Finding Home (3/?)

[nightspear]

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. Briefly, Sam/Jess

Notes:

1. There’s talk of religion throughout this story, as well as some blasphemous stuff. These are not necessarily my views, nor are they views I am trying to promote. I do think they fit for Sam, Dean, and others affected. Most faith discussion isn’t not here so much as in later chapters, but I thought I should put it in before I forgot. I don’t think any of it’s truly offensive, but if it is, well, that wasn’t my intention. Oh yeah, they take the Lord’s name in vain a lot, but it’s common enough that it seems to me more like a linguistic habit than a religious attitude.

2. What happens to shapeshifters after death, and to some extent the nature of shapeshifters, is a little embellished here. I don’t think anything directly contradicts canon lore, though. Demons too, maybe, but not much—and honestly, canon’s left the nature/abilities/etc. of demons pretty open so far.

Chapter 2

---

“As long as I’m around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

(“Nightmare”)

---

Jess and Steve were freaked. Sam hadn’t realized it, but they’d been pretty close the whole time, too far to be hurt but close enough to hear.

“Uh,” Steve said first, sounding faint.

Blood loss, was Sam’s first thought. Then he looked at Steve’s hand, which was bleeding but not that much, and amended, Shock.

The next thought was,Dean’s dead, followed quickly by, It was lying andCall them call them call them call them.

His cell phone was in his left pocket, but for some reason his hand couldn’t get it out. Then his eyes focused on the blood trickling down his arm and remembered it was supposed to hurt. He dug the phone out awkwardly with his right hand instead.

“Sam.” He stopped trying to operate the phone in the dark with one shaky hand and looked up to meet Jessica’s terrified eyes.

“Jess…I’ve gotta…gotta take care of something, I’ll explain everything, I swear…” God, Dean, don’t be dead…

“That wasn’t your dad, right? Or your brother?” Her laugh was high and almost (but not quite, thankfully) hysterical. “Because he’s dead, Sam, God, he ripped his own skin off…”

“No. It was a shapeshifter.”

“Oh. That’s okay, then.” Sam could tell it wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but she wasn’t edging away from him—was, in fact, looking at him as trustingly as someone could when scared out of her mind—which would do for now.

Civilians first, he thought. Jesus, his brain was bossy. “You okay, Steve?”

Steve was pressing a cloth—part of a shirt or something, probably—into his hand and gaping. “I’ll live.”

Happy? he asked his brain, and almost started giggling hysterically himself.

Dean didn’t answer his phone. Neither did Dad.

That was pretty much par for the course these days, but he slammed the phone shut and dialed each again.

And again.

And again. “Dammit, Dean, if you’re dead…” He jerked away as Jess’s hand reached for him.

And again—

“What?” came Dean’s voice the fifth time he called, sounding sleepy but healthy. Alive. Sam actually dropped the phone in the snow and had to lean down, bracing himself with an elbow on the ground.

“Shit. Shit,” he muttered when he’d caught his breath, picking it up again and getting a streak of his own blood on the screen in his haste.

By the time he got it up to his ear, Dean was saying, “…know what, fuck you, Sam. If you wanted our attention you coulda picked up your damn phone anytime…”

“Dean,” he finally got out, and his must have sounded pretty messed up because Dean shut up right away.

“Sam? Sammy, you okay?”

“You’re alive,” Sam said stupidly. The silence on the other end went on so long he started panicking again. “Dean? You there?”

“Yeah. What’s the matter with you, Sammy? What is this?”

“Nothing. It’s fine.” Sam had to stifle his laugh again, because it was not fine in so many ways he didn’t even want to count them.

“Right. Sure.” Sam could hear the confusion in his brother’s voice, but there was irritation there, too. They hadn’t talked in over three months now; he must sound insane calling like this now. God, this was screwed up. “Look, this isn’t the best time, Sam. We’re on a hunt in California, there’s this shapeshifter in Atherton...”

And shit, he had to laugh when he heard that, cutting Dean off. “I think it migrated.” At least now he knew how the shapeshifter picked up those faces to use.

Another pause, then,“You wanna run that one by me again?”

“Never mind,” Sam sighed, all amusement completely gone, leaving him empty and cold. Although the cold might have been from the snow. “It’s taken care of.”

“It’s what? Sam! What the hell’s going on? You found it?”

“You could say that.”

“Where did it go? You...you got away all right?” Dean’s voice had the gruff quality that meant he was concerned.

