Hunter Rising, 4/?, (R) Dean, Sam, OC
Title: Hunter of the Shadows Book 2: Hunter Rising
Genre: Gen (AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. All original characters do.
Spoilers: Season One and Two, although the exact sequence of events and the circumstances are considerably different.
Summary: Join Sam, Dean and Tobius where we left them in Book 1. This time, they will need to be stronger than ever if they are to survive the coming months.
Authors Notes: Many thanks to Phx for the beta and for her invaluable help and support.
In Honour of Darksupernatural’s birthday.
Chapter Four
Now…
There's something over the lens, something grey and cloth-like, moving in a sweeping circle and the watcher can hear a weird squeaking noise. Then it's removed and all falls into darkness for a moment, until a large set of tonsils can be seen, shortly before it all fogs up. Back comes the cloth, sweeping, circling, and the field of view gradually becomes clear.
"Hey," Dean says quietly, "Sire knocked me out again, just after I was coming out of the bathroom."
His smile is weak and pathetic. "Would you believe I actually tried to start a fight when I woke up from it?" A soft smirk emerges, though it sounds closer to a whimper. "Didn't work. Should know better than to take on the pack alpha, huh? The guy didn't bat an eyelid. Even Sam with his temper wouldn't have tried it."
A plate, held out by a disembodied hand, suddenly appears under Dean's nose. It bears red meat, chopped into small cubes, and some buttered wholegrain bread.
"M'not hungry," Dean sighs, turning his head away.
"It wasn't a request," Tobius moves into shot and crouches down by his son, eyes glowing fiercely. His manner suggests he is not beyond force-feeding the stubborn young beta, and no doubt he would succeed.
Dean looks back up at the older wolf, clearly exasperated. But instead of arguing, he nods, accepts the food, pops a piece of the meat in his mouth and chews slowly. Tobius stands to full height again, and sets about his tasks.
Neither wolf attempts conversation whilst Dean feeds, but Dean's eyes follow his Sire's every move, from changing the clear bags hanging beside the bed, attached to Sam's arms via long, thin tubing, and checking the unconscious boy's eyes.
It's a few minutes before Tobius finally speaks up, voice quiet and melodious.
"I won't lose you both. I can't. And if you want your son to stand a chance of surviving this, then you must start taking better care of yourself. Sam needs you… I need you... to be strong."
Dean stops chewing, mouth falling open in surprise and revealing a gross mess of semi-chewed meat, but says nothing.
Tobius glances up from his ministrations. "You're the pack beta and bodyguard, but also our advisor and counsel," a small look of disgust passes across his face. "Please close your mouth when eating. I'm not the squeamish type, but I do have standards."
Dean immediately closes his mouth as ordered, but there's a glimmer of a smile in there… somewhere…
Pretty soon, the plate's empty and Dean is sitting up against the headboard of his bed, Sam in his arms, and stroking the youngster's scalp.
"So, Bobby wanted to try out a Devil's trap on Sam. Can't say any of us were keen, especially when we got to Singer Salvage and Bobby produced some heavy-assed looking chains." he shrugs and asks his audience "But what alternative did we have?"
Then…
Two thankfully uneventful days later, and we arrived at Bobby's yard. It was my turn behind the wheel, whilst Sam drooled against his grandfather's shoulder and, in a way, I was sorry to see the journey end so soon.
Because over the next few days, I knew Sam would be in for a hard time of it.
And boy! I sure wasn't wrong…
"Bobby, are you sure those chains are completely necessary?" I watched the preparations with no small amount of worry. We'd already been over this, but I still wasn't happy.
Sam was tied to a chair under the newly repaired devil's trap in Bobby's study. Heavy chains secured his wrists to the arms, and several thick lengths wrapped his chest and stomach.
The kid was clearly scared, eyes wide and darting round the room... from Bobby... to me... to Sire... back to me... to Jim... and then back to me again.
Bobby just shrugged. "It's for our safety as well as Sam's. And as he's non-demonic he could just walk out from under the trap at any time before he's ready." He stared pointedly at me. "And if he's as powerful as I suspect he is, that could put us all in danger."
I shook my head in frustration. "Sam wouldn't harm us…"
"He wouldn't mean to, Dean," Pastor Jim said quietly. "But once we get started he might not be able to control himself."
"I'm right here," Sam interrupted, miserably tugging at his bound arms. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not even in the room."
Bobby smiled sadly. "Sorry kid. How're those chains, son? Not too uncomfortable, I hope?"
Sam just shrugged, forlornly. What could he really say to that, anyhow?
Bobby had taken the time to be extra careful with my son, even knowing the kid would heal quickly from abrasions, wrapping his arms in soft bandages before securing them to the chair. A sure sign of his love for the kid.
But it didn't make it any easier to bear, seeing Sam trussed up like a wild animal.
I crouched down in front of him.
"I'm right here, Sammy. No need to be scared, ok?" I rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. "If it gets too bad just tell me and I'll put a stop to it."
Yeah. He nodded shakily. Thanks Dean.
No problem, kiddo.
Stepping back, I nodded to Bobby and Jim. Tobius hovered silently nearby, a deep worried frown on his face. Sire had been quiet throughout most of the preparations, watching everything carefully, as though he was memorising it or something. Would've gladly given more than a penny for his thoughts right then, but the guy remained unnervingly quiet.
Bobby dragged a small stool out from under his desk and sat down in front of Sam.
"I want you to relax, Sam," the hunter sat up straight in his seat, hands on knees, eyes boring into Sam's. "I know it's hard, but try not to fight me, kid. It'll only make things worse."
A long eerie silence descended, broken only by Sam's breathing and the clink of metal as he shifted in his bonds.
Bobby, as I may have mentioned before, is a pretty powerful magic user, and only one step away from being an honest to God sorcerer. That's scary stuff, when you consider what could go wrong if that kinda shit fell into the wrong hands. And we've seen it happen before. A young girl by the name of Jo Harvelle was not only a powerful witch, but a hunter and vampire. She once came after Sam, and damn near took us all down in the process. She was a prime example of magic put to ill use.
