Fanfic - SPN: Undamaged Destiny (Sam, Dean)
Title: Undamaged Destiny [Evil!Sammy Universe]
Author: eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Prompt: 072. Pensive. For 100moods, challenge table here.
Word Count: ~ 6,600 words.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Warnings/Spoilers: Gen/Pre-Slash. Angst. Future. Character study. Plot. AU after "Simon Said". Potential vague spoilers for various episodes of Season 1.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: He hadn't seen or even heard from his brother in over eight long months. Dean's POV.
Author's Notes: Title taken from Metallica's "Escape". And yes I really did write most of this long before I saw "Croatoan". Follows directly after Destiny Found Him Early and Alone (Sam, Dean), Letters in My Mind 1 of 8 (Sam, Dean), and Letters in My Mind, 2-8 of 8. For more info about my Evil!Sammy Universe, including links to all installments, please go here.
Soundtrack: The theme song for this story is "Escape" by Metallica from Ride the Lightning. Lyrics available at the end.
"Hey Mister!"
As he walked out the door of Adele's Diner, just off the New Jersey turnpike, Dean was accosted by a pair of wide-eyed kids apparently selling trinkets to raise funds for some worthy cause or another. He'd had three cups of coffee over the past half hour, so he was definitely awake enough not to be too cranky, but little boys with gleaming bits of junk still weren't likely to win him over enough to have him part with any of his hard-hustled cash.
"You wanna buy a saint's charm?" The dark-haired shorter boy blinked up at him, hopeful.
Dean smiled down at him, but he really wasn't interested. "I don't think so, kid."
"It's for the boys' choir over at St. Anne's Parish. We're s'posed to go sing for the Pope next year!" The boy looked so excited it warmed Dean from the inside out. For such a supposed tough guy, he had a terrible soft spot for kids, something his brother used to tease him about all the time. Dean's smile faded a little with his thinking about Sam. He hadn't seen or even heard from his brother in over eight long months. The cheery pint-sized salesman following him towards his car, with his buddy in tow, kind of reminded him of a young Sam and that made him all the more anxious to leave town.
"Today's Saint Lowkayjuh's Day, ya know." The boy said it like that would mean something to Dean. Or maybe he was just trying to show off how smart he was.
"Dude, it's Le-o-ca-di-a! Already told you that like fifty-'leven million times!" His little blondish friend piped up, clearly exasperated, and they both stopped walking to glare at each other for a moment.
Dean kept heading toward the Impala, hoping that the boys would forget about him long enough for him to get to the car. But, alas, the boys ran to keep up with him.
"Whatever. So anyway, I didn't know 'bout her 'til like yesterday, but she's got this neato tower charm 'cause she was like a prisoner or something. So I think she's s'posed to watch over people who are like in jail 'n' stuff."
"So, you wanna buy one?" The blondish boy was obviously here for the sale, even if the dark-haired one wanted to chat.
"You ever been to jail, mister?" The curious one was blinking up at him and Dean shook his head, chuckling. Despite his hardass attitude and the fact that he couldn't even count how many times he'd been held for questioning, he'd thankfully managed to avoid any kind of official time in jail.
"It's only five dollars." The blonde was trying to be smooth. As if buying a shiny piece of crap for only five dollars was a total steal, like it was finally on sale, marked down from fifty dollars or something.
"I bet jail would really suck." The brown-haired boy proceeded off on his own tangent, making the blond one frown a little, but not diverting him from his grand salesman plan.
"You get two for ten." Dean just nodded with a "hmm," acknowledging the new information without committing to anything. It didn't seem to matter that he hadn't really responded to either of the boys prattle since they started walking.
"It'd be good to have someone watchin' out for you, right? Ya know, like in jail 'n' stuff." Apparently, the boys could have been having their own discussion, entirely without him.
"Please, mister? It's for a good cause." But by then Dean had reached the Impala and was about to tell the boys to skedaddle.
"And if you got two, you could give one to your brother."
Dean stopped short and turned to look at the boy brunette, wary. "How'd you know I have a brother?"
"I dunno." The boy shrugged, sincere and oblivious to Dean's unease. "You just seem like you'd have one. Lotsa people do, ya know. My brother's always givin' me stuff he thinks he doesn't want, but then later, he asks for it back."
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not!"
"Whatever! So anyway … if you got two charms, you could both have one."
The boy nodded, eyebrows raised, like this was quite a good deal. He even sing-songed "no need for sharing," as if Dean's primary issue with buying a charm would be having to share it with his brother.
Dean didn't really care about boys' choirs or popes, but his gut told him another holy charm or two could hardly be bad for business. Or for finding Sammy.
"Yeah … okay, kid. Two for ten, right?"
The boy smiled, wide, and nodded his head vigorously as Dean rifled through his wallet and traded him a ten spot for two silver tower charms with "St. Leocadia" stamped on them. Then the boys walked back to the door of the diner, bickering like boys do when they're brothers, always bound to love and hate each other at the same damn time.
His phone rang as he was getting his keys out.
Reaching into his other pocket as he unlocked the door of the Impala, he lifted out his phone and checked the number. It meant nothing to him, but that wasn't all that unusual, so he answered it.
"Hello?" It was his so-what's the-case voice. Not quite cheery, but, he thought, friendly enough.
"Dean?" And suddenly it seemed like everything was moving in slow-motion. He could hear himself breathing and feel the pump of his heart as it tried to direct blood up to the subtle pounding beginning to emerge right behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to clear his throat.
"Sam?" His voice sounded rough like he had swallowed sandpaper. He hoped he sounded less desperate when filtered through a cell phone network.
"Yeah … it's me." He wanted to whoop and holler even for these three little words that proved his brother's continued existence on planet Earth, but he knew better than to imagine this call could be anything other than a call of distress.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I just … I, uh … I know it's been a while … but … well … my construction job died down with the winter … and bouncing for the casino just isn't really doing it for me, so … I wondered if you … maybe wanted some help … like with a case or something."
Sam was calling to see if he could come Hunting with him? This was certainly unprecedented. But damn if Dean didn't want to lay his eyes on Sam again, if only just to make sure he really was alive and well. He'd had too many moments over the past few months of their separation where he could have sworn that Sam was deep in trouble or out there somewhere dying alone.
"Dean?"
"It's, uh," he just had to clear his throat so he didn't sound so ragged. "It's been a long time, Sam."
They didn't really do "I missed you" or "I was worried about you," and they definitely skirted around any "I love you" type things, in the Winchester family, and he'd be damned if he'd start doing it now. But Dean couldn't pretend that it had been easy being on the road without anyone but himself and his baby for so long. Not one call or return call from Sam in over eight months. Sam's cell phone number had even eventually been disconnected with no way for Dean to get him a message, even if Sam didn't want to talk to him.
"I know. It's been almost a year." Sam's voice was quiet, like he was as torn up by the situation as Dean. It seemed unlikely, though, because Sam could have picked up the phone any time and called the number he knew was Dean's, could have checked in at the Roadhouse, even just dropped an email to Ash in case Dean ever called about something.
Sam just hadn't done anything to try to connect.
So Dean had tried to move on. But it felt like there was a hole in his life without Sam in it. And sometimes he'd wake up midway through the night, nightmares of his brother drowning in horrors playing on his mind, hearing Sam calling to him like he used to do when he was having rough nights as a kid. It just drove him crazy that he didn't even know if Sam was alive or dead.
It wasn't that he hadn't tried to find Sam, traced all their usual names and checked all the usual places, contacted every person they'd ever made nice with and just generally worked under the pretense that his brother was missing instead of accepting that he'd kind of run away.
Really, he'd been pushed away, and Dean just had this nagging feeling that his lack of support for his brother would have more repercussions than he could ever predict.
