April 29, 2006
We all have things in our pasts that have gotten the better of us. Things that have torn holes in our souls and left festering wounds that never completely healed. Losing battles is what makes us stronger, teaching us what we have yet to learn. So we study, and we train, and we hunt them again. Facing those things and ultimately conquering them? That’s the only way to become whole again.
With the way Sam left the table I figured he wasn’t feeling too good about the decision to go back to Red Moon, but it was the right thing to do. For him and for the people there. Even if he didn’t realize it himself yet, there was no way that this thing would get the better of him again. If he thought about it a minute, he’d realize that it had preyed on his youth, relative inexperience, and smaller size. I mean, sure, it was strong. Even at not-quite thirteen, Sammy had been a tough, well-trained combatant, and he’d beat it back then. It was a close call; much closer than I’d like to remember, but Sam was still alive to prove that he had beat it. And now, ten years older, wiser, bigger, and stronger, Sam was definitely a more formidable foe.
And of course this time he’d have his big brother at his side.
The thing didn’t have a chance.
We had another advantage, too. And that’s that we knew what to expect. At least Sam did. The trick would be getting him to not only remember every little detail that he could, but to get him to fill me in on it.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he was too keen on doing that. I glanced guiltily at the restroom door and hesitated, wanting to give Sam a few minutes to get himself together without me pestering him. Besides, it wouldn’t do any good to go in there and make a big deal out of it. What would I really do anyway say stupid shit like ‘it’ll be okay’ and that crap? I was sure it would be okay, of course, but like Sam would buy it? My going in there would just embarrass us both.
Still, we really needed to get a move on if we were going to get to Red Moon by nightfall. Especially if we did stop off in Dalton to do our research. It would probably be better if we could hit the Red Moon library, but I didn’t want to push Sam unless it became necessary.
I gave Sam another minute before I gathered our stuff and headed back to find him.
I winced as I discovered that he was on the floor of one of the toilet stalls, most likely the result of praying to the Porcelain Gods. My feeling of guilt doubled and I really wanted to tell Sammy to forget it, that we’d tell Dad he’d have to handle this one on his own.
But I didn’t.
If Sammy wasn’t there when we took this thing down, it would eat at him for the rest of his life: the demon that defeated him. I knew Sam wasn’t a coward, but I also knew that if he didn’t face up to this thing, he’d probably end up feeling like one.
I stayed in the doorway, stepping back slightly so that he wouldn’t see me. No point in embarrassing him. This time. “Sammy? What happen? You fall in?” I called, pretending that I had no idea what was taking him so long. Okay so maybe the moment called for a little bit of embarrassment. I heard him quickly scrambling to get up, hoping, no doubt, that I hadn’t witnessed anything.
“No,” he snorted weakly. “Just…bad hamburger,” he added, his voice a little shaky even as he pretended to be perfectly fine. I knew better, but smiled slightly at his attempt to cover his fear.
“Okay then. I’ll wait for you in the car,” I informed him, hesitating for another moment, wanting to comfort him somehow, but not really sure how to do so. So I did the next best thing. “Don’t forget to flush.”
Even though his face was completely out of my vision, I could see him scowling at me and smirked as I let the door swing shut to the sound of, “Fuck off, wiseass.”
It took Sam a couple minutes to wash up and catch up to me. I tactfully ignored the fact he was sucking on a peppermint. I’d have to make a point to “need” to stop at the next rest stop so he could have a chance to get out the ole mouth wash.
I figured I should probably wait for a while before I started asking him questions about the thing we’d be facing. I didn’t want him getting sick again. I watched him from the corner of my eye, pretending not to notice the way he was sullenly staring out the window, avoiding me. He had to know I was going to start asking about it. Not that I wanted to, but I needed to.
“There’s a library in Dalton. I figure we’ll stop there,” I casually broached the subject of researching. I saw Sam’s reflection nodding slightly. Oh yeah, this was going to be easy, I thought sarcastically. I wanted to spare him the interrogation, but it didn’t look like he was going to be offering up information willingly. “We’ll maybe start checking back every ten years or so an see if we can find a pattern of any sort,” I continued plotting out loud, though I may as well have been talking to myself for the way Sam was paying attention. “Maybe there’s a pattern, you know. It’s been about ten years since you…since we were there.” I watched him carefully, hoping to get a reaction when I mentioned his involvement in the last time.
For a minute I didn’t think I would get one, but then finally Sam turned slightly away from the window. “You don’t think it’s been…” he started to ask something, but stopped short, returning his gaze out the window.