"That's it Sam," Bobby whispered. "Keep your eyes on me, and just… fall away…"
Sam's head wobbled on his neck and his eyes grew heavy.
"Huhn…" the kid whimpered as though in pain, and I took a determined pace toward him.
Sire caught hold of my arm. "He's in no danger at this stage. Let him be." This might be his only chance to try this in safety.
I swallowed hard, nodded, and backed away.
Sam fell limp in his seat, eyes fully closed, head falling back against the head rest.
"Sam?" I called, anxiously.
"It's ok," Bobby spoke softly, though his eyes never left Sam's face. "He's just asleep. For now."
According to Pastor Jim, Sam's mind would be easier to slide into whilst in a deep sleep. The trouble would come when Bobby tried manipulating him, getting his thoughts to bend to Bobby's will. It was a painful task for both Bobby and psychic at the best of times, but no one had ever tried it on a werewolf, so I guess Sam, Tobius and I weren't the only ones scared out of our minds.
Bobby had to be crapping himself.
Guy's pretty brave, huh?
Not sure I really understand the dynamics of it, but it had something to do with Bobby reaching in and flipping some switches in Sam's head, finding the ones earmarked with 'psychic ability' and showing Sam how to control them. Now that sure worried us. If he flipped the wrong ones we'd have an extremely scared, angry and pained wolf on our hands. Not only that, but he could lose all control over those switches, effectively turning his behaviour temporarily into a kind of lunar-dependent. I could probably overpower him, but not before he ripped free of his bindings and tore out Bobby's throat.
Guess that's why Tobius and Jim stood by, armed with heavy duty tranq guns.
"Ok, I think I found the first one," muttered Bobby. "Here we go…"
He broke off with a sharp hiss at the same time as Sam's body jerked and strained against the chains.
Bobby's face was going an alarming shade of red by now, and I was beginning to worry about the guy.
"Got it," he panted out, then wiped a hand over his forehead, seeming surprised when it came away damp with sweat. "Jesus, he's so strong…"
Couldn't help it, but my back stiffened with pride. That was my boy he was talking about.
"On to the next." The grizzled hunter settled once again on his stool.
Somehow I got the feeling this was only gonna get harder the more Bobby kept probing Sam's mind. Kid's stubborn like that, and when he perceives a threat, he only becomes more resistant.
I wasn't wrong in that assumption, either. The instant Bobby tried again, blood dripped from his nose.
"Sire, I'm not sure this is such a good idea," I whispered. Bobby ain't getting any younger.
"I heard that!" Bobby ground out, indignantly.
"Huh?" I blinked, stupidly.
Pastor Jim smiled faintly. "He's in Sam's head, which means he can listen in on your thought projections."
"Oh," I glanced at Bobby and winced. "Guess I'd better keep my big inner mouth shut from now on, huh?"
"Been tellin' ya that for a while now," replied Bobby 'smartass' Singer.
"Don't panic, Dean," Sire squeezed my shoulder, sounding amused. "It's only whilst he's in Sam's mind."
"Phew! Wouldn't want him to hear about his terrible dress sense," I grinned when Bobby appeared to be fighting the urge to give me a filthy look. Clearly he needed to keep his eyes on Sam for concentration. "Or that ball cap. Man! How old is that thing, anyhow? Could probably grow potatoes inside it!"
"Just keep it up, Winchester, and you…" Bobby suddenly cried out and slumped forward, head resting on his knees. "Shit! That hurt!"
The blood dripping from his nose turned into a full on stream, staining his scruffy old jeans.
But Sam…
His eyes had snapped open, glowing fiercely, mouth trembling. The kid panted fast and hard, neck muscles bulging, face turning red.
GET... OUT! His mind roared, making Bobby flinch.
Sam began screaming in pain, blood pouring from his nose, eyes, ears... and my heart went wild inside my chest.
I felt my fear set in, trying to take over...
Sam wrenched desperately at his chains, fingers morphing into claws, and back again, ears sliding up and down his head, nose elongating and contracting.
Teeth lengthening and gleaming with saliva, he was fighting valiantly against an involuntary change, but it was only a matter of time before it overcame him.
Oh God no!
"Bobby, you hit the wrong switches," I yelled angrily. "Do something, for fuck sake, before we lose him!"
"I'm workin' on it, ya idgit! Now pipe down!" Bobby yelled right back. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something under his breath.
Instantly, Sam fell silent, body relaxed and pliant in the chair.
"Sammy?" I strode across to him, but stopped just shy of stepping under the devil's trap when Bobby growled angrily.
"Don't touch him just yet, not until I'm certain he's ok," he stared hard at Sam for several long minutes, presumably still probing the kid's head. "He's unconscious for now, and that might be a good thing."
"Why's that?" I asked, worriedly watching the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest.
"He might be a little less resistant next time." Bobby replied.
And that was the wrong answer.
If anything, Sam's subconscious, sensing another assault, closed ranks and hid him behind a protective barrier.
And a damn powerful one at that.
Bobby had his work cut out for him....
Two days later, Sam was still unconscious, stained with his own blood, still chained the chair, and Bobby was still trying to get through to him. Both men were looking ragged and exhausted, draining reserves like an afterburner on reheat. Trouble was, we couldn't even get close to Sam to bring him sustenance.
Yeah. I can feel your shock from here.
Bobby had found the TK switch, given it a tweak, and suddenly the protective barrier in Sam's head expanded, broke out, and drew on the powers of the devil's trap.
No one could get under it, probably not even Meg if she'd chosen to show up just then.
When I tried, it was like running in syrup, if the syrup turned to superglue and stuck your feet to the floor. Not the most pleasant experience, I can assure you.