"Listen … I wanna get out of this town, but … I can just take the bus or whatever. I mean …" Dean could hear Sam's disappointed sigh even through the phone. "If you don't want to see me … it's okay. Maybe we could meet up some other time."
He stopped himself from yelling at the phone, only emitting a startled noise from the back of his throat, in response to Sam being totally clueless about how much Dean wanted to see him.
"No, that's not it at all, Sam. It's just …" You've been avoiding me like the plague, so this is kind of unexpected. "You, uh … sure you can still do the job?" He cared about the job, yeah, but Dean couldn't kid himself. He'd love to have Sam back in the family business, back by his side, even if only for an hour and even if Sam was so rusty they had to start training from scratch again.
"Dude, I didn't just forget everything! Besides, I had to do a few cases on my own anyway, so it hasn't actually been that long for me."
It kind of hurt that Sam hadn't called him to help with these supposed Hunts, but Dean was trying to encourage the brotherly bonding, not create another rift with a "why didn't you call me to back you up" conversation.
"How much time do you have?" If it was a day or if it was a week, it didn't matter. Dean would find them something to Hunt together, if only for old time's sake, before Sam went back to his quest for knowledge and the relative safety of his seemingly normal life. Maybe they could even keep in touch this time around, or at least kind of know how to find each other, just in case.
"I could take a few personal days, but … I've been thinking and … maybe I just won't come back here at all."
Sam wanted to come back to Hunting? Dean thought it would be great for them to be a team again. For real. For life. But Sam had walked out twice now. The first time he could say was about Dad, but this time? Sam had walked out on him, just him. Dean knew he could have done a better job at really listening to Sam's concerns, but there were at least half-a-dozen fairly effective ways to make Dean listen and walking out was not one of them. Especially when they'd both already lost so much.
"Dean?"
"Sure, Sam. Just … tell me where to pick you up."
"Hinckley, Minnesota."
---
It was supposed to take 20 some-odd hours, in theory, to get from New Jersey to Minnesota, but as soon as he got off the phone, Dean started driving and he didn't plan to stop until he fell asleep at the wheel or reached his destination. He drove hard, not wild or dangerous, beyond whatever dangers could be caused by his preferred top speed, but he drove with determination, a little desperation, and maybe an inkling of hope.
He hadn't lost Sam.
That, in and of itself, was kind of a miracle, if he thought about it. Their last real conversation had gone pretty horrifically and nothing could seem to mend it.
Things had gotten rough. More Kids-Like-Sam were showing up around every corner. Some of them were good, doing the best they could, like Sam, but others? Others had been pushed in darker directions, maybe by the Demon, maybe just by life and how it pushes everyone at times. Sam was starting to put pieces together, some of them all wrong, but no matter how much Dean wanted him to think about anything other the Demon's plans for Kids-Like-Him or even what it meant to be a Kid-Like-Him, Sam became damn near obsessed.
Of course, Dean knew the truth, even then.
Dad had told him what he thought was going on with Sam and the other Kids-Like-Sam. He'd whispered it into Dean's ear, like the dirty secret it was and then proceeded to … to leave Dean to deal with it, handle it, fix it, do something about it, just "take care of Sammy." After … everything … Dean could hardly take care of himself, for fuck's sake. It was like necessary parts of him were utterly decimated, bloody bits under the boot of life. And he tried to keep it together, to keep it together for Sam, he really did. Because he was Dean, the Big Brother, the one charged to look after Sammy, always, from age six months to the end of time. Family and Hunting, those were his jobs. Those were his life.
But he'd fucked up.
He always fucked up. He'd fucked up with the family. He'd fucked up with the Hunting. He'd fucked up so bad people were dead and others were gone. Because of him.
And, see, this thing with Sam? This supposed reality about the origins of his powers and his role in the grand evil scheme of some yellow-eyed sonofabitch demon? Dean just really didn't want to believe it. At first. But then the downward spiral of events that happened after Dad … they just brought his words into focus as truths over and over again.
Dean was nothing if not good at locking away his emotions, especially about things he most needed to not be the case. And he really needed this to not be true, not be real. He needed his dad to be wrong, just this once, about something supernatural. But, of course, his dad was too good a Hunter for that. He'd done all the research, tracked all the strange occurrences, weather patterns, births, deaths, and everything in between. And as much as it was difficult to say, his father never would have told him, if he still held out hope that this thing with Sam wasn't true. Dean even thought, sometimes, that if his dad … if he were still here, he never would have told either of his sons.
Ever.
Carrying this secret alone, trying to protect Sam from the possibilities of darkness that lay ahead, all of it was just too much, too heavy on Dean's shoulders, too big a task. He'd tried.
But he'd fucked up.
"I don't know how to tell you this, Sam, but … before Dad died … he told me something … something about you … and the Kids-Like-You."
"What? Dean, what did he tell you?"
"He wasn't absolutely sure and … he didn't know everything that it might mean but-"
"What did he tell you?!"
"He thought … maybe … that you … and the others … that maybe … you were connected to the demon … because you were conceived during a possession. So maybe you were even … part demon … in a way."
It chilled him, even just to say it out loud, and Sam looked like he might throw-up … or faint … or kill something … or maybe just kill himself.
Sam puffed out every exhale, only steps from full-blown hyperventilation. "Are you serious?"
Dean looked away, out over the water, then back to Sam, with an exhausted sigh. "I wish I weren't, Sam. But … I am."
"But what about all the holy water I've had on me or all the exorcisms I've done or all the other nine million ways that I should have been hurt if I were a demon, Dean?"
"We don't know for sure that this is the whole story, Sam. But even if it's true, it's only a part of who are. You were raised just like me, christened as a baby, like me, and baptized as a kid, just like me. If … if this demonic part of you exists, there's still more humanity in you, so … I don't know, but … maybe that's why you can still use holy things. Because there's still more good in you than anything else."
"More good than evil, you mean. Right, Dean? Because some part of me … some demon-spawned part of me … is evil … is a threat to everything we've fought for … everything Dad died for?" Sam stilled and turned away from Dean, then, he closed his eyes and it seemed like a chill ran through him. He mumbled something under his breath, cursing, his jaw working.
"Sam?"
When Sam shifted his eyes back to Dean's, they were hollow with fear and revulsion. "I've had these … thoughts … these … dreams. And I thought … I thought they'd go away … but they haven't. I thought … I thought that I could get past them … that if I just didn't act … if I never pulled the trigger … if I just kept everything in my head … it would be okay."
Dean gulped, quiet, wondering what kind of twisted things had been playing out in his little brother's mind. And why he hadn't known about it.
"But it won't be okay, will it, Dean? They're going to get out of me … those thoughts … those … urges. Someday I won't be able to keep them in my head. Because deep down … that's who I am … I'm just one more evil thing."
"No. No, Sam! That is not who you are!" Dean wanted to say that everything would be okay, that he would make it okay, but he wasn't sure anymore. And he wanted to say that even really strong … urges … could be resisted, but he wasn't exactly a poster child for self-control, especially when it came to violence these days. But Sam wasn't like that, never had been, never would be, no matter what Dad had thought he was, no matter where Sam felt his thoughts were straying.
Sam was trapped deep in his own thoughts, though, in his own anguish, and he was looking at Dean, but it was more like he was looking through him, seeing a map to his downfall. "One day I'm going to kill … and I'm going to like it." But then Sam's eyes focused on him again and the fear had an edge of despair. "Are you even safe with me? Is anybody?!"
"We don't even know what this means, Sam! It could be nothing! Dad could be wrong! We just need to find that yellow-eyed bastard and kill him, then there won't be anybody to finish his plan for you and the other Kids-Like-You."
