The Storyteller, Part I
“You know, between you, me, and Dad, there wasn’t a whole lot we couldn’t figure out. But River Grove…that one will bug me for the rest of my freaking days. You ever think about that one, Sam?
“I mean, the repeat of Roanoke, with Croatoan carved on that pole. People go berserk and start ripping each other to pieces, all infected with some kind of demon virus.
“You know, Sam, that’s the real annoying thing about demons. They’re always getting creative, getting together these new and thrilling ways to suck. You think possession is a bitch, then they go ahead and get viral on your ass.
“And if the case itself wasn’t enough of a headache, I let down my guard and you got exposed. I really screwed the pooch on that one, so there was only one thing left to do. Get everyone else out and kill time, until, you know, you killed me.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s over, man. You never did get all Romero on my ass. And if I’m gonna be eviscerated, might as well be by you.
“I’ll never understand what really went down there. I gotta be honest, though, much as it irks me that I don’t have the answer, it’s enough that you lived, and we both got through it together. There was never a chance in hell I was gonna leave you, there never will be.
“Accept it, Sammy, you’re stuck with me.”
~
I kinda felt as though I was on a big conveyer belt, you know? Just being moved from one part of my life to the other. It wasn’t really a big deal. Mil and Billy always said that growing up I was mild and hardly ever cried, and it was because I didn’t really want that much. I had food and clean clothes and I got to see you pretty frequently, even more when I learned to take the bus. That was all I needed, really. I think I got lulled into complacency, or something, because then everyone was talking about college and I just said, yeah, sure, I’m going.
But then it all actually happened and I got accepted to a good school far away and I realized, like a jack ass, that that was a problem because, what was I gonna do, set you in a straightjacket and keep you in the closet at my dorm? I could have always given you a mirror and told you we were hunting Furies, right?
Heh.
So I had to say goodbye to you.
I came in your room, and sat down on the foot of your bed, and you were reading some book about Japanese water demons, and I wondered how you got stuff like that when the doctors would freak if they knew you were reading it.
Those nurses must have really liked you.
So I told you, I might not be back for a while.
I think you knew what I meant, but you were blowing me off, being tough-guy Dean.
“I think I can last a few days without you, sunshine.”
“I’m talking months, Dean.”
You stood up and you kinda rolled your shoulders. I could feel it, the air getting thicker, like right before a thunderstorm in summer. So I stood up too, and I remember you said to me,
“You’re taller then me. Have you always been taller then me?”
And I knew right away, you had it in your head that I was a shape shifter. So I used the code word you’d given me to let you know I was your Sam.
“Yes, Clyde, I’ve been taller then you since I was like twelve.”
You grinned and clapped me on my shoulder, and, man, I wanted to hug you so bad. I can say this shit to you now.
“Okay, Bonnie,” you said. “Okay.”
I still can’t believe I had to be Bonnie.
And you went back to sit down, and I thought, Shit. He doesn’t get it.
“So, I’m leaving tomorrow, and I guess I won’t be back until probably Christmas and-“
“You can’t do that,” you said. You said I couldn’t be gone that long, because Dad was gonna come around again soon and pick us up and take us on the road with him, and we had to both be here for it. And besides, it was dangerous to be so far apart, strength in numbers and all that.
I didn’t know what to tell you. I guess, I thought maybe I could wriggle out of it somehow, separate myself from this fabric of your mind without tearing the whole damn thing apart.
“I’m not good at hunting,” I told you.
“Bullshit,” you said. “You’re the one who saved me from that Chupracabra out on that one job in New Mexico.”
And then I gave up, and I did something wrong.
I told you they weren’t real. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I thought it would save, trying to stab you with the truth like that. Maybe I was trying to kill my own fantasies at the same time. I told you were a liar, and that you were crazy, and you looked like I’d put a gun to your head, man, you were scared of me. And then you said, “You’re not my Sam.”
I saw your hand groping around for a weapon, but fuck, the whole point of the place was that you be harmless. I’m not even sure the pillow wasn’t attached to the bed.