So Tobius and I were left to prowl up and down the room helplessly, watching every pinch of pain on Sammy's face whenever Bobby tried again.
"What about breaking the trap?" I asked suddenly, several hours later.
It was getting desperate. Sam had been bleeding again, and though nothing like this could be fatal to a werewolf, it was surely damaging him in other ways.
"Too risky," Pastor Jim handed Bobby a bottle of cold water. "We have no idea how that could hurt Sam."
"There must be something we can do!" I fumed, running a hand through my hair and tugging at the roots.
Bobby took a long swallow of the water, then poured some over his forehead.
"There might be another way," he mused tiredly. "But just give me a sec to get my strength back."
I bit down hard on my tongue, wanting to demand he just get a damn move on, but he was right. Poor guy was looking pretty ropey by now, and he was trying to help us.
But then...
Bobby turned to study me. That gaze was scary-deep, real penetrating and had me shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Felt more like a rodent than a wolf just then.
The guy suddenly got up and told me to sit in his place.
"Huh?" I glanced at the now vacated seat. "What can I do?"
Bobby gently pushed me down on to the stool. "You're his father. There might be plenty you can do."
I heard Tobius and Jim murmuring behind us, and turned my upper body to face them.
"What do you think, Sire?" I asked, uncertainly. "Worth a shot?"
"It can't hurt, my son," Tobius replied with a little more confidence. "If anyone can bring him back, it's you."
Blowing out a shaky breath, I nodded to Bobby. "So. How do we do this thing?"
Oh boy. I'd really let myself in for it.
Bobby tapped into my brain - I swear I saw a grimace or two cross his face - and used me to try getting through to Sam. As a regular interloper in Sam's head, the theory went that I wouldn't be seen as a threat, able to just walk right on in and, with Bobby's instruction, start flipping those switches again.
It was a phenomenal success. With just one complication.
Sam wouldn't… couldn't wake up.
Bobby assured us that given time, Sam's mind would relax and allow him to come back, but we just needed to be patient.
On the plus side, I was now able to communicate with him, and Tobius was finally allowed to get under the trap to insert an IV of nutrients into Sam's arm, but that was all.
Sammy… we're gonna move you to the bedroom upstairs, ok? You'll be more comfortable.
So cold Dean… so tired…can't get out… need to get out…tired of fighting…
Poor kid sounded scared half to death, and it took everything I had to keep from freaking out right along with him.
Yeah, I know. But it's gonna be ok. I promise.
Jim and Tobius set about removing the chains, whilst I hovered nervously nearby holding onto a warm blanket. We were all thoroughly exhausted, but Bobby and Sam were the ones who'd suffered the most.
There ya go. I wrapped Sam up in the blanket, slid my arms round him and got to my feet. Can you feel that Sam? That's me holding you. You're safe, ok? Just taking a little time out.
Uhuh…
Sleep, kiddo. By the time you wake up, you'll be back.
But I could feel he'd already slipped away.
He remained in a weird kind of suspended sleep state for another twenty four hours, before showing signs of waking up. Tobius, Jim and Bobby described it as a coma, protecting him as he slept. Somehow, that wasn't exactly comforting.
But then, the hand I was holding on to suddenly twitched, springing me out of a light dose, and I sat up in my chair.
Sam? You with me?
His eyebrows dipped into a V for a moment, then smoothed out.
He was swaddled in thick blankets, one arm exposed with the IV still attached, head resting against his pillow and turned to the side, facing me.
"Sam? How ya feelin' dude?"
Sam's eyes snapped open, startling the hell outta me.
His pupils glowed deeply, the black band around the irises thickened and dense, more so than ever.
"I'm hungry," he whispered.
"Well, no problem then," I grinned at him, the relief immense when he grinned back. "Steak?"
"Uhuh," he nodded, tiredly.
"The usual?"
"Yep. Tartare style, baked potato," he slurred out. "And a glass of full cream milk."
I gently slapped his blanket covered thigh, feeling so happy I could've danced. "Coming right up!"
But before I could even lift my butt out of the chair, Tobius appeared in the doorway with a tray, the smells of raw meat and baked potato tantalising our nostril hairs.
Sire was smiling widely. "Heard your stomach from downstairs an hour ago," he moved into the room, kicking the door shut as he went, then put the tray down on the nightstand. "Thought we could all use some food."
"You thought right!" I exclaimed and picked up one of the plates, laying it in front of Sam. I made sure he got stuck into his food without too much trouble before even touching mine.
"So," Tobius sat down on the edge of Sam's bed and regarded his grandson. "You're looking remarkably well for someone who's just come out of a coma." He grinned.
Sam smiled shyly around a piece of chopped steak. "Uh… yeah. Better than I have for a long time, I think."
A small comfortable silence reigned whilst all three of us enjoyed our food, but it wasn't until I reached across the bed for my milk that I realised the glass wasn't there.
"What the…?"
It was hovering to the left of me.
"Here," Sam's eyes followed it as the glass glided smoothly through the air, and landed gently on the nearest night stand to me. "Thought you might want this."
Tobius and I stared at each other in shock.
Huh. I thought, my mind otherwise a blank.
Huh, indeed. Tobius responded, sounding equally dumbstruck.
So in spite of several hitches, such as Sammy nearly going feral, bleeding out of every orifice on his face, and dropping into a coma, Bobby's little hypnosis session had actually been successful.
It was lucky for me the kid played fair, 'cos if it had been me with that freaky mojo, I'd have used it to have a little fun at his expense. Of course, it was early days yet.
But Sam wasn't yet ready to take his new found abilities out into the world. Bobby insisted on a timetable of scheduled trials, tasks and exercises.
One of which had Sam standing out in the yard, blindfolded, nose blocked up with cotton wool and his wrists tied in front of him.
Somewhere out there, the long suffering Little Ted, Tobius' favourite training toy, was in hiding. Sam's task was to locate him, only using Tobius affection for the one eyed bear, and TK Ted gently on to his own shoulders. That wasn't something I envied him, not after the amount of times Ted had been rolled in bear or deer crap over the years.
