Welcome to Bridgewater, 2/2, for coyotesuspect
Welcome to Bridgewater (2/2)
Mary peered through the rain at the women standing across the darkened street, one on each corner of the block. Leanne was eating a bag of chips beside her, looking far less stressed than Mary felt. A car pulled up to the first woman, a man with a baseball cap pulled down over his face inside. He beckoned her close.
“Ok, that’s creepy. That’s something, right?” Mary asked, and then tossed her head back against the headrest in frustration. “This is all creepy! Every one of these pick ups looks weird to me. How are we supposed to pick out supernatural I-will-bite-you creepy from regular creepy?”
Leanne shrugged. “We might have to wait until she gets back, see how she’s doing.”
“How do we even know this is where she’ll come back to?” Mary asked in exasperation. “What if she just goes home?”
“She’s working, Mary, and it’s only eight o clock. I doubt she’s standing in the rain just to work one job tonight.”
“But if he pays her well enough? That’s what Sandra said, right, that he’s paying them well.”
Leanne made a humming noise. “To keep quiet, maybe,” she murmured. “He could be well-known around here. I mean why would he be paying so much...”
Mary couldn’t help herself and snorted in derision. “You don’t think they charge extra for the biting?”
They watched the dark car drive slowly away into the night, now with the woman inside. Mary wondered where they’d go. Would they pull into a nearby alley? Or drive out of town and park in the woods? Leanne was worrying at the inside of her cheek with her teeth, just at the corner of her lip, giving her face a pursed look on one side.
“I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Mary said grumpily. “If our guy is some sort of- creature. Not a werewolf, not a vampire. But something... that passes for a person, and he’s- he’s cruising these women for weeks before he kills them... Why? Why doesn’t he kill them the first night? Why does he bite them and then let them go?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself. I thought maybe-” Leanne cut herself off, frowning. She squinted at the one woman remaining within view. It was hard on their eyes to peer through the rain. Mary was sure it would have been lighter this time of night, if not for the thick rain clouds. Without them, the light of the moon would have been stronger.
“Maybe he is a werewolf,” Mary suggested, as she thought of the clouds blotting out the moon from vision. “Maybe he bites them, and then... he kills them before the full moon, so there’s never another werewolf on his territory.”
Leanne shook her head, and Mary could hear her double hoop earrings clicking against themselves. She was still biting the inside of her cheek. If she didn’t stop soon, Mary thought she might draw blood.
“I don’t think a werewolf could exercise that sort of restraint, to bite and not kill, even in human form. And there’s no real pattern of women going missing anywhere near a certain time each month... But you know- one of the first women we tried to talk to- the blonde. She was outside the old warehouse?”
Mary nodded.
“I don’t know if you noticed. She had... a scar. On her arm.”
Most of the women they’d seen around here had scars, of some kind of another. Mary hadn’t noticed.
“A bite mark,” Leanne went on. “But old, permanent-like. She could’ve been bitten by a dog a year back, and the scar would have been right.”
“So... you’re thinking what?”
“What if... he doesn’t kill them right away, because he’s looking for something particular?”
Mary blinked. She waited silently, not quite understanding at first.
“You think he’s- taste testing?” she asked. “That could just be... a person. We could be sitting here looking for a deranged man.”
“A man that leaves those sorts of bite marks?” Leanne whispered.
Mary sighed. “Right. Okay. So.”
But she didn’t know what else to say. Another car pulled along the sidewalk, and the woman leaned into the light of the lamppost as she bent over to talk through the window. In the light Mary could see dark circular markings on the smooth skin just above her skirt. Mary hissed, and hit her cousin’s shoulder.
“Check out her stomach.”
“Bite marks,” Leanne noted. “So... is this the same guy back for more, or is it someone new...”
“One way to find out.”
Leanne flicked off the headlights, and pulled the car out into the street.
------------------
That weekend, Dean walked with Sam to his second game of the season, silence heavy upon them. He had his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Sam wondered if he was going to work, or meeting Dad somewhere to look for leads on the case. Outside the school gate, Dean stopped Sam with a hand on his shoulder.
“I got you something,” he said, voice pitched low. Dean was not one to make his displays of affection too loud. He thought it was girly, Sam guessed.