“Um,” he said and looked over his friends again, really looked at them for the first time. Jess had narrowed her eyes the way she always did when trying to figure something out. Steve was shivering but it looked like he wasn’t even bleeding anymore. “Steve got scratched, but it doesn’t look too bad.”

“Who the hell is Steve?”

“He…uh, he’s my roommate.”

“You’re hunting with your college friends? Are you nuts?”

Feeling oddly defensive, he retorted, “I wasn’t hunting, Dean. It was waiting outside the church when we walked past. It found us.”

It found me. It was waiting for me. It’ll find me again.

“We’re nearby. We’ll be there in a couple of hours.” Sam could hear movement behind Dean’s voice and knew they were dressing, packing, ready as always to move at a moment’s notice.

“I took care of it, Dean. It’s dead.” It wasn’t a protest, though it was the best he can do while suppressing the desire to say Please come, Dean. He almost said not to bring Dad, but holy crap that would have gone down badly, so he decided against it. It’s just to make sure, he reasoned. See that they’re not dead.

And God, he had questions. Mom, demons, his dreams. As if there weren’t enough elephants crowding the room already.

“Uh, actually, I called because I had a question about shapeshifters,” which wasn’t true, but now that he thought about it, he probably should have asked already. “Silver bullet to the heart, right?”

“Right.”

“Doesn’t have to be a bullet, does it? A silver knife works?”

There was muffled talking before Dean said, “It should, yeah, I guess. Wait, wait, you stabbed it? You sure it’s dead?”

“Pretty sure. Wait…” Stifling a groan as he pushed himself to his feet, Sam took a few cautious steps toward the figure lying in the grass.

Dean’s blank eyes stared back. Stomach churning, Sam nudged a bare arm with his toe—

Stumbling back, he bent over, trying not to gag. He’d forgotten how fast shapeshifters’ skin started rotting after they died.

“Yeah, it’s dead.”

“You gotta be sure, Sam—”

He glanced at it again to see a piece of Dean’s face slough off. “I’m sure.” He almost reached out to retrieve his knife, then changed his mind. Dad would be pissed.

A beat passed, then Dean asked flatly, “You’re not hurt?”

Sam closed his eyes. “I’m…I’m tired, Dean,” and he realized it was completely true if not the whole truth. “I just wanna…Look, it’s done, you don’t...why are you coming?”

“Are you kidding? Save it, Sam. Get inside. Your friend, too. We’ll call when we get there.”

“Dean—”

“Stay there, Sam,” and this time it was Dad’s voice. Sam was annoyed at himself for standing up straighter but couldn’t muster up the effort to care that much. “We need to make sure it’s finished. Keep them safe. We’ll call.”

Your mission is to keep the civilians from harm. You have your orders, soldier.

“Dad?” When no one answered, he brought the phone down to look at the screen.

Call ended. Surprise.

The hunt wasn’t over until everyone was safe. Taking a deep breath, he turned back. “Guys, we have to get inside.”

“Inside? Where?” Steve said blankly.

“Our room,” Sam decided. “Jess, you might want to stay with us for the night. At least until my brother and dad get here. They’re…uh, they hunt stuff like that.”

“What, they’re coming here?” she asked, as if she didn’t quite believe it. “The real them this time? Not a…a shapeshifter? Or is, you know, a magical troll or something gonna show up?”

“A wha…? Look, we really shouldn’t stay out here. That thing is dead, and they don’t usually move in packs, but--

(“…there’re a lot of others watching over you…”)

--I don’t want to take my chances. And if something else comes along I’d rather have access to a weapon that’s actually useful.”

“Yeah, because we’ve got weapons stashed in our room,” Steve joked, his attempt at a laugh dying quickly as he saw Sam’s look. “Seriously? Huh.”

“I’ll explain when we get there,” he promised again, wincing internally at the thought, and pushed them back to the dorm room.

Once everyone was behind the salt line, with the door closed behind him, Sam opened the bottom drawer of his dresser and opened his duffel bag, keeping his eyes on the bag while he spoke.

“There are things out there, in the dark. Monsters, ghosts, whatever you have nightmares about—chances are, they’re real. My dad and my brother…and I…we hunt them. That thing out there tonight was a shapeshifter…”

---

The first thing Jess said when he’d finished was, “You should have that looked at.”

Sam didn’t dare to meet her eyes, but he followed her finger to the wound on his arm. Sighing and rubbing his eyes, he pulled his first aid kit from the bag. He couldn’t stitch it himself, but he was going to be out cold in a while if he didn’t get it to stop bleeding.

