Chapter Text
July 15th, 1999
4:22 AM - Monroeville, Alabama / Unidentified Location
Sam’s muscles tensed and twitched as spasming shivers ran from the surface of his ribs to the tips of his fingers and toes. Thighs pressed close against his shaking chest, he tried to rub his calves together to generate heat, worried that soon, he wouldn’t be able to feel anything.
The light from the only door’s window dimmed, a shadow leering behind the warped yellow glass. There were murmured words, and then a gargling cough of machinery. They had turned the AC down again. Sam pressed his fingernails into his arms, huffing into his elbow as frigid air began to circulate the room once more.
He didn’t have the strength or will to raise his head as the door opened, metal hinges screeching at one another, a hellish melody to the drumbeat of heavy footsteps echoing across the room. His eyes flickered upward as far as they could, staring through the dripping strands of hair at the shadow that watched him.
The shadow kneeled, the heavy coat he had put on to enter the room draping across the floor and the tops of Sam’s feet. Even as Sam analyzed his captor, he was relieved to know he hadn’t gotten frostbite yet.
“What,” The shadow said, voice calm and almost sultry. “Don’t you enjoy a break from all that heat?”
There was muffled laughter from behind the door, loud enough to break through the steady drone of the AC unit and what Sam assumed had to be at least a couple inches of steel, and yet the shadow ignored it. Instead, he put a finger under Sam’s chin, dragging his head up by the jaw until they were staring into one another’s eyes.
“Who are you, why am I here?” Sam managed to hiss out through clenched teeth, his body almost completely locked up with cold.
The shadow just smiled, searching Sam’s face and body with his eyes, as if he were a piece of choice meat at a deli, and he was deciding how exactly he wanted him cut.
“Oh Sam,” He whispered, leaning down so close to his ear that Sam could feel the rough stubble of his upper lip brush against it. “Didn’t I already tell you? I’m a big fan of yours. And of your fathers’.”
Sam fought hard to repress the tremble that threatened to move him, terrified of both what the shadow would think, and moving closer to him.
“As to your second question,” He said, his voice at the same volume even as he pulled away, standing to his full, impressive height.
“You’re here to die.”
July 13th, 1999
8:09 PM - Alabama State Road 41 / Just outside Monroeville
“So, how many dead as of yesterday?” John asked, eyes never leaving the road even as he addressed the young man sitting shotgun.
Dean had pulled out their laptop, a heavy thing which had mostly been Sam’s responsibility ever since they maxxed out a credit card to buy it. It was his responsibility because out of all the Winchesters, the 16-year-old was the only one who was able to figure out how to use it. He had saved files onto it the previous night when they were preparing for this hunt. Newspaper articles, obituaries, and police reports from Monroeville, where they were headed.
Sam pressed his cheek against the cool glass of the backseat window and shut his eyes, allowing the grumbling vibration of the car’s engine to drown out the front seat conversation as much as possible. Still, he wasn’t asleep and his father and brother weren’t known for speaking quietly.
“According to the obits, four. Those are only the strange ones though. There are seven if you want to count a car accident.”
“The strange ones, what do you have on CoD?”
“Uh, cause of death… the police said muggings for all four. Not much information though, I don’t have the coroner’s report.”
“I thought he said he could get everything we needed onto that thing. The whole reason I wasted a perfectly good card on it was so we didn’t have to break into the precinct.”
“Sammy did his best Dad. I mean, I doubt they would have that sort of stuff on the web anyway.”
John mumbled something under his breath that Sam couldn’t make out from his position behind them, but from Dean’s reaction it probably wasn’t anything nice. There were a few beats of silence. The tape that John had put in earlier on in the drive had ended almost an hour ago, and he would never stoop to turning on the radio.
“What do you think it is then?” Dean asked, voice quieter than before, eyes glued to the screen, no longer looking up at John.
“Well I can’t know for sure, can I?”
“But you have an idea?”
“Yeah, Dean. I have a few.”