Dean held the duffel bag out to him, and Sam took it. Inside were a pair of cleats, well-worn but in his size.
“You didn’t have to,” Sam said, pulling them from the bag.
Dean shrugged, slinging the now-empty bag over his shoulder and shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I don’t mind. I got them off a lady from work. Her kid used to be on the team. I-” Dean licked his bottom lip. “Sam, I’m sorry for dragging you into shit all the time. You should be able to just get a new pair of cleats and go to soccer games and- and you shouldn’t have those scars on your neck or- or have to deal with any of the stuff that happens because I haven’t been looking out for you.”
Sam blinked, for a second feeling like he was balancing on a wire, unable to go forward because he didn’t know how he’d gotten there to begin with.
“Dean- what? Man, don’t listen to Dad. I asked to come with you yesterday, and it’s not like I got hurt. And Denver- that wasn’t your fault. I should have been paying attention more closely. You said yourself I’m not great at observation.”
Dean shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’re a kid. Come on, get to your game.”
He jerked his head toward the field. Sam knew he wouldn’t listen if he tried to convince Dean it wasn’t his fault, so he trudged to the bench to sit next to David. He pulled off his old canvas sneakers and put on his cleats. They fit perfectly. He looked up at the stands. Dean waved.
------------------
Sam winced as his foot came down on a twig. He froze, waiting with baited breath. When nothing in the forest around him responded, he picked his way carefully onward. He wasn’t sure which way Dean and Dad had gone, or even how they’d gotten separated... It had all happened too fast to see, too fast to process. He adjusted his sweat-slick grip on his knife, rubbing the handle on his jeans to dry it.
He heard something crashing through the forest in the distance, and snapped his head around, straining his ears. It came impossibly close, impossibly fast, and amid the snapping of branches Sam could hear a high pitched wailing, like an animal caught in a trap. He ran, his legs already weak and his heart pounding. It was right behind him. A tree splintered with a crack so loud it echoed twice in great booms across the mountains-
Sam awoke covered in sweat. In the tiny living room he could hear Dean swearing and tinny metal instruments clattering on the coffee table. The floor was cold against Sam’s bare feet, and his shirt was drenched. Shivering, he pushed the door to his bedroom open slowly.
Dad was lying on the sofa, Dean on the coffee table in front of him, with their first aid kit spread out beside him. At this angle, Dean’s back blocked most of Sam’s view. Dad’s face was drawn in pain, his forehead damp with sweat the way Sam’s felt. The knees of his jeans were spattered with blood. Sam hesitated where he was.
“Dean?”
Dean jumped, cursing still.
“Go to bed,” he muttered, not turning to look at Sam. He snipped a length of string and thread the curved needle Dad used for doing stitches. Sam was surprised, as always, that his hands remained so steady.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“You can go to bed.”
“Do what your brother says, Sam.”
Dad’s voice was so weak he barely heard it. Sam rubbed his lips together, hesitant, his hand upon the doorknob to his room.
“What happened?” he asked.
Dad sighed, and winced as Dean leaned over him, starting to stitch. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter than they already were.
“I checked out the post office last week, after you boys told me you thought it was important. In the basement, some of the back walls leading out to the field behind the place felt hollow. So I figured there was a cave network... ow, Dean, you don’t need to stitch my fucking kidneys!”
“Stay still,” Dean snapped.
Dad exhaled long and slow, and for awhile there was silence.
“And then?” Sam prompted, mostly because he wanted to hear Dad talk. His voice had been reassuringly steady when he told them he went to the post office. It let Sam know that he was probably okay, no matter how pale he was. From Dad’s tiny smile, Sam thought Dad probably knew.
“I checked out the woods beyond the field... Took me until today, but I found the entrance to the cave, farther from the post office than I expected, if the caves eventually connect... I didn’t get very deep inside. Someone just came at me. A man...” John opened his eyes, the first time since Sam had left his room. “Or I thought he was. He was hurt by every weapon I used, but something told me he wasn’t human... I- I killed him. By then we’d made it out of the cave in our fight, through a different entrance than the first... even farther from where I’d left the car. I went back to the car... for salt, and lighter fluid. To burn the body. It wasn’t fucking there when I got back.”