If it sounds complicated, then that's because it is. Sam wasn't allowed to use the usual werewolf traits of smell, touch, or sight. He wasn't even allowed to move from his spot at the centre of the yard, and a set of heavy iron manacles round his ankles made sure of that.
Thought projections were out, and the only thing he had to go on was his grandfather's emotions.
Now this was a real challenge, 'cos if anyone was good at hiding his emotions, it was Tobius, and who wouldn't be after eight hundred years of practice?
Bobby checked the blindfold once more, stepped back, then blew his whistle to indicate the start of the exercise.
Sam just inclined his head immediately. "Can you get him off me, please? He's kinda damp. And I don't even want to know why!"
Bobby's mouth fell open, and I just grinned. We hadn't even seen the bear move from its spot behind the grill of a clapped out truck on the far side of the yard.
Little Ted now sat on Sam's shoulder, resting against the side of the kid's head.
Incredible.
Tobius and Jim applauded loudly from the veranda.
"Uh… can you untie me now, please?" Sam murmured. "I'm starting to feel like a freak show."
But he sounded smug and pleased when he said it, and that made me feel all kinds of proud.
"Hmph." Bobby removed Sam's nostril pads, and folded his arms, grumpily. "Not so fast, kid. We ain't finished yet."
Sam sighed. "Ok. What next?"
Bobby appeared to think for a moment. "We've seen your speed, but just how heavy a weight can you lift with your mind?"
Sam appeared to concentrate. "Not sure. Lemme see."
I damn near swallowed my own tongue when I found myself floating upwards and drifting across the yard. "Sam, put me down right now! You know I'm scared of flying!"
"Just chill, dude," Sam responded with a smirk. The little shit was actually laughing at me. "I gotcha, ok? Just trust me. I won't let you fall, I promise."
I kicked my legs helplessly in mid air. There wasn't much I could say to that. I'd asked him to trust me, now it was time to return the favour. So I stopped struggling, stopped complaining… and closed my eyes instead.
But that wasn't much better 'cos now it felt like I was on a damn roller coaster with the lights turned off. My stomach didn't seem to enjoy the experience anymore than I did, because it began to churn and roll alarmingly.
"Alright, smartass," Bobby groused. "Put Dean down afore he honks, and try lifting a broken down digger…"
"You mean the one in the bottom left hand corner of the yard?" Sam interrupted him, cockily, just as he set me down gently beside Pastor Jim. I heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't for long but it sure scared the hell out of me.
Bobby's mouth snapped shut for the merest fraction of a second. "Howdya know that?" he asked suspiciously.
"You were just thinking it," Sam announced, calmly.
The yard fell to a stony silence. Tumble weed rolled on by, and an elderly crow took off from the roof of the house, cawing down to us.
Uh. Sammy? Please tell me you're joking?
Thought projections are one thing, but I didn't want Sam crawling round in my head. There was way too much shit in there that I never wanted him to know about.
'Course I am. I saw that old thing when we first arrived. Sam laughed in my head. I just thought it would fun to freak out the unfreakable Bobby Singer.
Dude, I laughed right back. You are awesome.
Sam couldn't lift the digger, and he achieved a punishing migraine whenever he tried. He was forced to practice on smaller objects, such as Bobby's heavy old, solid oak rocking chair. Lifting me was out of bounds, though I could swear I woke up one night with my face plastered to the bedroom ceiling. Sam insisted it was just a bad dream brought on by one beer too many, but I know better. Kid's a hopeless liar, but it was the sound of sniggering muffled by a pillow that aroused my suspicions.
Tobius, of course, loved being TK'd upwards. Said he admired the view or something, though he wasn't too amused when Sam set him down on the roof of Bobby's house and left him there. Naturally, Sire found a way down on his own, growling all kinds of threats in our heads, but Sam was nowhere to be found.
Later, I spied him in Bobby's library, wolfed out and curled up against his grandfather, snoozing peacefully on the sofa whilst Sire read from another Andy McNab masterpiece. That sure took me back to a time before a certain human hunter crept up on us and stole Sam away. We finally got Sam out of his clutches, but not before he took great delight in tormenting and torturing the poor kid with silver in some pretty horrific ways. That's a period of our history I would dearly love to forget, but that ain't ever happening. It's seared into my very heart and soul, and nothing can ever erase it.
But watching grandfather with his wolf-grandson, right then? Sure warmed something deep inside me.
I guess they made it up.
No doubt with Tobius issuing a stern lecture about leaving an angry werewolf stranded on the roof. But Sammy's sure easy to forgive, huh?
Our entertainment, most evenings, was the 'guess the card' game. Tobius simply shuffled a deck of cards, and left them face down on the table with one hand perched on top.
"Three of clubs." Sam said at once.
Sire turned the card over, and smiled his approval.
"Seven of diamonds."
Another card was turned.
"That's the entire pack in under twenty eight seconds," I glanced up from my watch, smothering a proud grin, instead looking horrified. "Dude, that's just scary. You got every single one right." Shaking my head and letting out a breath, I leaned back on the sofa. "You realise the chances of that are… uh," I abandoned any attempt at mathematics, "…pretty damn small?"
Pastor Jim snorted from behind his newspaper. "You should get him to choose some lottery tickets," the Pastor suddenly glanced up, red faced, as though realising what he'd just said. "I didn't say that, right? That would be cheating. I don't condone cheating."
"Tell me that next time we play poker," Bobby grumbled. He was busy with an eye-piece, examining some kind of ancient looking parchment, but now he scowled over at his friend. "Lost over two hundred bucks to the cheatin' ol'coot!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bobby," Jim replied, innocently. "I won fair and square."
"Hurrmph!" Was all Bobby had to say on the matter.
Tobius, Sam and I just grinned.
