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nightspear) wrote2008-03-21 12:37 pm
Finding Home (16/21)
Title: Finding Home (Main Post and Chapter List)
Rating: PG-13/R for language, mostly
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine. I gain nothing of materialistic value from this.
Pairings: Mostly gen.
Notes:
XXXXXXXXXX
“When were you going to tell me about this?...Something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me.”
(“Salvation”)
XXXXXXXXXX
This time, the plan worked.
Or, anyway, they got the gun and got out of there alive without any vampires on their trail. That was, unfortunately, where the good news ended.
The bad news... Oh yeah. There was bad news.
They’d lured the pack leader out using his lover, weakened by dead man’s blood. While Sam and Dean waited in hiding, their scent covered by ashes that fucking reeked (no wonder they called it skunk cabbage), John had almost grabbed the Colt and left without a hitch. They’d underestimated, however, the regenerative capacity of vampires. And then everything exploded...
...only to end in a standoff against the last two remaining fangs.
Dean raised his machete only to find Sam caught in the leader’s headlock. John was several feet away but had been disarmed.
And the undead bitch was picking the Colt up from the ground, fondling it tauntingly. “Lost something, babe? It’s pretty, isn’t it, Luthor?” she purred at the leader.“He’ll be happy with us for giving it to him.”
“Who?” John said, his voice steely. “Who’s asking for the gun?”
“Why should I tell you, sweetheart?” she teased. Dean inched forward.
“Put the blade down,” Luthor warned him, tightening his grip, “or I’ll break his neck.” Sam’s eyes bugged wider.
Dean had no illusions about how this worked. He moved, Sam died. He put down his weapon, Sam died. But it might buy some time for...
For what?
Sam made a choked, gasping noise, making the other fang giggle.
Jesus. Time—they just needed time. They’d figure out what to do with it later.
Raising his free hand, Dean slowly lowered his blade to the ground, only to hear a click behind him, accompanying the uncomfortably familiar pressure of a gun against his back.
“Whoops,” the female vampire whispered in his ear. “Did you lose your blade, too?”
A wordless growl sounded from his dad’s direction, and Luthor told him nonchalantly, “Don’t worry,
Fixing his eyes back on Sam, he saw his brother’s arms slack, no longer struggling, with his eyes closed. “Sam?” Dean called.
God, no.
“Sammy, answer me,” he said, his voice harsh. Luthor laughed and shifted his grip casually. Sam didn’t move. “Sam! Let him go, you filthy animal,” Dean hissed.
“I don’t think so,” Luthor said coldly. “You people.We have the right to live, too. We would’ve left Elkins alone if we didn’t need the gun.”
“The fuck do you want with it?”
“We’re a dying breed.We were promised protection in return for it.” He looked down at Sam’s slack face. “Sorry about that, kid.”
“You fucking bastard, I’m gonna kill you and every one of—”
And then Sam’s eyes snapped wide open.
Even for the dark, Dean could see his pupils were blown, devouring the color in his irises, but there was no time to think about that because the vampire behind him screeched. The gun on his back was suddenly gone and hurtling through the air toward his dad. It wasn’t perfect aim, but John’s normally sharp reflexes were even more honed by the thrill and terror of the hunt. He dove to the side and caught the Colt in his hand.
“What the—”
Don’t think. Act.Now.
Dean threw himself to the ground and retrieved his machete, rolling to avoid the bitch’s kick as he came to his feet. She was holding one hand strangely, like it didn’t work properly, but holy shit, the other one worked fine. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he finally got behind her when she was off balance.
“Whoops,” he mocked, and swung. Her head rolled hit the ground just before her body did.
A gunshot caught his attention and he whirled around to see Sam drop to the ground. Luthor was still standing, but not moving, and Dad was still holding the Colt, aiming at the vampire.
Luthor’s body jerked twice, as if he were being shocked, and he dropped, dead, to the dirt.
Within a second, Dean was crouching beside Sam’s prone form. “Sam!” he said frantically, turning his brother onto his back and hauling him up to a sitting position, grimacing at the sound of his rattling breaths. “Sammy, you with me?”