“So... you didn’t kill him, after all?” Sam asked, sitting down on the coffee table behind Dean, facing away from their father. Dean’s back, pressing along Sam’s own, was warm despite Sam’s sweat-drenched shirt. His heartbeat was steady, and his breathing even.
“No, I’m telling you, I killed him. He just got up and walked away after. It’s like, the killing blow couldn’t kill him, you know? Something was keeping him... alive, here on earth. Deathless.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Dean cut in gruffly. “Sam, get to bed. Dad. You need to rest.”
Dean stood, and Sam felt his hand on his shoulder, guiding him up and to his bedroom door. When he turned to look, Dad was sleeping peacefully, bandages wrapping his ribs. Sam left the door open as he went into his room. He rearranged his pillow so that it was at the other end of the bed, and crawled in, wincing at the wet puddle of his own sweat in the center of his mattress. With his head laying on his pillow now, he could watch his father’s breathing, monitoring the even rise and fall of his chest. Dad looked peaceful in his sleep, but in his ears Sam could hear his own heartbeat, sounding like it would shatter ribs.
------------------
When Sam got up the next morning, Dad was sitting at the table, with Dean hovering over him. Sam poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat across from Dad, who was picking listlessly at a plate in front of him, piled with what looked like just about everything Dean could find in their tiny apartment.
“I was thinking, about- this creature that doesn’t die,” Sam said eventually. Deathless, Dad had said the night before. He didn’t mention that he’d lain awake all night trying to figure it out as he watched Dad sleep, only shutting his eyes and surrendering to unconsciousness as the sun slowly started to fill their apartment with light. “What if there’s something- outside his body, keeping him alive. You said it was a killing blow, that his body was dead and he couldn’t move. So it must be something other than his body that let him walk away.”
“Like what?” Dad asked, as Dean said, “We can talk about this later.”
But Dean fell quiet with a glare from Dad, and Sam went on.
“Well, there’s stories of men who have removed their soul from their body, in an attempt to achieve mortality. They hide it somewhere, in an object... something they can protect and hide. Like a needle, or a pendant. In some stories, their own heart.”
“Stories?” Dean echoed. “Sam, we need something a little more concrete than stories. Something with information, something- backed up. We don’t need fairy tales, we need lore.”
“Fairy tales are lore,” Sam insisted, but Dean’s only response was to roll his eyes. “And there are backed up stories, famous ones.”
“Of immortal guys hiding their soul in a fucking needle, Sam? Like who?”
“Well, according to the lore- Koschei the Immortal, Baš Celik in Serbian lore....” Sam racked his brain, frustrated at having to supply information from his memory to prove himself, before he even had a chance to do any research. “...Davy Jones,” he muttered eventually.
“Davy Jo- are you kidding me? Are you listening to this, Dad? Davy Jones?”
Sam started to argue but was cut off.
“We get the picture, Dean.” Both brothers fell quiet at the sound of their father’s voice. “This makes sense. Everything told me he should have been dead. His soul being protected from the damage to his body could explain how he was able to get up and walk away while I went to the car. Good job, Sam. I’ll look into it.” Dad pushed away from the table to stand, and crumpled back to his seat with an expression of pain. “I’ll look into it... next week.”
“Or a couple,” Dean murmured. Sam followed his train of eyesight Dad’s ribs, where a dark patch had seeped through his t shirt. Sam looked down at his cereal. At times like this, he often wondered what it’d be like to have a mother to turn to for comfort. Dean didn’t talk much about her, and neither did Dad. Sam didn’t know what she was like... if she was nice or funny or if she was the sort of mom who’d hug him tightly when he was scared. In his dreams, she was all of those things.
It was a useless thought, anyway.
------------------
The car drifted along the black street with headlights off. At times they had to slow as they navigated corners, but to avoid being seen it was worth it. When they pulled onto the highway, Leanne switched her headlights on.
“Is this a good idea?” Mary asked. In the ever gathering darkness, she felt more scared than she cared to admit. At least Leanne wouldn’t be able to see it on her face. “We haven’t done much research. All we know is that it’s probably not a werewolf or a vampire. We don’t know... what weapon to use... how to use it.”
“We don’t have to fight it tonight,” Leanne reassured her. “We’ll just get a closer look, try and figure out what we’re up against. We’re not even sure this is our guy. Could be a wild chase.”
