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Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.
Dean was gone.
Sam had to get him back.
The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.
That pact was lie.
Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.
During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.
The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.
But now Dean was gone.
Not dead, not possessed, just gone.
The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.
His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.
(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)
X
Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.
He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.
Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.
But Sam was alone.
(For now.)
He had to keep looking.
X
After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.
“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.
Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.
“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.
The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.
(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)
Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.
X
Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.
The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.
“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.
He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.
Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.
Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.
After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.
“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?
“Sam Winchester?”
Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.
He did neither of those things.
“Kevin? Is that you?”
A sob rang from the other end of the line.
“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“
“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”
“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“
“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”
He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.
Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.
Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.
X
Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.
When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.
“Hey, Kev-“
Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.
“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.
“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.
Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.
“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”
Kevin stared at the black ink.
“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”
For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.
“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”
Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.
“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.
“Okay. Then we keep moving.”
Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.
(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)
Sam wished he could say the same.
X
After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.
“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.
“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”
“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”
Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.
“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.
“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”
The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.
“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.
Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”
And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.
“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”
Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”
He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.
X
Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.
Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.
“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”
Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.
“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“
“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.
He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.
“Christo, is that really you, kid?”
Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”
Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.
He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.
“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”
Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.
Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.
“Dean’s- he’s gone.”
(But he would be back.)
“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“
“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”
Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.
Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.
“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“
“Crowley?”
Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.
“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”
Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.
“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”
“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”
“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”
Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.
“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”
X
In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.
Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.
And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.
He wasn’t young and weak anymore.
(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)
Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.
“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”
(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)
Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.
“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.
Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.
“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”
(I consent.)
X
When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.
“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”
Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”
X
They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.
(Except this was reality.)
Kevin wasn’t any better.
He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.
After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.
“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”
“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”
Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.
(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)
X
Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.
(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)
Everybody left.
Sam should be used to it by now.
It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.
X
Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.
X
Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.
Then a witch in Utah.
A werewolf in Arizona.
Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-
And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.
Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”
X
Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.
Until he couldn’t.
The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.
Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.
(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)
But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.
And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.
X
They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.
“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”
They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.
“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.
The eyes of the pair widened.
Not good.
Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.
“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”
And then something curious happened.
The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.
Well, that was a first.
“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”
What.
Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.
“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”
“You are welcome?”
Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.
“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.
“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”
Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”
“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”
“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.
“Oh.”
The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”
X
Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.
Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.
“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”
Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.
When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.
“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”
The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.
“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.
They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.
(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.)
“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”
Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)
X
Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.
If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.
“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”
A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.
“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”
Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.
“Angels are real!?”
Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)
“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”
A lot.
“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”
“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.
Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.
“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.
When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.
X
What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.
(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)
At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.
Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.
He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).
Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.
“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”
Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.
At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.
They were healthy.
(They were alive.)
Sam could keep going.
X
Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.
The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.
That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.
Gregory: What?
Frederick: Hi Sam!!!
Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?
Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.
Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out.
X
Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.
Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.
Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.
X
Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.
The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.
“First one’s on the house,” she said.
“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.
(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)
“Just keep them going, please.”
Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.
Sam was tired.
His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.
What a fucking waste of space he was.
X
When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.
What did Sam have left?
(Nothing.)
He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.
X
The next day he hit a dog.
X
Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.
“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”
“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”
The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.
It couldn’t die.
It couldn’t die.
It couldn’t-
X
Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.
When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.
Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.
X
The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.
The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.
The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.
She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.
Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.
X
Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.
“Is this Sam Winchester?”
Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
The woman on the line sighed.
“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”
“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”
While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she
“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”
“No idea.”
Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.
“What and how does it kill then?”
“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”
Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.
“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”
Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?
“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”
Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.
“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”
Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”
He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?
(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)
X
Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.
He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.
Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”
“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”
Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.
“Well, want to hear what I found?”
“Yes, please.”
Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”
“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.
“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”
“You sure?”
“As sure as you can be with those things.”
Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”
“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”
Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.
“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”
“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”
Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”
X
A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.
“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”
“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.
“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”
Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.
“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”
“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.
“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.”
X
Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.
“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”
“I like our-“
Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”
“Sam!”
Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”
“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”
Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.
“Sam?”
People were relying on Sam.
“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”
Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.
X
Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.
The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.
Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).
“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”
Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.
“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”
Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.
Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.
“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.
When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.
Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.
“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”
The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.
X
“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.
They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.
If they still wanted to after this encounter.
Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.
“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”
“Alright. Directions?”
X
Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.
The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.
“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.
There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.
“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”
Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”
Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”
“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.
“No?”
“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”
“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”
Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”
X
In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.
The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.
“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”
“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”
Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”
(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)
“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”
“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”
Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.
And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”
X
The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.
X
After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)
Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.
He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.
And Gabriel has said “no”.
Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.
“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”
“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”
Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.
“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.
Sam shrugged. “Basically.”
“And non-basically?”
Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.
X
Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?
Gregory: It’s Greg
Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro
Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?
Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better
Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam
Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do
X
Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.
Another dead end.
After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).
Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.
Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.
Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.
(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)
But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.
X
“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”
Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”
“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.
Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.
“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”
“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.
Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”
Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“
Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”
“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”
Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.
But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.
Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”
X
It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.
Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.
It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.
X
Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.
He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.
He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.
When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.
X
Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-
Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.
Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.
And they were right in that assessment.
When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.
X
“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“
“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”
“-and the Park Rangers really-“
“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”
“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”
“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“
“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“
“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”
Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.
“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”
“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”
“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”
Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.
“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”
X
Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.
Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.
“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.
Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”
Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”
“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”
Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”
Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.
“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”
Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.
“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”
Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.
“Thanks, Mackey. I’ll give them a ring.”
X
When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.
It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.
Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.
X
Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.
And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.
Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.
From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.
“Irv! Good to see you.”
“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.
The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.
Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.
“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”
Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”
They left two days later.
“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.
Maybe she could start to heal properly now.
Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”
X
Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.
“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.
Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”
Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.
“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“
“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”
“But it’s not enough!”
Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.
Kevin was used to it, though.
They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.
“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”
“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.
Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)
X
Sam would never know.
Lazarus rose once more.
(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)