More silence. Sam realized that if he leaned far enough back into his seat he could feel the press and pull of the Impala’s tires as they rolled over imperfections in the asphalt, her frame humming in content.
There was a huffed breath. Dean must’ve been silently pleading to be kept in the loop, a carefully constructed combination of sighing, fidgeting and a persistent tapping of fingers against glass. The very ‘Dean’ way of saying, ‘I don’t even care. I don’t need to know anything. Whatever. Hope I don’t die on this hunt since I don’t know what I’m going up against’.
His brother always knew how to get to his dad. Knew what movements, what attitudes opened him up without saying a word. Sam’s biggest fault was that his first instinct was to say what he was trying to say, a habit that never ceased to anger and annoy his father.
“I’m going to see if the victims were exsanguinated.”
“If they were drained of blood? Why?”
“The way these people died, it lines up with patterns I’ve read about. I called Caleb yesterday and he agrees with me. We think it’s vampires.”
“Vampires? You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little bit. All the victims were attacked at night in secluded spots. None of them called the police, none of them survived. While I can’t be certain right now, I have a good feeling I’m right.”
“Ok, how do you kill ‘em?”
“No.”
“Dad…”
“I said no Dean. You and your brother aren’t coming with me. I’m going to confirm what I already know, and then I’m going to hunt it down. You and Sam are going to stay in the motel.”
“Come on Dad, you can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious. Just because you’re an adult now doesn’t mean you can go off risking your life every week.”
“You mean like you?”
Sam’s breath hitched in his throat and he hoped that the noise of the engine covered it up enough so they didn’t notice. They had had this conversation before, and Sam had never been a part of it. It was the one thing Dean and his father didn’t agree on, the only argument they ever had.
“Dean,” John muttered into the darkness, lit only by the steady waver of their headlights, endless wilderness broken every few minutes by a sign glowing stark against the quiet trees. The world was sleeping around them. “You know why it’s different.”
“Do I? Dad, I’m twenty years old. I’ve been killing things since I was eight. Why do you still not trust me?”
“This isn’t about trust.”
“What then? Why are you still treating me like a child?”
“It’s not about you. I’m doing this for Sam.”
There was a beat. Though his eyes were shut in the illusion of sleep, Sam could almost feel the eyes on him. Dean, twisting around in his seat so the leather groaned. His dad, shooting furrowed glances through the rearview mirror.
“You’re an adult now, but he’s only sixteen. He could live without me, but not without both of us.”
“You could take him along too, ya know.”
“He doesn’t want to go.” There was a loaded sigh, the creak of movement as he shifted, focus back on the road ahead. “I’ve done my best, but I can’t please you both without risking everything. Sam’s still just a kid, and clearly, he can’t handle this yet. It’s your job to take care of him until he is.”
Even as Dean lapsed into soundlessness, lost in thought, Sam’s hands curled into tight fists over his legs. He fumed, boiling under the surface as he felt each hot breath bounce back at him from the chilled glass and metal. There was a single, fevered thought that paced back and forth in his mind as they drove on through the night.
I thought that was your job.
July 14th, 1999
2:38 PM - Monroeville, Alabama / Royal Inn, Room 117
There was a heat that seeped through the cracks of the room, persistent and unperturbed by the aging grumble of the AC unit that hung like a piece of cheap plastic jewelry under the motel window.
It was a nicer place then Sam would’ve expected, their usual haunts exclusive to mainly pay by hour dives that fed on the catch of truck stops off the highway. This motel was in the middle of town, sprawling yet mostly empty parking lot opened wide to the quaint four-lane mainstreet. Their dad had wanted them close to where he was, that much Sam knew for certain. He had left first thing in the morning, dressed to the nines in the best suit hustled cash could buy. Sam had watched as the Impala pulled away, it’s dated form blending in with the other small town cars, but it’s rumble cracking like a whip through the silent swelter that prevailed throughout the air.
There was a snap of static followed by the buzzing chirp of televised voices, and Sam turned to see Dean taking up all the room on the small couch-like thing that was placed in front of the T.V.
“What’re you doing?”
