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Some students were fountain hopping in the afternoon sun though Sam wore long sleeves against the October breeze. He was playing Snake on his phone when he received a text.
Dean’s warning was vague: Hunting in the area. It calls your name and knocks once, the end. If you or anyone hear it DO NOT open! More knocking, all ok. If not, call
What kind of the end? What was the creature? Or the theory?
The cryptic message out of nowhere reminded of John. Maybe Dean was his mouthpiece since Sam and John weren’t talking to each other. Still, Sam was torn whether to offer his help with research. He could use his student status to their advantage, maybe get his hands on some obscure lore in its original packaging. That was not all the help Sam could deliver, just the cleanest, least difficult to explain if he ran into anyone he knew. Sam had a life of his own now, he couldn’t just say whatever and flee the consequences.
Besides, Dad didn’t want anything to do with his black sheep of a son. Sam was dying to know more but maybe that was the point: he would have to ask for it, or remain in the dark. Just the thought of Dad trying to bait him made Sam angry.
Sam replied: Thanks. Hit me up if you need help. Dean’s heartfelt response was one hundred percent his brother: Haha! Smiling, Sam almost suggested they’d meet up after the hunt, remembered Dad’s parting words, and put his phone away.
For days, everyone else was raving about the Halloween weekend, parties and costumes. Sam kept looking around, not sure who or what he expected to show up unannounced. Once he heard a rumbling of a car and his heart skipped a beat, overjoyed and terrified. The car was nothing like the Impala.
On Saturday, Sam had no lectures to distract him, no costume to prepare before the party. He hunched over his laptop looking into the lore. It only made him bite his nails as he imagined what any of those creatures with claws or fangs, taste for blood or liver or heart, could be doing to his family.
Still ok? Sam hit send before he could change his mind.
Still geek? I got this.
Sam was relieved and didn’t pay attention to Dean’s word choice.
*
Fake cobwebs hung so low Sam suspected some of it would get into his hair though he tried to dodge. Rebecca had red eye contacts and red streaks under her eyes, making her smile morbid as she welcomed them and hugged Sam. The place was a palace compared to dorms, full of glowing pumpkins and underage drinking. Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) had students either dancing or yelling over it to talk.
When Rebecca was out of earshot, Brady made a comment about the hug and his buddies laughed. Sam wanted to remind them that Becky was his friend like her brother Zach but knew Brady would just say something worse.
Brady’s buddies were a loud crowd full of bad jokes and ideas. Sam had caved in under peer pressure, so his face was painted black and white for the Halloween party, too. Brady had taken his costume further, his eyes were demon-black.
Last year, Brady had wanted to drop out of college and party all the time. Sam had convinced him to keep studying but Brady was far from the shy new roommate Sam had met. As usual, Brady ditched his friends for some girl Sam didn’t remember seeing and would probably never see again, not with Brady at least. She was wearing a dead bride costume with fake blood on her short white dress, adjusting her veil and blond curls. Brady was talking but she didn’t seem to fall for his charm. Her eyes met Sam’s across the room. Sam looked away not to ogle. When he dared glance her way, two other girls had appeared, and as they whisked her away, the dead bride noticed him with a smile.
Brady came next to Sam, yelling over the music.
”She got no taste!”
”What?”
”Jess! I was right there and she was checking you out! Aw you blushing? Maybe I’ll hook you up!”
”I can get my own dates!”
Brady’s smirk looked devilish with the black eyes.
*
Fortunately, Brady forgot his hook up threat after finding a fanged vampire whose neck to suck. Sam was too sober for the debate going on around him, and kept checking his phone. No new messages or missed calls. He couldn’t help feeling like he was on call in case his family needed backup.
The sense of foreboding didn’t fade, so Sam left early, not to be a killjoy.
Brady’s side of their room was a mess, a mirror image of the other side, Sam’s bed made and everything in its place. Most rooms Sam had seen were crammed, even the walls covered with posters or pictures of family and friends. Used to the life on the road, with no space to mark his own or room for dead weight, Sam still lived as if he needed to be ready to pack and leave at a moment’s notice.
His study corner had one of his few keepsakes: a photograph of his parents in a reddish wooden frame. When Dean had handed it to him, it had seemed like a cruel joke. To stare at John’s face, even at Stanford, to keep in mind how much he disapproved. Dean had been solemn. Something to remember us by. Sam had looked at the picture with fresh eyes, the Mona Lisa smile on Mary’s face, and realized that next to John, there was only his mother, no kid in sight. When did you cut your hair? Dean had shoved him, Sam taken a step to keep his balance, laughing, close to tears.