"Really? You think so?" Sam was pissed and mocking his hope. "Because if I'm a demon, Dean, won't I be evil with or without that yellow-eyed bastard who you're so eager to kill? And if I got this way because he was in Dad the night I was conceived, then wouldn't that mean I've been Hunting my own father all this time and didn't even know it? I mean … could I even do it? What if I turned on you, Dean? What if I turned on you and joined him? What would you do? What could you do?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"How the fuck would you know?! You just said that you and Dad, with your little keeping secrets and lie to Sammy club, didn't know what all this might mean. So, really, how the fuck would you know?" He scoffed and swallowed hard. "I have to find out what this means, Dean. I can't just stay Hunting with you, searching for this demon … this potential demon father of mine. I need to know what this means! Before I go any further … with you … with this Hunt … with life. I need to know if I'm too much of a threat … I- … … I need to know if you should be Hunting me."
"No! Sam, are you crazy?! I won't Hunt you! It's not happening! And we don't need all that. All it's gonna do is drive you crazy. We know how myths work! How much they're half-truths and made-up nonsense! What are you going to find, except bits and pieces of lies that will only push you in the wrong direction?! Our formula is simple. Hunt the Demon. Save the Day. Period. We know how to track it. Ash is on it. That's all we need."
"I can't, Dean. What if every step that we take closer to him, is one more step I take towards hurting you? Or towards killing you? Or anyone else for that matter? What if this whole fucking quest of yours, of Dad's, is doing exactly what he wants us to do? I can't, Dean! I need answers! And I don't know where to look yet, but I'm gonna figure it out. With or without you."
"Sam, don't you fucking get it? We need to neutralize the threat. Destroy the Demon. Then, we can figure all that out. We don't have time, now. We need to kill that bastard. Now."
"Okay, Dean. You do that. You don't need me for that. And I might be more harmful than helpful for that Hunt. You know that, whether or not you choose to believe it. So, go ahead. Hunt the Demon. It's what you do. You Hunt. Right now, I can't. So, leave me the fuck alone."
Sam started walking towards the car and Dean followed after him, not really knowing what to say, what to do. He felt in his head and his heart that he had to kill this Demon, had to, because killing the Demon would significantly reduce all of their most serious problems. But he didn't want Sam to be alone, vulnerable, because that might play into the Demon's plan. But, then again, Sam might be right. Maybe the Demon wanted Sam to come to him and this Hunt would bring him exactly what he wanted. There just weren't any good options here.
Not that it mattered.
Sam had already decided for both of them.
Sam was packing up his stuff from the car, like he was going to leave, and Dean didn't know what they were going to do, but he really didn't think splitting up was the way to go.
"Where're you going, Sam? Whatever we need to do, when we figure out what that is, we'll do it together."
"No, Dean. I don't think we can. Not now, anyways. We'll do our separate things for a little while. We've done it before. We can do it again."
"Can, maybe, but don't want to."
"You want to Hunt the Demon. I want to not Hunt the Demon and, instead, find information about what it means to be part-demon. I don't really see how those can be compatible, Dean."
"Ash could have a lock on him anytime, Sam. We should focus on finding another way to kill him. We just need to wait until he surfaces and finish this. Can't you just wait? This isn't just about you, Sam. What about all those other Kids-Like-You who the Demon is trying to get to? And all their families? We need to kill him, so he won't be terrorizing these people anymore."
"He needs to be dead. I get that. But why do we need to go into this blind? Is there more you haven't told me? More you're keeping from me? Is there some demon time-bomb in my chest that you've neglected to mention, along with everything else?!" Sam tossed his duffel on the ground and stepped right up in Dean's face. "Or are you just scared that he's going to get to me, before we can get to him?"
Dean's blink was slow and he said nothing, but his jaw set tight.
"Yeah. Thought so."
Sam stepped back, nodding. He was going to leave and Dean was already choking on the ache in his chest just thinking about it.
"Listen … we can do research … we can look for the info you think you need … we can try that, okay? I don't think we need it. But we can try it, okay? I'm not just gonna leave you, Sammy."
Sam's expression was sad but determined. "You don't have to leave me, Dean. I'm gonna go. I have to go. And unless you plan to hold me prisoner or something. You're gonna have to let me go."
Some wild, fearful, desperate part of him thought about it, really considered pulling a gun on his baby brother, seriously contemplated keeping him there by force. His intentions must have flashed across his face, because Sam hesitated in his reach for the bundle of stuff he had tossed on the ground and his eyes widened, then narrowed in challenge. And that scared Dean, not his brother, himself. How could he ever think about holding Sam against his will, even if he thought it was for his own good? Maybe Sam was right about them being safer apart.
And maybe it wasn't just about Sam anymore.
Dean could feel himself falling deeper into darkness everyday. Maybe he wasn't helping Sam stay sane, stay good. Maybe every time he pulled the trigger while his brother watched was no better than Sam doing it himself. Maybe he was tainting Sam, pushing him, dragging him down right alongside him.
Dean glanced at the ground before meeting his brother's eyes again. There were a lot of questions hanging in the air between them, but neither spoke. It felt all wrong to imagine himself without his brother, he just couldn't do it … it was like he didn't make sense without his brother … like Sam was a third of Dean's puzzle pieces, so you'd never figure out what the picture really was without him. But Sam didn't want to stay with him, wanted to be away from him, wanted to leave again, and Dean couldn't force him to stay, wouldn't force him.
He knew Sam could see that, now, as he threw away his hesitations with ringing finality.
And with that he was gone, grabbing his duffel and walking off to the bus station half a mile down the road.
Dean had revved up the car and followed down the road beside him for a while, but Sam totally ignored him. No matter what Dean said, he wasn't getting through to him. He even offered to drive Sam down to the bus station, if that was really what he wanted. No response. No response to anything. He eventually drove to the station to wait for Sam, but it was like Sam had somehow shut down the part of his brain that acknowledged Dean's existence. He kept looking over, around, through, and beyond Dean. The only thing that let him know that Sam was still in control of himself, that he was just choosing to ignore him, and not being blocked by some unseen force or something, was when Sam stopped before boarding the very first bus with available seats.
He'd stopped and turned to Dean, so much grief but so much resolve in his eyes, and he'd mouthed "I'm sorry" before climbing onto the bus.
Watching the bus pulled away, Dean thought, for the briefest of moments, about following its route, about tailing Sam until he wore him down, convinced him to come back, to stay with him. But it was only a moment. Sam would find a way to keep them apart if that’s what he wanted, what he needed right now. There was nothing left for Dean to do, except continue on the path he was on and hope that he could do what he'd told Sam needed to be done.
But in the end, Dean had let Sam go and nothing had gone right since.
Ash never did get a hit on the Demon's whereabouts. And Dean had never figured out a way to kill the bastard without the Colt. No one had any more information to offer, no more fires of unknown origin, no more superpowered babies, and no more Kids-Like-Sam. It was like the Demon knew that the Winchesters were each Hunting alone, like he knew and had called for operations to go silent, like everything was happening underground and Dean only ever heard a murmur that he could never really trace.
Dean had let Sam go in order to finish his Dad's mission, but he was left with nothing to show for his stubbornness.
And now, apparently, Sam wanted come back.
Dean wasn't really sure what that meant or what Sam had found in his search for answers, but he just hoped they could finish this together.
So he wrapped his fingers tight around the metal of the steering wheel and pressed his palm into the edges of a brand new pair of lucky silver saint's charms.
It was only later that he realized that Sam hadn't once asked him about the Demon or the Hunt for the Demon.
But maybe he was just trying to keep the peace or something. Yeah, that was probably it. No need to reopen old wounds this early in their reconnecting, right?
There'd be plenty of time to do that later.
---
Hinckley, Minnesota was a mess, just a fucking mess.