“I’m not sure a wad of gauze is going to cut it,” Jess said as he was tying it off awkwardly with an arm and teeth, grimacing.

“It’ll be fine for a couple of hours.” Anything more, Dean could take care of. But remembering the shapeshifter’s words, still not sure how much was true, Sam wondered for the first time in his life whether Dean would even want to take care of it.

He’d heard Dad give the what’s-really-out-there speech before, but he’d never had to give it himself. And never to people he knew. People who would look at him like…

“I’m serious, Sam,” Jess was saying, and Sam finally turned to stare incredulously at her.

“That’s it?” he asked. “You—both of you—almost got killed by a shapeshifter tonight, and I’m telling you I spent my childhood hunting ghosts, and you’re worried about my arm?”

Steve put in, “It’s bleeding all over your clothes, and I think you almost got killed more than we did,” which did nothing in the way of explaining, so Sam gaped at him instead.

“You’re okay with this?” Because no one in his or her right mind would be okay with this.

“No, Sam!” Jess said, standing now. At almost six feet, she loomed over his crouching form. “No, I’m not okay with this,” which was good, since it meant she wasn’t crazy, “but what do you want me to do?”

“Freak out?” he joked weakly.

She huffed. “Yeah, that’d help. I’ll freak out on my own time, thanks. And you should sit down before you fall over.” She had her arms wrapped around herself, though, eyes darting frequently to the window and door. Sam raised his eyebrows and glanced at Steve.

“I’m not gonna deny something I saw with my own eyes,” he shrugged, though Sam noticed he was still shivering. “Speaking of,” he said, holding out his bloody hand, “you got a Band-Aid I can use?”

How had he forgotten about that? With a curse at his own stupidity, Sam dressed the wound; he was lucky it really wasn’t bad at all.

“I think you’ve cussed more in the last couple of hours than you have the whole semester,” Jess observed, looking amused. “It’s like I don’t even know you.”

Sam was almost sure that was a joke, but there was an edge to it. All things considered, he left it alone. “Can either of you handle a knife of any kind?”

“Come on,” Steve said disbelievingly, “I thought you left yours out there.” And as Sam pulled a hunting knife from the bag, “You don’t actually have…huh.”

“I thought you said we’d be safe here,” Jess said, her mouth opening a little in surprise when he pulled another out from under the mattress.

“Dude,” Steve said, looking a little uncomfortable now. “Have you been sleeping with that thing?”

Ignoring him (because there really wasn’t any good way to answer that), Sam said, “I said I’d be more comfortable having access to the stuff here. We’re protected by salt and protective wards in here, but I just want to be careful. I still don’t know exactly what the shapeshifter wanted.”

Or if there were more.

“Salt?” Jess asked. “Like, sodium chloride, throw salt over your shoulder, salt?”

Rubbing his eyes again and dropping into a chair, Sam sighed. “Salt is used for purification…”

---

“If holy water repels demons, and that was a shapeshifter outside, how come water burned it?”

Sam was wondering that, too, or would have been if he wasn’t focusing so hard on alternately keeping his eyes open and clamping down jitteriness. “I don’t know. Maybe it was just surprised.” Except he didn’t believe that; there had been hissing and steam when the water hit, which threw that theory out of the window.

What the hell had happened to black and white? Holy water hurt demons. Silver hurt shapeshifters. There should be some rule against weaknesses—and abilities—crossing over. Sam hadn’t even realized shapeshifters absorbed memories, too, which it must have done because how else could it have known all that?

“Corporeal creatures have physical limitations,” he told them. “For shifters, silver poisons them, but it has to get into the bloodstream from the heart. They don’t like touching it, either; it’s like they have a severe allergic reaction to the metal.”

“Geek,” Steve said half-heartedly. “You sound like a biology prof. Or a...paranormal biology prof. Huh. I should have guessed about all this.”

“That would have make you nuts,” Sam replied. He was a little disturbed at how curious they were about this stuff. Maybe it was just because everything was new and like a fantasy story to them, but it was better than having them run screaming out of the room, in any case.

“Well, the Latin you spout when you’re asleep—” and that had taken on a new level of freakiness after the shapeshifter’s warning about dreams “—and how much you know about myths and shit. And your family…this is why you don’t like to talk about them? ‘Cause people would think you were crazy?”