Too alert to sleep and too lazy to wash the Halloween face paint away though the room had a sink, Sam decided to keep his mind busy. After some retrieval practice using his notes to check if he remembered, Sam lay reading Psychology and Law: Truthfulness, Accuracy, and Credibility.
Music and conversation through the thin wall were sure signs of a more intimate get-together than the party, with close-knit people. Sam would have preferred that, too. Coldplay was on, easy to recognize when someone turned up the volume as the lyrics of Clocks began.
”Sam!” Dean’s voice was followed by a knock on the door.
Startled, Sam opened the door expecting Dean to half-carry bloody John, the only way Sam could imagine his whole family visiting him.
Dean stood alone. Since he was delivering the news, it was Dad who had been beaten or bitten or…
”Didn’t I tell you to not answer the door if someone calls your name and knocks once?”
Nobody was dying.
”You didn’t say if it can mimic voices. Why the hell didn’t you just tell me you were coming?”
”So you’re wearing all that makeup for a hot date? Think she’s gonna see me and have second thoughts?”
Dean grimaced, touching his right side where his ribcage and liver were.
”You hurt?”
The most alarming clue was that Dean didn’t deny or downplay it.
”Yeah.”
Dean had to be hurting, avoiding sudden movements, since he grumbled but didn’t step away. Sam had to hunch to put Dean’s arm on his shoulders, which still felt strange. Sam had reached the ideal height for this job, then just kept growing, to his and his family’s astonishment. He had grown too tall while also grown out of the roles assigned by John and by Dean’s roles that completed his, or used to, before Sam tore them apart.
”Jesus Christ, you’re overdramatic.”
Dean sat down on the bed, lifting his jacket and flannel shirt enough to check the red stain on his T-shirt. The red stain wasn’t growing, and Dean was still a smartass, he’d had worse.
Still, depending on what had hurt Dean and how, there could be some complications. Questions about Dean’s injuries poured out of Sam, in case there were hidden ones that needed his attention. When Sam almost touched Dean’s face leaning to check his pupils, Dean clasped his wrist.
”Hey, I’m fine.”
Dean’s eyes were intent, not showing any signs of injury. He was the only person in the world who could calm Sam with just one look or a few words. Even if Dean spoke gibberish, if the tone was right, Sam assumed he would respond.
”Relax.” Dean let go.
It was nothing time couldn’t fix. Sam took a chair.
Dean’s gaze scanned him as if it was Sam who might be hurt.
”I didn’t know it can mimic voices. Not until I talked to someone who had thought her ex came knocking. Lucky for her, he’s a violent piece of shit so she called the cops.”
”Lucky?”
”Well, you know what I mean.”
Sam did. In their line of work, it was considered lucky to live to tell about the experience. More often than not, there was no case until someone or several people didn’t. Though most people Sam hung around with these days would have thought Dean was dismissive.
”I should’ve let you know once I knew.”
”No,” Sam said, ”I should’ve thought of it myself.”
Dean looked like something was pulling the words out of him against his will.
”Actually, I didn’t come just to say hi.”
If Dean needed help finishing the hunt, and asked for it looking like that, it had to be bad. Maybe it was something illegal. Uneasy, Sam wondered whether he could say no if it was something that could ruin his future. Dean was hurt, after all, and seemed so embarrassed.
”What is it?”
Dean gestured towards his side.
”This, it’s, pretty, bad.”
Supernaturally fast spreading infection, venom, whatever it was, Sam didn’t ask. He stood up.
”Give me the car keys, let’s go.”
”No.”
”I’m sober.”
”I can’t, it’s… a long story. No hospital.”
Dean looked so exhausted Sam didn’t press him for details. If it was life or death, Dean wouldn’t have just sat there. It was something ordinary, not for normal people, but for them.
”Where’s Dad?”
”Not here, I finished this one.”
”You had no backup?”
”He’s busy. He thinks he’s close.”
Sam felt like a Pavlov’s dog hearing John was busy paired with close though he’d shaken off both fear and hope years ago. The reason remained the same: a new lead, breakthrough so close, over and over again.
