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“Man-eating rock? You’re joking, right?” Dean tosses aside the magazine he’d been leafing through and rolls off the bed, walking the few steps across the small motel room to look over Sam’s shoulder at the website he has up on the laptop screen. “This is a prank, getting back at me for telling Andrea Haskins how you used to suck your thumb, right?”
“Yeah, thanks so much for that, by the way.” Sam rolls his eyes as he snorts. “No, Dean, it’s right here. Five people disappeared on Glastenbury Mountain in Vermont, between 1945 and 1950. Three more have disappeared in the last three years. Dean, it’s fifty years exactly. The same thing is happening again.”
“Okay, disappearances, the timing - that I get. But... man-eating rock?”
“That’s one of the theories. The other…” Sam turns and looks up at his big brother, squinting a little as he gauges how much ribbing he’s in for when he says it. “...is a bigfoot.”
“Ha! Right. There’s no such thing!” Dean leans over further, reading the website, nudging Sam’s shoulder to push him aside a bit.
“I know that. But something is happening up there, and Dad would want us to look into it.” Sam crosses his arms as he leans to the side, letting Dean read.
“Alright, Sammy. I’ll call Dad and tell him we’re headed for Vermont. You call Uncle Bobby and see if he has any idea what this thing could actually be.”
***
Two days later, Sam and Dean are speeding along Route 9, on the verge of too fast for the curving mountain road, when Sam’s cell phone rings.
“Hey Uncle Bobby,” Sam says as he glances over at Dean, who turns down the radio so Sam can hear over the pounding rhythm of Zeppelin. “Really? That’s a thing?”
Sam’s eyes have grown wide as he listens, his gaze following the lines of trees as they pass.
“Yeah, okay. No, I’m pretty sure we’ve got a sledgehammer.” Dean turns his head quickly, confusion and shock taking over his expression. “Yes, sir. We’ll be careful. Promise. Thanks.”
Sam sighs as he ends the call, then looks over to his brother.
“Well? What’s Bobby think it is?” Dean darts his eyes over to Sam quickly, then back to the steep curve as he brakes into it.
“A rock troll.”
“A what?”
“He said they live in densely forested areas, hibernate for decades at a time, and look just like an ordinary rock unless they’re awake. They feed for a few years then go back to hibernating. It all fits.”
“Okay, and what’s with the sledgehammer?”
“He said that’s the best way to take it down - just gotta knock its head off, and since it’s made of rock a sledgehammer is the best way.”
“Well, alright then. Let’s go smash us a troll!” Dean grins as he turns the music back up and presses down on the accelerator, pushing the Impala faster along one of the few straight stretches of road.
***
“But Dean, Dad is gonna be pissed!” Sam hisses from the back of the Impala, his left leg propped up on the seat. They’d found the troll after three days, hiking the woods from morning till dusk, then retreating to their crappy motel back in Bennington, the closest town to the remote mountain, only to head back up the next day. They were both on the verge of exhaustion when they finally came across the large, lumbering beast, and it was fortunate that the thing couldn’t move very fast. They’d circled around the troll, each with a sledgehammer slung over their shoulder, and closed in on it. Dean had gotten in the first swing, clipping its shoulder and sending a spray of rock chunks and rubble through the air. But that just pissed the thing off, so when Sam took his shot, the monster was already swinging its club-like fist at him. Sam was quick, though, and dodged aside enough to avoid taking the full impact to his chest, but it clipped his leg as he dove. Of course, seconds later Dean’s sledgehammer was shattering the troll’s head, the force of the blow fueled by his worry for Sam and the surge of anger at the troll for hurting his little brother. “It’s probably not even broken. I don’t want to listen to Dad bitch about x-rays when it’s just a bruise!”
“Sammy, if you don’t stop arguing I’m gonna take the damn sledgehammer to your head. We’re going to the hospital. Period. I’ll deal with Dad if it comes to it, but I’m positive there’s something moving around in there that shouldn’t be.”
“Fine.” Sam lets out a loud sigh, rolling his eyes as he leans his head back against the window with a thunk. Fifteen minutes later they’re pulling up to the emergency entrance of Putnam Memorial Hospital and Dean is helping Sam limp through the doors with his arm slung over Dean’s shoulders.
***
Sam giggles when he’s high. Dean would tease him for it, and he might save it for later, but right now his little brother is having a cast put on his ankle and Dean is still reeling from the ‘what ifs’ running through his head. He realizes Sam could have been hurt so much worse if he hadn’t jumped out of the way in time, and he’s relieved the worst he has to deal with now is a giggling fifteen-year-old strung out on pain meds.
Once the room clears out and they’re left to themselves, waiting for the release papers, Sam’s giggling quiets down and his expression falls serious.
“Hey Dean?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Why… how come… why can’t we be a regular family?”
“Aww, Sammy,” Dean says, dragging his hand down his face, fingers catching on the day-old stubble on his jaw. “You don’t wanna talk about that right now, huh? Not while you’re all doped up on the good stuff, right?”
“No, m’serious, Dean. Why… I know you try, you try to make things normal for me. But I’m not. Not ever. Like… like when you embarrassed me in front of Andrea, that’s normal. But then two days later we had to leave… we had to go chase a black dog. I never… never even got to kiss her. ‘Cause we had to leave… we always have to leave, Dean, why?”
“Because someone has to be there to bash in the heads of man-eating trolls, kiddo.” Dean reaches out and picks up Sam’s limp hand, wrapping his fingers around his palm and giving it a squeeze. “We just drew the short straw on that one.”
“Coulda kissed her if you didn’t embarrass me. Jerk.”
“Yeah, well...that’s my job, Sammy. Gotta tease my little brother.”
“Is not.” Sam’s eyes are slipping closed, his voice quieting to just above a mumble.
“What’s not?”
“Your job. That’s not your job.”
“No?” Dean quirks an eyebrow up as he looks at Sam, sees him relaxing back into the pillow.
“No. Your job is… is to take… take care of Sammy….”
“Yeah… yeah, it is, little brother.” Dean watches as Sam exhales slowly, head tilting slightly sideways to face Dean as he slips into sleep. Dean takes in a deep breath, pushing it out slowly through pursed lips, along with all the fear and stress of the day, of the hunt. He watches his brother sleep, hoping he dreams, at least for a little while, of a normal life where for once he gets to kiss the girl instead of killing the monster.