You asked me what I did with Sam, and even though your eyes were on fire and you were snarling, man, snarling like an animal, I wasn’t afraid of you.
I felt like I deserved whatever was about to happen. I didn’t even try to tell you that I was your Sam.
You went at me. You knocked me to the ground and got in a really just stellar punch. I just laid there, tasting the salt and iron filling up the empty spots in my mouth. I was surprised how good security was at the hospital, because they had you off me before you had time for a second throw.
I scrambled up, and I watched three big white-clad men wrestling you away from me, and all the time you were raging, “Where’s my brother? What did you do to Sam?” You were begging me, asking me to take you instead, you were shouting and crying and cursing. And these big men lifted you up and slammed you down on the ground to better hold you, and I heard the thud of your body and the crack of your head against the ground, and thank god you didn’t bust your skull, but you kept kicking and thrashing and I yelled at the fuckers to watch your head, for fuck’s sake, you were gonna hurt yourself.
I’m not even embarrassed to tell you that my eyes turned to faucets on full blast. You were breaking right in front of me, snapping like a little twig bent too far, and it was my fucking fault, Dean.
I’m still so sorry.
If it helps, I remember thinking how proud Dad would have been of how you fought. You were scrawny, but you gave ‘em hell. You gave them hell for me.
They injected you with something, I felt sick watching you strain while they slid the needle into your skin. The sedative unraveled in your veins and soon, you were out.
I watched your green eyes slip shut. Your freckles were, like, shocking against how pale the rest of you was. Your skin looked slippery, and you looked so much older then twenty-two. I wondered how much I had aged you in the those god awful ten minutes.
While you slept, I left.
I didn’t see your face again for two years.
~
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Sammy, I get worn down sometimes. The job, well, I don’t have to tell you…it weighs on you sometimes. But you know I wouldn’t trade it, right? Not for anything.
“I had a chance, too. Remember the Gin? You know, the funny thing is, the hardest part of leaving was giving up that version of you. The Sam Winchester with a girl on his arm, and a bright future ahead of him…no doubt about it, you were a Grade-A wuss, but you were happy. It wasn’t real, but I wished to God it was.
“But I knew the real you was out there, somewhere, waiting for me, wondering what the hell happened. I couldn’t leave you…not even for you.
“Sammy, believe me, I know I’m a lousy substitute for a hot wife and normal living. But we’re all we’ve got. You, Sam…you’re all I have.”
~
I think Billy and Mil breathed a sigh of relief when I left. I think they had it in their heads that once I was away from you, I’d be out of the shadow of your sickness and I’d bloom into this guy that played football with his friends after class and went on dates with pretty girls on the weekends. I feel kinda bad for them, you know?
Sometimes I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the kind of son that they dreamed about when they took in this sweet little baby boy and his damaged brother eighteen years earlier. But I was more your brother then I was their son, I always was, and I think deep down they knew that.
I called all the time to see how you were, and every time I could tell they were lying through their teeth. They said you were doing alright, just fine, and they’d ask if they needed to send a little cash, just in case I wanted to go out with some friends. The thing was, I never did want to. People were nice, and friendly, and no where near as interesting as you, Dean. Hell, they were just down-right boring.
And telling them about you was always a bad idea. Either they’d ask more about you with this sort of detached fascination, and that made me feel sick, or they’d give me this pity face, and that pissed me off.
I called the hospital regularly to see how you were really doing. It was my favorite way to procrastinate on papers, even though I always had my assignments done like weeks in advance.
I know, I was dweeb, shut up.
Anyway, the hospital, they told me the truth. They said that things were…rough.
You were convinced I was kidnapped. You were violent. They were messing with your meds to try to help the situation, and they were keeping you isolated. Seemed the most they could do was sedate you to keep you from hurting yourself or someone else. They were trying to work with your uncooperative ass, but I knew all the therapy in the world wasn’t gonna do a damn thing.
I wondered if you were still the nurses’ favorite.
I’ll tell you, man, every bad report from them, it was another stone in me, dragging me down. I knew it was my fault, that I was hurting you, but I didn’t know what to do to stop it. I figured I had to do something.
So I asked to speak with you.
