouching down he scrutinized the area. A small tube of plastic caught his eye. Dean picked it up, holding it in front of his face. This was a curious thing to find here. It was the needle cap from a syringe. Dean looked around, more closely this time, but found no syringe, no needle, nothing else. Almost nothing else. Caught along the guard rail in front of where the car had been, Dean found a small bit of material. Material matching the hoodie Sam had been wearing, the one Dean had given him not so many months ago for his birthday.
Looking up, Dean’s heart fell when he saw no surveillance in the lot. It was a small town, a small store, a long shot there’d be any cameras. He fished his phone from his pocket, dialing Sam’s number. Voice mail. Dean had two possibilities. One, Sam had taken off, which he doubted. They’d had much better fights. Sam had done that in the past, but not completely unexpected, and not without leaving Dean a note saying he was going, and would be back. It still made Dean smile, the minute Sam ran into trouble, he’d been on the phone calling Dean. There was nothing to smile about now. Sam hadn’t taken off, he’d had no reason to. He’d been going to extreme lengths to show Dean, tell him, at every opportunity that would not happen again. Dean believed him.
There were few people in the lot. Cell phone in hand, Dean flipped through the pictures of Sam he’d stored on it, finding a fairly recent one that wasn’t something stupid, he started asking if anyone saw Sam. There were five people in all he questioned. Three mentioned the series of killings when Dean told them Sam’s age, which did nothing to assuage his fears. The last person, an elderly woman who kept patting his arm kindly, remember seeing Sam just minutes before Dean left the store.
The relief flooding through Dean was immense and short-lived. She’d seen Sam alright, seen him with a man next to a car with a flat tire. She apologized, she couldn’t be positive, but thought when the car drove away there might have been two people, one in the back and one in the front of the car. The most she could tell him about the car was it was dark blue and a bigger car. Dean’s stomach did a flip. He barely made it back to his car, after thanking the woman profusely, before breaking out in a cold sweat. He fought down bile rising in his throat, threatening to burst out.
He hated himself just then. The last thing he’d done was yell at Sam. Yes, Sam yelled too, and yes they’d both been pissed. But it was what Dean saw in Sam’s eyes, beyond the anger, the defiance, the stubbornness. In those few moments after Dean slammed on the brakes, causing the car to skid off the road, after facing his brother, shouting at Sam., there had been a small amount of fear, his outburst scared Sam. Dean had seen it, covered up, and short lived, but there.
Dean would be damned if the last thing between he and Sam would be anger and fear.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
An eternity she’d watched them. This life was no different. Tucked into a corner of the room, near the ceiling she’d watched the pair, wondering why they never noticed her.
The older one returned, alone, despondent, she plainly saw his fear. Fear deep and powerful, fear that drove him. Fear of losing the younger. Many wouldn’t see it of course, but she could. She’d known him, both of them, since before conception, before this life. She’d known them for an eternity, and would continue to do so.
Watching as he methodically prepared weapons, the tools of his trade, then as he moved on to gathering information she considered him, what he had been….
On a cold, blustery January evening, nearly three decades ago, in the midst of a blizzard, she’d delivered this one, again, into the world of men. A world desperately in need of him. The whole thing took surprisingly little time. She knew, even in her mortal form, right from the start this child was special, different. Saying so only brought knowing nods, kind smiles, all new mothers had those same thoughts of their children. But she knew better.
This time it really was true.
He hadn’t been like the other children they knew, others he played with. He wasn’t filled with childish silliness. He simply didn’t find things most children found frightening worth his time or effort. He was a contemplative child, almost quiet, fearless, with an endless charm. His was not merely an old soul, his was an ancient one. Within him beat the heart and spirit of a warrior, the most powerful of all combinations.
Always seeming the slightest bit incomplete, without focus or purpose he was driven, even at a young, tender age to defend those less able to defend themselves. She understood, this one needed a focus, and it was only a matter of time before that focus would follow him into this life. They were never very far apart after all.
From his earliest days it was plain for her to see, he had a purpose in this life. A very important purpose. He was a warrior of men, a gift from the gods.
She watched him walk out of the house, now as an adult full of purpose, still driven. The warrior, the hunter, he was onto his quarry.