They approached the exit to Bridgewater, and the turning signal on the car ahead flashed on. Mary breathed in deep, and reached for her duffle in the backseat. She pulled out a silver knife, and buckled her sheath against her ribs. She continued to rummage through for a minute, not sure what to take and what to leave. She breathed deeply, suddenly aware of her heart hammering in her chest. She’d never gone hunting without Mom or Dad before... and research was one thing, but this was something else. Stick to the basics, she heard her mother’s voice saying. With her pistol in hand, Mary tossed the duffle into the backseat and looked up to see the car they were following pull into a parking lot. Leanne drove past to avoid suspicion, and Mary swivelled in her seat to get a better look.
“Are they going... into the post office?”
Leanne pulled into the alley between two of Bridgewater’s few buildings. “At least it’s in town so we can park nearby.”
The walk through the rain was chilling, but Mary also felt her nervousness being swept away with the water dripping from her face. She was trained for this. She was ready. The door to the post office was unlocked, though the sign said closed. As she pushed it slowly opened, Leanne reached up to quiet a tiny bell above the door that Mary hadn’t even noticed.
“Leanne...” Mary murmured, standing in the doorway, not wanting to enter.
“We have to get a better look, Mary. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with if we want to take him out.”
Mary bit her lip but finally she nodded and followed her cousin in, closing the door behind her gently while Leanne dampened the bell once more. They stood in the center of the waiting area, the only sound around them their own breathing. Mary strained her ears, not understanding where they could have gone. There was a muffled crash from below.
“Is there a basement?” Mary asked in a whisper.
Leanne went behind the service desk, moving quickly along the walls, feeling for a door in the darkness. Mary took the wall opposite, and together they worked their way around the room. A scream drifted up from below.
“Fuck this,” Leanne hissed, and reached up to pull the cord on the light dangling from the center of the room. Mary reached up to cover her eyes against the sudden, painful brightness. She heard something slam, and when she looked up again, a door in the corner of the room was opened, revealing a set of rickety stairs, and Leanne could not be seen.
She rushed down the steps, descending into the darkness of the basement and calling her cousin’s name, but tripped over something warm at the bottom. An arm grabbed her leg, and Mary realized she had tripped over the very woman they had followed here.
Mary sat up, reaching out to her. She could feel blood, and knew that they needed to get her to a hospital. She pulled her into her lap, moving her hands over her body in a search for injuries.
“Leanne!” she shouted. In the darkness she heard crashing, but couldn’t see to know her cousin was okay. Suddenly gunshots pierced the room, the brief spark illuminating two figures against the far wall. Mary reached into her pocket for her lighter, hands shaking as she pulled it out and struggled to flick it on.
“Come on, come on.”
Her lighter flickered to life, and she saw two forms lying prostrate on the ground in front of a gaping hole in the wall, leading into a darkened cavern.
“Leanne?” she whispered, her voice shaking. Mary cleared her throat, and tried again, louder this time. “Leanne?”
“I’m fine,” Leanne responded, voice quiet, too. “Just- fuck. My leg.”
Mary pressed her hand against her heart, head swimming in relief. Something groaned and cracked, and she held her lighter out to better illuminate the room. In the corner, a rotten support beam was spattered in blood, and Mary could see the holes left by two bullets. Above the sound of splintering wood, she could hardly hear her own scream.
------------------
The school year drew to a close. Sam was torn between being glad and embittered. As Dean drove him to his final soccer game, Sam was hyper aware that it was the final game, and that he’d stuck around for once long enough to see something he started at school through. He’d finish the year with the friends he’d made- and who he’d eventually have to say goodbye to- and if they won tonight there end-of-season barbeque would be that much more fun.
All of this Sam thought of in the context of the knowledge that they would have left long ago if Dad could finish this case sooner, and that the only thing really holding him back was the injury in his side, healing more slowly than he wanted and leaving him susceptible to infection. And now...
“So,” Dean finally said, breaching the silence of the Impala’s cab. “Final game tonight. Short season, huh?”
“The season’s split in 2 parts. First month and a half is at the beginning of the year,” Sam told him. “I only got to join actually cause a few guys on the team dropped out of school and they needed more players.”