The first five minutes of the phone call was spent convincing you it was actually me.
Man, your voice over the phone sounded so strained, so…wispy that I knew you’d been screaming more then your body liked. When I finally got you to accept that it really was me on the other end of the line, I could hear the change in you. It was like your voice filled up, and you got a shot of life back in you.
Then you tore me a new one.
“Where the hell are you? What were you thinking, taking off like that? I was worried sick. Do you know how much ass I’ve been kicking trying to find out where your sorry narrow behind went?”
I knew exactly how much ass you’d kicked. Three orderlies and a doctor.
I told you that taking off was stupid, and I shouldn’t have done it, and that I was out in the country with a friend of Dad’s and I was gonna take some time to train up and get ready to start hunting, try and get as good as you and Dad. Funny thing, you didn’t live a pampered life, but you still had a hell of an ego, so you were pretty much willing to buy that I had to go off and get schooled to be the caliber of hunter you were.
“Well, you call me and let me know how it’s going. If you need me to come out there-“
“No, Dean, I’m okay. Stay where Dad can find you,” I said.
We’d talk a few times a week, and it wasn’t the same, but it was enough to get you to stop throwing “holy water” on the nurses and punches at the orderlies, more or less. While you were at the hospital, dreaming up hunting trips with Dad, I was at school, wishing to God I could find something to give a damn about.
The people all seemed the same, the classes were bland, and all those things I heard about in high school, that were supposed to be fun, they were just really stupid. Drinking until I vomited. Smoking weed until time stopped existing. Having sex with nameless bodies.
Well, the sex was alright.
But really, I just studied, called home, and, every now and then, I’d wander off into some woods and practice throwing silver daggers at trees.
The classes got harder, and it got more difficult to talk to you as much as I wanted. My chest was getting heavier and heavier, and I felt like I’d been getting further and further away from you while being in this one stupid ass place. It made it harder to hang up, which made it harder to call in the first place.
To let you know I was okay, I’d send presents-books your doctors probably disapproved of, about demons and monsters and weapons. I’d decided a long time ago that you were never going to be sane, so at the very least, you should be happy.
I figured, at least one of us should be.
---
Part II Here
“I mean, the repeat of Roanoke, with Croatoan carved on that pole. People go berserk and start ripping each other to pieces, all infected with some kind of demon virus.
“You know, Sam, that’s the real annoying thing about demons. They’re always getting creative, getting together these new and thrilling ways to suck. You think possession is a bitch, then they go ahead and get viral on your ass.
“And if the case itself wasn’t enough of a headache, I let down my guard and you got exposed. I really screwed the pooch on that one, so there was only one thing left to do. Get everyone else out and kill time, until, you know, you killed me.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s over, man. You never did get all Romero on my ass. And if I’m gonna be eviscerated, might as well be by you.
“I’ll never understand what really went down there. I gotta be honest, though, much as it irks me that I don’t have the answer, it’s enough that you lived, and we both got through it together. There was never a chance in hell I was gonna leave you, there never will be.
“Accept it, Sammy, you’re stuck with me.”
~
I kinda felt as though I was on a big conveyer belt, you know? Just being moved from one part of my life to the other. It wasn’t really a big deal. Mil and Billy always said that growing up I was mild and hardly ever cried, and it was because I didn’t really want that much. I had food and clean clothes and I got to see you pretty frequently, even more when I learned to take the bus. That was all I needed, really. I think I got lulled into complacency, or something, because then everyone was talking about college and I just said, yeah, sure, I’m going.
But then it all actually happened and I got accepted to a good school far away and I realized, like a jack ass, that that was a problem because, what was I gonna do, set you in a straightjacket and keep you in the closet at my dorm? I could have always given you a mirror and told you we were hunting Furies, right?
Heh.
So I had to say goodbye to you.
I came in your room, and sat down on the foot of your bed, and you were reading some book about Japanese water demons, and I wondered how you got stuff like that when the doctors would freak if they knew you were reading it.
Those nurses must have really liked you.
So I told you, I might not be back for a while.
I think you knew what I meant, but you were blowing me off, being tough-guy Dean.