Sam groaned weakly, squeezing his eyes shut and bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
Dean stopped breathing himself, recognizing the pose. He turned to stare at the Colt, which had been pressed against his back, now in his dad’s hands. And now Sam, moaning through his wheezes and holding his head like it hurt more than the bruises around his neck. “Headache?” he asked quietly. Sam peeled his eyes open, coughing lightly. His pupils were still more dilated than the darkness of nighttime could account for and he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes was enough.
John was staring at Sam, flicking brief glances at the gun he held in his hand. “Boys?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.
Dean pulled Sam closer as he coughed again. “You got a thing for flying guns, little brother?” he asked evenly.
“Got a thing for keeping you from getting shot,” Sam rasped.
Coherent, then. But...Christ. So it was...
“Come on, get up,” he answered, standing and taking most of Sam’s weight as his brother pushed himself up shakily with a wince. “Dad,” he said, “the rest of the nest is still out there.”
With a start, John shook his head firmly. “They won’t come after us, not with their leader and his mate both dead. They’ll run and try to regroup.” He studied the two of them. “Get your brother into the truck, Dean. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
XXXXXXXXXX
The ride back was strained and silent. Dean took occasional glances back at Sam, lying curled in the backseat. His brother looked back, and eventually sat up himself.
An accident. Like that one time, after the Miller kid killed himself. A freak adrenaline thing.
Except...
(“Got a thing for keeping you from getting shot.”)
That didn’t sound particularly accidental.
The truck rumbled to a stop in front of the motel. John pulled the keys from the ignition and headed for the trunk to gather their belongings.Dean made for Sam’s side to support him, but Sam batted his hand away. “I can walk,” he insisted, proving it by stepping out on his own, most of the lingering shakiness gone.
They puttered around for the first few minutes, as if preparing to debrief after winding down from a normal hunt. But their movements were jerkier than usual, their steps more abrupt, their silence thicker and more suffocating. This wasn’t a normal hunt in any way, from the Colt placed carefully on the desk to Sam’s little stunt.
Eventually, when their dad was leaning against the desk and Dean and Sam each perched on the edge of one bed, John said, “Which one of you wants to explain what happened out there?”
Their dad knew about the psychics; he must have, even before they’d found out, or he wouldn’t have sent them to Caleb. But, like Dean, John had never been comfortable with using anything less tangible than rock salt and cat’s eye shells. Even if he knew all the incantations, he’d been quick to correct his young sons when they thought it was like magic or witchcraft. A little supernatural, yes, but those were just established rituals; it wasn’t like he himself—or his sons—were supernatural.
Dean started, “You know Sammy’s got these, uh...psychic abilities...”
“Visions,” John said.“I thought he got visions. That, tonight...that was...”
“Telekinesis,” Sam put in.“Or that’s what we’ve been calling it.”
John waited.
“We met another kid—his mom died the same way as...as Mom,” Sam continued. “He was primarily telekinetic. And I found out afterward that I could...” He made a vague, waving motion.
“
“You think this is funny?” John snapped at him, making Dean shut up, a little surprised.
“No, sir, not--”
“When were you going to tell me about this?”
“Dad,” Sam said, “it never really came up—”
John wasn’t paying attention to Sam, his glare still fixed on Dean. “Something like this happens to your brother, you get on the phone and you—” He cut himself off, looking away for an instant. “You should have told me earlier,” he said instead, his voice stern.
“Dad, we thought you knew,” Sam said. “Dad!” He waited until John’s gaze had swung to him before saying, “You sent us to Joshua when I was in the hospital; you had to have known I was psychic.” He grimaced himself—neither of them had quite gotten used to saying it aloud.
John looked between the two of them before sighing. “I thought it was just visions,” he said.
“It’s never happened before tonight,” Dean offered. “Besides when we first found out.” And maybe once at Stanford. “He can’t stop the visions, but the telekinesis was like a one-off thing.”