~
Chapter Five
Genre: Gen (AU)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters do not belong to me. All original characters do.
Spoilers: Season One and Two, although the exact sequence of events and the circumstances are considerably different.
Summary: Join Sam, Dean and Tobius where we left them in Book 1. This time, they will need to be stronger than ever if they are to survive the coming months.
Authors Notes: Many thanks to Phx for the beta and for her invaluable help and support.
In Honour of Darksupernatural’s birthday.
Chapter Four
Now…
There's something over the lens, something grey and cloth-like, moving in a sweeping circle and the watcher can hear a weird squeaking noise. Then it's removed and all falls into darkness for a moment, until a large set of tonsils can be seen, shortly before it all fogs up. Back comes the cloth, sweeping, circling, and the field of view gradually becomes clear.
"Hey," Dean says quietly, "Sire knocked me out again, just after I was coming out of the bathroom."
His smile is weak and pathetic. "Would you believe I actually tried to start a fight when I woke up from it?" A soft smirk emerges, though it sounds closer to a whimper. "Didn't work. Should know better than to take on the pack alpha, huh? The guy didn't bat an eyelid. Even Sam with his temper wouldn't have tried it."
A plate, held out by a disembodied hand, suddenly appears under Dean's nose. It bears red meat, chopped into small cubes, and some buttered wholegrain bread.
"M'not hungry," Dean sighs, turning his head away.
"It wasn't a request," Tobius moves into shot and crouches down by his son, eyes glowing fiercely. His manner suggests he is not beyond force-feeding the stubborn young beta, and no doubt he would succeed.
Dean looks back up at the older wolf, clearly exasperated. But instead of arguing, he nods, accepts the food, pops a piece of the meat in his mouth and chews slowly. Tobius stands to full height again, and sets about his tasks.
Neither wolf attempts conversation whilst Dean feeds, but Dean's eyes follow his Sire's every move, from changing the clear bags hanging beside the bed, attached to Sam's arms via long, thin tubing, and checking the unconscious boy's eyes.
It's a few minutes before Tobius finally speaks up, voice quiet and melodious.
"I won't lose you both. I can't. And if you want your son to stand a chance of surviving this, then you must start taking better care of yourself. Sam needs you… I need you... to be strong."
Dean stops chewing, mouth falling open in surprise and revealing a gross mess of semi-chewed meat, but says nothing.
Tobius glances up from his ministrations. "You're the pack beta and bodyguard, but also our advisor and counsel," a small look of disgust passes across his face. "Please close your mouth when eating. I'm not the squeamish type, but I do have standards."
Dean immediately closes his mouth as ordered, but there's a glimmer of a smile in there… somewhere…
Pretty soon, the plate's empty and Dean is sitting up against the headboard of his bed, Sam in his arms, and stroking the youngster's scalp.
"So, Bobby wanted to try out a Devil's trap on Sam. Can't say any of us were keen, especially when we got to Singer Salvage and Bobby produced some heavy-assed looking chains." he shrugs and asks his audience "But what alternative did we have?"
Then…
Two thankfully uneventful days later, and we arrived at Bobby's yard. It was my turn behind the wheel, whilst Sam drooled against his grandfather's shoulder and, in a way, I was sorry to see the journey end so soon.
Because over the next few days, I knew Sam would be in for a hard time of it.
And boy! I sure wasn't wrong…
"Bobby, are you sure those chains are completely necessary?" I watched the preparations with no small amount of worry. We'd already been over this, but I still wasn't happy.
Sam was tied to a chair under the newly repaired devil's trap in Bobby's study. Heavy chains secured his wrists to the arms, and several thick lengths wrapped his chest and stomach.
The kid was clearly scared, eyes wide and darting round the room... from Bobby... to me... to Sire... back to me... to Jim... and then back to me again.
Bobby just shrugged. "It's for our safety as well as Sam's. And as he's non-demonic he could just walk out from under the trap at any time before he's ready." He stared pointedly at me. "And if he's as powerful as I suspect he is, that could put us all in danger."
I shook my head in frustration. "Sam wouldn't harm us…"
"He wouldn't mean to, Dean," Pastor Jim said quietly. "But once we get started he might not be able to control himself."
"I'm right here," Sam interrupted, miserably tugging at his bound arms. "You don't have to talk about me like I'm not even in the room."
Bobby smiled sadly. "Sorry kid. How're those chains, son? Not too uncomfortable, I hope?"
Sam just shrugged, forlornly. What could he really say to that, anyhow?
Bobby had taken the time to be extra careful with my son, even knowing the kid would heal quickly from abrasions, wrapping his arms in soft bandages before securing them to the chair. A sure sign of his love for the kid.
But it didn't make it any easier to bear, seeing Sam trussed up like a wild animal.
I crouched down in front of him.
"I'm right here, Sammy. No need to be scared, ok?" I rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. "If it gets too bad just tell me and I'll put a stop to it."
Yeah. He nodded shakily. Thanks Dean.
No problem, kiddo.
Stepping back, I nodded to Bobby and Jim. Tobius hovered silently nearby, a deep worried frown on his face. Sire had been quiet throughout most of the preparations, watching everything carefully, as though he was memorising it or something. Would've gladly given more than a penny for his thoughts right then, but the guy remained unnervingly quiet.
Bobby dragged a small stool out from under his desk and sat down in front of Sam.
"I want you to relax, Sam," the hunter sat up straight in his seat, hands on knees, eyes boring into Sam's. "I know it's hard, but try not to fight me, kid. It'll only make things worse."
A long eerie silence descended, broken only by Sam's breathing and the clink of metal as he shifted in his bonds.
Bobby, as I may have mentioned before, is a pretty powerful magic user, and only one step away from being an honest to God sorcerer. That's scary stuff, when you consider what could go wrong if that kinda shit fell into the wrong hands. And we've seen it happen before. A young girl by the name of Jo Harvelle was not only a powerful witch, but a hunter and vampire. She once came after Sam, and damn near took us all down in the process. She was a prime example of magic put to ill use.