When he thought about it, that wasn’t even the actual reason—or not all of it—and wasn’t that a kick in the head? “I meant it when I said we’d had some issues.”

“Well, you’ve got like an hour and a half to work them out before they get here,” Steve said wryly, but Sam didn’t find it funny at all. “Was it true, what it said about your dad?”

There wasn’t really a jolt so much as a really heavy rock settling into his stomach, a counter to the throbbing in his arm. Being relieved to learn they were alive, yearning to see them again, wasn’t the same as wanting to confront what happened.

It wasn’t even just the fight with Dad—that had been coming for years. But Winchesters didn’t have touchy-feely heart-to-hearts. The only emotions not taboo were resentment and anger, and when they came out, it could (and did) get ugly.

If only Dad weren’t coming…

Yeah, right, like that would make it better. Dean had to be pissed as hell, too, if only because for Dean, pissed took the place of hurt. And scared and worried. Either way, he’d be pissed.

“So,” Jessica said into the awkward pause. “The Latin stuff. You learned it for…hunting?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, gladly ignoring Steve’s comment.

“And you use it to bless your bullets and whatnot.”

He’d forgotten how weird it sounded. “Pretty much.”

“But that’s a Christian rite. So, what are you saying—there really is a God and a Devil and you’re, like, God’s soldiers fighting evil?”

God’s soldiers. Hah. He snorted. “No, it’s not like that. And…there are exorcisms and rituals from other religions, too. A few secular ones. Some things…there are certain symbols that demons fear, certain words. Sometimes a priest picked up on that and started using them, and then the ritual got associated with the church in some form or another. Some people know how to...tweak them for different purposes, or do the same thing with different words, but no one really understands exactly what all the governing rules are. I definitely don’t. If it works, I’m not changing it.”

“I thought you had to be ordained or something to do stuff like that.”

“It’s not a matter of religion,” Sam explained, trying to put Pastor Jim’s lessons into his own words. “It’s…conviction. I don’t know if there’s actually a God, but you have to believe it for anything to work.”

“Whoa, what?” Steve cut in. “You’ve got to believe in God but you don’t know if He exists? How’s that work?”

Sam hadn’t even noticed the slip.

“I didn’t mean…Ido believe in a higher power,” he amended. “I was just saying…I meant, there’s no actual proof, you know. But I do…I have faith.” Convincing, he thought. He shifted, wincing as he moved his arm.

(“…where were the angels when a demon sliced her open to get you?”)

“But your family doesn’t,” Jess said with a frown. “You said so. And the…the uh, the shapeshifter said so, too.”

Pastor Jim had explained that, too. Otherwise, Sam was sure he’d have tried to make all the Winchesters read their Bibles. Not that they even owned any Bibles besides the one Sam got from Jim.

“You have to have a purpose. Have to believe in something. A lot of hunters don’t believe in any deity. Dad dedicates himself to the hunt so much that it’s enough.” Dedicated. Obsessed. “Dean…believes in Dad.”

She was giving him the look again, the one that reminded him about psych majors. He felt the headache threatening to come back. “And you don’t?” She didn’t specify whether she meant Dad or the hunt.

He didn’t either. “It’s why I left,” he told her. “I wanted out of that life. Just wanted to be…normal for once.”

And there was the pity look. For some reason it was worse when Jess wore it.

“I left that life,” Sam repeated, unable to meet her eyes.

She looked at his sawed-off lying in the drawer. “Okay,” she said, but it wasn’t in agreement.

Clenching his jaw, he went back into the duffel bag and found the three silver bullets he’d brought with him and put one on the floor just inside the doorway. He absently wiped a line of blood off his arm where it was seeping from under his bandage.

“Sam…” Jess began, looking at the arm again.

“Is that a silver bullet?” Steve asked, and he looked for all the world like a twelve-year-old. “That’s awesome. You should hunt werewolves.”

“They’re trickier because you have to wait for full moon,” Sam answered.

“Dude, there are werewolves?”

---

Steve and Jess were both asleep, one in each bed, by the time Sam’s phone rang. The ringing didn’t wake them, but his voice did when he answered.

“Which one’s your room?” Dean asked without prelude.

Sam didn’t ask how they knew which building it was. “Second floor,” he said. “Second door on the left.”

“I’m coming up.”

Steve rolled onto his side and blinked at him. “He doesn’t have the building key,” he pointed out.

Sam felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Dean’s footsteps were quiet, but Sam was listening for them and heard them anyway. He turned the lock and stepped back, flipping the safety on a handgun and checking for the knife on the table beside him.