John was chasing the thing he had chased since the fire. His crusade had left his kids to huddle in motels, waiting for Dad to come back, until they had grown out of it. Now it was Dean wounded by the things Dad wanted him to hunt, waiting for Dad to check up on him, or not.
Dean’s eyes glistened.
”Sorry, you were closest.”
”Yeah, yeah, no problem.”
Sam washed his hands, caught his reflection, and scrubbed his face clean before washing his hands again. His first aid kit was unused but prepared: disinfectant, bandages, forceps, anything you might need.
”You want something for pain?”
”I took something already.”
Gingerly, Dean took off his jacket and shirts.
”It doesn’t look like it’s working.”
Sam spread a clean towel on the bed for Dean to lie down.
”What are you? Pre-med?”
”You wish.”
Sam did when he saw the wound. It was jagged as expected since the monster had bitten. There was something white as bone.
”You should see the other guy.”
”What was it?”
”Vrykolakas.”
”It looks like there’s–”
”A fang, yeah. I punched that son of a bitch and it broke.”
Just a piece of the monster, not of Dean. Even he wouldn’t walk around bitten to the bone, it all showing in an open wound.
”I tried,” Dean said, ”to get it all out but…”
”You tried to dig it out yourself?”
”Yeah.”
”Are you nuts?”
It was horrible enough to pull shards of glass, monster nails, anything, out of someone else’s wound. Without another word, Sam prepared for the task. The smell of disinfectant filled the air as he sterilized the forceps.
The fang, or what was left of it, was stuck in there deep enough Sam hesitated. What if he pushed it deeper? Could he cause damage even doctors couldn’t fix? What if Dean had to live with pain every day for the rest of his life?
”You sure about this?”
”I can try again.”
”You are nuts.”
Sam focused on getting the piece of the vrykolakas fang out, trying to get a hold with the forceps. One slip made Dean grab Sam’s wrist.
”Dean!”
”Sorry.” Dean let go. ”Reflex.”
Sam’s heart pounded as a reaction to the accident that could have happened.
Students in another room laughed and though it had nothing to do with this, Sam wanted to yell at them to shut up while his brother was in pain.
As Dean’s wound kept oozing blood, John’s training kicked in.
”Hold still. Or do I have to knock you out?”
”No s–Sam.”
Dean obeyed, turning into a barely breathing stone. Sam zeroed in on removing the monster with minimal collateral damage. Once he got a hold, he pulled the bloody half-fang out, discarded the tools with it, and applied pressure to stop the bleeding.
Dean wiped his face with his palm.
”Well that was fun.”
He looked like a monster had swallowed him and spat out.
”If you’re gonna pass out, you should’ve done it earlier.”
”Bite me.”
”Some monster’s leftovers?”
Dean’s laugh turned into a grimace, and Sam regretted his quip.
Dean could have done the rest himself but after poking the wound, Sam felt it was his job to fix the damage. The bleeding was stopped, the wound cleaned and closed and covered. Dean let him, in complete silence.
Maybe if Sam pleaded, so Dean could get some rest, someone would turn Clocks back down.
Dean seemed choked up, his sorrow out of place until he spoke.
”It’s past midnight, right?”
Dean’s gaze said more than his words. Sam felt a pang of longing for something he didn’t remember having.
”Yeah, it’s November 2.”
The anniversary of the fire that had killed their mother and destroyed their home.
Now, twenty years later, another monster had almost ripped Dean’s liver out. While John was chasing some lead, the cold case of his life, and Sam was chasing his dream of a normal life, at some stupid party. Or what if Dean had tried too hard and passed out, bleeding, for his brother to retrace his steps too late?
All these anniversaries all Sam’s life would have been practice for when November 1st became worse.
Dean slapped Sam’s arm.
”Hey, not even close, don’t go there.”
”I was right here.”
”No,” Dean said softly, ”you quit.”
There was no hostility but no mercy either.
Sam looked away, too tired to start to clean up the mess.
Dean sat up, reaching for his T-shirt.
”According to the lore, those sons of bitches rest on Saturdays. He was supposed to sleep in his grave. But you know how it is, full of surprises, a dangerous gig.”
Dean looked like he was going to say something more but stopped to listen.
There were footsteps approaching the door, and Sam realized he had just assumed Dean had killed the vrykolakas. At once, Sam stepped between his wounded brother and the potential threat.