“I think I can last a few days without you, sunshine.”
“I’m talking months, Dean.”
You stood up and you kinda rolled your shoulders. I could feel it, the air getting thicker, like right before a thunderstorm in summer. So I stood up too, and I remember you said to me,
“You’re taller then me. Have you always been taller then me?”
And I knew right away, you had it in your head that I was a shape shifter. So I used the code word you’d given me to let you know I was your Sam.
“Yes, Clyde, I’ve been taller then you since I was like twelve.”
You grinned and clapped me on my shoulder, and, man, I wanted to hug you so bad. I can say this shit to you now.
“Okay, Bonnie,” you said. “Okay.”
I still can’t believe I had to be Bonnie.
And you went back to sit down, and I thought, Shit. He doesn’t get it.
“So, I’m leaving tomorrow, and I guess I won’t be back until probably Christmas and-“
“You can’t do that,” you said. You said I couldn’t be gone that long, because Dad was gonna come around again soon and pick us up and take us on the road with him, and we had to both be here for it. And besides, it was dangerous to be so far apart, strength in numbers and all that.
I didn’t know what to tell you. I guess, I thought maybe I could wriggle out of it somehow, separate myself from this fabric of your mind without tearing the whole damn thing apart.
“I’m not good at hunting,” I told you.
“Bullshit,” you said. “You’re the one who saved me from that Chupracabra out on that one job in New Mexico.”
And then I gave up, and I did something wrong.
I told you they weren’t real. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I thought it would save, trying to stab you with the truth like that. Maybe I was trying to kill my own fantasies at the same time. I told you were a liar, and that you were crazy, and you looked like I’d put a gun to your head, man, you were scared of me. And then you said, “You’re not my Sam.”
I saw your hand groping around for a weapon, but fuck, the whole point of the place was that you be harmless. I’m not even sure the pillow wasn’t attached to the bed.
You asked me what I did with Sam, and even though your eyes were on fire and you were snarling, man, snarling like an animal, I wasn’t afraid of you.
I felt like I deserved whatever was about to happen. I didn’t even try to tell you that I was your Sam.
You went at me. You knocked me to the ground and got in a really just stellar punch. I just laid there, tasting the salt and iron filling up the empty spots in my mouth. I was surprised how good security was at the hospital, because they had you off me before you had time for a second throw.
I scrambled up, and I watched three big white-clad men wrestling you away from me, and all the time you were raging, “Where’s my brother? What did you do to Sam?” You were begging me, asking me to take you instead, you were shouting and crying and cursing. And these big men lifted you up and slammed you down on the ground to better hold you, and I heard the thud of your body and the crack of your head against the ground, and thank god you didn’t bust your skull, but you kept kicking and thrashing and I yelled at the fuckers to watch your head, for fuck’s sake, you were gonna hurt yourself.
I’m not even embarrassed to tell you that my eyes turned to faucets on full blast. You were breaking right in front of me, snapping like a little twig bent too far, and it was my fucking fault, Dean.
I’m still so sorry.
If it helps, I remember thinking how proud Dad would have been of how you fought. You were scrawny, but you gave ‘em hell. You gave them hell for me.
They injected you with something, I felt sick watching you strain while they slid the needle into your skin. The sedative unraveled in your veins and soon, you were out.
I watched your green eyes slip shut. Your freckles were, like, shocking against how pale the rest of you was. Your skin looked slippery, and you looked so much older then twenty-two. I wondered how much I had aged you in the those god awful ten minutes.
While you slept, I left.
I didn’t see your face again for two years.
~
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Sammy, I get worn down sometimes. The job, well, I don’t have to tell you…it weighs on you sometimes. But you know I wouldn’t trade it, right? Not for anything.
“I had a chance, too. Remember the Gin? You know, the funny thing is, the hardest part of leaving was giving up that version of you. The Sam Winchester with a girl on his arm, and a bright future ahead of him…no doubt about it, you were a Grade-A wuss, but you were happy. It wasn’t real, but I wished to God it was.
“But I knew the real you was out there, somewhere, waiting for me, wondering what the hell happened. I couldn’t leave you…not even for you.