“Sam?” Jess asked, frowning, and he hoped she wasn’t planning that freak-out now. “What are you doing? I thought you said it was your brother.”

“Precaution,” he said shortly. “Stay back.” Exchanging a look, Jess and Steve stood and took places behind Sam.

“You okay?” she whispered, and he felt a little burst of pride at how she was handling all this. She would have made a good hunter.

He squashed that thought brutally. Not every good hunter stayed a living one for long.

“I’m fine,” he replied tersely. The adrenaline was back; he’d last a while yet.

The footsteps stopped, and there were three sharp knocks. “Sam?” said the voice on the other side, and Sam had to lean back against the wall to stop his legs from giving out. “You in there?”

“The door’s unlocked,” he called back, and the door opened.

“Why the fuck is it unlocked?” Dean grumbled, then raised his eyebrows when he found himself looking into the barrel of a gun. “Whoa. Well, it’s good to see you too, bitch.”

The words were so Dean that Sam actually lowered the gun a few inches. “Dean?”

“You see a face this pretty anywhere else?”

Yeah, actually, Sam thought. That’s the whole problem. “Where’s Dad?” he asked instead, suspicious again. Dean was alone. Shapeshifters could only turn into one person at a time.

Coldness washed over him as he realized he might have just given a shifter directions to his room.

Dean stared at him. “You spent half your life fighting with the man and now you—”

“Answer the question!” He raised the gun again.

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean said, his voice now wary, harder. “Take it easy. You said the shifter found you outside of the church. Dad just went to take care of the body.”

Sam fought the urge to slap a hand to his forehead (which he didn’t do because Dean would never let it go if he pistol-whipped himself). He should have thought of the body, and it did sound like something his dad would do. Instead, he licked his lips and tried to think of something else to say.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, sounding suspicious himself and more than a little annoyed, then said, “Christo.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I’m not possessed, Dean.”

“Yeah? Well, neither’m I. Look, man, I know it’s been a long night, but…” He quirked a grin. “Want a password? I could tell them the story about that chick who stalked you through half of your junior year—”

“Pick up the bullet, Dean,” Sam interrupted, too tired even to be embarrassed. Wanting this to be over with so he could let himself collapse and let Dean take care of the rest.

“The what?” Sam flicked his eyes toward his brother’s feet, which was all the cue Dean needed to look down and see slug sitting on the floor. “What the hell?” Keeping his eyes on Sam, Dean lowered himself slowly into a crouch and picked it up. “What—is this a silver bullet, Sam?”

Sam saw the moment understanding dawned. “You think I’m a shapeshifter.” The annoyance had left his face.

Sam looked at the fist holding the bullet, shifting on his feet. “Have to make sure,” he said, feeling like it was the fucking theme of the night. “Show me your hand.”

Dean stepped into the room and started moving toward them. Sam felt Jessica press against him and shiver, and an image of Dean’s face leering above him flashed before his eyes. “Stay there!” he barked.

Dean froze immediately. He dropped the bullet and raised the open hand so that Sam could see it. “See? No burns, no blisters, not even a rash. It’s really me, Sammy.”

Sam closed his eyes and dropped the hand holding the gun, thumb flicking the safety back into place. “God, Dean…” he said, then stopped because he couldn’t think of anything else.

Dean took another few steps forward but kept his distance, looking uncomfortable. “So. Long time no see.”

Sam’s vision chose that moment to blur, and even though Steve and Jess were already there, Dean still reached him first and caught him when he swayed, easing him down to sit against the wall. “Whoa, there,” he said. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Hay is for horses,” he muttered (wow, that was weak), raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and shaking his head to clear his vision.

He found his wrist caught fast, though, and squinted up to see Dean staring at the bandage. “Sam? What’s this? You said over the phone you weren’t hurt.” Dean’s voice was pissed again, so Sam knew he was worried.

“No I didn’t,” he returned, although that conversation had been so foggy with relief (okay, maybe a little shock) that he might have actually said that. “I couldn’t stitch it myself—”

“Dammit, Sam! You idiot—we taught you better than to hide stuff like this.”

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Sam retorted, his head clearing enough to give an answer.

His brother gently pulled off the makeshift bandage, which was saturated with blood, and squinted at the wound. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one trying to dye the carpet red.”

“Not this time,” Sam said quietly, making Dean look up at him sharply.

“You wanna say something?”