But suddenly his mind was flipping through the last few months, wondering. Had Sam known beforehand, that time he’d ducked a knife just in time without looking, or spun away just before a door splintered beside him? Those times one of their weapons had gone skittering and he’d looked over to see it in Sam’s hand?
Stupid, he berated himself.That’s instinct. Reflexes. Training.Both of them had done the same dozens of times. That’s nothing. Probably.
Hell, he didn’t know anymore.
John was wearing an odd expression, but not angry anymore—considering. Thinking.
“Can you control it?” he asked.
“It just happens,” Dean repeated.
“I was talking to your brother.”
There was silence for a while—long enough for Dean to turn to his brother with an incredulous look.“Sam?”
Sam looked determinedly at John, not meeting Dean’s stare. “Not completely,” he said.
Which, to Dean, meant, Yes—not perfectly, but yes.
“I’ve been...practicing.”
“Sam!” Dean said angrily, coming to his feet. “What—when?”
“When you...uh, after you fall asleep at night, mostly.”
Which meant the little shit was sleeping even less than he’d thought.
“What the hell happened to not trying this unless I’m watching?”
That wasn’t actually what he’d meant to say—he’d wanted to tell Sam to stop it and never try it again and why the hell had he started again in the first place after—
“Good,” John said calmly with a gleam in his eyes. Dean gaped.
“Wha...Dad!”
“If this is part of your brother now, he needs to learn to use it.”
Irritation rising again—at his father, this time—he said, “You can’t be serious.”
“Watch your tongue,” John warned.
“I’m not going to let you turn Sam into your weapon,” Dean burst out, “like you did—” He stopped, then tried again, “You don’t understand.You weren’t there when Sam was delirious with pain from his fucking visions. Did you see what it did to him out there tonight?”
“Dean,” Sam placated, “It’s gotten better; the headaches aren’t as bad anymore.”
Stabbing a finger toward his brother, he challenged, “You wanna tell me your head isn’t still hurting now?”
“Yes!”
“Okay. Now try it without lying through your ass.”
Sam looked away. “It’s not that bad, Dean; we’ve both coped with a lot worse.”
“Fuck, Sam!”
John interrupted with, “Okay, that’s enough. He saved your life tonight, Dean. All of our lives.”
“I have to, Dean,” Sam said, almost pleading now. “You have to understand...I can’t keep watching people die and keep getting there too late to do anything. And...maybe it really is a gift, Dean. I can save people with this—the visions, and whatever else. Dean...Please.”
Feeling trapped, he paced a few steps, then sat back down.
‘There was just a lot of fire, and you—and Jess—were going to die,’ Sam had told him. ‘...He was about to put a bullet in your head...I just wanted to get the gun away from him.’
Because that was what it meant to Sam. It wasn’t a psychic thing that may or may not have to do with the demon they were hunting and may or may not drive him insane, like the other kids visited by the demon. It was about saving people.
That’s my job, Sammy. I’m supposed to protect you. When had that gotten screwed up?
“Anything else I don’t know about?” John demanded.
“Uh...I get...weird vibes sometimes.”
“Weird...vibes,” John repeated slowly.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. I can tell sometimes if there’s a spirit or a demon nearby. Sometimes there are these impressions...I think they’re from...uh...other people, or spirits sometimes, if their emotions are really strong. Not quite thoughts, but...feelings. Images. You know.” Which, of course, they didn’t really know at all. "And Dean, I haven't been...I've never been able to get anything from you. I swear, I wouldn't pry...I wouldn’t do that to you. That’s the one thing I haven’t really practiced at all."
Sam winced—not in pain this time, but in guilt—as Dean looked at him, not bothering to hide the hurt in his eyes. Sam had been lying to him—not with direct words, maybe, but full-on lying just the same. He wanted to throw back 'Why should I believe you?' But he did believe it. The expression Sam wore was honest, practically begging--even before, when he hadn't known what his brother was hiding, he'd known there was something wrong. He’d just screwed up on what.
And Joshua had said something similar--that his thoughts were blocked off. It was reassuring to know it was the same to Sam. Dean tightened his jaw, taking a deep breath.