Dean could see why Sam wanted to get out of there so badly. Driving through town on his way to meet Sam at the casino, Dean couldn't ignore the way that half the town seemed utterly destroyed. And half the town and utterly destroyed were both quite literal descriptions as far as he could tell. The main strip, Jefferson Street, was a study in contrasts. A totally untouched gas station sat across the road from a charbroiled general-type store. A shiny new brick bank had a wall of windows that looked out at the crumbling crispy remains of what seemed to be Hinckley's City Hall. And so on and so forth all the way through the town.
It almost looked like there was a psycho serial arsonist loose in the tiny city, but, if so, he were incredibly serious about the geometry of his work. The black of the burn seemed to stretch out, precise and even, between the two extremes to Dean's left and right. The scorch line was perfectly aligned with both edges of the street, as if someone had stood at the start of the road with a measuring tape and another person had run down the street with the other end of the measuring tape in hand, then, they had drawn a straight line down the exact center of town.
And allowed not one single lick of flame to pass over that line.
It was bizarre really. Bizarre like their kind of bizarre, supernatural nasty kind of bizarre. It made Dean wonder if any of the Hunts Sam had mentioned had anything to do with the fiery devastation in Hinckley. Because this sure looked like a Hunt-worthy situation to him.
---
"I looked into it already."
"What do you mean by 'looked into it'?"
They were in the casino's parking lot, the Impala just starting to warm up, and Sam was back in the passenger's seat in a way he hadn't been in a long time. They were also bickering a bit, in a way they hadn't done in a long time. And as much as he did, of course, think he was right about this, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit of a rush, a kind of joy or excitement, because he was back to squabbling with his little brother in the car that had been their home, just them, for almost two years. But he could only see a peek of that thrill mirrored back at him from Sam's eyes. There was something else taking up space there, but he didn't quite know what it was.
"I checked all the usual things, Dean. No consistent sulfur trail. No potentially vengeful spirits born of fire-related deaths. Nothing. Really. Nothing. Likely just a freak forest fire."
"That forest fire would have to be pretty fucking freaky to draw a line down the middle of town and refuse to step one foot beyond those boundaries. Maybe someone conjured up the fire. Any local magick practitioners or shady spiritual-types?"
"No, Dean! I'm not an idiot! I looked at this from every angle I could think of and a few that I couldn't. So, let it go!"
When Dean had seen him in the lobby of the casino, Sam looked good, impossibly good, like he'd been working out a lot and sunbathing daily, even though this was December in Minnesota. But his eyes were different, he was different, harder somehow, bitter, intense, less easy to compromise, more likely to say things he knew would hurt.
"What about Kids-Like-You? Maybe we have a pyropsychic on our hands or something."
"Pyrokinetic."
"What?"
"The ability to light things on fire with your mind is called pyrokinesis, Dean. And there is no Kid-Like-Me here, except, well, me. At least, not that I can tell anyway."
There was this new edge in Sam's voice like he was angry at everything and kept it all reigned in, but only by the skin of his teeth.
"Okay. Well, what about someone who came through, say, for the casino?"
"It seems pretty unlikely. I mean I haven't gotten any Kid-Like-Me-related hits in months. Have you?"
Dean ignored the hint of challenge in his brother's voice, focusing on the fact that Sam hadn't entirely distanced himself from the whole issue of the Demon's grand plan. "Wait … you've been keeping tabs on other Kids-Like-You?"
"And potentials … yeah."
"I thought you were trying to get away from all that."
"I wanted to get away from the Hunt for the Demon, Dean. At least until I had more information about my connection to it and what all this might mean. I never said anything about leaving the rest of these kids to fend for themselves … … Who knows what could happen to them?"
Sam's expression held a kind of mock innocence that didn't mesh with what he was saying, but Dean was caught up in shock and more than a little anger. Sam going out trying to be a hero all on his own was really the last straw. "But who's looking out for you, Sam? Why didn't you just pick up the phone and call me, so you could have backup with some of this? You could have left again just as easy as you left before. I let you go, left you alone, because I thought you wanted out of this whole damn business, so you could do your research or whatever. But now you're telling me that you've been doing the same shit on your own anyway? What the fuck, man? Why'd you cut me out?"
"I'm grown, Dean. I'm not some sniveling, ratty-haired brat who's going to run to big bro every time there's a problem. I can take of myself just fine, thanks. So, I don't need you, your lies, or your shoot-first attitude to survive in the world. Besides, if you remember the last time we talked, a few months back, I distinctly recall mentioning that I might be a threat to you and that we both might be better off going at this alone."
The tension rolling off Sam tasted so familiar, yet not, as Dean rolled it over his tongue. It made him think about being in the middle, between Dad and Sam, fighting all the damn time. But Dad wasn't here right now and Dean couldn't help wondering if he'd become that for Sam, that thing he needed to push back against, to yell at, to prove his authority to, to be free of. If that were true, though, then it just didn't make any sense for Sam to call him, for Sam to want to come back to Hunting with him.
"Oh yeah? So what's changed? Why'd you call me now?"
"Maybe I just don't give a fuck anymore." And there was an emptiness in Sam's eyes, a kind of coldness, but it was gone in a blink.
What? Dean knew his face was screwed up with confusion even though he was still thoroughly rankled. "So that's it? That's why you called, Sam? Because you no longer care whether or not we're safer when we're apart?"
"Basically."
"Did your year of meditating on the problem not bring you any insights?" Dean could hear the bite in his tone, but it was like now that he had Sam back, now that Sam seemed maybe a little jaded but generally fine, that there was a part of Dean that was having difficulty putting a lid on his anger over Sam leaving him again.
But then Sam went quiet and looked away from him, out the window at the bright blinking lights meant to draw in every shade of sinner. "It brought me plenty, Dean. And maybe that's why I don't care anymore."
"Okay …" He felt like a total ass for snapping at Sam. And part of him still didn't want to know, didn't want to think about Sam being part demon, but Dean could see that whatever Sam had learned seemed to have gotten to him, changed him, and that sounded like the kind of information Dean should have. "You plan to share any of this new info anytime soon?"
"Nope." Sam turned back to him and the traces of that moment of melancholy disappeared entirely. His eyebrows were raised and a smile played at his lips, as if this was just like any other big secret being kept by a smug little brother.
"So, let me get this straight. You ran off to find answers. You found them. They suck. And you won't tell me what they are. But now you want to come back out on the road with me?"
Sam shrugged, flipping through the box of tapes between them. "Something like that."
Beat.
Dean's smirk was so wide it might have been a grin. "Did you really miss me that much?"
Sam chuckled and it was richer than Dean remembered, but still so Sam. "Just shut up and drive."
Dean revved the engine, heard his baby purr, and it almost felt like she knew his partner was back where he belonged and she liked it just as much as he did.
Sam shoved Metallica in the tape deck, which, despite the usual rules, was just fine with Dean, not that he'd tell Sam that.
"That right there? Is a freebie."
"Whatever … jerk."
"Bitch."
And they met the sunrise to the rhythm of Escape.
Feel no pain, but my life ain't easy
I know I'm my best friend
No one cares, but I'm so much stronger
I'll fight until the end
To escape from the true false world
Undamaged destiny
Can't get caught in the endless circle
Ring of stupidity
Out on my own, out to be free
One with my mind, they just can't see
No need to hear things that they say
Life is for my own to live my own way
Rape my mind and destroy my feelings
Don't tell me what to do
I don't care now, 'cause I'm on my side
And I can see through you
Feed my brain with your so called standards
Who says that I ain't right
Break away from your common fashion
See through your blurry sight
Out on my own, out to be free
One with my mind, they just can't see
No need to hear things that they say
Life is for my own to live my own way
See they try to bring the hammer down
No damn chains can hold me to the ground
Life is for my own to live my own way
Author: eboniorchid
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Prompt: 072. Pensive. For 100moods, challenge table here.