“Huh. Lucky.”
Sam didn’t think he ever had or ever would consider himself a lucky person.
Dean parked the Impala at the far end of the parking lot, close to the soccer field, getting out and leaning against the hood as he waited for Sam to get his things from the backseat.
“Are you staying?” Sam asked. “I thought... you would go help Dad.”
“Nah, Sammy, it’s your final game. Course I’m gonna watch.”
Sam scuffed his cleats against the pavement. He liked having his brother’s attention, and he couldn’t deny that he’d wanted both Dean and Dad to come to his final game. They’d both come last week to cheer him on, and the feeling he’d had when looking into the stands and seeing Dean’s angry but enthusiastic cheers, and Dad’s tired smile... for a minute he’d been able to pretend that this was normal, and that the sour look on Dad’s face every now and then was at the bad reffing and not the wounds below his ribs.
Having Dean here now, he felt selfish.
“So Dad’s gonna take this thing on alone tonight? Is he... Is he alright to do this?”
Dean scratched his neck and then reached out to rest his hand on Sam’s shoulder, slowly leading him to the bench.
“He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think he could, Sam.”
“But he still doesn’t really know what he’s up against... all he has is my stupid theory about a soul hidden in an object, and it could be anything, anywhere, any size.” Suddenly Sam felt a lot less proud about coming up with the idea to begin with. “Shouldn’t- I mean, the more dangerous the case, the more it makes sense for you to go with him. Then you’d be more safe. Together.”
Dean stopped, and turned to face Sam completely.
“Sometimes, when the case is more dangerous, it makes sense... for me not to go, Sammy. If this case is too much for us to handle... If there’s a chance we won’t both walk out alive, we gotta do everything we can to make sure one of us will. Even if it means staying at home.”
“To take care of me,” Sam guessed. “This is what you guys were arguing about last night, wasn’t it?”
Dad and Dean almost never disagreed, and it seemed like whenever they did it was about Sam.
“Don’t worry about any of this, Sam,” Dean said, not addressing either of Sam’s statements. “Concentrate on your game. I’ll be watching. Good luck.”
Sam watched Dean cross the field to take his seat amongst the home team spectators. He trudged over to the bench, relacing his cleats more tightly as he sat and waited for the game to start. If there was one thing Sam was good at, it was throwing himself into other things to ignore everything happening at home. He threw himself into the game with more fervor than he had before in any of their games, and for the first half it paid off: goal after goal, Sam's team came out on top, and Sam had lead them, scoring 2 of the 5 himself, and helping with the others. At half time, with sweat running down his neck and face, Sam glanced to the stands and saw Dean staring into the distance, hardly paying attention. He was sure Dean had been watching while he played, but now that he wasn't on the field, his mind must have been with Dad.
The reminder didn't help. Sam couldn't focus as well when he went back, and the other team took advantage of the break in their offense to make a comeback. Sam found himself missing obvious passes and fumbling the ball. As he struggled along the field, he had the strangest sensation of hot breath on his neck, and something huge barreling through the air behind him. The ball at one point whizzed past Sam, and he knew, if he was on his game, he could have stopped it. Instead it flew by him and the goalkeeper and brought the score up to 5-6. If the other team scored one more goal they'd be tied. Sam rubbed his forehead, surprised to find he only marginally cared.
Dad, he thought. Don't you dare get hurt tonight.
For a moment, he thought he heard Dad saying his name in return-- but then he realized that it wasn't Dad, it was Dean, and he was shouting. Sam looked to the stands. Dean was looking at him with disbelief, spurring him on.
"Come on, Sammy, you can do better than that!"
The whistle blew, and Sam's team got it down to the other end. Another goal would secure their win, but the other team quickly got control of the ball once more. Sam glanced at the clock as he rushed up the field behind the opposing team's number 9. There wasn't much time left of the game, seconds only. The ball was passed from player to player, disorienting Sam and his teammates. The goalie hung low in the corner, where there was a brief skirmish for the ball. From the corner of his eye, Sam saw a flash of blue-- the other team's jersey-- along the other side of the field, a perfect position to score a goal. Without waiting, Sam dove in that direction. Surely enough, the other team passed to the player Sam had spotted, but when he went for his shot, Sam was between him and the net. He kicked the ball, and it soared out of their quarter of the field, away from the goal. The referee blew the whistle. They'd won.