“What if it happens in the middle of a fight again, huh?” he asked gruffly. “You pull a gun away from someone and wind up lying on the ground. I don’t care if it only takes ten goddamn seconds for you to recover—that’s ten seconds too long to be incapacitated.”
Sam hesitated, looking worried about Dean’s reaction. “I’ve...gotten good enough at it to choose when I’m using it. It doesn’t come unexpectedly anymore.” As if to prove it, Sam turned to their father’s journal on the desk, and twitched slightly as it slid a few inches to the side. He drew in a sudden, deep breath and his pupils dilated slightly, reminding Dean bizarrely of someone on some freaky kind of high.
“Jesus.” Somehow, the control Sam had scared Dean even more. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
“Tonight, I knew Dad would be ready, and you could take care of Kate—”
“Kate?”
“The female vampire,” Sam clarified, because of course he’d remember the name of the vampires trying to fucking kill them. “Dean, I wouldn’t do it if it put me in danger.”
Dean studied him. “Really.”
“Yes,” Sam lied.
Dean said nothing, knowing he wouldn’t get anything more than that.
“Sam,” John said, “it’s been taking you less time to recover the more you practice, you said.”
“Yessir,” Sam said.
John looked at Dean, who sighed in frustration and looked away. He couldn’t agree to this, but he wouldn’t argue, either. “You’ll practice,” John told Sam. “With us watching.”
“Yessir.”
“What about the demon?” Dean said. “What if this is all a part of its plans?”
“We won’t let the demon use your brother,” John said. “Learning to use his abilities could come in handy, Dean, you know that. Did you hear the vampires out there? Something wants that gun, and it’s more powerful than they are.We need every advantage we can get.”
The demon won’t be using him, Dean thought, really and truly bitter at his father in a way he’d never been before, but you will. Sam was still beseeching him with those goddamn fucking eyes of his, though, so he didn’t stay it aloud.
“How do you usually do this?” John asked.
Dean stopped Sam’s answer with, “We can wait until tomorrow.” Enough was enough.
“Dean—”
“It can wait one fucking night until we’ve all gotten some sleep!” he growled.
John was watching him curiously. He glanced at Sam. “All right. You’re right.”
Not sure he’d heard right, Dean asked, “I am?”
John inclined his head.“Get some rest, boys. We’ll go on tomorrow.”
XXXXXXXXXX
Four days later, Dean was sitting cross-legged on their bed, checking the state of their guns. Sam was sitting on Dad’s, doing...Jesus, he always looked like he was meditating when he did this. Dean had resisted the urge to tease him about it at first, but seriously, he could only hold out for so long. Sam had started throwing him dirty looks whenever he opened his mouth, and, come on, he wasn’t that bad.
Their dad was out, looking up hunts or researching of whatever. Apparently, “you’ll practice with us watching” actually meant “Dean will be locked up and bored out his mind while Sam tosses shit around the room.”
He fingered a shell packed with buckshot, rolling it in his fingers. The shotgun was a good tool to carry around, but considering how much of what they hunted was spirits, it was useless more often than not. Not much kept spirits away but rock salt.
Wait...
A can of salt sat in the bag next to him, and he looked from it to the shell in his hand. Huh. What if...
He rummaged through the bag for a handful of unused shells, then carefully opened one and poured out the lead. He took another glance at Sam before reaching for the salt and a makeshift press. The salt was too light to do lethal damage to anything corporeal, but it would sure as hell work on a spirit. He readjusted his seat on the bed as he packed a plug of crystals into the shell. Sam would be pissed about sleeping in spilled salt, but oh well—as long as Sam didn’t try to retaliate somehow, anyway. Dean had gotten a piece of silverware in the head just that morning and had to laugh at the way the spoon was not only bent but twisted in a knot.