Word Count: ~ 6,600 words.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Warnings/Spoilers: Gen/Pre-Slash. Angst. Future. Character study. Plot. AU after "Simon Said". Potential vague spoilers for various episodes of Season 1.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Really. Nothing.
Summary: He hadn't seen or even heard from his brother in over eight long months. Dean's POV.
Author's Notes: Title taken from Metallica's "Escape". And yes I really did write most of this long before I saw "Croatoan". Follows directly after Destiny Found Him Early and Alone (Sam, Dean), Letters in My Mind 1 of 8 (Sam, Dean), and Letters in My Mind, 2-8 of 8. For more info about my Evil!Sammy Universe, including links to all installments, please go here.
Soundtrack: The theme song for this story is "Escape" by Metallica from Ride the Lightning. Lyrics available at the end.
"Hey Mister!"
As he walked out the door of Adele's Diner, just off the New Jersey turnpike, Dean was accosted by a pair of wide-eyed kids apparently selling trinkets to raise funds for some worthy cause or another. He'd had three cups of coffee over the past half hour, so he was definitely awake enough not to be too cranky, but little boys with gleaming bits of junk still weren't likely to win him over enough to have him part with any of his hard-hustled cash.
"You wanna buy a saint's charm?" The dark-haired shorter boy blinked up at him, hopeful.
Dean smiled down at him, but he really wasn't interested. "I don't think so, kid."
"It's for the boys' choir over at St. Anne's Parish. We're s'posed to go sing for the Pope next year!" The boy looked so excited it warmed Dean from the inside out. For such a supposed tough guy, he had a terrible soft spot for kids, something his brother used to tease him about all the time. Dean's smile faded a little with his thinking about Sam. He hadn't seen or even heard from his brother in over eight long months. The cheery pint-sized salesman following him towards his car, with his buddy in tow, kind of reminded him of a young Sam and that made him all the more anxious to leave town.
"Today's Saint Lowkayjuh's Day, ya know." The boy said it like that would mean something to Dean. Or maybe he was just trying to show off how smart he was.
"Dude, it's Le-o-ca-di-a! Already told you that like fifty-'leven million times!" His little blondish friend piped up, clearly exasperated, and they both stopped walking to glare at each other for a moment.
Dean kept heading toward the Impala, hoping that the boys would forget about him long enough for him to get to the car. But, alas, the boys ran to keep up with him.
"Whatever. So anyway, I didn't know 'bout her 'til like yesterday, but she's got this neato tower charm 'cause she was like a prisoner or something. So I think she's s'posed to watch over people who are like in jail 'n' stuff."
"So, you wanna buy one?" The blondish boy was obviously here for the sale, even if the dark-haired one wanted to chat.
"You ever been to jail, mister?" The curious one was blinking up at him and Dean shook his head, chuckling. Despite his hardass attitude and the fact that he couldn't even count how many times he'd been held for questioning, he'd thankfully managed to avoid any kind of official time in jail.
"It's only five dollars." The blonde was trying to be smooth. As if buying a shiny piece of crap for only five dollars was a total steal, like it was finally on sale, marked down from fifty dollars or something.
"I bet jail would really suck." The brown-haired boy proceeded off on his own tangent, making the blond one frown a little, but not diverting him from his grand salesman plan.
"You get two for ten." Dean just nodded with a "hmm," acknowledging the new information without committing to anything. It didn't seem to matter that he hadn't really responded to either of the boys prattle since they started walking.
"It'd be good to have someone watchin' out for you, right? Ya know, like in jail 'n' stuff." Apparently, the boys could have been having their own discussion, entirely without him.
"Please, mister? It's for a good cause." But by then Dean had reached the Impala and was about to tell the boys to skedaddle.
"And if you got two, you could give one to your brother."
Dean stopped short and turned to look at the boy brunette, wary. "How'd you know I have a brother?"
"I dunno." The boy shrugged, sincere and oblivious to Dean's unease. "You just seem like you'd have one. Lotsa people do, ya know. My brother's always givin' me stuff he thinks he doesn't want, but then later, he asks for it back."
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not!"
"Whatever! So anyway … if you got two charms, you could both have one."
The boy nodded, eyebrows raised, like this was quite a good deal. He even sing-songed "no need for sharing," as if Dean's primary issue with buying a charm would be having to share it with his brother.
Dean didn't really care about boys' choirs or popes, but his gut told him another holy charm or two could hardly be bad for business. Or for finding Sammy.
"Yeah … okay, kid. Two for ten, right?"
The boy smiled, wide, and nodded his head vigorously as Dean rifled through his wallet and traded him a ten spot for two silver tower charms with "St. Leocadia" stamped on them. Then the boys walked back to the door of the diner, bickering like boys do when they're brothers, always bound to love and hate each other at the same damn time.
His phone rang as he was getting his keys out.
Reaching into his other pocket as he unlocked the door of the Impala, he lifted out his phone and checked the number. It meant nothing to him, but that wasn't all that unusual, so he answered it.
"Hello?" It was his so-what's the-case voice. Not quite cheery, but, he thought, friendly enough.
"Dean?" And suddenly it seemed like everything was moving in slow-motion. He could hear himself breathing and feel the pump of his heart as it tried to direct blood up to the subtle pounding beginning to emerge right behind his eyes. He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to clear his throat.
"Sam?" His voice sounded rough like he had swallowed sandpaper. He hoped he sounded less desperate when filtered through a cell phone network.
"Yeah … it's me." He wanted to whoop and holler even for these three little words that proved his brother's continued existence on planet Earth, but he knew better than to imagine this call could be anything other than a call of distress.
"You okay?"
"Yeah. I just … I, uh … I know it's been a while … but … well … my construction job died down with the winter … and bouncing for the casino just isn't really doing it for me, so … I wondered if you … maybe wanted some help … like with a case or something."
Sam was calling to see if he could come Hunting with him? This was certainly unprecedented. But damn if Dean didn't want to lay his eyes on Sam again, if only just to make sure he really was alive and well. He'd had too many moments over the past few months of their separation where he could have sworn that Sam was deep in trouble or out there somewhere dying alone.
"Dean?"
"It's, uh," he just had to clear his throat so he didn't sound so ragged. "It's been a long time, Sam."
They didn't really do "I missed you" or "I was worried about you," and they definitely skirted around any "I love you" type things, in the Winchester family, and he'd be damned if he'd start doing it now. But Dean couldn't pretend that it had been easy being on the road without anyone but himself and his baby for so long. Not one call or return call from Sam in over eight months. Sam's cell phone number had even eventually been disconnected with no way for Dean to get him a message, even if Sam didn't want to talk to him.
"I know. It's been almost a year." Sam's voice was quiet, like he was as torn up by the situation as Dean. It seemed unlikely, though, because Sam could have picked up the phone any time and called the number he knew was Dean's, could have checked in at the Roadhouse, even just dropped an email to Ash in case Dean ever called about something.
Sam just hadn't done anything to try to connect.
So Dean had tried to move on. But it felt like there was a hole in his life without Sam in it. And sometimes he'd wake up midway through the night, nightmares of his brother drowning in horrors playing on his mind, hearing Sam calling to him like he used to do when he was having rough nights as a kid. It just drove him crazy that he didn't even know if Sam was alive or dead.
It wasn't that he hadn't tried to find Sam, traced all their usual names and checked all the usual places, contacted every person they'd ever made nice with and just generally worked under the pretense that his brother was missing instead of accepting that he'd kind of run away.
Really, he'd been pushed away, and Dean just had this nagging feeling that his lack of support for his brother would have more repercussions than he could ever predict.