“Filling time Sammy. Dad said to stay alert and entertain ourselves, so that’s what I’m doing.” He must’ve felt the eye roll Sam sent at his back, because he didn’t turn before saying, “Stop judging me stinkface. We don’t have to research, all the weapons are as clean as they’ll ever be, we just ate, and it’s too damn hot out to do any exploring.”
Sam sighed, walking from where he stood by the window to the couch, where he plopped besides his brother, the bumpy material giving only slightly under his weight.
“So Dad finds something in southern Alabama in the middle of summer, and instead of us getting to do anything, he sticks us in the motel to what? Sweat and sit watching T.V. till he gets back?”
“Yeah!” Dean said, his mouth cocked in a laid back grin. “And in a few hours, your favorite will even be on. You still like Jeopardy, right?”
Sam groaned, pressing his back into the scratchy coverlet. “Do you even know when he’ll be back? Did he tell you where he was going before he left? Do you have any idea how long we’ll have to stay here?”
“See, this is why you’d be great at Jeopardy. Always with the questions.”
“I hate you.” Sam said, trying to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching up to match his brother as he punched Dean lightly on the shoulder.
“Bitch.” Dean said, flicking him off while putting his feet up on the small table in front of them.
“Jerk.” Sam responded, knocking said feet off by kicking Dean in the shin. “Didn’t you ever learn to keep your shoes off of furniture?”
“Well it ain’t my furniture so I really couldn’t care less.”
Sam turned back to the T.V. and sighed. He wasn’t really paying attention to the screen, instead playing a game in his mind where he tried to fill it with nothing but white noise and see how long he could make it without having a thought in words. He hadn’t made it past ten seconds when Dean spoke again, his voice soft without the joking tone from earlier.
“Dad told me he was heading to the police station and coroner’s office for information. He said he’d come back tonight so he could get some rest before actually hunting the thing. All he took was his Taurus, he wouldn’t go up against it with just that.”
Sam looked at Dean. Though his brother’s eyes were fixed on the T.V., he could tell he hadn’t been watching either. No matter how much either of them pretended to be nonchalant when their dad was out, there was always this gnawing pit behind their hearts, a pre-ache that whispered it was there just in case… just in case this time their dad didn’t come back.
He leaned to the side until his shoulder and head rested against his brother, breathing in the scent of leather and cheap cologne and that hint of beer he had made Sam promise to hide from dad.
Resting on that couch with Dean, Sam wondered if this was home. Not some two-story house with a fenced in yard and a dog, not a dining room table or a bedroom with poster-covered walls, but a person. Someone who he knew would always be there, even if he couldn’t count on anything else. He sighed, closing his eyes and planning on sleeping on Dean until either he was shoved off or his dad came home.
Six Hours Later
Sam was woken up by someone shaking his shoulders lightly. It took him a moment to realize it was Dean, his brother muttering something too soft to hear.
“Dean?” He slurred, eyes refusing to focus through the haze of sleep that clung to them. “What’s happening?”
“Dad’s home. He needs help packing so he can head out.”
Sam sat up, pushing off a blanket and swinging his feet so they made contact with the floor. Dean must’ve put me in bed after I fell asleep , he thought, before rubbing his eyes and clearing his throat. Winchesters had to be able to wake up and get going quickly, but if anything he felt more tired than he had been before he went to sleep.
“Sam,” Came his father’s impatient grumble. “It isn’t naptime. This thing only comes out at night and lives will be on our hands if we don’t catch it.”
“Yessir.”
He resisted the urge to snap back with attitude. What did his dad expect? For him to not sleep when stuck in a hot motel room after being on the road for days? Sam let the back of his mind gripe as he went over to the other bed, it’s surface covered in all kinds of weaponry. He let his hands work mindlessly, grabbing and placing items into the open duffel as his father listed them off.
“Machete, sawed-off, the silver knife - no, not that one…”
Dean left, closing the door quietly behind him. John must’ve asked him to fill the car up with gas or organize the hidden trunk compartment so that the bag Sam was currently stuffing would fit.