------------------
Mary struggled under Leanne’s weight.
“We just gotta... get you... inside the motel,” she huffed. She got the door open and helped her cousin inside, laying her down gently. She straightened and reached for the lamp, but the overhead light flicked on before she even touched it.
Mary spun, brandishing her knife. Standing against the wall with his hand on the lights was her father, and Uncle Peter. He rushed forward when he saw Leanne on the bed.
“‘m fine,” she was muttering as he checked her over. Mary didn’t turn around to watch them. She felt frozen beneath her father’s gaze.
“What were you two thinking?” he finally asked.
“Someone had to do something,” Mary said. “People were dying- and we saved them.”
“At what cost, Mary?” Sam demanded.
“What happened?” Uncle Pete asked. Mary heard her cousin’s groan of pain.
She sighed, and went to sit on the motel bed. “We followed... this creature. A man. To the post office in Bridgewater. He had a woman with him... He was trying to- to eat her, I guess. Or to suck her blood. But he wasn’t a werewolf, or a vampire. He wasn’t anything that could change his victims to be like him. Leanne shot him twice... And the building caved in. Leanne managed to roll into a cave at the side, but. He’d been shot. He was crushed. We took the woman to the hospital, and came back here.”
“You went after him not even knowing what he was?” Sam asked in disbelief.
“Well how were we supposed to find out if not by observing, Dad? We don’t exactly have any resources we can just access in an instant. And- I’d never heard of anything like this before. We had to get a closer look.”
“Why didn’t you go the hospital?” Uncle Peter groused at his daughter.
“I don’t need it,” Leanne gasped. “It’s just a cut... It’s not broken. Just needs some stitches. You can do it, right, Daddy?”
Uncle Peter had already opened the first aid kit.
The process was long and silent. Mary stared at the floor and felt her father’s glare against her back. She didn’t want to look up into Leanne’s pale face, or see the amount of blood surrounding her on the bed. When Leanne’s leg was stitched up, Uncle Peter carried her to her car, and Sam motioned for Mary to get in his.
“Hey, Mary,” Leanne said as Peter was arranging a blanket on her lap to keep her comfortable in the backseat. Mary went to her, resting her hands against the lowered car window. “That woman, did you catch her name before we dropped her at the hospital?”
Mary nodded. “Gwen.”
Leanne smiled, and leaned her head against the seat. Mary could see her pulse point against her neck, slow and uneven. “Gwen,” Leanne murmured. “That’s a nice name.” She reached out and touched Mary’s wrist. She whispered, “Don’t let them tell you what we did was wrong, Mary. Gwen? She’ll live another day because of us, and other women after her.”
Mary nodded, unable to find words, and let her father usher her into the passenger seat of their car. They followed Uncle Peter’s headlights, onto the highway.
“You’re lucky we ran into Derek, and he told us where you were,” Sam said at length. “Would you have been able to stitch up Leanne’s leg, Mary? What were you thinking?” he asked again.
“I could have done it,” Mary muttered. “Someone had to. You always say you want me to hunt, to save people. Well I did. We saved someone tonight... Leanne saved someone tonight.”
“You saved a woman who barely cares about her own life anyway!”
“That’s not- It isn’t true. Just because these women have to earn their living a tough way doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to be saved, Dad! And you know what- maybe they don’t care much about their own lives. Maybe they are so unhappy that they wish they would die. But, you know- They do this so that their children won’t have to either, so they can grow up into something better. At least they don’t wish their miserable way of life on their kids.”
“Mary-”
“I’m not interested in hearing it,” Mary snapped, crossing her arms. She sank deeply into her seat, watching the freeway pass through the darkened window. Mary fought back the tears in her eyes. In that moment, she swore her children would never be hunters.
------------------
Sam saw Dean’s head over the crowd. He waved, a grin on his face. In the aftermath of the winning save, Sam had been swept away by his teammates so fast he hadn’t even had a chance to look for his brother. He felt the excitement of their win drain from his chest. Looking at Dean reminded him of everything else.
Dean muscled his way through the crowd and swept Sam into a hug.