Brady’s black eyes looked real enough Dean reacted. Sam stopped him with his arm.
”Hey,” Sam tried to sound casual, ”this is my brother Dean.”
Brady smiled offering his hand and saying his name as if he hadn’t noticed anything strange.
Dean could hide his pain but not all of it, and definitely not the blood stain on his shirt. There was also evidence scattered in the room.
”Someone attacked you? Did you call the police?”
”No,” Sam said, ”it was a dog.”
”Then someone has to put down–”
”It’s taken care of.” Dean was clearly assessing whether Brady needed to be taken care of.
The black eyes concealed too much for Sam to tell what Brady thought.
”Sam, can I talk to you for a sec?”
”Sure.”
Dean nodded as if to say he’d be alert in case it didn’t work out.
*
Sam followed Brady, already in the corridor, and left the door ajar.
Brady had removed the black contacts. He was freaking out, his whisper frantic.
”Did you just dig a bullet out of his wound?”
”What? No!” Sam let out an awkward laugh. ”No more TV for you, man, that’s crazy.”
”Then what?”
”It was a tooth. The dog was old, probably sick.”
”Why’s Dean not in the hospital? You’re not even pre-med.”
”I know, it’s just, Dean, he’s got this problem with… hospitals.”
Maybe it was some loose ends after hunting: someone had blown Dean’s cover, or he would get arrested for something he had actually done. Brady seemed worried that it was the latter.
”Look, when I went off the rails–”
”You still are.”
”Fair enough. I know you worked your ass off to get where you are. I get it, he’s your brother. But whatever trouble Dean got himself into, is it your responsibility? Or worth it? If you lose all this.”
No matter why Dean was avoiding the hospital, the authorities were either the reason or would make it worse. If Sam seemed not to care, Brady would leave it alone, not act on his concern.
”Don’t worry, I’m not doing anything stupid. Dean just came, uninvited, and what can I do? I can’t tell him to get lost. He’s got no place to go. He can’t trust anyone else. It’s the way we were raised.”
That silenced Brady, so it must have sounded convincing. Still, he was waiting for an explanation. Sam went on not giving his words much thought.
”Our dad’s suspicious of pretty much everything, he sees evil everywhere. He trained us to rely on ourselves. And we moved around a lot, so it was just the three of us.”
”Oh fuck, man, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you came from heavy shit like that.”
Sam didn’t need to feign embarrassment.
If Brady had broken his arm as a kid, he would have had a smooth car ride, his mother’s comfort, and the best treatment money could buy. For Sam, there had been a painful bike ride, his brother too young to control his fight response kicked out of the room when Sam had cried out, and Bobby’s lies saving them from CPS.
These were the differences Sam worked hard to bury in order to fit in.
Brady was choosing his words carefully.
”So, is your dad some kind of a survivalist or..?”
”Ex-Marine.”
”Damn.”
”But it’s not so bad, I mean. I don’t blame Dad, he couldn’t cope with… And I learned a lot, it’s just, not the stuff most people learn growing up.”
”Yeah, that’s just, wow. I would’ve never guessed.”
”I’ve left all that behind. I haven’t told anyone here, about my family.”
”Your secret’s safe with me. But what about Dean?”
”He’s the perfect soldier in the two-man army.”
Sam was serious but Brady found it funny. His laughter died when Dean opened the door wider. All Dean did was look Sam in the eye with dead calm.
”Thanks.”
He walked away.
Sam made up an excuse and waited until Brady closed the door before following his brother.
*
The night felt colder than earlier. Some students stumbled home like zombies. It took a moment for Sam to spot Dean and catch up.
”I can drive–”
”No need.”
Dean didn’t slow down. Apparently, he’d rather grit his teeth through the pain than spend more time with Sam.
”I had to say something.”
”You certainly did.”
”Hold on.”
”For what?”
Dean stopped. He looked like he might throw a punch. A student witnessing that would call the cops. For a heartbeat, Sam hoped they did.
”What was I supposed to say? That we hunt monsters? You lie all the time.”
”You didn’t.”
Sam opened his mouth but closed it without a word, exposed. Maybe he had meant what he had said but not the way Dean thought.
”I said it all for–”
”Save it.”
”Let me finish!”
”You have an excuse for everything. For quitting, for bailing on your family. I don’t wanna hear it.”
There was no point explaining or arguing, not when Dean was like this.