Crap.
“What’s that?” I prompted, pretending to not notice how much he didn’t want to ask whatever it was.
Sam sighed and looked down at his lap for a moment before speaking again. “You don’t think it’s been…active since then?” he asked, looking up at me for the first time since we’d left the diner. If I never saw the expression he was giving me on his face again, it would be too soon. It was a pathetic mixture of guilt, hope, shame, and more than a little self-loathing.
Aw, Sammy…you were just a kid, I wanted to tell him. But I knew that wouldn’t help him any. Neither would the answer to his question. I had no idea. I didn’t know what it was we were looking for. I just knew that the timing now was ten years almost to the exact date of when Sammy’d been attacked. That made it seem to me like it was a time-based pattern, but I couldn’t be sure until we knew what we were up against. “We probably would have had to go back there sooner if it had been,” I answered carefully.
Sam nodded, accepting my answer. I saw his shoulders relax ever so slightly, a weight at least temporarily lifted. For his sake, I hoped that my theory was correct. If he found out this thing had hurt others…he’d probably be anal enough to blame himself forever.
We drove the next hundred miles in near silence. I couldn’t figure out how to force him to start talking about what had happened, especially when I saw what this trip was already doing to him. The closer we got to Red moon, the more nervous he became. By the time we saw the first mile sign listing, he was really starting to fidget, his leg bouncing at an alarming rate. Whatever this thing was, it clearly still had a big effect on him. Id’ never seen him react this way to anything, and it was more than a little disconcerting.
“Need a pit stop?” I asked, knowing that his dance in the passenger seat had nothing to do with needing to piss, but hoping to get him to admit it. That would give me a perfect “in” to start prying the information out of him.
But he was stubborn and shook his head, keeping his trap shut.
I sighed. Fine. We’d play it his way. For now. “Okay, the library in Dalton might have some of the news for Red Moon…”
“But we’d be better off going on into town,” Sam quietly finished for me. “There we’d have the local paper archives. We’d be more likely to get complete information,” he explained unnecessarily. I looked at him pointedly, silently asking if it was okay. He looked warily back at me for a moment then nodded. “We’d be wasting time in Dalton. I’ll be fine.”
“Good boy.”
He scowled at me and muttered something about not being a dog.
“That’s debatable,” I shot back with a smug grin.
He rolled his eyes, but I was pleased to see the corners of his mouth curve up slightly.
Still his fidgeting got worse and worse the closer we got to our destination. I started seriously worrying if he was truly going to be able to handle this job. I could see sweat breaking out on his brow and hear catches in his breath. What the hell had this thing done to him? “Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah?” he asked tensely, his face unnaturally pale.
“You want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours before it explodes all over my car?”
He glanced at me and gave me a weak scowl. “I…I’m okay.”
“Who you trying to convince?”
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out. I could see him forcing himself to still, though I could also see his hand clenching into a fist so tight that his knuckles turned white. “Happy?”
No. I wasn’t. “Look, Sam, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but…I think you’re going to have to.”
Sam turned once again toward the window. “Talk about what?” he played stupid.
I rolled my eyes. “About the price of tacos in Spain.” He looked at me, a bemused expression on his face. “What do you think ‘about what’?”
He shook his head. “Nothing to talk about.”
“Right. And that’s why you lost your lunch earlier.” His eyes widened. Yeah, big brothers ain’t so dumb as you think. “And why you’re practically doing a tango over in your seat there…” For a few moments Sam didn’t say anything.
“More like the fox trot,” he finally said, avoiding the question altogether.
“Sam…”
“I know, Dean. I do…I just…there really isn’t anything to tell. I don’t remember much about it.”
Much? Mmhmm. Gotcha. “Well…what do you remember?” I prompted.
If possible, Sam’s face lost even more color, but he didn’t say anything.
I considered prompting him again, but felt guilty about pushing when it so clearly upset him. We’d let it drop for now. But if we didn’t find something substantial in our research, I’d have to press the issue. I knew what dad would say about my decision to temporarily drop it, and I knew he was right. If it were anyone but Sammy, I would be questioning away and not taking ‘no answer’ for an answer. I knew I shouldn’t make exceptions, but Sam was my weak spot.
A minute later, Sam surprised me by starting the conversation himself, “I never saw it coming.”
“What’s that?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What happened in Red Moon. I…I just didn’t see it coming.”
I glanced at him sideways, concerned by his demeanor. “Well, you weren’t having that weird whammyvision of yours back then, were you?” I asked carefully.