"That's it Sam," Bobby whispered. "Keep your eyes on me, and just… fall away…"
Sam's head wobbled on his neck and his eyes grew heavy.
"Huhn…" the kid whimpered as though in pain, and I took a determined pace toward him.
Sire caught hold of my arm. "He's in no danger at this stage. Let him be." This might be his only chance to try this in safety.
I swallowed hard, nodded, and backed away.
Sam fell limp in his seat, eyes fully closed, head falling back against the head rest.
"Sam?" I called, anxiously.
"It's ok," Bobby spoke softly, though his eyes never left Sam's face. "He's just asleep. For now."
According to Pastor Jim, Sam's mind would be easier to slide into whilst in a deep sleep. The trouble would come when Bobby tried manipulating him, getting his thoughts to bend to Bobby's will. It was a painful task for both Bobby and psychic at the best of times, but no one had ever tried it on a werewolf, so I guess Sam, Tobius and I weren't the only ones scared out of our minds.
Bobby had to be crapping himself.
Guy's pretty brave, huh?
Not sure I really understand the dynamics of it, but it had something to do with Bobby reaching in and flipping some switches in Sam's head, finding the ones earmarked with 'psychic ability' and showing Sam how to control them. Now that sure worried us. If he flipped the wrong ones we'd have an extremely scared, angry and pained wolf on our hands. Not only that, but he could lose all control over those switches, effectively turning his behaviour temporarily into a kind of lunar-dependent. I could probably overpower him, but not before he ripped free of his bindings and tore out Bobby's throat.
Guess that's why Tobius and Jim stood by, armed with heavy duty tranq guns.
"Ok, I think I found the first one," muttered Bobby. "Here we go…"
He broke off with a sharp hiss at the same time as Sam's body jerked and strained against the chains.
Bobby's face was going an alarming shade of red by now, and I was beginning to worry about the guy.
"Got it," he panted out, then wiped a hand over his forehead, seeming surprised when it came away damp with sweat. "Jesus, he's so strong…"
Couldn't help it, but my back stiffened with pride. That was my boy he was talking about.
"On to the next." The grizzled hunter settled once again on his stool.
Somehow I got the feeling this was only gonna get harder the more Bobby kept probing Sam's mind. Kid's stubborn like that, and when he perceives a threat, he only becomes more resistant.
I wasn't wrong in that assumption, either. The instant Bobby tried again, blood dripped from his nose.
"Sire, I'm not sure this is such a good idea," I whispered. Bobby ain't getting any younger.
"I heard that!" Bobby ground out, indignantly.
"Huh?" I blinked, stupidly.
Pastor Jim smiled faintly. "He's in Sam's head, which means he can listen in on your thought projections."
"Oh," I glanced at Bobby and winced. "Guess I'd better keep my big inner mouth shut from now on, huh?"
"Been tellin' ya that for a while now," replied Bobby 'smartass' Singer.
"Don't panic, Dean," Sire squeezed my shoulder, sounding amused. "It's only whilst he's in Sam's mind."
"Phew! Wouldn't want him to hear about his terrible dress sense," I grinned when Bobby appeared to be fighting the urge to give me a filthy look. Clearly he needed to keep his eyes on Sam for concentration. "Or that ball cap. Man! How old is that thing, anyhow? Could probably grow potatoes inside it!"
"Just keep it up, Winchester, and you…" Bobby suddenly cried out and slumped forward, head resting on his knees. "Shit! That hurt!"
The blood dripping from his nose turned into a full on stream, staining his scruffy old jeans.
But Sam…
His eyes had snapped open, glowing fiercely, mouth trembling. The kid panted fast and hard, neck muscles bulging, face turning red.
GET... OUT! His mind roared, making Bobby flinch.
Sam began screaming in pain, blood pouring from his nose, eyes, ears... and my heart went wild inside my chest.
I felt my fear set in, trying to take over...
Sam wrenched desperately at his chains, fingers morphing into claws, and back again, ears sliding up and down his head, nose elongating and contracting.
Teeth lengthening and gleaming with saliva, he was fighting valiantly against an involuntary change, but it was only a matter of time before it overcame him.
Oh God no!
"Bobby, you hit the wrong switches," I yelled angrily. "Do something, for fuck sake, before we lose him!"
"I'm workin' on it, ya idgit! Now pipe down!" Bobby yelled right back. He squeezed his eyes shut and muttered something under his breath.
Instantly, Sam fell silent, body relaxed and pliant in the chair.
"Sammy?" I strode across to him, but stopped just shy of stepping under the devil's trap when Bobby growled angrily.
"Don't touch him just yet, not until I'm certain he's ok," he stared hard at Sam for several long minutes, presumably still probing the kid's head. "He's unconscious for now, and that might be a good thing."
"Why's that?" I asked, worriedly watching the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest.
"He might be a little less resistant next time." Bobby replied.
And that was the wrong answer.
If anything, Sam's subconscious, sensing another assault, closed ranks and hid him behind a protective barrier.
And a damn powerful one at that.
Bobby had his work cut out for him....
Two days later, Sam was still unconscious, stained with his own blood, still chained the chair, and Bobby was still trying to get through to him. Both men were looking ragged and exhausted, draining reserves like an afterburner on reheat. Trouble was, we couldn't even get close to Sam to bring him sustenance.
Yeah. I can feel your shock from here.
Bobby had found the TK switch, given it a tweak, and suddenly the protective barrier in Sam's head expanded, broke out, and drew on the powers of the devil's trap.
No one could get under it, probably not even Meg if she'd chosen to show up just then.
When I tried, it was like running in syrup, if the syrup turned to superglue and stuck your feet to the floor. Not the most pleasant experience, I can assure you.