”You guys go paint each other’s faces and have fun.”
He turned to leave but Sam wanted the last word.
”Despite everything, if you ever need me, I’ll be there.”
”Despite everything?”
Dean’s incredulous look turned into a sneer.
”Get your head checked, Sammy, before you forget anything that matters.”
”It’s Sam!”
Dean didn’t look back.
Somewhere the Impala rumbled and Dean drove despite the pain to put more distance between them.
The good times, knowing others got his back, being a part of one unit, a part of his own family… Sam could feel it all slipping through his fingers afraid he would end up empty-handed.
*
In the afternoon, Sam sat drinking his vanilla latte while Zach and Becky bantered like the brother and sister they were. No friend knew what day it was. For others, it was a hangover day this year, something else next year. For Sam, it would always be the anniversary of losing someone he wished he’d known better, a life that could have been.
Sam went to his room and tried to pick up from where he had left off with Psychology and Law: Truthfulness, Accuracy, and Credibility. More than taking notes, Sam was doodling, pentagrams, other symbols for protection and safety. His and Dean’s initials the way they had dared each other carve them everywhere, the bravest of places the Impala.
Sam felt almost as bad as when he had moved here, knowing nobody, knowing there was no going back even if he failed. Sam was living his dream but now it felt hollow as if it was some monster-induced illusion. The vrykolakas sinking its fangs into Dean was real.
That life and this life were so apart it was unbelievable they were possible in the same world. Sam could never invite Dean to hang out with his friends who would look at Dean and see an uneducated unemployed drifter, or a smooth talker whose lies could carry conversations only so far. Dean would refuse to spend time with them, or show his resentment with snide remarks. They were living the apple pie life off the backs of the hunters. Sam didn’t want to see it that way. Not everyone could hunt, there were other jobs that were just as important. If he became a lawyer, he could help some hunters, build cases good enough to set them free even if others didn’t know about monsters.
This was the right choice, no question.
Sam stopped procrastinating and called Dean.
”What do you want now?”
It sounded like Dean was on the road, Metallica’s new album St. Anger blasting in the car, and might hang up once he figured there was no emergency. Sam went straight to the point.
”If something bad happens, will you let me know?”
”You know something bad is happening. That’s what hunting is about.”
”I mean, something really bad. To you, or Dad.”
Sam tensed as he expected a needling remark that he couldn’t be so worried since he had left them, knowing they would hunt, knowing what could happen. If you walk away, don’t come back. Dean had heard their father as loud and clear as Sam.
The volume of Invisible Kid quieted down.
”You can count on it.” Dean’s tone lost sincerity so fast it was easy to miss. ”Despite being a bitch.”
”’Cause you’re a jerk.”
”At least I don’t ask dumb questions. And hey, last night, I, I didn’t mean to… I just…”
When Dean trailed off, Sam wished he could see his face. The background noise stayed the same but Sam wondered if the connection was breaking up, or if it wasn’t, then what?
”Dean? You still there?”
His own voice sounded spooked.
”Yeah I noticed you had no salt lines. It’s not cool, I’m sure, but still. Maybe if you start, it becomes a thing in your dorm, everyone throwing spices around. When they get to curry, it might get ugly.”
Sam chuckled.
”Anyway,” Dean said, ”most important: watch out for yourself. Just ’cause you’re not hunting anything doesn’t mean any thing is not hunting you.”
If Dean wanted to sweep yesterday’s crap under the rug, Sam didn’t want to bring it up, either.
”How’s your wound?”
”Toothless, I like it that way.”
”You’ll be okay?”
”I’m scarred for life. Anything else on your mind?”
For a fleeting moment, Sam wanted to tell Dean everything. How it was impossible to avoid seeing cases in the news, wondering what the truth was, and whether some hunter found out. How even with friends, Sam didn’t belong, deep down. How it was possible to be homesick even when your home was on the road.
”That’s it. I just wanted to make sure.”
”I always will. If I can’t, Dad will let you know. Just remember what you were taught, in case you need it.”
”I do. I won’t answer the call until the second knock.”
”Good. Bye, Sam.”
”It’s,” Sam realized Dean had said his preferred name, ”goodbye.”
*
Two years later, when Dad’s on a hunting trip and MIA, after doubting outside Jess and Sam’s home that he will be told to get lost, Dean calls out Sam and they hit the road.