"Listen … I wanna get out of this town, but … I can just take the bus or whatever. I mean …" Dean could hear Sam's disappointed sigh even through the phone. "If you don't want to see me … it's okay. Maybe we could meet up some other time."
He stopped himself from yelling at the phone, only emitting a startled noise from the back of his throat, in response to Sam being totally clueless about how much Dean wanted to see him.
"No, that's not it at all, Sam. It's just …" You've been avoiding me like the plague, so this is kind of unexpected. "You, uh … sure you can still do the job?" He cared about the job, yeah, but Dean couldn't kid himself. He'd love to have Sam back in the family business, back by his side, even if only for an hour and even if Sam was so rusty they had to start training from scratch again.
"Dude, I didn't just forget everything! Besides, I had to do a few cases on my own anyway, so it hasn't actually been that long for me."
It kind of hurt that Sam hadn't called him to help with these supposed Hunts, but Dean was trying to encourage the brotherly bonding, not create another rift with a "why didn't you call me to back you up" conversation.
"How much time do you have?" If it was a day or if it was a week, it didn't matter. Dean would find them something to Hunt together, if only for old time's sake, before Sam went back to his quest for knowledge and the relative safety of his seemingly normal life. Maybe they could even keep in touch this time around, or at least kind of know how to find each other, just in case.
"I could take a few personal days, but … I've been thinking and … maybe I just won't come back here at all."
Sam wanted to come back to Hunting? Dean thought it would be great for them to be a team again. For real. For life. But Sam had walked out twice now. The first time he could say was about Dad, but this time? Sam had walked out on him, just him. Dean knew he could have done a better job at really listening to Sam's concerns, but there were at least half-a-dozen fairly effective ways to make Dean listen and walking out was not one of them. Especially when they'd both already lost so much.
"Dean?"
"Sure, Sam. Just … tell me where to pick you up."
"Hinckley, Minnesota."
---
It was supposed to take 20 some-odd hours, in theory, to get from New Jersey to Minnesota, but as soon as he got off the phone, Dean started driving and he didn't plan to stop until he fell asleep at the wheel or reached his destination. He drove hard, not wild or dangerous, beyond whatever dangers could be caused by his preferred top speed, but he drove with determination, a little desperation, and maybe an inkling of hope.
He hadn't lost Sam.
That, in and of itself, was kind of a miracle, if he thought about it. Their last real conversation had gone pretty horrifically and nothing could seem to mend it.
Things had gotten rough. More Kids-Like-Sam were showing up around every corner. Some of them were good, doing the best they could, like Sam, but others? Others had been pushed in darker directions, maybe by the Demon, maybe just by life and how it pushes everyone at times. Sam was starting to put pieces together, some of them all wrong, but no matter how much Dean wanted him to think about anything other the Demon's plans for Kids-Like-Him or even what it meant to be a Kid-Like-Him, Sam became damn near obsessed.
Of course, Dean knew the truth, even then.
Dad had told him what he thought was going on with Sam and the other Kids-Like-Sam. He'd whispered it into Dean's ear, like the dirty secret it was and then proceeded to … to leave Dean to deal with it, handle it, fix it, do something about it, just "take care of Sammy." After … everything … Dean could hardly take care of himself, for fuck's sake. It was like necessary parts of him were utterly decimated, bloody bits under the boot of life. And he tried to keep it together, to keep it together for Sam, he really did. Because he was Dean, the Big Brother, the one charged to look after Sammy, always, from age six months to the end of time. Family and Hunting, those were his jobs. Those were his life.
But he'd fucked up.
He always fucked up. He'd fucked up with the family. He'd fucked up with the Hunting. He'd fucked up so bad people were dead and others were gone. Because of him.
And, see, this thing with Sam? This supposed reality about the origins of his powers and his role in the grand evil scheme of some yellow-eyed sonofabitch demon? Dean just really didn't want to believe it. At first. But then the downward spiral of events that happened after Dad … they just brought his words into focus as truths over and over again.
Dean was nothing if not good at locking away his emotions, especially about things he most needed to not be the case. And he really needed this to not be true, not be real. He needed his dad to be wrong, just this once, about something supernatural. But, of course, his dad was too good a Hunter for that. He'd done all the research, tracked all the strange occurrences, weather patterns, births, deaths, and everything in between. And as much as it was difficult to say, his father never would have told him, if he still held out hope that this thing with Sam wasn't true. Dean even thought, sometimes, that if his dad … if he were still here, he never would have told either of his sons.
Ever.
Carrying this secret alone, trying to protect Sam from the possibilities of darkness that lay ahead, all of it was just too much, too heavy on Dean's shoulders, too big a task. He'd tried.
But he'd fucked up.
"I don't know how to tell you this, Sam, but … before Dad died … he told me something … something about you … and the Kids-Like-You."
"What? Dean, what did he tell you?"
"He wasn't absolutely sure and … he didn't know everything that it might mean but-"
"What did he tell you?!"
"He thought … maybe … that you … and the others … that maybe … you were connected to the demon … because you were conceived during a possession. So maybe you were even … part demon … in a way."
It chilled him, even just to say it out loud, and Sam looked like he might throw-up … or faint … or kill something … or maybe just kill himself.
Sam puffed out every exhale, only steps from full-blown hyperventilation. "Are you serious?"
Dean looked away, out over the water, then back to Sam, with an exhausted sigh. "I wish I weren't, Sam. But … I am."
"But what about all the holy water I've had on me or all the exorcisms I've done or all the other nine million ways that I should have been hurt if I were a demon, Dean?"
"We don't know for sure that this is the whole story, Sam. But even if it's true, it's only a part of who are. You were raised just like me, christened as a baby, like me, and baptized as a kid, just like me. If … if this demonic part of you exists, there's still more humanity in you, so … I don't know, but … maybe that's why you can still use holy things. Because there's still more good in you than anything else."
"More good than evil, you mean. Right, Dean? Because some part of me … some demon-spawned part of me … is evil … is a threat to everything we've fought for … everything Dad died for?" Sam stilled and turned away from Dean, then, he closed his eyes and it seemed like a chill ran through him. He mumbled something under his breath, cursing, his jaw working.
"Sam?"
When Sam shifted his eyes back to Dean's, they were hollow with fear and revulsion. "I've had these … thoughts … these … dreams. And I thought … I thought they'd go away … but they haven't. I thought … I thought that I could get past them … that if I just didn't act … if I never pulled the trigger … if I just kept everything in my head … it would be okay."
Dean gulped, quiet, wondering what kind of twisted things had been playing out in his little brother's mind. And why he hadn't known about it.
"But it won't be okay, will it, Dean? They're going to get out of me … those thoughts … those … urges. Someday I won't be able to keep them in my head. Because deep down … that's who I am … I'm just one more evil thing."
"No. No, Sam! That is not who you are!" Dean wanted to say that everything would be okay, that he would make it okay, but he wasn't sure anymore. And he wanted to say that even really strong … urges … could be resisted, but he wasn't exactly a poster child for self-control, especially when it came to violence these days. But Sam wasn't like that, never had been, never would be, no matter what Dad had thought he was, no matter where Sam felt his thoughts were straying.
Sam was trapped deep in his own thoughts, though, in his own anguish, and he was looking at Dean, but it was more like he was looking through him, seeing a map to his downfall. "One day I'm going to kill … and I'm going to like it." But then Sam's eyes focused on him again and the fear had an edge of despair. "Are you even safe with me? Is anybody?!"
"We don't even know what this means, Sam! It could be nothing! Dad could be wrong! We just need to find that yellow-eyed bastard and kill him, then there won't be anybody to finish his plan for you and the other Kids-Like-You."