Sam shook his head. “No…but…” I could tell he wasn’t convinced.
“So how were you supposed to see it coming?” I tried again, not understanding why he was being quite so hard on himself about this. “You don’t expect some demon thing to attack you in school. And you don’t expect it to try and make you slit your wrists.”
Sam’s face grew even more pale and I noticed his fingers trailing absently over the barely visible scars on his left arm. I very nearly crashed the car at his next words. “It didn’t.” He said them so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. But I did. And for a moment I forgot I was driving and twisted in my seat to stare at him. His eyes widened and there was nothing quiet about it when he yelled, “Dean, look out!”
I looked up and realized that I’d just veered into the wrong lane and there was a semi blaring its horn at me. I recovered as quickly as I could, swerving back into the correct lane and righting the car before slowing and pulling off the side of the road just past the 1 Mile to Red Moon sign.
I took a few breaths and could hear Sam’s erratic breathing, too, as we just sat for a moment, collecting ourselves from the close call.
“What do you mean ‘it didn’t’?” I asked as soon as I could think clearly again. Sam looked away from me, but I could still see his reflection in the window. “Sammy?”
“Don’t call me that…not here,” he whispered and I felt goosebumps rising on my flesh as I sensed just how important this was to him. Something was terribly wrong. As many times as he’d corrected me, I’d never really gotten the impression that it bothered him *that* much to be called Sammy. It annoyed him, of course, but this time was different. This time there was an urgency to it.
“Sam?” When he still didn’t respond, I tried asking the question again. “You said that ‘it didn’t’. It didn’t what, Sam?”
He took a deep breath before responding. “It didn’t make me slice my wrists.”
I shook my head. “No, Sam. It did. I was there. I saw it.”
He looked over at me and the haunted look in his eyes froze me to the core. He shook his head slightly.
“Sam, you asked for help. It was forcing you off the ledge and you asked me to help you. You didn’t—“
“No!” Sam cut me off. “Dean, what you saw…” His eyes squeezed shut and I could see him swallowing hard. “It was trying to take me.” I nodded, raising my eyebrow pointedly. “I couldn’t stop it…”
“You did, Samm…Sam,” I assured him, but he only shook his head and I was startled to notice a stray tear escaping down his cheek. “You fought it.”
Sam let out a sharp laugh, though his face showed no trace of humor. “I couldn’t stop him,” he choked out and the blood ran cold in my veins. Him? I started to shake my head, really not liking the sound of this. “I f-fought but…hh-it caught me off guard.”
“I know,” I soothed, not sure what else to do. I felt so helpless watching Sam struggle with whatever had happened. I started to reach out to…I don’t know…hug him or something, but the way he tensed, as my hand drew close to him, caused me to draw back. “Sam, it’s okay. You…did good.”
Again Sam laughed humorlessly. “You don’t understand, Dean.”
“Make me understand,” I pressed, not sure I wanted to hear him, but needing to.
“It didn’t make me slit my wrists. I…” He stopped and for a few moments I thought I was going to have to prompt him again, but then he continued. “It was trying to take me and I couldn’t l-let it. I didn’t want to die…b-but I thought i-if I was…I don’t know…b-broken? Damaged. If I w-wasn’t perfect anymore then m-maybe he wouldn’t want m-me.”
Fuck. Sammy…Any other time, I would probably have teased him about calling himself perfect, but I had the feeling that he wasn’t the one who’d deemed himself that. And much as I wanted to break the tension, I knew he needed to get this out. He’d held it in for far too long.
“I did that, Dean…I-it was the only way.”
I nodded, but couldn’t make myself speak just yet
“I didn’t beat it. I…I didn’t.”
I shook my head vehemently. “No. You did, Sam. You beat it. You did what you had to do to get away,” I assured him, my voice raw. “You weren’t given any options; it would have taken you,” I fed off his story. Damn but I needed to know what the hell this thing was and what exactly it had done to him to make him think that slicing his own wrists was the best option for survival. And why now, even years later, it could reduce him to stuttering in fear. And why hadn’t he told us this years ago? Why had he felt it necessary to hide it? “What was it…do you know?”
Sam shook his head. “But it’s still here,” he whispered. “I can feel it…”
And somehow, in that moment, I could, too.
***
Author's Chapter Notes:
Once again, thank you so much to everyone who?s taken the time to review. I really appreciate it, and it really keeps me motivated to keep writing even when the writer?s block beast attacks (hmm?now there?s a beast for the guys to take on sometime?eh.)