So Tobius and I were left to prowl up and down the room helplessly, watching every pinch of pain on Sammy's face whenever Bobby tried again.
"What about breaking the trap?" I asked suddenly, several hours later.
It was getting desperate. Sam had been bleeding again, and though nothing like this could be fatal to a werewolf, it was surely damaging him in other ways.
"Too risky," Pastor Jim handed Bobby a bottle of cold water. "We have no idea how that could hurt Sam."
"There must be something we can do!" I fumed, running a hand through my hair and tugging at the roots.
Bobby took a long swallow of the water, then poured some over his forehead.
"There might be another way," he mused tiredly. "But just give me a sec to get my strength back."
I bit down hard on my tongue, wanting to demand he just get a damn move on, but he was right. Poor guy was looking pretty ropey by now, and he was trying to help us.
But then...
Bobby turned to study me. That gaze was scary-deep, real penetrating and had me shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Felt more like a rodent than a wolf just then.
The guy suddenly got up and told me to sit in his place.
"Huh?" I glanced at the now vacated seat. "What can I do?"
Bobby gently pushed me down on to the stool. "You're his father. There might be plenty you can do."
I heard Tobius and Jim murmuring behind us, and turned my upper body to face them.
"What do you think, Sire?" I asked, uncertainly. "Worth a shot?"
"It can't hurt, my son," Tobius replied with a little more confidence. "If anyone can bring him back, it's you."
Blowing out a shaky breath, I nodded to Bobby. "So. How do we do this thing?"
Oh boy. I'd really let myself in for it.
Bobby tapped into my brain - I swear I saw a grimace or two cross his face - and used me to try getting through to Sam. As a regular interloper in Sam's head, the theory went that I wouldn't be seen as a threat, able to just walk right on in and, with Bobby's instruction, start flipping those switches again.
It was a phenomenal success. With just one complication.
Sam wouldn't… couldn't wake up.
Bobby assured us that given time, Sam's mind would relax and allow him to come back, but we just needed to be patient.
On the plus side, I was now able to communicate with him, and Tobius was finally allowed to get under the trap to insert an IV of nutrients into Sam's arm, but that was all.
Sammy… we're gonna move you to the bedroom upstairs, ok? You'll be more comfortable.
So cold Dean… so tired…can't get out… need to get out…tired of fighting…
Poor kid sounded scared half to death, and it took everything I had to keep from freaking out right along with him.
Yeah, I know. But it's gonna be ok. I promise.
Jim and Tobius set about removing the chains, whilst I hovered nervously nearby holding onto a warm blanket. We were all thoroughly exhausted, but Bobby and Sam were the ones who'd suffered the most.
There ya go. I wrapped Sam up in the blanket, slid my arms round him and got to my feet. Can you feel that Sam? That's me holding you. You're safe, ok? Just taking a little time out.
Uhuh…
Sleep, kiddo. By the time you wake up, you'll be back.
But I could feel he'd already slipped away.
He remained in a weird kind of suspended sleep state for another twenty four hours, before showing signs of waking up. Tobius, Jim and Bobby described it as a coma, protecting him as he slept. Somehow, that wasn't exactly comforting.
But then, the hand I was holding on to suddenly twitched, springing me out of a light dose, and I sat up in my chair.
Sam? You with me?
His eyebrows dipped into a V for a moment, then smoothed out.
He was swaddled in thick blankets, one arm exposed with the IV still attached, head resting against his pillow and turned to the side, facing me.
"Sam? How ya feelin' dude?"
Sam's eyes snapped open, startling the hell outta me.
His pupils glowed deeply, the black band around the irises thickened and dense, more so than ever.
"I'm hungry," he whispered.
"Well, no problem then," I grinned at him, the relief immense when he grinned back. "Steak?"
"Uhuh," he nodded, tiredly.
"The usual?"
"Yep. Tartare style, baked potato," he slurred out. "And a glass of full cream milk."
I gently slapped his blanket covered thigh, feeling so happy I could've danced. "Coming right up!"
But before I could even lift my butt out of the chair, Tobius appeared in the doorway with a tray, the smells of raw meat and baked potato tantalising our nostril hairs.
Sire was smiling widely. "Heard your stomach from downstairs an hour ago," he moved into the room, kicking the door shut as he went, then put the tray down on the nightstand. "Thought we could all use some food."
"You thought right!" I exclaimed and picked up one of the plates, laying it in front of Sam. I made sure he got stuck into his food without too much trouble before even touching mine.
"So," Tobius sat down on the edge of Sam's bed and regarded his grandson. "You're looking remarkably well for someone who's just come out of a coma." He grinned.
Sam smiled shyly around a piece of chopped steak. "Uh… yeah. Better than I have for a long time, I think."
A small comfortable silence reigned whilst all three of us enjoyed our food, but it wasn't until I reached across the bed for my milk that I realised the glass wasn't there.
"What the…?"
It was hovering to the left of me.
"Here," Sam's eyes followed it as the glass glided smoothly through the air, and landed gently on the nearest night stand to me. "Thought you might want this."
Tobius and I stared at each other in shock.
Huh. I thought, my mind otherwise a blank.
Huh, indeed. Tobius responded, sounding equally dumbstruck.
So in spite of several hitches, such as Sammy nearly going feral, bleeding out of every orifice on his face, and dropping into a coma, Bobby's little hypnosis session had actually been successful.
It was lucky for me the kid played fair, 'cos if it had been me with that freaky mojo, I'd have used it to have a little fun at his expense. Of course, it was early days yet.
But Sam wasn't yet ready to take his new found abilities out into the world. Bobby insisted on a timetable of scheduled trials, tasks and exercises.
One of which had Sam standing out in the yard, blindfolded, nose blocked up with cotton wool and his wrists tied in front of him.
Somewhere out there, the long suffering Little Ted, Tobius' favourite training toy, was in hiding. Sam's task was to locate him, only using Tobius affection for the one eyed bear, and TK Ted gently on to his own shoulders. That wasn't something I envied him, not after the amount of times Ted had been rolled in bear or deer crap over the years.