"Really? You think so?" Sam was pissed and mocking his hope. "Because if I'm a demon, Dean, won't I be evil with or without that yellow-eyed bastard who you're so eager to kill? And if I got this way because he was in Dad the night I was conceived, then wouldn't that mean I've been Hunting my own father all this time and didn't even know it? I mean … could I even do it? What if I turned on you, Dean? What if I turned on you and joined him? What would you do? What could you do?"
"You wouldn't do that."
"How the fuck would you know?! You just said that you and Dad, with your little keeping secrets and lie to Sammy club, didn't know what all this might mean. So, really, how the fuck would you know?" He scoffed and swallowed hard. "I have to find out what this means, Dean. I can't just stay Hunting with you, searching for this demon … this potential demon father of mine. I need to know what this means! Before I go any further … with you … with this Hunt … with life. I need to know if I'm too much of a threat … I- … … I need to know if you should be Hunting me."
"No! Sam, are you crazy?! I won't Hunt you! It's not happening! And we don't need all that. All it's gonna do is drive you crazy. We know how myths work! How much they're half-truths and made-up nonsense! What are you going to find, except bits and pieces of lies that will only push you in the wrong direction?! Our formula is simple. Hunt the Demon. Save the Day. Period. We know how to track it. Ash is on it. That's all we need."
"I can't, Dean. What if every step that we take closer to him, is one more step I take towards hurting you? Or towards killing you? Or anyone else for that matter? What if this whole fucking quest of yours, of Dad's, is doing exactly what he wants us to do? I can't, Dean! I need answers! And I don't know where to look yet, but I'm gonna figure it out. With or without you."
"Sam, don't you fucking get it? We need to neutralize the threat. Destroy the Demon. Then, we can figure all that out. We don't have time, now. We need to kill that bastard. Now."
"Okay, Dean. You do that. You don't need me for that. And I might be more harmful than helpful for that Hunt. You know that, whether or not you choose to believe it. So, go ahead. Hunt the Demon. It's what you do. You Hunt. Right now, I can't. So, leave me the fuck alone."
Sam started walking towards the car and Dean followed after him, not really knowing what to say, what to do. He felt in his head and his heart that he had to kill this Demon, had to, because killing the Demon would significantly reduce all of their most serious problems. But he didn't want Sam to be alone, vulnerable, because that might play into the Demon's plan. But, then again, Sam might be right. Maybe the Demon wanted Sam to come to him and this Hunt would bring him exactly what he wanted. There just weren't any good options here.
Not that it mattered.
Sam had already decided for both of them.
Sam was packing up his stuff from the car, like he was going to leave, and Dean didn't know what they were going to do, but he really didn't think splitting up was the way to go.
"Where're you going, Sam? Whatever we need to do, when we figure out what that is, we'll do it together."
"No, Dean. I don't think we can. Not now, anyways. We'll do our separate things for a little while. We've done it before. We can do it again."
"Can, maybe, but don't want to."
"You want to Hunt the Demon. I want to not Hunt the Demon and, instead, find information about what it means to be part-demon. I don't really see how those can be compatible, Dean."
"Ash could have a lock on him anytime, Sam. We should focus on finding another way to kill him. We just need to wait until he surfaces and finish this. Can't you just wait? This isn't just about you, Sam. What about all those other Kids-Like-You who the Demon is trying to get to? And all their families? We need to kill him, so he won't be terrorizing these people anymore."
"He needs to be dead. I get that. But why do we need to go into this blind? Is there more you haven't told me? More you're keeping from me? Is there some demon time-bomb in my chest that you've neglected to mention, along with everything else?!" Sam tossed his duffel on the ground and stepped right up in Dean's face. "Or are you just scared that he's going to get to me, before we can get to him?"
Dean's blink was slow and he said nothing, but his jaw set tight.
"Yeah. Thought so."
Sam stepped back, nodding. He was going to leave and Dean was already choking on the ache in his chest just thinking about it.
"Listen … we can do research … we can look for the info you think you need … we can try that, okay? I don't think we need it. But we can try it, okay? I'm not just gonna leave you, Sammy."
Sam's expression was sad but determined. "You don't have to leave me, Dean. I'm gonna go. I have to go. And unless you plan to hold me prisoner or something. You're gonna have to let me go."
Some wild, fearful, desperate part of him thought about it, really considered pulling a gun on his baby brother, seriously contemplated keeping him there by force. His intentions must have flashed across his face, because Sam hesitated in his reach for the bundle of stuff he had tossed on the ground and his eyes widened, then narrowed in challenge. And that scared Dean, not his brother, himself. How could he ever think about holding Sam against his will, even if he thought it was for his own good? Maybe Sam was right about them being safer apart.
And maybe it wasn't just about Sam anymore.
Dean could feel himself falling deeper into darkness everyday. Maybe he wasn't helping Sam stay sane, stay good. Maybe every time he pulled the trigger while his brother watched was no better than Sam doing it himself. Maybe he was tainting Sam, pushing him, dragging him down right alongside him.
Dean glanced at the ground before meeting his brother's eyes again. There were a lot of questions hanging in the air between them, but neither spoke. It felt all wrong to imagine himself without his brother, he just couldn't do it … it was like he didn't make sense without his brother … like Sam was a third of Dean's puzzle pieces, so you'd never figure out what the picture really was without him. But Sam didn't want to stay with him, wanted to be away from him, wanted to leave again, and Dean couldn't force him to stay, wouldn't force him.
He knew Sam could see that, now, as he threw away his hesitations with ringing finality.
And with that he was gone, grabbing his duffel and walking off to the bus station half a mile down the road.
Dean had revved up the car and followed down the road beside him for a while, but Sam totally ignored him. No matter what Dean said, he wasn't getting through to him. He even offered to drive Sam down to the bus station, if that was really what he wanted. No response. No response to anything. He eventually drove to the station to wait for Sam, but it was like Sam had somehow shut down the part of his brain that acknowledged Dean's existence. He kept looking over, around, through, and beyond Dean. The only thing that let him know that Sam was still in control of himself, that he was just choosing to ignore him, and not being blocked by some unseen force or something, was when Sam stopped before boarding the very first bus with available seats.
He'd stopped and turned to Dean, so much grief but so much resolve in his eyes, and he'd mouthed "I'm sorry" before climbing onto the bus.
Watching the bus pulled away, Dean thought, for the briefest of moments, about following its route, about tailing Sam until he wore him down, convinced him to come back, to stay with him. But it was only a moment. Sam would find a way to keep them apart if that’s what he wanted, what he needed right now. There was nothing left for Dean to do, except continue on the path he was on and hope that he could do what he'd told Sam needed to be done.
But in the end, Dean had let Sam go and nothing had gone right since.
Ash never did get a hit on the Demon's whereabouts. And Dean had never figured out a way to kill the bastard without the Colt. No one had any more information to offer, no more fires of unknown origin, no more superpowered babies, and no more Kids-Like-Sam. It was like the Demon knew that the Winchesters were each Hunting alone, like he knew and had called for operations to go silent, like everything was happening underground and Dean only ever heard a murmur that he could never really trace.
Dean had let Sam go in order to finish his Dad's mission, but he was left with nothing to show for his stubbornness.
And now, apparently, Sam wanted come back.
Dean wasn't really sure what that meant or what Sam had found in his search for answers, but he just hoped they could finish this together.
So he wrapped his fingers tight around the metal of the steering wheel and pressed his palm into the edges of a brand new pair of lucky silver saint's charms.
It was only later that he realized that Sam hadn't once asked him about the Demon or the Hunt for the Demon.
But maybe he was just trying to keep the peace or something. Yeah, that was probably it. No need to reopen old wounds this early in their reconnecting, right?
There'd be plenty of time to do that later.
---
Hinckley, Minnesota was a mess, just a fucking mess.