“What a save, Sam! You did great.” Sam didn’t think Dean really cared about soccer or could tell a good save from a decent one, but he smiled feebly at his brother’s words anyway. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just- worried about Dad.”
Dean nodded, tongue flicking out to touch his lip. “Yeah. Well, maybe this whole celebration barbeque will take your mind off things. Heard some ladies behind me in the stands saying there’d be fireworks.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t- really feel like it.” It was true. Where a moment ago had been the blistering heat of his pride and excitement was now a wooden emptiness. “Can we just... go home?”
“Of course we can. Whatever you want. C’mon.”
Sam waved to David as they left, and crawled into the passenger seat of the Impala feeling exhausted.
“Do you think Dad’s okay?” he asked, as Dean maneuvered the car from the crowded lot.
“I dunno, Sam. Probably.” Dean looked over and at the expression he saw on Sam’s face amended, “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s good at what he does, Sam.”
“Can we- check?”
“We can’t go anywhere near the hunt, you know that.”
“We can’t even... drive by, just to see if we can spot him? Shit, Dean, he doesn’t even have the car. What if he gets hurt and needs to go to a hospital?”
“Well it’s not like he could drive that badly hurt, anyway, Sam. He told me to drive you to your game after I dropped him off, and drive you straight home, and that’s what I intend to do.”
“What if he’s hurt again?” Sam asked, his voice small. “And no one’s there to help?”
Dean hit the steering wheel. “Fuck. Fine. We’ll drive through Bridgewater. Just- if we see anything, you do what I say.”
------------------
The sky grew darker as they neared Bridgewater. The headlight’s illuminated that same, rusted welcome sign Sam had seen so many times now. He didn’t think he could handle being welcomed to Bridgewater one more time.
The post office was quiet when they drove by, the fields as empty as they’d been every time they came through town. Sam rolled down the window, and the car crept along slowly. Sam strained his ears, waiting for a sign. When it finally came, it was in the form of the loud crack of gunshots, in the direction of the old decrepit barn Sam had seen the first day they’d come to town.
Dean yanked the Impala onto a dirt road beaten down along the edges of the field, little more than two tire tracks between the grass. The car stopped at the edge of the barn.
“Stay here, Sam,” Dean muttered as he opened the door and stepped out. Sam heard him opening the trunk. When he reappeared he had a shotgun in his hand. He glanced at Sam as he walked past, freezing for a moment. Dean yanked the car door open. “Get in the drivers’ seat. If something comes at you-” he shoved the gun at Sam. “Shoot it. Get the hell out of here. Then you can ask questions.”
Dean slammed the door shut, and once equipped with another gun he made his way toward the barn.
“Who am I supposed to ask?” Sam questioned the empty cab. It was comforting to hear his own voice, a reminder that he was still alive, and okay. It wasn’t even shaking.
Sam gripped the barrel of the gun Dean had given him, peering into the quickly gathering darkness and listening for Dean or Dad’s voices. Sweat was collecting at his collar bone, he realized. Sam hated this, waiting to know if his family was alive, more than he hated the way he’d wake at night sometimes, remembering the falchen’s hot breath....
Sam pushed the door open and scrambled out of the car. He approached the barn slowly, hardly daring to breathe. Around the side of the barn was an open door. Sam peered inside. There was enough fading light left coming in through the door Sam stood at, and another on the far wall, that Sam could see the barn was empty except for a pile of rotten old hay.
“Sam!”
Something hit Sam in the side, and Sam hit the ground rolling, across the floor of the barn, but the weight of the thing that had hit him rolled, too, arms wrapped around him- in protection, Sam realized. Momentum pulled him into a sitting position, and against the door Sam could see his father’s silhouette, pulling his gun around to crack a tall figure in the jaw with the barrel. Dad’s movements were desperate, but even so he fought with a precision and fury that made him seem invincible. The dark figure got an elbow into Dad’s gut, and he doubled over, grunting.
“Dean!” Dad shouted. “It’s tied around his neck!”
The arms around Sam disappeared and Dean scrambled across the floor. Sam saw him picking up the gun Sam had dropped when he’d gone down, but the figure was already on the other side of the barn, standing at the door. He tore at the thing around his neck, the thin string holding it snapping. He brandished it aloft for them to see- a needle, just like the legend Sam had thought of. With a savage grin, the man tossed it into the pile of hay and fled through the door.