“Never mind.” Dean looked ready to argue, but stood instead and had opened the bottom drawer of Steve’s dresser before Steve spoke up for the first time.

“Uh, Sam’s is that one.” Dean looked at him as if he hadn’t seen him there before, even though Sam knew Dean must have seen every pertinent detail of the room as soon as the door had opened.

“Huh.”

Sam didn’t miss the meaningful glance Dean gave the other dresser, taking in the bed that went along with it and the fact that it was closer to the door. He raised his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugged, letting his eyes cut over to Steve. Dean dropped his gaze and nodded once in acknowledgement. Sam took the inside bed by default when it was just the two of them, but rules were different with a civilian.

Rules were different when they were apart.

“How’d you know where his kit was?” Steve asked when Dean returned carrying it.

“Because I’m an awesome brother,” came the flippant response. They always kept it in the bottom drawer—it would be pretty inconvenient for only one person to know where it was, in case he was the one who needed it. He frowned, then cupped Sam’s chin, pulling it to one side. Sam turned his head obligingly until Dean was satisfied that the bruise on his face wasn’t serious.

“You want something for the pain before I start?” Dean asked, quieter now, more serious. They always asked before patching each other up, because neither would ask for it otherwise, even though neither ever said yes.

And there was another reason today. “Dad’s coming,” Sam said in response.

Dean paused, then went on threading a needle. “Yeah, okay, you probably don’t want to be high when you talk to him.”

Even that dread, however, wasn’t enough to distract him from his brother sewing up his arm.

After the first stitch, Dean peered into his face, cleared his throat, and said, “So it was a shapeshifter? How’d you know?”

Steve spoke up before Sam could say anything. “I think it had something to do with it ripping of its face.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, that’ll do it. Uh, these your friends, Sammy?”

It wasn’t until then that Sam realized how this whole scene must look to his fellow students. “Uh, yeah. Guys, my brother Dean.” Like they hadn’t figured it out already. “Dean, Steven Grussing and…ngh…Jessica Moore.”

Dean’s eyes barely flicked up to them. “This is from a knife,” he said, a statement rather than a question. Sam didn’t answer. “You can’t do shit like this, Sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you keel over.”

“Sorry,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Whatever,” Dean said, but Sam reached over and wrapped his good hand around his brother’s wrist to stop him.

“No, Dean, listen. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw worked before he firmly pulled Sam’s hand away. “I’m not gonna have a chick-flick moment with you right now. Your logic ain’t logical even when you’re not half-asleep.” He caught Sam’s gaze and tilted his head almost imperceptibly toward the other two in the room.

Sam sighed but agreed, “Okay.” The words were familiar, but the distance gaping between them was not, and he didn’t stop staring at Dean.

“Dude, stop staring at me.”

“Fine.” Then, tentatively, “Jerk.”

Not even a beat passed before Dean threw back, “Bitch.”

Laughing breathily with relief, Sam finally leaned his head back and closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Dean had given up trying to make him talk, which was good, because Sam was too tired to try to follow. There was murmuring beyond his closed eyes, though, which he listened to with half an ear.

“Anything else wrong with him?”

“He got thrown around a little, but I think it’s just a lot of bruises. He’ll be okay?”

“Just lost a little much blood, probably. He’ll sleep it off.”

Sleeping made Sam think of dreaming, and he pried his eyes open. “Dean?” His arm was throbbing and his jaw aching from tension, but there was a clean, neater dressing on his forearm.

The conversation stopped, and Sam felt an arm supporting him to his feet. “Come on, Sasquatch. Bedtime.”

“Dean, shapeshifters…do they get your thoughts, too? When they change. They know everything you knew?”

“Yeah, Sam, apparently. But it’s complica—”

“Okay.”

Dean sighed. “You’re not gonna listen to me right now, are you?” Part of Sam wanted to flinch at the words, so much like what the shapeshifter had said, while another part basked in the warm exasperation in the tone. Mostly he just blinked. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk about this when you wake up.”

Sam sat down on the edge of his bed. “We’ll talk?”

“Yes, you girl, I’ll let you get all emo on me. When you wake up.”

“I should wait for Dad.”

“I’ll handle Dad. Seriously, Sam, I got this one. Get some sleep.” A calloused hand brushed his hair, wet from sweat and melted snow.

Sam thought he should be a little bothered that he felt more normal now than he had in months, but lying in bed with the familiar sounds of Dean moving around the room, he felt too safe to care.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 4