“Sammy, believe me, I know I’m a lousy substitute for a hot wife and normal living. But we’re all we’ve got. You, Sam…you’re all I have.”
~
I think Billy and Mil breathed a sigh of relief when I left. I think they had it in their heads that once I was away from you, I’d be out of the shadow of your sickness and I’d bloom into this guy that played football with his friends after class and went on dates with pretty girls on the weekends. I feel kinda bad for them, you know?
Sometimes I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the kind of son that they dreamed about when they took in this sweet little baby boy and his damaged brother eighteen years earlier. But I was more your brother then I was their son, I always was, and I think deep down they knew that.
I called all the time to see how you were, and every time I could tell they were lying through their teeth. They said you were doing alright, just fine, and they’d ask if they needed to send a little cash, just in case I wanted to go out with some friends. The thing was, I never did want to. People were nice, and friendly, and no where near as interesting as you, Dean. Hell, they were just down-right boring.
And telling them about you was always a bad idea. Either they’d ask more about you with this sort of detached fascination, and that made me feel sick, or they’d give me this pity face, and that pissed me off.
I called the hospital regularly to see how you were really doing. It was my favorite way to procrastinate on papers, even though I always had my assignments done like weeks in advance.
I know, I was dweeb, shut up.
Anyway, the hospital, they told me the truth. They said that things were…rough.
You were convinced I was kidnapped. You were violent. They were messing with your meds to try to help the situation, and they were keeping you isolated. Seemed the most they could do was sedate you to keep you from hurting yourself or someone else. They were trying to work with your uncooperative ass, but I knew all the therapy in the world wasn’t gonna do a damn thing.
I wondered if you were still the nurses’ favorite.
I’ll tell you, man, every bad report from them, it was another stone in me, dragging me down. I knew it was my fault, that I was hurting you, but I didn’t know what to do to stop it. I figured I had to do something.
So I asked to speak with you.
The first five minutes of the phone call was spent convincing you it was actually me.
Man, your voice over the phone sounded so strained, so…wispy that I knew you’d been screaming more then your body liked. When I finally got you to accept that it really was me on the other end of the line, I could hear the change in you. It was like your voice filled up, and you got a shot of life back in you.
Then you tore me a new one.
“Where the hell are you? What were you thinking, taking off like that? I was worried sick. Do you know how much ass I’ve been kicking trying to find out where your sorry narrow behind went?”
I knew exactly how much ass you’d kicked. Three orderlies and a doctor.
I told you that taking off was stupid, and I shouldn’t have done it, and that I was out in the country with a friend of Dad’s and I was gonna take some time to train up and get ready to start hunting, try and get as good as you and Dad. Funny thing, you didn’t live a pampered life, but you still had a hell of an ego, so you were pretty much willing to buy that I had to go off and get schooled to be the caliber of hunter you were.
“Well, you call me and let me know how it’s going. If you need me to come out there-“
“No, Dean, I’m okay. Stay where Dad can find you,” I said.
We’d talk a few times a week, and it wasn’t the same, but it was enough to get you to stop throwing “holy water” on the nurses and punches at the orderlies, more or less. While you were at the hospital, dreaming up hunting trips with Dad, I was at school, wishing to God I could find something to give a damn about.
The people all seemed the same, the classes were bland, and all those things I heard about in high school, that were supposed to be fun, they were just really stupid. Drinking until I vomited. Smoking weed until time stopped existing. Having sex with nameless bodies.
Well, the sex was alright.
But really, I just studied, called home, and, every now and then, I’d wander off into some woods and practice throwing silver daggers at trees.
The classes got harder, and it got more difficult to talk to you as much as I wanted. My chest was getting heavier and heavier, and I felt like I’d been getting further and further away from you while being in this one stupid ass place. It made it harder to hang up, which made it harder to call in the first place.
To let you know I was okay, I’d send presents-books your doctors probably disapproved of, about demons and monsters and weapons. I’d decided a long time ago that you were never going to be sane, so at the very least, you should be happy.
I figured, at least one of us should be.
---
Part II Here