He had filled and zipped the bag before his mind got fully online, and realized what exactly he was doing.
“Wait, you’re leaving to kill it now ?”
John didn’t respond, instead slinging the bag over his shoulder with one hand and pocketing an extra knife with the other. Sam took his silence for what it meant.
“What about the research? Do you know where to find it, how to kill it, how it’ll try and kill you?” He did his best to keep that gnawing ache from showing in his voice. It was a weakness, and his dad didn’t tolerate weaknesses.
“It’s already killed four people, I’m not gonna take the chance of another dying while I wait around like a coward.”
“That’s not what I’m...”
“Enough, Sam!”
John threw the bag back on the bed and Sam winced, shrunken under his father’s words. Dean came back inside, quiet as ever, and stood behind John as he fumed over his youngest son.
“I’m sick and tired of you questioning me, you hear? This is why I can’t bring you on these types of hunts. All you want to do is sit and wait and think. Well guess what, there’s more at stake here!”
“I just wanna know you’re safe!” Sam yelled back, hating how his voice was a high-pitched warble compared to John’s forceful bark. Talking back was always a bad idea, but he just couldn’t keep it in. His dad didn’t seem to care whether or not he died, whether or not he and Dean were left alone. He wanted to grab his face and scream at him, what kind of dad are you?!
His question was answered with a sharp snap. Sam felt his head jerk to the right, cheek stinging from the impact with his father’s hand. The corners of his eyes pricked, and a single tear of pain rolled down to his chin.
But then Dean was there, like he always was, in between John and Sam with his hands raised, like he was trying to tame a wild horse. Their dad might’ve been one after all. A proud mustang, strong and heedless and determined.
“He’s just worried about you dad. He understands what’s at stake, he didn’t mean it like that. Of course he knows why you have to go...”
Excuses, apologies, things Sam should be saying, would be saying if he wasn’t so stubborn, so angry, so scared. But Dean would say them, the only one who could say them. He was Sam’s one defender, the only one who could read both his and John’s minds, the one who always knew what to say. Dean was the good son. Sam was worthless.
They broke apart, John heading to the front door to leave, Sam heading to the back door to breathe. The motel room was unique in another way, it had a back door. There wasn’t much behind the actual motel, just more empty parking lot, but Sam just needed to be out .
He headed out into the night, staying close to the hazy yellow buzz of the street lamps that dotted the barren asphalt. Breathing in deep, he thanked whatever powers-that-be that the setting of the sun had taken the overbearing heat of the day with it. However the humidity in the air remained, and every time he breathed in, it felt like he was drinking.
He sat on the curb, unwilling or unable to go back inside even after his father left. There was a hollow feeling in his chest, a pounding empty that seemed to mock him endlessly. He couldn’t face Dean, not after he had fought with John and made Dean clean up their mess. Again.
Thirty minutes passed before Dean came out. Sam could hear the squeak of the door, but not footsteps. Dean wasn’t joining him on the curb then.
“I’m going out,” He called, voice ringing in the still air. “Heading to whatever the nearest bar is.”
There was a short pause.
“Don’t tell dad I went drinking.”
He waited for a few more seconds, and then he heard the door shut. Sam sighed, stretching out his legs so the heels of his sneakers scraped against the ground, kicking up gravel.
They would finish this hunt, they would speak the bare minimum of words to each other, and then eventually him and his dad would fight again. The endless cycle of the Winchesters, with Dean smack dab in the middle. Sam hated doing this to his brother, hated how he didn’t know how to stop it. All he knew was that it was his life, the life of a hunter. And he sucked at it.
A part of him had always said, ever since he held his first gun, that it was wrong, that he was bad at this. That when it came to hunting, to his family, he was absolutely worthless. He was a burden to them, and he would never be good enough for his dad.
Standing to go inside, he was confused for a moment by a shadow that had covered the light that was behind him. Something hard and cold cracked against the back of his head. There was a sharp keening sound, like warped laughter, his eyelids fluttered, and then he knew nothing else.