Dean could see why Sam wanted to get out of there so badly. Driving through town on his way to meet Sam at the casino, Dean couldn't ignore the way that half the town seemed utterly destroyed. And half the town and utterly destroyed were both quite literal descriptions as far as he could tell. The main strip, Jefferson Street, was a study in contrasts. A totally untouched gas station sat across the road from a charbroiled general-type store. A shiny new brick bank had a wall of windows that looked out at the crumbling crispy remains of what seemed to be Hinckley's City Hall. And so on and so forth all the way through the town.
It almost looked like there was a psycho serial arsonist loose in the tiny city, but, if so, he were incredibly serious about the geometry of his work. The black of the burn seemed to stretch out, precise and even, between the two extremes to Dean's left and right. The scorch line was perfectly aligned with both edges of the street, as if someone had stood at the start of the road with a measuring tape and another person had run down the street with the other end of the measuring tape in hand, then, they had drawn a straight line down the exact center of town.
And allowed not one single lick of flame to pass over that line.
It was bizarre really. Bizarre like their kind of bizarre, supernatural nasty kind of bizarre. It made Dean wonder if any of the Hunts Sam had mentioned had anything to do with the fiery devastation in Hinckley. Because this sure looked like a Hunt-worthy situation to him.
---
"I looked into it already."
"What do you mean by 'looked into it'?"
They were in the casino's parking lot, the Impala just starting to warm up, and Sam was back in the passenger's seat in a way he hadn't been in a long time. They were also bickering a bit, in a way they hadn't done in a long time. And as much as he did, of course, think he was right about this, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit of a rush, a kind of joy or excitement, because he was back to squabbling with his little brother in the car that had been their home, just them, for almost two years. But he could only see a peek of that thrill mirrored back at him from Sam's eyes. There was something else taking up space there, but he didn't quite know what it was.
"I checked all the usual things, Dean. No consistent sulfur trail. No potentially vengeful spirits born of fire-related deaths. Nothing. Really. Nothing. Likely just a freak forest fire."
"That forest fire would have to be pretty fucking freaky to draw a line down the middle of town and refuse to step one foot beyond those boundaries. Maybe someone conjured up the fire. Any local magick practitioners or shady spiritual-types?"
"No, Dean! I'm not an idiot! I looked at this from every angle I could think of and a few that I couldn't. So, let it go!"
When Dean had seen him in the lobby of the casino, Sam looked good, impossibly good, like he'd been working out a lot and sunbathing daily, even though this was December in Minnesota. But his eyes were different, he was different, harder somehow, bitter, intense, less easy to compromise, more likely to say things he knew would hurt.
"What about Kids-Like-You? Maybe we have a pyropsychic on our hands or something."
"Pyrokinetic."
"What?"
"The ability to light things on fire with your mind is called pyrokinesis, Dean. And there is no Kid-Like-Me here, except, well, me. At least, not that I can tell anyway."
There was this new edge in Sam's voice like he was angry at everything and kept it all reigned in, but only by the skin of his teeth.
"Okay. Well, what about someone who came through, say, for the casino?"
"It seems pretty unlikely. I mean I haven't gotten any Kid-Like-Me-related hits in months. Have you?"
Dean ignored the hint of challenge in his brother's voice, focusing on the fact that Sam hadn't entirely distanced himself from the whole issue of the Demon's grand plan. "Wait … you've been keeping tabs on other Kids-Like-You?"
"And potentials … yeah."
"I thought you were trying to get away from all that."
"I wanted to get away from the Hunt for the Demon, Dean. At least until I had more information about my connection to it and what all this might mean. I never said anything about leaving the rest of these kids to fend for themselves … … Who knows what could happen to them?"
Sam's expression held a kind of mock innocence that didn't mesh with what he was saying, but Dean was caught up in shock and more than a little anger. Sam going out trying to be a hero all on his own was really the last straw. "But who's looking out for you, Sam? Why didn't you just pick up the phone and call me, so you could have backup with some of this? You could have left again just as easy as you left before. I let you go, left you alone, because I thought you wanted out of this whole damn business, so you could do your research or whatever. But now you're telling me that you've been doing the same shit on your own anyway? What the fuck, man? Why'd you cut me out?"
"I'm grown, Dean. I'm not some sniveling, ratty-haired brat who's going to run to big bro every time there's a problem. I can take of myself just fine, thanks. So, I don't need you, your lies, or your shoot-first attitude to survive in the world. Besides, if you remember the last time we talked, a few months back, I distinctly recall mentioning that I might be a threat to you and that we both might be better off going at this alone."
The tension rolling off Sam tasted so familiar, yet not, as Dean rolled it over his tongue. It made him think about being in the middle, between Dad and Sam, fighting all the damn time. But Dad wasn't here right now and Dean couldn't help wondering if he'd become that for Sam, that thing he needed to push back against, to yell at, to prove his authority to, to be free of. If that were true, though, then it just didn't make any sense for Sam to call him, for Sam to want to come back to Hunting with him.
"Oh yeah? So what's changed? Why'd you call me now?"
"Maybe I just don't give a fuck anymore." And there was an emptiness in Sam's eyes, a kind of coldness, but it was gone in a blink.
What? Dean knew his face was screwed up with confusion even though he was still thoroughly rankled. "So that's it? That's why you called, Sam? Because you no longer care whether or not we're safer when we're apart?"
"Basically."
"Did your year of meditating on the problem not bring you any insights?" Dean could hear the bite in his tone, but it was like now that he had Sam back, now that Sam seemed maybe a little jaded but generally fine, that there was a part of Dean that was having difficulty putting a lid on his anger over Sam leaving him again.
But then Sam went quiet and looked away from him, out the window at the bright blinking lights meant to draw in every shade of sinner. "It brought me plenty, Dean. And maybe that's why I don't care anymore."
"Okay …" He felt like a total ass for snapping at Sam. And part of him still didn't want to know, didn't want to think about Sam being part demon, but Dean could see that whatever Sam had learned seemed to have gotten to him, changed him, and that sounded like the kind of information Dean should have. "You plan to share any of this new info anytime soon?"
"Nope." Sam turned back to him and the traces of that moment of melancholy disappeared entirely. His eyebrows were raised and a smile played at his lips, as if this was just like any other big secret being kept by a smug little brother.
"So, let me get this straight. You ran off to find answers. You found them. They suck. And you won't tell me what they are. But now you want to come back out on the road with me?"
Sam shrugged, flipping through the box of tapes between them. "Something like that."
Beat.
Dean's smirk was so wide it might have been a grin. "Did you really miss me that much?"
Sam chuckled and it was richer than Dean remembered, but still so Sam. "Just shut up and drive."
Dean revved the engine, heard his baby purr, and it almost felt like she knew his partner was back where he belonged and she liked it just as much as he did.
Sam shoved Metallica in the tape deck, which, despite the usual rules, was just fine with Dean, not that he'd tell Sam that.
"That right there? Is a freebie."
"Whatever … jerk."
"Bitch."
And they met the sunrise to the rhythm of Escape.
Feel no pain, but my life ain't easy
I know I'm my best friend
No one cares, but I'm so much stronger
I'll fight until the end
To escape from the true false world
Undamaged destiny
Can't get caught in the endless circle
Ring of stupidity
Out on my own, out to be free
One with my mind, they just can't see
No need to hear things that they say
Life is for my own to live my own way
Rape my mind and destroy my feelings
Don't tell me what to do
I don't care now, 'cause I'm on my side
And I can see through you
Feed my brain with your so called standards
Who says that I ain't right
Break away from your common fashion
See through your blurry sight
Out on my own, out to be free
One with my mind, they just can't see
No need to hear things that they say
Life is for my own to live my own way
See they try to bring the hammer down
No damn chains can hold me to the ground
Life is for my own to live my own way