If it sounds complicated, then that's because it is. Sam wasn't allowed to use the usual werewolf traits of smell, touch, or sight. He wasn't even allowed to move from his spot at the centre of the yard, and a set of heavy iron manacles round his ankles made sure of that.
Thought projections were out, and the only thing he had to go on was his grandfather's emotions.
Now this was a real challenge, 'cos if anyone was good at hiding his emotions, it was Tobius, and who wouldn't be after eight hundred years of practice?
Bobby checked the blindfold once more, stepped back, then blew his whistle to indicate the start of the exercise.
Sam just inclined his head immediately. "Can you get him off me, please? He's kinda damp. And I don't even want to know why!"
Bobby's mouth fell open, and I just grinned. We hadn't even seen the bear move from its spot behind the grill of a clapped out truck on the far side of the yard.
Little Ted now sat on Sam's shoulder, resting against the side of the kid's head.
Incredible.
Tobius and Jim applauded loudly from the veranda.
"Uh… can you untie me now, please?" Sam murmured. "I'm starting to feel like a freak show."
But he sounded smug and pleased when he said it, and that made me feel all kinds of proud.
"Hmph." Bobby removed Sam's nostril pads, and folded his arms, grumpily. "Not so fast, kid. We ain't finished yet."
Sam sighed. "Ok. What next?"
Bobby appeared to think for a moment. "We've seen your speed, but just how heavy a weight can you lift with your mind?"
Sam appeared to concentrate. "Not sure. Lemme see."
I damn near swallowed my own tongue when I found myself floating upwards and drifting across the yard. "Sam, put me down right now! You know I'm scared of flying!"
"Just chill, dude," Sam responded with a smirk. The little shit was actually laughing at me. "I gotcha, ok? Just trust me. I won't let you fall, I promise."
I kicked my legs helplessly in mid air. There wasn't much I could say to that. I'd asked him to trust me, now it was time to return the favour. So I stopped struggling, stopped complaining… and closed my eyes instead.
But that wasn't much better 'cos now it felt like I was on a damn roller coaster with the lights turned off. My stomach didn't seem to enjoy the experience anymore than I did, because it began to churn and roll alarmingly.
"Alright, smartass," Bobby groused. "Put Dean down afore he honks, and try lifting a broken down digger…"
"You mean the one in the bottom left hand corner of the yard?" Sam interrupted him, cockily, just as he set me down gently beside Pastor Jim. I heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't for long but it sure scared the hell out of me.
Bobby's mouth snapped shut for the merest fraction of a second. "Howdya know that?" he asked suspiciously.
"You were just thinking it," Sam announced, calmly.
The yard fell to a stony silence. Tumble weed rolled on by, and an elderly crow took off from the roof of the house, cawing down to us.
Uh. Sammy? Please tell me you're joking?
Thought projections are one thing, but I didn't want Sam crawling round in my head. There was way too much shit in there that I never wanted him to know about.
'Course I am. I saw that old thing when we first arrived. Sam laughed in my head. I just thought it would fun to freak out the unfreakable Bobby Singer.
Dude, I laughed right back. You are awesome.
Sam couldn't lift the digger, and he achieved a punishing migraine whenever he tried. He was forced to practice on smaller objects, such as Bobby's heavy old, solid oak rocking chair. Lifting me was out of bounds, though I could swear I woke up one night with my face plastered to the bedroom ceiling. Sam insisted it was just a bad dream brought on by one beer too many, but I know better. Kid's a hopeless liar, but it was the sound of sniggering muffled by a pillow that aroused my suspicions.
Tobius, of course, loved being TK'd upwards. Said he admired the view or something, though he wasn't too amused when Sam set him down on the roof of Bobby's house and left him there. Naturally, Sire found a way down on his own, growling all kinds of threats in our heads, but Sam was nowhere to be found.
Later, I spied him in Bobby's library, wolfed out and curled up against his grandfather, snoozing peacefully on the sofa whilst Sire read from another Andy McNab masterpiece. That sure took me back to a time before a certain human hunter crept up on us and stole Sam away. We finally got Sam out of his clutches, but not before he took great delight in tormenting and torturing the poor kid with silver in some pretty horrific ways. That's a period of our history I would dearly love to forget, but that ain't ever happening. It's seared into my very heart and soul, and nothing can ever erase it.
But watching grandfather with his wolf-grandson, right then? Sure warmed something deep inside me.
I guess they made it up.
No doubt with Tobius issuing a stern lecture about leaving an angry werewolf stranded on the roof. But Sammy's sure easy to forgive, huh?
Our entertainment, most evenings, was the 'guess the card' game. Tobius simply shuffled a deck of cards, and left them face down on the table with one hand perched on top.
"Three of clubs." Sam said at once.
Sire turned the card over, and smiled his approval.
"Seven of diamonds."
Another card was turned.
"That's the entire pack in under twenty eight seconds," I glanced up from my watch, smothering a proud grin, instead looking horrified. "Dude, that's just scary. You got every single one right." Shaking my head and letting out a breath, I leaned back on the sofa. "You realise the chances of that are… uh," I abandoned any attempt at mathematics, "…pretty damn small?"
Pastor Jim snorted from behind his newspaper. "You should get him to choose some lottery tickets," the Pastor suddenly glanced up, red faced, as though realising what he'd just said. "I didn't say that, right? That would be cheating. I don't condone cheating."
"Tell me that next time we play poker," Bobby grumbled. He was busy with an eye-piece, examining some kind of ancient looking parchment, but now he scowled over at his friend. "Lost over two hundred bucks to the cheatin' ol'coot!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Bobby," Jim replied, innocently. "I won fair and square."
"Hurrmph!" Was all Bobby had to say on the matter.
Tobius, Sam and I just grinned.
~
Chapter Five