As much as he hated to admit it, Sam was getting better at the telekinesis thing, and showing no signs of losing his marbles (well, no more than he’d already lost before, anyway, he assured Sam). When he was focused, he was getting pretty good at making things come toward him or pushing them away, although he’d almost knocked himself out a couple of times before Dean suggested that he try something lighter than a goddamn chair. Maybe they were right—this psychic thing could be a real advantage. It was just so far off normal for them, and so unpredictable...
Not that Dean was a control freak, because that was Sam, and Dad. But when it came to Sam, and family, being out of control wasn’t an option.
In any case, Sam had been accessing occasional visions, but they were odd, jumbled, which, oddly, seemed to surprise Sam. “They’ve been getting clearer,” he’d insisted, frowning, reminding Dean with a pang of hurt and guilt that he’d been practicing this on his own, probably for months now.“It’s like there’s something getting them mixed up, now. Something big happening, throwing a spanner in the works.”
Which was not exactly comforting.
He was working on the visions, now, and Dean was listening to his steady breathing, which was why he noticed something was wrong.
Sam’s eyes were open and glazed, and they fixed on some point in front of himself. “Sam?” Dean asked tentatively.
His brother continued to stare and began to move his eyes around the room, as if watching something play out. This was normal, too (hah—‘normal’), so Dean put down the shell he was experimenting with and slowly came to his feet, making no move to interrupt. He did edge suspiciously closer, however, when Sam gasped and clenched his fists in the covers on the bed, sitting straighter and pulling himself forward so he was kneeling.
So Dean was ready when Sam yelled, ”No!” and launched himself off the bed.
Dean caught him in the chest and they went down hard together in a tangle of bodies and wildly swinging limbs just as the door opened and their father walked in the door, a bag over his shoulder.
“What—”
“Sammy, calm down,” Dean ordered, knowing his brother could pull out of the visions quickly now, and that the flailing panic (ow, goddamnit) was probably mostly from coming to his senses on the floor, partially restrained. “Sam, it’s me, fucking hell...”
When Sam stopped struggling, the two of them collapsed and lay where they were, breathing hard, Sam clutching at Dean’s shirt.
“Get off me, you girl,” Dean finally grumbled, pushing him off and then hauling him up. “What was that all about?”
Sam leaned against the food of the bed, still panting though his face was pale. “Sorry. Forgot it wasn’t real,” he said sheepishly. More serious, he said, “It’s going after another family.”
“Another family?” John broke in, closing the door and coming in closer. “The demon?”
Sam nodded, grimacing slightly. “Yeah.There was a baby, and then a woman came in and...” His eyes flicked up to the ceiling, and neither of them had to ask what the rest was.
“When?”
He shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know, there’s no way for me to tell—”
“What else do you remember?”
“Uh...” Sam rubbed at his forehead, then said, “Train. There was a train passing. There must be railroad tracks nearby.”
“And?”
Sam drew in a slow breath.“I...I’d recognize the house, or the woman, if I saw them again, but...” he shook his head. “She had dark hair?”
John dropped his bag and pulled out several folders. “I’ve picked up some signs,” he told them. “Ones that always crop up before the demon strikes.”
“Signs?”
“Cattle mutilations, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms, things like that.”
Dean cocked his head, thinking. “These things happened in
“The week before your mother died,” John confirmed. “And in
Sam’s eyes darkened.“Where?”
“Salvation,
“Dad, there could be dozens of kids—”
“We’ll search the records in the hospitals and health center. It always happens on the baby’s six-month birthday—”
“Six months old?” Sam interrupted.
“On the day,” John repeated.“We’ll look for kids who match, find which ones live near train tracks and see if Sam recognizes any of the mothers.And then...” He patted the Colt.
Piece of cake.
As they quickly packed their belongings and headed for the door, John stopped them again. “Boys...keep your heads down as much as you can.”
Dean quirked his brow.“That’s how we always do this job, Dad,” but John was shaking his head.
“This is different. This demon...I still don’t know who it is, but it’s a bad sonuvabitch. It knows I’m closing in on it. And it knows you two. It won’t stop at anything to sniff us out. Understood?”When they nodded, he turned and strode first out the door. “Then let’s move.”
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