“Are you fucking kidding me? A needle, really?” Dean cursed. “I know there's something to be said for sticking to the classics--”
“Find it,” Dad panted, cutting Dean off and taking off across the barn. “Destroy it! I’ll be back.”
Dean turned and motioned Sam to him, cursing.
“A needle in a fucking haystack. This has to be a joke- what are you doing? Get over here, Sam c’mon.”
Sam pushed himself to his feet and went to stand by Dean, who pulled him to him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders, the two of them facing the haystack. Sam was too tired to protest at being hugged like a child.
“Dean? Are we gonna find the needle?”
“We haven’t really got time to look, Sam,” Dean muttered. Sam could feel him fishing in his pocket for something. He pulled his lighter out and flicked it on, tossing it onto the pile. The hay stack went up in flames. “Let’s hope this takes care of it. If it doesn’t, we can look for the needle once the hay’s burned off.”
Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulders tightly, and Sam felt his chin resting on the top of his head. He realized his brother was shaking.
“Dean?”
“Shut up, Sam. We haven’t got a lot of time, okay? When that guy- that thing- comes back, I’ll hold him off. You get in the car and get as far as you can from here. Call Pastor Jim, or Bobby or Kaleb or anyone. Can you do that?”
Sam squirmed, watching the flame spread farther down the mound of rotting hay. The smell was putrid.
“When it comes back?” he asked quietly.
“He didn’t leave his soul here because he wanted us to have time to find it. He just- fuck. Dad and I both jumped to protect you. He knew we’d stay in this place to find the needle. And he’ll try to run Dad off, before he circles back.” Sam could hear Dean swallowing. “Maybe you should go now, Sam. Dad and I can walk back.”
“It’s a long walk,” Sam murmured into the fabric of Dean’s sleeve. He could feel Dean’s nod. “You could get hurt.” This time Dean shrugged.
“You’d be safe.”
Sam didn’t respond. He reached up to grip Dean’s wrist, and together they watched the fire eating its way toward the soul of the thing chasing their father. The pile grew steadily smaller, until the flame was low to the ground, sitting at Sam’s feet. An ear-splitting boom caught Sam’s attention, and the boards of the barn wall rattled and splintered. Dean shoved Sam behind him, hefting the gun.
He came from the side, catching Dean unaware. They tumbled across the floor. In the distance Sam could hear his father’s shouting- he was alive. The sound of Dad’s voice shocked Sam into action. He dove at the remaining pile of hay on the floor, ignoring the burn when his hands reached through flame. On hands and knees Sam felt desperately for the needle, the sounds of the scuffle seeming so loud in his ears he wondered if he wouldn’t go deaf.
Sam swiped at a clump of blackened hay and heard a metallic clatter- the needle rolling across the floor. Dean grunted behind him, a sound that couldn’t be born of anything but pain. His fingers grazed something solid and hot, and Sam pulled back with a hiss before he realized it must have been the needle. He reached again, fumbling it between his burning fingers. He couldn’t grip it well enough to break it, fingers too sensitive. Sam shoved the needle between his teeth and clamped down hard, his tongue flinching to the back of his mouth, away from the heat. He brought his hand down hard against the portion of the needle sticking out of his mouth.
It shattered, and a scream tore through the air. Sam watched the figure straddling his brother rear up, the sound of its pain tearing through him and causing the old wooden boards to reverberate. From his dark eyes there was suddenly a light so blinding that Sam had to roll to the floor to protect his own.
When Sam looked up, Dean was struggling out from beneath the dead weight of the deathless man. Formerly deathless man, Sam amended, spitting out the half of the needle still clenched between his teeth. Dean stumbled over to him, hauling him up by his shoulder.
“Come on, Sammy. We gotta find Dad.”
They limped out into the now-black night air. In the distance, something flickered and burst, a pink and orange light low in the sky.
“Hey,” Dean said, pointing. “Fireworks. For your big save.”
Sam looked over to see Dean grinning at him, his facial expression hard to make out in the darkness. He nudged Sam between the ribs.
“Not a bad soccer game earlier, either.”